ã€ŠThe New Humansã€‹


 Chapter One: Allison Kinsey in an Exciting Adventure With the New Humans

    Allison stared at the piano, trying to will it to collapse under the weight of her disdain. It wouldn¡¯t have been the oddest thing she¡¯d seen, or done, as of late. Regardless of her preferences, the battered old spinet stubbornly remained intact. Or at least as intact as when it was hauled into the observation room that morning. It had been drafted from a quiet retirement in a primary school music lab for the sake of today¡¯s round of testing, but that wouldn¡¯t have inspired much sympathy from Allison.

    A copy of Bach¡¯s Goldberg Variations lay open on the music rack. At least, that¡¯s what it said on the cover. Allison couldn¡¯t read sheet music; it could have been ¡°Bah Bah Black Sheep¡± for all she knew. Still, she wasn¡¯t leaving the observation room till she mastered the piece. By ear, if need be. She¡¯d been at it for hours, and still hadn¡¯t gotten past the first couple of measures.

    She was about to make another go at it, when she found that her fingers were refusing to uncurl. Tears were beginning to blur her vision. Even if she pulled it off, she knew that would only mean she¡¯d be back in her cell a bit earlier. She looked at the the two-way mirror set into the wall. ¡°Dr. Carter,¡± she saw her reflection say, ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m going to get this.¡±

    There was a click. A tinny, weary voice filled the room. ¡°Allison, we really need to push on here.¡±

    The day had started off fairly well, at least when taken in context with the rest of Allison¡¯s time at the McClare Demi-Human Containment Centre. She had been taken from her cell, escorted by the traditional pair of burly orderlies to observation room 6, and told to play whatever she felt like. She wasn¡¯t a particularly musical child, but she could manage a few decent parlour ballads. Just being allowed to make noise made her feel a little better. Then she was subjected to an inexplicable phone conversation with a retired concert pianist from Vienna. Now she was remembering why she was never terribly interested in music to begin with.

    She breathed in, then let out a sigh. ¡°I can¡¯t do it.¡± There was a whine to her voice that made her sound even younger than she actually was, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. ¡°Nobody here¡¯s good enough.¡±

    There was another click, and a sigh. ¡°Look, I know this isn¡¯t much fun. I¡¯m not exactly having the time of my life here, either. But there are people we both have to answer to. If you cooperate, I¡¯ll try to get you a bit of cake or something with your dinner, alright?¡±

    He sounded genuinely contrite. Nobody at McClare ever enjoyed what they put Allison through, as far as she could tell. The doctors, the orderlies, even the armed men who had accompanied her the precious few times she had been allowed outside: they all seemed to regret how she was treated. They still went along with it, of course. She imagined they had all sorts of justifications for why.

    Allison steeled herself best she could, and started over. She managed fifteen seconds before stumbling. A loud, angry sounding beep played over the speakers, making her flinch.

    ¡°Start over.¡±

    She did, with little improvement. A slipped finger, a wrong note struck, another reprimanding shriek.

    ¡°From the top,¡± ordered Dr. Carter, attempting joviality.

    It went on like this until¡ªafter more than a dozen failures¡ªAllison slumped onto the keyboard and wept.

    In the darkened room behind the window, Dr. Stephen Carter lit another Winfield. Surprisingly enough, the fact that making an eight-year-old girl cry was becoming a fixture of his workday did not fill him with confidence for the direction his career had taken. He was often assigned to handle Allison Kinsey¡¯s testing. Considering what some of the inmates at McClare could do, and what they had already done to some of his colleagues, he had to assume it was because someone liked him. Whenever he spoke to or even looked at the girl, he couldn¡¯t help but be reminded of his own daughter at home. Sadly, this failed to create much of a rapport between the two. Mostly, he coped by trying to think of Allison in abstract terms. A thing that ceased to exist when he clocked off. For her part, he doubted she harboured much affection for him. She probably assumed he was the one who came up this nonsense with the piano. In truth, he didn¡¯t design the experiments, only carried them out. He¡¯d heard rumours about the one who did, but he didn¡¯t put much stock in them. The only suitable domicile for the man¡ªif that term was even appropriate¡ªthey described was a decrepit castle prone to lightning strikes, and he doubted Australia had any of those.

    Dr. Carter was still vaguely surprised by how his life was playing out. He had never heard anyone talk seriously about superpowers before 1962. There were various more official terms for the phenomena, but ¡°superpower¡± was the only one that didn¡¯t make him feel as if he was inching closer and closer to old age whenever he said it out loud. Everyone knew they existed, of course. You¡¯d have to had been raised in a bomb shelter not to realise that there were people out there with capabilities beyond those of everyday mortals. The thing was, that equally described many singers, or moderately successful athletes. Honestly, most superhumans were hardly more impressive. The only substantiated reports Dr. Carter could recall from his youth involved rubbish like cattle station workers manifesting the strength of two men, or schoolkids waking up with the power to manipulate the flow of baked beans.

    Okay, that wasn¡¯t quite true. You did have the occasional supervillain, even back then, but they almost always operated under the thumb of perfectly average criminal syndicates, comfortably out of sight of the general public. Those who didn¡¯t tended to have brief, spectacular careers, before being either captured, or more commonly, disappearing with a few armoured trucks¡¯ worth of pounds. It was generally agreed that any real, concerted effort to hinder their plans would just encourage them to stick around longer.

    That may have been why the Australian superhero scene had all but died out by the early 50¡¯s.

    Wherever there were supervillains, superheroes almost inevitably emerged. It was a conflict that in all probability started the exact moment there was more than one superpowered being on the planet at the same time, and would only end when either all superhumanity was completely annihilated, or when the tailors who made their costumes threw down their tools for the cause of peace and good taste.

    Still, none of the great Australian vigilantes turned out to have much staying power. Lone Wolf, the Crimson Comet, the Raven; they all flourished and faded away within a fleeting niche between the end of one war and the beginning of the next. For most of them, secret identities meant it would never be known if they had retired, fallen in battle, or even given up and swelled the ranks of those they once fought. Superheroes were an extremely private lot, despite what their choice of outfits might have suggested. For a few of them, it was debatable whether they were really superhuman at all, or just normal men and women who sought strength in anonymity and a gimmick.

    When Dr. Carter was young, he always thought the serious superhumans, the ones that got comic strips and film serials made about them, lived in cities like New York or London, when he gave them any thought at all. Looking back, he suspected if he had been a resident of either of those places, he would have said they dwelt in isolated backwaters like the Australian Outback, or windswept monasteries carved directly into mountain peaks. Either way, you could usually afford to pretend they didn¡¯t exist.

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    At least, that was the case until October 27, 1962, when the Flying Man made himself known, and the Cold War came to an abrupt conclusion. At the very least, the battle lines had been redrawn.

    If any government agency had been specifically charged with monitoring superhuman activities before ¡®62, Dr. Carter was fairly sure they would have been forced to beg the Dairy Board for office space. After a hastily convened Royal Commision, however, the newly established Department of Demi-Human Affairs had found itself burdened with more money than they knew what to do with. Some of which was used to lure Dr. Carter away from what he now realised was a perfectly nice do nothing position with the Western Australia Forests Department.

    His internal rehearsal of that night¡¯s ruminations at his local pub was interrupted by the small phone on his console ringing. Startled back to attention, he picked up the receiver. He didn¡¯t wait for an answer. ¡°Is Subject B within estimated range of Subject A?¡±

    ¡°Affirmative,¡± replied a lab technician on the other end. ¡°He¡¯s asking a lot of questions, though. Should I say anything?¡±

    Dr Carter rolled his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s probably already guessed most of the important bits. Just tell him he¡¯s about to make the easiest ¡ê800 of his entire life.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡± He hung up.

    When Allison¡¯s sobs seemed to have subsided, Dr. Carter opened the intercom again. ¡°Have you tried using your power?¡±

    She glared up at the window separating them, her eyes still red with tears. ¡°Yes. Of course I did. Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± Genuine anger had seeped into her voice.

    He mulled over his response a bit. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. That was a stupid question. Could you give it another go, though? For me?¡± He instantly regretted that last part, even before he saw the look on Allison¡¯s face. Nevertheless, she shrugged and tilted her head, as though listening to some note being played in the distance.

    There were a little under a hundred songs in McClare Containment Centre. Allison could think of no better word for them than songs, though it was doubtful they could ever be recreated on the piano, or on any other man made instrument. Nor could any human voice hope to replicate them. Perhaps that was why the music produced through those means never grabbed her interest. The music people made on purpose could never compare to the music they made just by existing.

    The nearest and clearest was Dr. Carter¡¯s. In the past few weeks, it had grown as familiar as her own mum¡¯s or dad¡¯s. But she wasn¡¯t interested in that song; she was barely interested when it was still new, really. There were forty-nine songs she was interested in, but not right that second. There was only one song she could hear that she hadn¡¯t already sampled. She focused on it. There were, of course, the chord progressions and countermeasures that described such talents as walking and talking, eating and breathing; as unique and yet universal as a fingerprint. The song was long and fairly complex, so it was probably coming off of someone old. A man, she guessed, based on the tenor. As always, there were large parts of the song she couldn¡¯t parse. She thought that perhaps, rather than being things the person could do, it was everything that had ever happened to them.

    Some of the melody¡¯s ornamentation was familiar, but far more developed than in any other instance she had previously encountered. Music which described musical ability always perplexed Allison. For one thing, it never sounded anything like what the person actually played. Piano players, for instance, always put her in mind of wind chimes, light and delicate. She implemented the new variations into her own song almost automatically.

    Immediately, Allison¡¯s posture changed. She suddenly became much more aware of her own breathing. Her expression determined, she splayed her fingers, cracked her knuckles, and played. And it was wonderful. Not once did she even glance at the sheet music, though it would have been perfectly legible if she had. Over the next forty minutes, Dr. Carter was treated to a calibre of performance that could only be the product of a lifetime of training and passion for the art of pianism. All from a tired, disinterested little girl not even ten years old.

    Dr. Carter tried and failed to suppress a smile, then felt very grateful that there had never been any indication Allison possessed x-ray vision. The live music made for a nice break from routine, even if his appreciation of it was somewhat tainted knowing how little pleasure the performer was getting out of it. Moreover, he had proven once and for all that Allison¡¯s ability wasn¡¯t based on actual soundwaves. Sure, it hadn¡¯t been his idea, but he was enough of a scientist to take some pleasure in the simple act of discovery, or at least confirmation.

    In some respects, he was right to be pleased. Superpowers often seemed to actively resist scientific inquiry. Dr. Werther, a former workmate of Dr. Carter¡¯s at the centre, and as staunch an empiricist as you could hope to find, had always maintained that there would someday be a model which reconciled all superhuman abilities within the framework of conventional physics. Last Dr. Carter heard, he¡¯d taken to burning other researchers alive, while screaming that Sir Francis Bacon lied to him. While floating, for some reason.

    Before coming to McClare, Allison had been considered a genuine child prodigy by most who knew her. She certainly was good at a lot of things. Since her arrival, she¡¯d displayed great competence in landscape painting, calculus, European history, cigarette rolling, and cocktail mixing. All reasonable talents for a bright, middle class child, but probably not all at once. They say it takes about 10,000 hours of deliberate practise to fully master any skill. Allison, it seemed, could cut that down to about three seconds of bugger all, as long as someone nearby had put in the hours. If Dr. Carter had been a more prideful man, he might¡¯ve taken offence at the idea that Allison had likely assimilated his whole education just to stave off boredom. He didn¡¯t see it helping much.

    Sometimes, when his conscience threatened to overwhelm his well cultivated detachment, he tried soothing it by thinking of all the interesting, useful skills Allison had acquired thanks to the Containment Centre¡¯s tests. How likely was it that she would¡¯ve acquired such refined musical talents in a town like Harvey? It sounded hollow even in his own head.

    Eventually, Allison concluded the piece. If she felt any sense of accomplishment, it was not evident in her expression, only bone-deep exhaustion.

    ¡°Dr. Carter, can I go back to my room now?¡±

    ¡°Not quite yet. We still have some follow up tests.¡± It actually hurt to look at Allison just then. ¡°Sorry.¡± If he was going to be horrible, he might as well go all out. ¡°You know, these tests could be a little more fun for both of us if you would be a bit more honest about your talents.¡±

    Allison went white. ¡°I am being open.¡±

    Dr. Carter rubbed his temples, preparing for one more trip down a very well worn path. ¡°Allison, I¡¯ve read the report on your commitment to the center. It¡¯s quite interesting, at least more so than Bach.¡±

    She rounded on him. ¡°Someone messed up. Or they wanted to make me look more exciting.¡± She halfheartedly kicked the piano. After a few solid decades of being an accomplice to mandatory music lessons, it barely noticed the abuse. ¡°This is all you¡¯re going get out of me. If you want to keep testing me, you¡¯re just going to make me do stuff like this until I¡¯ve learnt how to do everything.¡± She smiled without humour. ¡°I don¡¯t think I can play the spoons yet, but I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get to it someday.¡±

    As the orderlies escorted Allison from the room, Dr. Carter pondered what she had told him. She was right, really. After the conclusive results of today¡¯s experiment, simply making Allison absorb new talents would no longer provide them with useful information. And if Dr. Carter stopped providing useful information on her, it was likely that he would be assigned a new inmate. Maybe the Scotswoman who insisted she was over 3,000 years old, and hurled lightning at anyone who suggested otherwise. That simply would not do. He considered putting in a proposal to perform some tests with Arnold Barnes, but even if his superiors were likely to take any idea of his onboard, there was no way in Hell they would allow Arnold and Allison to even be in the same state again.

    ?

    On the other side of the country, in a facility so identical to McClare it made one suspect that a mad student of brutalism had stumbled upon the secret of architectural cloning, Arnold Barnes stood in the doorway of his cell, still vaguely expecting the rough hands of an orderly to shove him forward. He was leaving Roberts Demi-Human Containment Centre. For good, if Dr. Lawrence was being honest. It was the best news he could have hoped for. Well, being told he was actually going home would have been the best news he could have hoped for. Or maybe that he was going home, and that a great deal of the people he had met recently would be taking his place in his cell, and that its door would be confiscated, and duly replaced with spiders.

    ¡°Arnold,¡± said Dr. Lawrence, interrupting his fantasy, ¡°we do have to get going now.¡±¡¯

    ¡°I know. Not even sure why I¡¯m not running out of here.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence lay a hand on his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s easy to forget what a good situation feels like. It can be a little overwhelming.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The two of them walked down the hallway, past the mostly empty cells which surrounded Arnold¡¯s. ¡°Sir,¡± he said, ¡°could you see about getting this friend of mine out? I think they have her locked up back home.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence stopped for a second. ¡°Hmm. What does she do?¡±

    Arnold was a little taken aback by the question. He sort of expected to be asked her name first. ¡°Um, most things, sir.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence grinned. ¡°Now whatever do we mean by that?¡±

 Chapter Two: Message in the Flame

    After the business with the piano, the tests somehow got even more tedious. In Allison¡¯s opinion, this was a miracle warranting far more scientific scrutiny than anything her power did. Although ¡°power¡± was a term she still felt odd about being applied to any aspect of herself. Along with the German vocab and sight-reading exercises, there were intensely personal questions about one Eduard Keller, the man Allison had talked with on the phone that morning, and whom she rightly assumed was the source of her new status as a virtuoso.

    Anecdotes from Keller¡¯s childhood were left unfinished for her to complete; she was given questionnaires on his phobias, neuroses, obsessions, and deepest regrets; she was tasked with a series of short essay topics, ranging from how his father never liked him much to how his mother never let him be a man. The format, coupled with the cheap plastic desk she had been furnished with, put Allison in mind of her classroom back at Harvey Primary; if Miss Rossi had suffered a nervous breakdown, and decided to share the wonderful news with her pupils via the medium of quizzes.

    Allison was sure it was mostly lies. Especially the parts about giving private performances for Hitler, or sailing to Tasmania in a tea chest. Keller¡¯s song gave her no insight into whether or not there was any truth to it, despite its seeming absurdity. Her understanding of the music was limited purely to what its subject could do, not who they were, or anything they might have done. Or, as was significantly more prominent in Keller¡¯s particular case, what had been done to them.

    She had tried having fun with these tests at first. For want of any real answers, she¡¯d spun wild narratives about her subjects. Mathematicians from Perth met otherworldly dooms at the hands of Doctor Who, Melbournian horticologists coveted the Magic Pudding, and American historians served with distinction in the Great Emu War. Seven Little Australians and Blinky Bill were repeatedly and shamelessly plagiarized.

    She¡¯d expected some kind of response from the people in charge. A rebuke, a warning, some kind of punishment. She had gotten no such thing, not even after a description of some obscure landscape artist¡¯s first crush had ended with Dr. Carter being devoured by the Giant Devil Dingo. In fact, the amount of personal questions on the written tests had only increased. She had considered that maybe Dr. Carter, or whoever else read the tests, found her jokes as diverting as she did. This idea disheartened her, and she had taken to simply answering the questions with a perfunctory ¡°don¡¯t know!¡±, or even a large scrawled X when her patience was exceptionally thin. The proud test-taker within her cringed, but pride in her own abilities was something she didn¡¯t have much of these days.

    During the written tests, an absolute boulder of an orderly sat in the corner of the examination room, far more engrossed in his black and white Superman reprint than the child he was meant to be watching. Allison was surprised by his choice of reading material. Aside from him being a grownup¨Cor at least carved in the image of a grownup¨Cshe knew that news agents had stopped stocking Superman comics years ago, assuming they even still published them. After all, there was speculation that the Flying Man had modeled himself on them. It was the cape. And the flying, but most agreed he probably would have done that anyway.

    She wondered, briefly, if bringing up the Flying Man somewhere would garner some response from them-in-charge. She decided against it; she was pretty sure half the staff were already convinced she and her fellow inmates were either working for, or somehow born from, the Flying Man. It didn¡¯t help that almost all the inmates in McClare had been small children when he had first appeared.

    There was no shortage of theories regarding the young age of most identified demi-humans. Pretty much one per scientist, interested layperson, and uninformed idiot, really. The most straightforward generally took the position that there had been a change recently in the environment, something that acutely affected children. Nuclear tests copped the blame, but then, so did water fluoridation. In some circles, it was also posited that the apparent surge in demi-human populations was a legacy of World War 2 supersoldier programs.

    Other theories suggested there was some intelligence responsible for superpowers. Oddly enough, the identity of this being, whether they be men from Mars, God, the Devil, or whichever government you feared most, seemed to make little difference to their supposed motives. As for why they chose to mostly bless children with such unearthly gifts, there were two main schools of thought. One was that the flying saucers or whatever wished to lift mankind up to a new and glorious plateau of evolution, and so granted the most innocent amongst them the tools to do so. The other school of thought also supposed these entities were trying to steer human society in a particular direction, but was mostly held by people with actual experience with children.

    Allison knew little about any of these theories. If anyone had asked her, she would have said the reason McClare mostly housed children was that they weren¡¯t as good at hiding. It probably didn¡¯t help that Australia had some practise locking up children for even more arbitrary reasons.

    Aside from the cliff-like orderly, a trio of nurses were also watching Allison. At least, she thought of them and the rest of the female staff at McClare as nurses, though she had never heard them addressed as such. They seemed to be trying to drown out Allison¡¯s existence with conversation. They were huddled around a copy of Women¡¯s Weekly, which was at least more age appropriate than the male orderly¡¯s reading material, in Allison¡¯s unvoiced opinion.

    ¡°Excuse me, ma¡¯ms, I¡¯ve finished,¡± Allison said, a little more timidly than she intended.

    The three women looked up from their magazine, while the orderly did his best impression of someone prepared to deal with possible superhuman violence. It was a painful balancing act of trying to look as intimidating as humanly possible, while avoiding doing anything that might actually scare the child. It was not a resounding success. After a moment of silent deliberation, the maybe-nurses seemed to elect the middle member of their trio to respond.

    The small, dark-haired woman gathered up the worksheets, eyeing Allison like she might explode before she made it out of the room. Admittedly, that wasn¡¯t without precedent. Once she was gone, the other two stood up from their chairs.

    ¡°Shower-time, Allison,¡± said the more solidly built redhead.

    She shuddered a little. ¡°Alright.¡±

    The redhead and the other nurse, almost disappointingly another redhead (although with a more slight build) each took one of Allison¡¯s hands, and led her out into the hallway, the orderly following at emergency tackle distance.

    If there was one skill Allison was surprised to have acquired at McClare, it was the ability to navigate its halls. If she hadn¡¯t heard their songs, she would have assumed that the staff consisted entirely of unfortunates who wandered in, got lost, and found themselves uniforms. She couldn¡¯t imagine that any building that large was built so uniform by accident. Maybe it was to deter escape attempts.

    What really impressed her, was how effortlessly the nurses ignored her, even as she walked between them. They might as well have been carting around a filing cabinet.

    Showers at McClare were usually the worst part of Allison¡¯s day. The only way they could have been more distressing was if the staff had put a piano in there with her, but it probably wouldn¡¯t have agreed with the moisture. The facilities had most of the expected indignities. The walls were constructed from the kind of institutional grey brick that could only aspire to almost looking clean, even if scrubbed hourly by all the janitors in Christendom. At best, the water was tepid, and at worst, it almost convinced Allison that McClare¡¯s doctors were trying to freeze her until they knew what to do with her.

    What was missing was the other inmates. When she had first arrived at McClare, and realised that she would probably be allowed to bathe at some point, she had expected it to be a grim, communal affair. Originally, she had been relieved that this was only half true, but then she noticed that she wasn¡¯t seeing any inmates outside the shower rooms, either. Not even in the hallways. If it weren¡¯t for their songs, she might have started to think that the other inmates were an elaborate joke being played on her. It was disconcerting, to say the least. She couldn¡¯t imagine what it was like for the other children.

    The slighter nurse turned on the shower. ¡°I think that¡¯s hot enough,¡± she lied. ¡°Strip off, dear.¡±

    Sadly, Allison¡¯s isolation did not afford her any privacy. It seemed that McClare mandated its inmates be watched at all times outside of their cells. Even in the showers. She stripped as quickly as possible, made a silent prayer to the gods of indoor plumbing that the water would be bearable today, and stepped under the showerhead.

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    To the nurses¡¯ credit, they seemed to be making every effort to only theoretically watch Allison. They stood within eyeshot of her, but were focussing very intently on the movement of each other¡¯s lips. She was deeply grateful the orderly was only required to stand outside in the hallway.

    While Allison showered, the nurses chatted. They pondered whether working for a semi-classified facility would leave a gap on their CVs, or if the slight one would even be able to get another job after she got married that winter. On that note, they also bemoaned how poor their pay was compared to Stephen Carter and the animate slab of concrete standing outside, even though they had to deal with the demi-humans just as much¨Cif not more frequently¨Cthan the male staff. They debated how much of a waste of money the Space Race was, and whether the symbolism of stepping on the Moon was even valid knowing the Gatehouse was already up there. At one point, one of the nurses looked like she was thinking of asking for Allison¡¯s opinion on something or other, but thought better of it.

    Allison tried to scrub herself clean as best she could, despite the soap being lowest-bidder rough. She hadn¡¯t looked in a mirror in weeks, something she suspected was for the better. Her skin had gone paper white from lack of natural light. Once a week, the staff shaved her head, mostly to prevent lice. She actually thought that was for the best, even if it did make her look like a boy. Her old chestnut curls were something her mother had always been rather proud of, and she hated the idea of them getting manky.

    She hoped she at least didn¡¯t look as bad as she felt. She always felt vaguely ill these days, and hungry. It wasn¡¯t that McClare didn¡¯t feed her, or that the food was completely unpalatable, she just never ate all she was given. A full stomach was less comfort than the idea that someone, somewhere might be annoyed. She needed to have some small measure of control over her own life, even if all it amounted to was the ability to make her life a little more miserable than it needed to be. There were worse superpowers.

    ¡°Time to dry off, Allison.¡±

    The nurse¡¯s tone reminded Allison of her mum. That bothered her. ¡°Okay. But could you turn around? Please?¡±

    The nurses acquiesced without comment. A set of clean clothes lay folded on the shower bench, but Allison tried not to wonder how they got there. The nurses hadn¡¯t stopped talking long enough for either of them to procure them. She did notice, however, that the orderly looked as though he was trying to keep guilt from showing on his face as they made their way to Allison¡¯s cell.

    When they reached the cell, they shut the door behind her with no farewell. As places to be incarcerated went, it wasn¡¯t as bad as it could have been. It was a small, windowless room, with an appropriately child sized bed, chair and desk, all tightly bolted down. Her toilet was also in the room, set against the left wall. She had wet herself before she managed to adjust to that.

    Lying on the desk were the three books the centre had deigned to provide Allison with, one of which was still open at her place, which she sat down to continue reading.

    Perhaps unsurprisingly, she read very fast for her age, and therefore had consumed The Wonder Book of Do You Know and Shackleton¡¯s Argonauts within a couple of days of receiving them, so she was trying to pace herself with The Sword in the Stone, with little success.

    She envied Merlin a little. From where she was, only being able to remember the future seemed like the better deal. If the future contained something besides this, great. If not, well, she wouldn¡¯t have anything to compare it against. Although she had no idea how Merlin ever managed to finish a book himself.

    Dinner was eventually deposited through the slot in the door, Dr. Carter having evidently failed to procure her any cake. Allison forced herself to eat nearly half of it.

    After finally reaching the part where Merlin and Madam Mim had it out¡ªwhich just seemed unfair on Merlin¡¯s part¡ªthe lights cut off. She jerked in her seat. Bedtime was upon her.

    Since earliest childhood, Allison had possessed a strong fear of the dark. In the absence of light, she swore she could hear the world breathe. And as the world breathed, it did so more and more laboriously. The walls seemed to close in around her, and the warmth drained from everything. The universe was a living thing, and it was dying. She could save it, but she just didn¡¯t know how.

    She tried to dispel the sensation, bolted to her bed, and opened her ears to her fellow inmates¡¯ songs.

    All songs were beautiful, even if they belonged to the dullest people ever born. Thing was, so were snowflakes, and you don¡¯t see Eskimos wandering around in starry eyed wonder during blizzards. Songs and snowflakes may both be utterly unique and individual, but they are unique and individual in mostly the same ways. The songs of other demi-humans were another thing altogether. When she had first heard a power¡¯s leitmotif, it was like being exposed to polyphonic symphonies after having only ever listened to one man play the triangle.

    She honed in on the song of one inmate in particular, a delicate little tune with a lot of what she thought of as bells, and tried her best to reproduce it. Suddenly, her cell was filled with familiar noises. Her mother welcoming her home after school, a radio serial mostly consisting of the Phantom punching pirates, her dad complaining about the outcome of a match, of what game she wasn¡¯t even sure; even Miss Rossi trying valiantly to make her year two class understand basic multiplication.

    She would have gone for a power that allowed her to create light first, but the only inmates who could do that did so by lighting stuff on fire. That seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

    As she often did on test days, she considered the possibility of escape. With the powers of dozens of other demi-humans to play with, getting out would not have been all that difficult. As for afterwards, she knew how to do an awful lot of things. For one, she was pretty sure she knew how to drive, if she could contrive some arrangement with the pedals. As for where she would drive to, she knew enough languages that she could order lunch in every diner in Europe, and even a few beyond.

    If she did escape, part of her knew that going home would be a mistake. They¡¯d look there first. As for fleeing further, she guessed most countries treated demi-humans much the same way as Australia. And she would still be an eight year old girl, without her parents, in a strange land. It might have been doable, but it honestly didn¡¯t seem any better than what she had now.

    And if it wasn¡¯t doable, if the people who built McClare caught her again, she had heard stories about what happened to demi-humans they decided couldn¡¯t be handled. The most pleasant involved lead. The worst involved scalpels.

    She kept both her actual and metaphysical ears peeled for anyone approaching her door. She figured her best strategy for getting home was to allow Dr. Carter and his ilk to bore of her completely, and she doubted that would ever happen if they knew just how much she could copy.

    Just as she began drifting off into welcome sleep, a green flash flared in the centre of the cell. A small piece of notepaper wafted onto the floor. She scurried out of bed, picked up the paper, and tried to read it before the glow completely faded. It was a short, perfunctory message, written in a childish scrawl.

    It¡¯s taken me five six seven  EIGHT!!! goes to get this bloody thing to go away. Hope it got to you OK. Sorry about all this. Will get better. Promise.

    -AB

    Allison wanted to be angry at the note¡¯s writer. She wanted to thank him, too. She wanted to believe something was going to change, and soon. Mostly, though, she just wanted to figure out how to hide it, lest whoever woke her up the next morning wonder where it came from.

    Destroying it was out of the question. That would feel like destroying the promise, as if it had never been made. She eventually settled on hiding it inside The Sword in the Stone, hoping they didn¡¯t decide to cycle out her books early, and crawled back into bed, trying to believe what it said.

    ?

    The next few days were spectacularly uneventful. Allison was amazed it was possible for so little to differ in that amount of time. There weren¡¯t even any tests. She wondered if McClare had finally decided they had gotten all they could from her, but figured that feeding her would cost them less than the petrol they¡¯d use taking her home.

    The note had become something of a totem for her. When she tried to enjoy its hiding place, she would often flick ahead a few dozen pages to reread it. She started to try and discern hidden meaning in the thirty words: codes that, if deciphered and followed, would guarantee her freedom. She agonized over whether the crossed out numbers had any significance.

    Without the light torments of Dr. Carter, time began to slip from Allison¡¯s grip. Meals, showers, and bedtime provided her day some shape, but she had no way of keeping track of the hours between. They all congealed into one painfully extended moment. Without a window, even the sun couldn¡¯t give her any hints. If a genie had offered her one wish, there was about a fifty-fifty chance she would have asked for a clock.

    She heard the song long before its maker made it to her door. It was brassy, and seemed to almost fade in and out as she listened to it. She knew it well. For starters, she had heard it grow and change nearly every day for three years.

    She turned to face the door, her body starting to twitch with nervous energy.

    She was sure it didn¡¯t take as long as it felt like it did for her door to open. If it had, surely the whole centre would have crumbled into dust. The sun would have swollen red, evaporated the oceans, driving humanity to extinction, and leaving the Earth ready for a new, more vital civilization. Maybe geckos.

    The man who opened the door had a rich song, for an everyday human being, at least. He was wearing a green checkered suit and was as broad as some of the farmers Allison had known back in Harvey. His beard was full, and although greying, still had a fair amount of red in it. He looked as if he could have pulled the metal door off his hinges if he felt like it.

    There was definitely pity in his eyes, mixed with something Allison couldn¡¯t quite put her finger on. Fascination, maybe? Expectation?

    There was also a young boy, about Allison¡¯s age, with sadly roughly the same haircut, standing behind him, dark haired and narrow featured. Though it didn¡¯t seem like something he had much experience with, he was grinning at her.

    ¡°Allison Kinsey,¡± said Dr. Herbert Lawrence. ¡°I believe we have much to discuss.¡±

    Despite herself, Allison found herself breaking out in a smile, too.

 Chapter Three: Gabriel over the White House

    Allison was surprised by how little notice the other diners at the Rose Hotel dining room paid Dr. Lawrence and his companions. She supposed they all looked more or less normal, at least at a glance. Perhaps it was their songs that made their nature seem so obvious to Allison. It still seemed odd that other people didn¡¯t pick up on the superhuman strains running all throughout their group. They were so loud. And deaf as most people were to the songs, surely Dr. Lawrence himself was loud and clear enough to draw the attention of more mundane senses.

    ¡°Yes, a school,¡± he said between bites of his steak and mushroom pie. To say Dr Lawrence¡¯s voice was deep was an understatement. It made you feel like you should sit in a hyperbaric chamber after hearing him speak for any length of time. ¡°The New Human Institute. Little place out near Northam I¡¯ve been running for, hmm, twelve years now?¡± He seemed to drift a little into nostalgia. ¡°Gorgeous countryside. Took me an age to find somewhere by a river.¡±

    Allison looked across their table at Arnold for confirmation. He shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me. I haven¡¯t been there yet.¡±

    Allison and Arnold had been friendly with each other since they met at the start of kindergarten. Allison had originally approached him because his song was the least boring in their class. By the time the novelty had worn off, she had grown used to his company. They wouldn¡¯t have called each other best friends¡ªmostly because neither of them would admit to that sort of thing¡ªbut they did spend an inordinate amount of time in each other¡¯s lounge rooms. The Barnes were not the most well liked family in Harvey. Arnold¡¯s father had left most of his legs¡ªand it was widely agreed, much of his sanity¡ªin Korea, so it was his wife¡¯s butchershop that sustained the family. For reasons that nobody ever got around to explaining to Allison, the fact that Arnold had been born after Mr. Barnes¡¯ return home was also somehow scandalous.

    As for the boy himself, most people back home regarded him as a bit of a sulk. They weren¡¯t wrong, but Allison didn¡¯t think that was necessarily a point against him. Arnold had a face built for sullenness; cheerfulness would just be a waste of good real estate.

    They did have a couple of things in common. Both were functionally only children, although Arnold at least claimed to have two older brothers serving in the special forces. There was also the small matter of them both being demi-humans, but they had only found that out when they were apprehended.

    ¡°Before I could get the school off the ground, I had my first students to keep me busy,¡± Dr. Lawrence continued, gesturing at Alberto and Fran?oise.

    ¡°I hope you appreciate the detour we made for you,¡± said Alberto, peering over a copy of the West Australian. Apparently, there had been another sighting of the Witch of Claremont . ¡°It¡¯s added three days to our trip.¡±

    Fran?oise pushed a few locks of blond hair away from her face, in what looked like a practised gesture. ¡°Two, at most. And  ?yw- Eliza and Hugo can hold down the fort a little bit longer, I think.¡± She winked at Allison.

    The intended effect was marred by her eyes. Theoretically, they should have been startlingly beautiful. Most things about Fran?oise were, to be honest. When artists were begged by their lovers to paint them like one of their French girls, Fran?oise was probably the one they were talking about. Yet when Allison had met the woman, her first thought was that she must have lost her original eyes in some terrible accident, and then had them replaced by a prosthetist who, while well meaning, was no less terrible himself, and took the phrase ¡°sky blue¡± horrifyingly literally. They were of a shade and hue that seemed more mineral than biological. She imagined that if someone put out the sun, she would still be able to see Fran?oise¡¯s eyes, burning in the dark.

    Someday, Allison hoped, familiarity would allow her to appreciate those eyes. Till then, she would try her best not to make it too obvious when she addressed Fran?oise¡¯s sandals. At least she got to add Meridional French and Occitan to her repertoire. And her song was pleasant. Allison thought it sounded like it was being played on glass. When she wasn¡¯t being mindful, she sometimes found herself trying to hum it.

    Dr. Lawrence laughed. It finally made a few heads turn. ¡°Don¡¯t scoff, Fran?oise. Alberto¡¯s concerns are perfectly valid. I mean, imagine what troubles could arise if the school was left understaffed. Plague could break out. Plague!¡±

    Fran?oise seemed to find this delightful. Alberto¡¯s paper, meanwhile, appeared to become at least ten times more fascinating.

    She wanted to ask what was so funny, but decided to pursue a simpler line of inquiry. ¡°New Human? Uh, isn¡¯t it meant to be demi-human?¡±

    Allison could almost feel Alberto rolling his eyes from behind the paper. Arnold suddenly remembered he had a toasted sandwich to finish.

    Dr. Lawrence rubbed his temples. ¡°You know what the problem with ¡®demi-human¡¯ is, Allison?¡±

    ¡°Super is shorter?¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°That is a definite disadvantage, but it goes deeper than that. Do you know what the prefix ¡®demi¡¯ literally means?¡±

    She shrugged. She of course knew exactly what it meant, but she preferred to not rattle off dictionary definitions when it could be avoided. ¡°Half something? More or less?¡±

    He thumped his fist down on the table, sending the cutlery rattling. ¡°Exactly! Half-human, less than human. The very word our government uses for children like you, for men and women like Alberto and Fran, is an insult! And a petty one at that.¡±

    Allison was keenly aware of the other diners looking in their direction. She shrunk in her chair, wishing she had been given a hood when they left the centre. It would have covered the buzz cut, at least.

    Fran?oise was the first to break the silence. ¡°I suppose you could take it to mean we¡¯re only half as afflicted by the human condition. And for the love of God, Herbert, do not call me Fran. Ever.¡±

    That broke his stride a little. He let out another foghorn of a laugh.¡°Like Allison said, it¡¯s shorter. And won¡¯t come up very often.¡±

    She swore a bit in Occitan. Allison was dearly tempted to translate it.

    Alberto laid his paper down. ¡°Labels can be funny. I mean, you call someone a demigod, they¡¯ll usually take it as a compliment. A compliment made by a pretentious, preening git, but a compliment. Call someone that on Mt. Olympus, and you¡¯ll wind up with a drink in your face.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, I think we can agree whoever came up with the term did not have favourable things to say about your kind.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± said Alberto, mildly. ¡°I think I¡¯m with Allison on this one. Super is just more to the point.¡±

    ¡°Far too confrontational, though. That¡¯s why I prefer new human. Less judgemental. ¡®Posthuman¡¯ appeals to me on a more clinical level, but people seem to react badly to that, too.¡±

    A busboy had come to collect the adults¡¯ empty coffee cups during Dr. Lawrence¡¯s attempted etymology lecture. He was staring at the group like they were planning a derailment in front of him. Alberto brushed his hand off the table with two fingers. ¡°Sanctioned supers, mate. Call the DDHA if you don¡¯t believe me.¡±

    The busboy nodded nervously and walked sharply back towards the kitchen, dishes forgotten. Alberto snickered, ¡°Bloody baselines.¡±

    Allison was rapidly beginning to learn that adulthood came in many different timbres and tunes. Going by his song, Alberto had probably celebrated the same number of birthdays as Fran?oise, give or take, yet he had the look of a much younger man. He reminded her of the probably underage drinkers she often saw stream out of the pub while she and her mother waited for Mr. Kinsey in the car. He even smoked like a seventeen year old. He was lanky, and dressed in the sort of clothes her father might have worn to work at the bank¡ªif he had the misfortune of being born a scarecrow. It was as if Dr. Lawrence had used up more than the fair share of personal presence available, forcing Alberto to make do with whatever he could scrape from the bottom of the jar.

    If Allison hadn¡¯t been trying her best to avoid eye contact with Fran?oise, she might also have noticed that Alberto had been looking at her all day in much the same way the staff at McClare did. When he wasn¡¯t trying to ignore her in the same manner. His song, like Allison''s own, seemed heavily dependent on percussion instruments.

    Lawrence did not look amused in the slightest. ¡°It¡¯s exactly that kind of attitude that¡¯s turned people against your kind, Alberto.¡±

    ¡°Everyone abuses busboys, Bertie. I suspect it might be what unites our two species.¡±

    Allison felt odd about being implicitly referred to as a different species. If she was judging the look on his face right, so did Arnold. Fran?oise remained ever the image of poise and dignity.

    ¡°Bloody minded arrogance! Overwhelming smugness. Callous indifference to the beliefs and needs of others.¡± Dr. Lawrence was yelling now. ¡°Now, tell me, who does that remind you of?¡±

    Alberto said nothing, returning to the the letters page. Not that he had very long to read it, for soon enough a well dressed, managerial looking fellow was striding up to their table. ¡°Excuse me, sir, I¡¯m afraid you and your party will have to leave.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence stood up and fished his out his wallet, deep sadness painted across his features. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for this. You¡¯re only acting according to what the world has told you. Someday, when we¡¯re all bigger men, I hope superhumans and baselines can sit down and enjoy a meal together in peace. Come along, children, our train leaves in fifteen minutes.¡± He handed the man some notes¨Cin all probability far more than what was actually owed¨Cand made his way towards the exit, head held high.

    The man watched the group march out after him, Allison trying to somehow occupy every patron¡¯s blindspot simultaneously, with some interest. Once they were all out of earshot, he turned to an old woman sitting to their right.

    ¡°They were supers?¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ?

    Neither Allison nor Arnold had ever been to Bunbury before. Not much point, really, with Perth to the north and Dunsborough and Busselton a little further south. Sandwiched between the state capital and some of the best beaches in the country, there wasn¡¯t much reason to stay in Bunbury for longer than was absolutely necessary, unless you were especially fond of dolphins or lighthouses.  Arnold was intrigued to see that three hotels managed to coexist within two streets of each other. A marble infantryman stood atop the war memorial at the intersection of Victoria and Stirling Streets, head bowed in what looked like prayer. Allison thought he looked sad, but in truth he was merely sleepy. St. Patrick¡¯s Cathedral loomed over the landscape, in silent judgement of the Bunburbinates¡¯ innumerable sins.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for making a scene in there, children. I just got caught up thinking about¡­ Well, how much do you know about the Flying Man?¡±

    The children both made vague, noncommittal gestures. ¡°Flies around, saves folks when he isn¡¯t scaring them, looks a bit like Captain Marvel?¡± answered Arnold.

    ¡°I never understood why he¡¯s called that,¡± commented Fran?oise. ¡°Plenty of other new humans can fly, too. Even me, sort of.¡±

    It was then Alberto decided to close the distance between him and the rest of the group. ¡°Yes, but you cheat. Most new humans that fly do.¡±

    Fran?oise scoffed. ¡°What do you mean, cheat? Is there a rulebook?¡±

    ¡°You know exactly what I mean. When new humans fly, they usually do it by turning into fire, or riding mounts composed of primeval shadow, or by commanding the wind. I can count on one hand the ones I know of who just do it. And even a couple of them don¡¯t look half as dignified as the Flying Man doing it.¡± Alberto replied.

    Dr. Lawrence frowned.

    ¡°Oh, lighten up, Bertie, just an honest observation.¡±

    Fran?oise sighed and shook her head. ¡°I told Crimson Comet that you couldn¡¯t pull off one fake wing.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t he turn up floating above the White House holding some bloke?¡± added Allison. ¡°The Flying Man, I mean, not the Crimson Comet.¡±

    ¡°That he was, Allison. Can you remember why they were there?¡±

    She did, but just barely. ¡°Something to do with Cuba?¡±

    ¡°Cigars?¡± suggested Arnold.

    Allison and Arnold had only been about five during the Cuban Crisis. Harvey was so provincial as to barely be part of the world proper, but news, and the accompanying existential dread, had seeped into the town like radioactive fallout. Neither child had particularly understood what was happening, but none of the adults they knew seemed to, either. Allison¡¯s parents tried to keep informed, which mainly served to feed their anxiety. It didn¡¯t help that her mother had seen On the Beach three times in 1959. They had tried to suppress their fears for their daughter¡¯s sake, but to little good. Even if their songs hadn¡¯t screamed for them, it would have shown in other ways. Her mother lingering in her room at tuck-in time, her father coming home a little earlier from work, and hugging her just a fraction tighter when he left in the morning. Harvey Primary had even run a few half hearted drills urging their students to hide beneath their desks, should anything happen.

    Arnold¡¯s mother had prayed, which was her usual recourse, while his father had sent angry letters lambasting the Reds to every paper he knew of, and some he possibly imagined. This did little to deter them, though.

    ¡°...And so the Soviets and the Americans kept designing and building bigger and deadlier bombs, with the hope that each one would mean they¡¯d never have to use them. A little like a man keeping lit dynamite around his house to scare off burglars. Eventually the Soviets decided to put some of their dynamite a little too close to the US¡¯s, and that¡¯s where the plan started going wrong. And they talked and they talked and they talked¡­¡±

    If anyone passing caught what Dr. Lawrence was saying, they wouldn¡¯t have found it anything strange. Just an old man explaining to the young why people now feared the sky.

    ¡°...So the Americans decided to send a pilot to find out what they honestly already knew in their hearts. That pilot¡¯s name was Rudolph Anderson, and he was shot down on October 27th, 1962.¡±

    ¡°But the Flying Man saved him?¡± guessed Arnold.

    ¡°Yes, I suppose he did. But nobody knew that until three days later, when he returned Anderson.¡±

    ?

    The Flying Man, Major Rudolph Anderson in hand, had been first spotted hovering about a hundred feet over the White House at 10:00 AM, EST. Immediately, the expected theories were posited. He was an alien invader, a herald of the Second Coming, the Antichrist, an optical illusion, or an angel of one kind or another. None of those had been definitively ruled out, even three years later.

    Less than five minutes after his appearance, the Flying Man had descended onto the North Lawn, allowing a grateful Anderson to collapse onto the grass. He had apparently been given a change of clothes since he disappeared from the cockpit of his U-2F. He took one wide eyed look at the Flying Man, and ran off into the distance.

    ¡°Major Anderson did not tell me anything I didn¡¯t already know while in my care. I trust he will not be harmed?¡± he said to the suited man standing behind him.

    ¡°Uhm, yes. I can¡¯t see why we would.¡±

    The Flying Man turned around and grinned at the man. ¡°Secretary of State, I assume?¡± A nod. ¡°Ah, thought it would be you. Couldn¡¯t expect you to send out the President right away. Speaking of which, could I see him?¡±

    Secretary Rusk looked the Flying Man up and down. He was quite absurdly handsome, with a sharply defined jawline, hair like cornsilk, and moss green eyes¡ªwhich the Secretary thought betrayed a sense of urgency that belied the inappropriately casual attitude he projected. Only a little shy of seven feet tall, he had a physique reminiscent of a ballet dancer, which might have explained why he felt he could get away with the skintight costume he wore. It was pure white, with the exception of a diamond emblazoned on his chest. Its colours were divided evenly down the middle between crimson and violet. In the months and years to come, there would be much speculation on the significance, if any, of this symbol. The most commonly accepted theory was that it represented unbreakability, and some suggested that the purple was meant to invoke royalty. Some of the more superhero oriented scholars also had ideas about the wine coloured cape he wore. Among demi-humans, they claimed, a cape was an instantly recognizable symbol of power. Supposedly, wearing one signified that, if it got caught in a jet turbine, the super would be the one sending flowers to its funeral.

    What went through Rusk¡¯s head, however, was the question of what this idiot was doing dressing up like Superman. ¡°And why would that be?¡±

    ¡°I have vital information for him, concerning the Soviets, you see.¡± He said this like he wanted to return a lost library book.

    The Secretary tried to peg the Flying Man¡¯s accent. It might have been British, or possibly Canadian. Not that he thought the Soviets couldn¡¯t train one of their own to sound North American if they wanted. ¡°Well, it would be helpful if you told me your name.¡±

    His grin faded a little, but didn¡¯t vanish completely. ¡°Tell me, Secretary, do you read Superman at all?¡±

    ¡°Not since the army, no.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m sure you know he doesn¡¯t go around telling everyone his real name.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡±

    It went on like that for a while, until eventually the 35th President of the United States decided to venture out and meet with this strange visitor of his own accord. Many objections were raised by his aides, the VP, his cabinet, his wife, and the man in charge of delivering the President¡¯s nude photographs to Sidney Mickelson for framing, but eventually he won out.

    ¡°I figure if he really wanted to hurt me, I wouldn¡¯t have to go outside for him to do it,¡± President Kennedy explained over Rusk¡¯s final objections.

    ¡°Mr. President! So glad to finally meet you.¡± He said with absolute sincerity while vigorously shaking the President¡¯s hand, to the disconcert of some of his secret servicemen. The President got the distinct impression that the Flying Man was making a concerted effort not to break him in half.

    ¡°Glad to hear it. I was told you had intel for us?¡±

    ¡°That I do! In short, the Soviets have withdrawn their missiles from Cuba. And everywhere else, for that matter.¡±

    The President and his entourage took a moment to process this. ¡°What do you mean, withdrawn?¡±

    ¡°Well, it would be more accurate to say that I have withdrawn them. Their nuclear arsenal, I mean.¡±

    He thought this over. ¡°Are you saying you¡¯ve disarmed the Soviet nuclear arsenal?¡±

    ¡°That is exactly what I¡¯m saying. And the British, and yours.¡±

    The President stood there for what felt like a solid four years. ¡°You did what?¡±

    ¡°I dismantled every nuclear weapon I could find, which I¡¯m fairly certain was all of them.¡±

    Nobody could think of a response worthy of this, but Secretary Rusk settled on ¡°Why? For the love of God, why?¡±

    All trace of good humour vanished from the Flying Man¡¯s face. ¡°Because, to be brutally honest, you and the Soviets were going to burn the world over economic models. If the planet has to go up in flames for some reason, I¡¯d hope it¡¯d be more interesting than that.¡± He turned from the President¡¯s men, and starting walking towards the fountain.

    ¡°If you think this is about economic systems, fly to Berlin.¡±

    ¡°I just might, Mr President. But first I have to drop in on the Kremlin and give them the same message I just gave you. I expect they¡¯ll be begging you to inspect their nuclear sites, lest it turn out I missed a few of yours. If I have, please be better than that.¡±

    Before the Flying Man took off, the Secretary of State called out to him. ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    The Flying Man turned around. ¡°Go home, Secretary, hug your children. You¡¯re going to live.¡±

    And with that, the Flying Man left the Secretary of State, the President, the White House, and the Earth itself behind.

    While someone was sent to retrieve Major Anderson and get him some desperately needed coffee, Secretary Rusk looked up at the clouds disturbed by the Flying Man¡¯s passage. He had always viewed the world as a series of revolutionary changes, never remaining the same for any appreciable length of time. On October 30th, 1962, that belief had received all the validation it could ever need.

    Over the next few days, it became clear the the Flying Man had delivered on his claims. Every American nuclear warhead, and reportedly that of every other nation on Earth, had been expertly sabotaged beyond repair. And not one person had noticed him doing it.

    It was a testament to the adaptability of the human race that it only went as mad as it did.

    ?

    ¡°...And that¡¯s how a tiny fraction of one percent of the entire human race became the focus of as much scrutiny, bigotry, and fear as when men burned witches. The country was already unsettled, what with that unpleasantness up in Circle¡¯s End, but this was something else altogether.¡±

    By then, the travellers had reached the train station, and were only waiting for their train to pull in.

    ¡°He¡¯s still up there, of course,¡± said Alberto, taking a swig from his flask. ¡°Looking down on the world like some planetary voyeur. Truly the worst thing that¡¯s ever happened to a Kennedy.¡±

    ¡°He mostly sticks to natural disasters and war zones, these days,¡± said Fran?oise. ¡°Sometimes, he just gets weird. Like when he tore down that slum in New York. Said it was to force the government to build better housing. They did, too.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence grunted. ¡°Probably just his excuse for some sport. Witnesses say he was laughing while he did it, even when the Air Force got involved.¡±

    ¡°I heard he declared war on cars once,¡± said Arnold.

    Fran?oise laughed. ¡°There¡¯s all sorts of rubbish rumours, like that he makes the sun come up now.¡±

    ¡°Or that he impregnated every girl in Midwich,¡± interjected Alberto. He snickered a little before noticing the look Fran?oise was giving him.

    ¡°Regardless of any of that,¡± said Dr. Lawrence. ¡°We now have a situation where the most visible representation of posthumanity is a being who treats the world like his own personal toy. And so the world is poised to smother the next step in evolution in its crib.¡± He looked at the children sitting on the bench beside him, and forced a smile. ¡°But maybe we can change that.¡±

    Allison nodded blankly. It was all too much to take in. She decided to focus on the sound of the train pulling into the station. Trains were nice.

 Chapter Four: Watercolours

    The train journey was enjoyable enough. Allison spent most of the time watching the landscape flow past their window. What could charitably be called a city quickly gave way to countryside. As nations went, Australia was still young, or so the people in charge of it those days liked to tell themselves; the southwest a little more so than some other parts of the country. Yet all things seemed equally ancient under the February sun. Paddock fences that had only been erected the day before looked like they had burst from the ground thousands of years before humankind was even a nasty rumour. Newness is, by definition, a fleeting state of being in even the most forgiving conditions, but in that kind of unrelenting heat and light, it was almost purely hypothetical. It didn¡¯t help that it was a Sunday.

    Early on, they passed through Harvey. Allison kept catching familiar snatches of music, which lingered only long enough for her to remember how much she missed them.

    She was glad when they finally left the town behind.

    Allison kept drifting back to her parents. She wondered if they were ever told why their daughter hadn¡¯t come home from school that day. And even if they were, did they know she was heading somewhere better? And if they knew all that, what she was¨Cwhat she had always been¨Cwould her absence even be unwelcome? She hated herself for entertaining the notion, but it refused to leave her.

    Arnold¡¯s parents weren¡¯t far from his thoughts, either. He mostly worried about his father. Frederick Barnes might not have been quite as unstable as the good people of Harvey made him out to be, but even Arnold knew he wasn¡¯t exactly well, either. The war had left him crippled, in chronic pain, and reliant on his wife¡¯s income to keep the family afloat, and the other blokes around town had not been in any hurry to let him forget it. As if he might have liked not being able to provide for his own family. All he could give his youngest son was his love, and he did so in spades, even as he openly claimed that love was a business best left up to women and small children.

    Arnold imagined his father would be writing letters. The West Australian probably had a cabinet dedicated to Frederick Barnes¡¯ protracted demands that his son be returned to his care, that Robert Menzies be sacked, preferably literally, and that the Flying Man be shot and stuffed for getting everyone so worked up in the first place. The cabinet closest to the shredder, probably, but still.

    Both had asked if they could go home. Of course they had. Repeatedly. Dr. Lawrence and Fran?oise in turn had gently but firmly explained all the reasons that couldn¡¯t happen. The government had formally removed them from the custody of their parents. Dr. Lawrence could only take them because of some deal he had with the DDHA. And even if they could go back, did they really want their families to have to live with the kind of fear and suspicion they would attract? Then there was also the matter of learning to use their abilities safely.

    These were all sound, sensible arguments (though Allison couldn¡¯t help but wonder how the ability to be very good at things could hurt anyone by accident) but they offered little solace.

    Dr. Lawrence seemed intent on keeping their minds too busy to dwell on such dark thoughts. He had endless questions about the children¡¯s lives, families, and powers. Could they remember a time when they didn¡¯t have powers? Did they know of any relatives with similar abilities. Were any of their grandparents from a specific Siberian village? Did their mothers make a habit of lingering near glowing, whispery minerals?

    By tacit agreement, Arnold went first. Whether for Allison¡¯s benefit, or a desire to avoid repeating himself too much, it looked like Dr. Lawrence had refrained from questioning Arnold too deeply about his powers before now. ¡°I only found out about this,¡±¨Cthe veins on his right arm pulsed with green light¨C¡°a couple of  Christmases ago. There was something in the shops I wanted¨Ccan¡¯t even remember what the stupid thing was now¨Cbut there was no way Mum could ever afford it. And Father Christmas never drops round our place. I just¡­ I wanted it so much, and the light shot out, and it was gone. I don¡¯t think anyone saw, but it took a while to make it stop doing whatever it wanted. I didn¡¯t even know I was teleporting¨Cis that the word?¨Cstuff until I found the bloody toy in the bushes. I thought I was just blowing stuff up. Still want to know where our cat went.¡±

    Dr. Lawrence nodded, eyes alight with fascination. ¡°And no one else in your family can do this?¡±

    Arnold shook his head. ¡°No. I mean, far as I know. Mum could just be too good a Christian to do it, I don¡¯t know.¡±

    He looked at the boy quizzically. ¡°Can¡¯t remember anything ¡®weird¡¯ happening before your power manifested?¡±

    ¡°Like being bitten by a radioactive moving man?¡± added Fran?oise, not looking up from her copy of Kant¡¯s Critique of Pure Reason¨Cand the Mills & Boon novella concealed within it. She and Alberto had mostly kept their silence during the journey, the latter occupying himself with some Italian comic with a bloke in an all concealing black outfit in the act of stealing a no doubt priceless jewel on the cover. Now and then, he¡¯d pause to take a swig from a flask.

    ¡°Nah, nothing like that.¡± Arnold replied.

    Comic books would have you believe that those demi-humans who did not have the strange fortune of being born with their gifts acquired them in the wildest of circumstances. Brave explorers were bestowed unimaginable power by ancient Tibetan spirits. Disgraced scientists tested improbable chemical and radiological treatments on their awkwardly named wards. Noble idiots explored what should have been left alone, lest the communists find someone stupid enough first. One-in-a-million industrial accidents seemed to occur with disturbing regularity.

    This was all perfectly accurate, but failed to represent the unfortunate situation faced by a great number of demi-humans. For every one that could trace their powers to one big, obvious event in their lives, there were perhaps two or three who never could. They might have been bitten by an alien mosquito left behind by interstellar students on their gap year, or been the victim of some familial curse so ancient, even its speaker¡¯s ghost had forgotten why it was in such a bad mood, or even had their name drawn out of a hat as part of a bet on Olympus.

    ¡°Hmm. And you can¡¯t teleport yourself?¡±

    Arnold glared at him. ¡°No. If I could, why would I have needed you to come and get me out?¡±

    Dr. Lawrence closed his eyes and gave a small smile. ¡°True, true. What I find fascinating is that you seem to have bypassed most of the usual limitations of teleporters. Most others I know of need to have been somewhere in order to teleport there, or are limited to line of sight. You appear to only need the basic idea of a place. And you¡¯re not limited by touch. You said you once teleported something to the Gatehouse, correct?¡±

    ¡°I think so. When I tried teleporting something to Timbuktu, the light just wouldn¡¯t come out¡­ where is Timbuktu, anyway?¡±

    ¡°Mali. And all that in exchange for not being able to move your own person. The universe sometimes seems to have a sense of fairness, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I guess.¡±

    Allison found it amazing how casually Dr. Lawrence discussed the intricacies of what she could only consider magic. It was like witnessing the parting of the Red Sea, only for the Israelite next to you to start musing about its impact on the Egyptian fishing industry, especially in light of the looming labour shortage.

    Dr. Lawrence turned his attention towards her. ¡°Now, Allison, tell us what you can do.¡±

    Allison looked away from the window. ¡°Oh. You don¡¯t know already?¡±

    ¡°Only what Arnold told us. Apparently you can do ¡®most things¡¯.¡±

    Arnold looked a little abashed, being reminded of that.

    Alberto cleared his throat. ¡°There¡¯s also McClare¡¯s file on you, but I wouldn¡¯t trust those tossers to identify the amazing power of breathing. They were still convinced Arnold here was lying when we got to him. Did they get anything right?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Most of it.¡±

    He grinned wolfishly. ¡°And the speculative parts?¡± He went to take another drink from his flask, when it was suddenly consumed by what looked like lime flames.

    Allison shook the flask, which had appeared in her hand, attempting to match Alberto¡¯s expression. It was an admirable failure. ¡°Yep!¡±

    Dr. Lawrence applauded, while Fran?oise contented herself with a golf clap. Alberto reached over and snatched his flask back, scowling. ¡°No need to show off.¡±

    ¡°Brilliant!¡± bellowed Dr. Lawrence, making everyone present all the more grateful for the privacy of their little compartment. ¡°Fantastic!¡±

    Allison smiled. Nobody had ever complimented her power before, unless Dr. Carter¡¯s half-hearted encouragement to get on with it so he could go home counted. Sure, people had been praising her myriad talents ever since she could remember, but it was hard to muster any pride in them, knowing that most, if not all of them rightfully belonged to other people.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t last,¡± she explained. ¡°I mean, stuff like being able to play the spoons or jump rope really good stays with me forever, but superpowers just kinda fade if I can¡¯t hear the song they came from. I can maybe hold on to them for an hour if I really try. But thank you, Dr. Lawrence.¡±

    He beamed. ¡°Please do call me Lawrence, Allison. Or Herbert, if you want to be cruel.¡±

    Fran?oise looked bothered by something. ¡°Could it be generally acknowledged how little sense this makes.¡±

    Alberto raised an eyebrow. ¡°Less so than any other power?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Think about it, when our newest student here absorbs some everyday talent, her body and brain surely has to change a little; muscle memory and all that. Except when Allison samples what we arbitrarily call a superpower, her ability apparently deems it necessary to actively undo those changes after a while.¡±

    Allison had never thought about it that way. ¡°Well, superpowered songs always sound way more, I don¡¯t know, interesting? Complex? No offense, Lawrence.¡±

    He chuckled. ¡°None taken. When you¡¯ve made a study of posthumanity as long as I have, you learn to accept how far short you fall of greatness .¡± He sighed wistfully. ¡°And it¡¯s a privilege to be confused by superpowers, Fran?oise. Never forget that.¡±

    ¡°As for anyone else in my family being this way, my dad¡¯s brothers and sisters are good at a lot of things, but not that many. No idea about mum¡¯s family, she had to leave them all behind in the Old Country.¡± Allison¡¯s mother had never gotten around to explaining which Old Country she actually hailed from. When she tried picturing it, goats featured heavily.

    She glanced at Fran?oise, who was still fuming over the universe¡¯s refusal to at least break its own rules elegantly. ¡°Um, what exactly can you and Alberto do?¡±

    Fran?oise was about to answer when Lawrence shushed her. ¡°Be patient, dear. We both know a practical demonstration will be much less dry.¡±

    The other three looked at Lawrence like he¡¯d just thrown a kitten out the window. Ignoring them, he waved one hand at Alberto. ¡°Ti-Alberto here is your standard grab bag psychic. A little psychometry¨Cthat¡¯s knowing an object¡¯s past through touch¨Csome clairvoyance, mind-reading.¡± He saw the look on Allison¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t fret, Alberto¡¯s taken an oath to never breach another human being¡¯s mental privacy without their consent.¡±

    Allison looked at Alberto warily. ¡°On my life,¡± he said flatly, taking a long draught from the flask. His tone and expression gave Allison little confidence that statement was true.

    ¡°More importantly,¡± continued Lawrence, ¡°he has a wonderful knack for sniffing out posthumans. Our little operation would never have gotten this far without him.¡±

    If Alberto appreciated the acknowledgement, he kept it to himself.

    ?

    ¡°Well,¡± said Lawrence, lifting Allison from the back of the rickety Holden Ute and setting her down beside Arnold, ¡°what do you think?¡±

    The New Human Institute was beautiful. If, in the months and years to follow, you asked either child to describe the place, that would be the only constant. A large brick homestead, practically a manor house, overlooked acres of sloping plains thickly carpeted with dry grass, thirstily awaiting the winter rains. Gnarled eucalyptus trees dotted the landscape, interspersed with a number of small cottages and other outbuildings. The most obvious natural boundary to the property was the river that ran along its northernmost edge, before snaking off into the bushlands that boxed the Institute in on all sides.

    What struck Allison most deeply, though, were the songs. There were fewer than at McClare, maybe thirty in total, but it was definitely a case of quality over quantity. The DDHA operated on a strict better safe than sorry policy, imprisoning any demi-human they could get their hands on.

    Sure, one of Allison¡¯s fellow inmates could only make flowers sing, but who knew? If he were allowed to roam free, he might very well set national secrets to a tune and have a potted plant in the Kremlin serenade Leonid Brezhnev. Allison did not yet completely understand the grammar of superhuman leitmotifs, but she understood enough to know that the Institute¡¯s student body was largely made up of exactly the kind of demi-humans people worried about.

    At the moment, it looked like playtime was afoot at the Institute. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was more than a little surreal. A menagerie of beasts composed of smoke and fire pursued ecstatic children through the grass. One young girl seemed to be leaping in and out of gaps in the air. Animated toy soldiers stabbed at the ankles of the unwary. A gaggle of teenagers observed all this dispassionately, from about thirty feet up in the air. None of the baseline grownups keeping an eye on everyone seemed at all alarmed by what was going on.

    Allison couldn¡¯t bring herself to respond. No answer she could think of could encompass even a fraction of what she was seeing. It would be like trying to swallow a whole watermelon in one go.

    ¡°I like it,¡± said Arnold, matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Glad to hear it!¡± replied Lawrence. ¡°Anything stand out?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not Roberts Containment Centre.¡±

    ¡°Hah! Fair enough.¡± Lawrence looked the two children over. Neither of them looked particularly healthy. They clearly hadn¡¯t been eating or sleeping right for quite some time, and were awfully pale. Most of the demi-human sanitariums Lawrence had seen were content so long as their ¡°patients¡± weren¡¯t actively dying. ¡°How about we get you two checked in?¡± he said with all the cheer in the world. He might have even dug into some of the Moon¡¯s reserves.

    He led the group up towards the farmhouse. Occasionally students would run up, fly up, or resolve out of light in front of them, and greet them.

    ¡°Yes, yes, glad to be back. Arnold here¡¯s an external teleporter, Allison¡¯s a little harder to explain. You can ask her all about it later. Now, off you pop.¡±

    The boy who had ambushed them squinted at Allison, and blinked out of existence. There was a loud crack as air rushed to fill the empty space.

    ¡°Lucky,¡± muttered Arnold.

    Lawrence tussled Arnold¡¯s hair, still grinning. ¡°Look at it like this: Jumpcut can only do line of sight, you just need the ghost of an idea of where you want something to go.¡±

    He muttered a bit at that and kept walking. Allison on the other hand stopped in her tracks. ¡°Jumpcut?¡±

    She received no answer.

    When they arrived at the farmhouse¡¯s veranda, a game of chess was in progress. The players were a wiry black man with his head shaved, and a short, thin lipped woman with nut brown skin and a rather aquiline nose, her hair a frizzy brown mass that seemed to exist in a state of benign neglect. To Allison¡¯s shock, the man was dressed completely in leather. She found herself counting down the seconds till heatstroke took him, but he stubbornly remained alive. The woman was dressed much more appropriately for the weather, but Allison couldn¡¯t help but think bright orange was an odd colour for summer.

    Their songs made for a stark contrast. The woman¡¯s was of a sort Allison had not yet encountered before. It was an intricate one, with a lot of what she decided resembled violin more than anything, albeit played underwater, with elements of what sounded distressingly like piano chords. She had held off on sampling any of Lawrence¡¯s students so far, partly out of politeness, partly because she had learned from experience what tapping into an unknown power could bring down on her, but she was looking forward to trying this one out; even if it did remind her of the Devil¡¯s own instrument. The man¡¯s song, on the other hand¡ªAllison felt terrible thinking this¡ªwas one of the most boring she had ever heard, at least compared to the other demi-human songs she had encountered, assuming it even was in fact anything but a baseline tune. The one thing that stuck out to her was a discordant strain that ran through the tune, but even that she¡¯d seen in a few other grownups back home.

    ¡°Basilisk! ?ywie!¡± boomed Lawrence as they approached. It was then Allison decided that at least three sets of parents were all in on a very protracted practical joke. Arnold had a similar idea, though he was imagining a government incentives program aimed at strengthening the bullying industry.

    The man¡ªboth Arnold and Allison assumed he was Basilisk, though they had no solid reason why¡ªwaved at the group dismissively, frowning in concentration at the chess set. It looked like he was winning by a wide margin. Allison was only as good a chess player as about half the population of Harvey and everyone at McClare combined, which as it turned out wasn¡¯t all that great, so she assimilated the more mundane parts of his song, snagging Xhosa and Afrikaans in the deal, too.

    The woman looked utterly resigned to her loss, as though she had known it was coming since the beginning of all things. ¡°Hello, Lawrie. New students make it here intact?¡± Her accent uncomfortably reminded Allison of her mother. She nodded at Fran?oise and Alberto. ¡°Melusine, Tiresias.¡±

    Okay, make that at least five sets of parents.

    ¡°Mostly,¡± said Lawrence. ¡°Before we give them the grand tour, could you look them over quickly?¡±

    She moved to stand up when the man raised a hand. ¡°Queen to F7. Mate.¡±

    The woman looked down at the chessboard. Her King was cornered in F8. ¡°You bastard,¡± she said, calmly. For some reason, she moved the man¡¯s pieces. He, or maybe they, did indeed achieve mate. The man laughed. It sounded like the noise a cat made when it was informing a mouse of its dinner plans. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, ?ywie, I¡¯ll let you play white next time.¡± Well, that settled that, unless they were somehow both ?ywie, which wouldn¡¯t have been the strangest thing Allison had heard that hour.

    Both of them stood up. While Alberto¡¯s leanness gave the impression of someone who never quite finished growing, Basilisk seemed more tightly coiled. He had something of a dancer¡¯s physique, although Allison couldn¡¯t hear a hint of that in his song.  ¡°Pleased to make both your acquaintances,¡± said Basilisk, flashing them a reserved but genuine enough smile. ¡°I would shake your hands, but I imagine you¡¯ll want to touch something or other in the next few hours.¡±

    Allison tilted her head at this.

    ¡°Basilisk''s bodily fluids corrode nearly everything. The only substance truly immune is living flesh, but things that used to be alive hold up better,¡± Lawrence explained.

    Ah, so not only were they ignoring the elephant in the room, but also pointing out a flock of invisible pink dragons Allison hadn¡¯t even noticed. Although, now that she was was expecting it, she could smell a faint acrid scent coming off Basilisk. ¡°Okay.¡± She turned to ?ywie. ¡°What do you do?¡±

    ¡°To make a long story short, healing. Which it looks like you two need a bit of. So, who¡¯s first?¡±

    Allison and Arnold glanced at each other. A conservation composed entirely of narrowed eyes and micro-expressions played out between them:

    What? I got you out of McClare, fair¡¯s fair.

    What are you so scared of? You¡¯ve known these people longer than me.

    Yeah, by like, a couple of days. And one of them is Alberto.

    Tiresias.

    Whatever.

    Why would they drag us all the way up here just to turn us into donkeys or something?

    Because I¡¯m sure Melusine, Basilisk, and ?ywie aren¡¯t into anything weird. And donkeys?

    I don¡¯t know! Fine, I¡¯ll go first.

    Allison stepped forward. ¡°How do we do this?¡±

    ¡°If I could take your hand for a second? Right, thank you. Now, this will most likely be¡­ less than comfortable. Try not to to be alarmed.¡±

    Allison felt like hundreds of tiny wires were spreading from ?ywie¡¯s hand into her veins, reaching every corner of her being. It should have hurt like hell. The fact that it didn¡¯t somehow made it worse. She wanted to pull away, but her body didn¡¯t seem to be listening to her.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Please try not to squirm. Let¡¯s see what the damage is. I¡¯m not going to ask how you got the concussion, but if you somehow get another one, don¡¯t worry: falling asleep won¡¯t kill you. Concussions don¡¯t actually work like that. Now that¡¯s a nasty recessive, think we can safely dump it. Vitamin D deficiency? In high summer! Never took you outside, I shouldn¡¯t wonder. Used to see it in my village after long winters. You at peace with your freckles?¡± Allison was allowed to nod. ¡°Good on you. Your maternal grandparents didn¡¯t have much to eat growing up, did they? If I adjust your DNA methylation a little-there, you should end up with another inch or two when all¡¯s said and done.¡±

    She went on like this for a few minutes. Allison only understood about a quarter of it, but it was enough to leave her in awe of the woman.

    When ?ywie seemed satisfied with her handiwork, she finally looked Allison in the eye. ¡°Your hair. I¡¯d hazard a guess that isn¡¯t how you normally keep it?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°I can accelerate its growth a bit. A few days versus a couple of weeks.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be pretty great, actually.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯re done.¡± She felt the wires retract. ?ywie let go of her hand. She felt better then she had in weeks; maybe ever. ¡°It should taper off by Wednesday. If not, come find me, or convince someone to put on a production of ¡®Rapunzel¡¯. Arnold?¡±

    It was much the same with Arnold. Apparently he was at a high risk for prostate cancer later in life. Or had been, anyway.

    ¡°Why can I taste lemon lollies?¡±

    ?ywie smiled, before letting go of his wrist. ¡°Makes me feel more like an actual pediatrician.¡±  She headed towards the front door. ¡°Afraid I can¡¯t join you on the tour, lesson plans need finishing. Do make sure these two get extra helpings at dinner, Lawrie.¡±

    ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t she?¡± said Lawrence, once she was inside.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Is it bad I never want her to do that again?¡±

    ¡°Plenty of other students have expressed that sentiment. You¡¯ll get over it. I  certainly wouldn¡¯t look as good as I do at this age without her. Come along everyone.¡±

    They started exploring the house. It was a three story Georgian building and most of its rooms had been converted into classrooms. Aside from those, it also boasted a library at least as decent as Harvey¡¯s.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a very even distribution of ages here, so we mainly just try to teach what needs to be taught. Luckily, a few of my baseline peers have stepped up to the task. Basilisk and ?ywie both have teaching degrees, but it¡¯s still an immense help, ¡± explained Lawrence.

    ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as all that,¡± said Basilisk. ¡°There¡¯s something to be said for letting different age groups mingle. I think year levels are a prudent suggestion that¡¯ve gotten a little fetishised.¡±

    Luckily, Allison and Arnold had long discovered that great strategy for dealing with grownup opinions: nodding. No matter what.

    On the first door by the second floor landing, a small gold plaque read simply ¡°Physician.¡±

    ¡°Is that ?ywie¡¯s office?¡± asked Allison.

    Lawrence gave her an odd look. ¡°Oh, no, certainly not. Why would ?ywie have a medical degree? It¡¯d be like sending a bird to aviation school.¡± He laughed, but it sounded forced.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the physician, then?¡±

    ¡°Oh, just someone the government has pop around occasionally to make sure you¡¯re all in good health. With ?ywie around he has little reason to be here on a day to day basis. He should be here tomorrow to look at you two, though.¡± He scratched the back of his neck, and then eagerly suggested they take a look at the garden.

    It did not disappoint. A few students and teachers tended to rows of corn, tomatoes, potatoes, and various other miscellaneous produce. An Ayrshire cow grazed with noble indifference.

    ¡°This was a working farm once,¡± said Fran?oise. ¡°The original owner struck rich in Ballarat, moved out here for a seachange. The house was brought here brick by brick from England or something silly like that. Both his sons died in WW1, poor thing, and he...¡± She looked at Arnold and Allison, and seemed to reconsider her words. ¡°He died.¡±

    Alberto mimed a gunshot wound to his head.

    ¡°Yes, a tragic accident,¡± said Fran?oise, cooly. ¡°Anyway, since he had no heirs to speak of, the land and property went to the crown.¡±

    ¡°Who then sold it to me for a song in 1953,¡± finished Lawrence. ¡°I¡¯ve tried to keep the agricultural tradition alive as best as I can. We¡¯re far from self sufficient, but I like to think we¡¯ll get there someday. Some of our students have powers conducive to farming. You¡¯d be astounded by what ?ywie can do for a pumpkin¡¯s size and nutritional value.¡±

    ¡°We even tried selling our produce at the Royal Show a few years back,¡± said Fran?oise.

    ¡°Nobody seemed very keen on an apple-pumpkin hybrid grown by a flesh-witch from the hills,¡± said Alberto, sourly. ¡°They liked my cake, though.¡±

    Basilisk frowned. ¡°Ease up, Tiresias. You never complain when we cook up some appkin.¡±

    Okay, if nobody else was going to shoot that elephant, Allison would. ¡°Um, Lawrence, could I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Never hesitate.¡±

    She didn¡¯t know how to phrase it politely, so she didn¡¯t. ¡°Why does everyone here have names like they¡¯re from a cartoon?¡±

    Everyone looked at her for a moment. A long moment. Even the gardeners turned their attention towards them.

    Alberto¡ªTiresias¡ªwas the first to speak. ¡°Three days, eight and a half hours. You owe me five pounds, Melusine.¡±

    ¡°Oh, surely we were counting from when we actually got here.¡±

    ¡°You never said that.¡±

    Lawrence glowered at the two of them. ¡°Gambling is a filthy habit, Tiresias. And what¡¯s important is that she asked. Shows initiative. Yes, Allison, here at the Institute we like to take on new names. Names that reflect the truth of a person.¡±

    Those were definitely words arranged in a sentence. Pity they didn¡¯t make any sense. If Allison was reading Arnold¡¯s song and expression right, he concurred with this assessment. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, how best to put it? Tell me, do either of you know why you were named as you are?¡±

    They thought about it. Allison had heard two conflicting stories. Her father maintained that she had been named to settle some feud between her second cousin and her great-aunt. Her mother liked to tell her that Allison was the name of the protagonist of the book she learned English from, languishing in a displaced persons camp, in a country that no longer existed. She didn¡¯t feel up to telling either version.

    Arnold beat her to it. ¡°Because an Old Testament name was what everyone was expecting. Least that¡¯s what Dad says.¡±

    "I think my mum and dad just liked Allison.¡±

    Lawrence sighed, which as usual sounded like a mournful bear. ¡°See, that¡¯s my problem with names. They tell you nothing worth knowing about their owners. You know, some cultures don¡¯t even name their children till they¡¯re of a certain age. Others acquire and shed names all throughout their lives. Here, on the other hand, at best your parents named you for the dead, or for some value they hoped you¡¯d embody. At worst, they just picked some random sounds they thought sounded nice.¡± He chortled. ¡°Although, maybe even that¡¯s better than if they just went with whatever the midwife¡¯s name badge said.¡±

    Allison thought she was starting to understand. ¡°So the students here get names to do with their powers?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°Did you pick a new name?¡± asked Arnold.

    He laughed. ¡°There¡¯s nothing remarkable about me, Arnold. Might as well stick with ¡®Lawrence¡¯. Still better than Herbert.¡±

    Allison perked up. ¡°Do we get to pick our own names?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s expression became very sober. ¡°Afraid not. I¡¯m sorry, but if I let eight year olds start picking their names, I¡¯d have thirty ¡®Far-Out Thunder Kings¡¯ running around.¡±

    Allison could see the point. Still, some input might have been nice, or at least a veto. She dearly wanted to change the subject.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± she said, very primly. ¡°I believe Melusine promised us a demonstration.¡±

    ¡°Actually, Herbert did, but who¡¯s quibbling?¡± she replied. ¡°Shall we head down to the river?¡±

    The party made their way down to the water, Fran?oise taking the lead. A few other students, apparently sensing an incoming diversion, joined them.

    When they were at the riverside, Fran?oise raised her arms skyward. Her song rose to a crescendo. After the train, when Allison and Arnold had been trying not to let Alberto sulking in the corner spoil the novelty of having a hotel room mostly to themselves, they had argued the toss regarding whether Fran?oise¡¯s eyes actually glowed. In retrospect, they saw how silly they had been. Now her eyes were glowing.

    Thick tendrils of water rose from the river¡¯s surface, swirling around around Fran?oise¡¯s hands. She stepped out onto the river itself, in a blasphemously good impression of a certain Galilean agitator. As she did so, starting from her bare feet, her body began to change into solid ice, as though she were the handiwork of a deeply talented, deeply lonely sculptor. Even as her eyes turned to frost, they still retained that peculiar internal glow. Humanoid, feminine figures emerged out of the water, dancing around Fran?oise like she was a maypole, before collapsing back into the river that made up their substance. Watery comets circled around her, shifting from liquid to ice to steam in rapid succession.

    It was then Allison knew which of Dr. Lawrence¡¯s students she¡¯d be sampling first.

    When her display had run its course, Fran?oise returned to the shore, flesh and blood once more, and bowed. She was met with applause.

    ¡°Hydrokinesis, everyone!¡± shouted Lawrence.

    A young, dark skinned boy ran up to them and embraced Fran?oise. ¡°Melusine!¡± His accent was quite odd. The description that seemed most apt to Allison was ¡°European¡±. Just in general, European.

    She returned the hug, stroking his hair. ¡°Oh, I have been gone too long, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    Arnold and Allison both found something far more interesting to look at just to their left. He was quite clearly Fran?oise¡¯s son. Maybe it was the absurdly pretty eyelashes, or shape of their mouths, or the waviness of their hair, or the very defined cheekbones, visible even through the boy¡¯s baby fat. Maybe it was that they were both dressed in the same shades of blue and green. Or it could have been the unnaturally blue eyes that somehow looked even more out of place in a child¡¯s face. Even the parts of his song relating to his demi-humanity were almost identical to his mother¡¯s. Like a slightly different interpretation of the same piece, by a less steady artist.

    ¡°Hello, Maelstrom,¡± said Alberto, jovially.

    ¡°Oh, hi, Tiresias,¡± said Maelstrom in the appropriate tone with which to greet Alberto. He broke from the hug and ambled over to Basilisk. ¡°Hey,¡± he said, much more cheerfully.

    Basilisk threw an arm around him. For whatever reason, this earned him a sharp look from Fran?oise. ¡°Great seeing ya, mate.¡± He gestured at Arnold and Allison as if he were presenting a new car. ¡°Have you met the new students?¡±

    Maelstrom stepped up to the pair, assuming an expression of absolute dignity. Or so he hoped. ¡°No I have not. Welcome to the New Human Institute.¡± He extended a hand, which Arnold and Allison each took apprehensively. ¡°...Lawrence didn¡¯t say there were two of you.¡±

    Lawrence smiled roguishly. ¡°Allison here was something of an unexpected acquisition. Thought you would appreciate the surprise.¡±

    It appeared he did. ¡°Phantasmagoria! New kids!¡± he shouted.

    An auburn haired, slightly pudgy girl pushed her way past the small crowd that had amassed around the group. She was clutching a ring binder with a picture of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building set against the Brooklyn on the front. She glanced at the newcomers, and then at Fran?oise. ¡°Ohhh, did I miss a Melusine thing?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Basilisk, ¡°and I¡¯m afraid you might have to wait up to half an hour for another display.¡±

    Alberto, Lawrence, and the assembled children laughed. Fran?oise did not.

    ¡°Well, I think we¡¯ve shown you everything we need to today,¡± said Lawrence. ¡°I¡¯ll leave it to you kids to fill in your classmates on everything we don¡¯t know about the place.¡± He chuckled. ¡°I¡¯ll see you all at dinner.¡±

    The adults all climbed back up the hill. Before he went, Tiresias¡ªAllison figured she should get into the habit early¡ªslapped Maelstrom on the shoulder, a little too hard. ¡°Real good to be back, boy.¡±

    ¡°He has his good days,¡± lied Maelstrom.

    The other students were regarding Allison and Arnold warily. It surprised the latter that the first thought to cross his mind was that none of them knew anything about his mum and dad. It felt guiltily liberating. Allison was trying to decide once and for all whether riffling through another person¡¯s talents without their knowledge was rude or not. Sadly, that etiquette guide was not likely to be written anytime soon. Either way, Allison now knew how to assemble a ship-in-a-bottle.

    In what felt like either the fourth or fifth year of this, Phantasmagoria broke the silence. ¡°So, what do you guys do?¡± Arnold¡¯s answer was straightforward enough. ¡°I zap things to other places.¡± With that, he hurled some of his green flames at a small boulder that lay half submerged in the water, where it was consumed. It reappeared a few seconds later in one of the hallways of Roberts Containment Centre, but that was a secret between Arnold and some very confused staff. There were approving nods from the other children.

    ¡°Not bad, not bad,¡± said Phantasmagoria, still acting in her role as the students¡¯ undemocratically unelected mouthpiece. ¡°And you?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence called me a ¡®psychomimetic¡¯.¡±

    Phantasmagoria arched an eyebrow. It had taken her ages to get that down pat.

    Allison pointed lazily at the river. There was a splash with no apparent source. ¡°I copy people. Normal stuff forever, powers not so much.¡± Maelstrom and Fran?oise¡¯s blue eyes now stared out from her sockets.

    ¡°Wait, you steal powers?¡± said an older boy, frowning.

    Allison¡¯s eyes widened at the accusation. When she had first realised that most people couldn¡¯t hear each other¡¯s songs, she had briefly wondered if she actually leached skills from people. Her fears had been assuaged when it became clear that her mother was not becoming a noticeably worse cook, and when she learned her father had in fact been promoted at the bank since her birth. Still, not something she liked to contemplate. She definitely didn¡¯t want other people contemplating it. ¡°No, no, I just borrow them, really.¡±

    Phantasmagoria stared daggers at the boy. ¡°Shut up, Snapdragon. Allison clearly didn¡¯t steal Melusine¡¯s powers. She plagiarized them. Big difference.¡±

    This appeared to satisfy Snapdragon. ¡°You guys from the asylums?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± they said, almost in unison.

    Many of the children made sympathetic noises. ¡°Which ones?¡± asked a girl who might have been six.

    ¡°We both would have gone to McClare, but they didn¡¯t want her,¡±¡ªhe pointed a thumb at Allison¡ª¡°copying my power. I guess they thought we might use it on each other or something. So they sent me to Roberts.¡±

    ¡°I was at Roberts!¡± said the little girl. ¡°That¡¯s like on the other side of the country.¡±

    Arnold grinned, smugly. ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a dangerous man.¡±

    The students began comparing notes on the various superhuman detention centres which now dotted the country. They argued over which was worse: the completely apathetic doctors and scientists, who just wanted to bugger off back home as quickly as possible, or the really enthusiastic ones who worked extra hours without pay to determine how your power influenced different subspecies of beetle.

    Allison noticed that Phantasmagoria didn¡¯t seem to have anything to say on the subject. Neither did Maelstrom, but that wasn¡¯t much of a surprise.

    There were of course demonstrations of powers. Snapdragon, as it turned out, was the one producing the fire elementals during the free for all. The little girl could manipulate air with some precision, which she proved by knocking Maelstrom off his feet. Twice. One boy, who went by the name Abalone, produced a richly textured, iridescent protective barrier.

    As might be expected, most of the displays were followed by Allison trying out the power herself. Some of them were more fiddly than others.

    ¡°What should we do now? Ooh, maybe we could show Allison and Arnold the obstacle course?¡± said Maelstrom, like a scout leader sent back in time to his own childhood.

    The other students looked at him like he had suggested they all go drown themselves in the river. If children hate one thing¡ªand they hate many things¡ªit¡¯s someone trying to prescribe fun for them. Especially another child.

    Slowly, students started wandering off, in search of other ways to occupy themselves before dinner. Eventually, Allison, Arnold, Maelstrom, and Phantasmagoria were left alone.

    Phantasmagoria took Allison¡¯s hand. ¡°Okay, you showed me yours¡ªand everyone else¡¯s¡ªso I¡¯ll show you mine.¡±

    She led them to a particular tree overhanging a river and set her ring binder on the grass. It was filled with old pulp magazine covers and illustrations. Dozens of strapping astronauts brandished various makes of raygun and blaster. Scores of mechanically unlikely rockets blasted off towards unknown stars. Legions of hideous monsters menaced beautiful, unwisely dressed women. The phrase ¡°full length novel¡± was applied very generously many times. Amazing Stories, If, Thrilling Wonder Stories, The Magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy, and many others were all represented. If either Arnold or Allison had been more well versed on American speculative fiction publications, they might have wondered how Phantasmagoria imported all of them. She opened it to a cover depicting a woman in a red skintight bodysuit and a fishbowl that was presumably meant to shield her from the vacuum of space, protecting a prone man while firing on some unseen foe on a moonscape.

    ¡°Lawrence says my power is called tridimensional enhancement. Whatever you call it, it means I can do this.¡±

    The space adventurer from the cover, sans her male comrade, appeared crouching on the grass beside Phantasmagoria. She was clearly three dimensional, and blinked and breathed like any other woman, but still looked as though she was made of brushstrokes. It unnerved Allison a little.

    ¡°Lawrence likes it better when I make ¡®mature artwork¡¯ real, but the sci fi crap is way more fun.¡±

    ¡°Aww, but the paintings are soooo pretty,¡± said Maelstrom.

    ¡°Yeah, but I¡¯ve made it rain rose petals so many times, I don¡¯t even feel sorry for the Romans anymore.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said the painted woman, making Allison and Arnold jump, ¡°what am I doing back on Earth? And where has Captain Harker gone?¡±

    Phantasmagoria had no idea if the man on the cover had been called that. Even when she hadn¡¯t read the story an illustration originated from, they still tended to come with their own backstories. She was just surprised the woman sounded British.

    ¡°He¡¯s fine. Well, no worse off. Could I borrow your gun?¡±

    She handed it over to Phantasmagoria without hesitation, but didn¡¯t look happy about it.  ¡°That really isn¡¯t for children your age.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she replied. Taking aim at a branch she deemed unworthy, she pulled what passed for the trigger, and watched it go up on flames. It was allowed to burn for a few seconds before it was extinguished by a rather improbable wave. ¡°Thank you, Maelstrom.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, Mabel.¡± The name had already left his mouth when Maelstrom realised his mistake. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry,¡± he turned to the children sat beside him, ¡°forget what I said. Please.¡± His tone was pleading.

    She sighed. ¡°It¡¯s alright. Look, Lawrence¡¯s names are fun, but I think ¡®Mabel¡¯ describes my power fine. It is my power, I am Mabel, therefore, it is Mabel-ish.¡±

    They shrugged. ¡°Makes sense, I guess,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just keep it between us, okay?¡±

    The pair mumbled their assent.

    ¡°Wise decision,¡± said the illustration. ¡°If my name was ¡®Phantasmagoria¡¯, I¡¯d probably wander off before anyone got halfway through saying it.¡±

    With that, Mabel cheered right back up. ¡°Quiet you. Anyone want to try the raygun?¡±

    Maelstrom declined. He¡¯d known Mabel long enough to grow bored with most varieties of actualised fictional energy weapons.

    Something was niggling at Allison. ¡°Yeah, let me have a look at it.¡± She turned the gun over in her hands. It felt like actual metal and plastic, despite all appearances. She wondered how Mabel knew what the other side looked like. It was practically identical, sure, but you technically couldn¡¯t tell by looking at the cover. ¡°Do you know if these things have nuts and bolts and stuff inside them?¡±

    ¡°Yes, they do. The grownups once managed to open one up. It dissolved before they got a good look at it, though.¡±

    ¡°Is there a diagram or something inside the magazine?¡±

    ¡°Not that I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°...Do you know how to build a raygun yourself?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°If I did, you would have gotten one at the door.¡±

    ¡°This makes no sense.¡±

    ¡°Melusine has an idea,¡± offered Maelstrom. ¡°She says that Mabel¡¯s power might reach into other dimensions for things that look like the pictures she¡¯s using it on.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯ve kidnapped me in the middle of a vital mission,¡± said the space adventurer, who was now sprawled on the grass beside Arnold, her fishbowl resting on her lap. They ignored her.

    Mabel shook her head. Allison got the definite impression that she and Maelstrom discussed this often. ¡°That still doesn¡¯t explain why my stuff still looks like drawings. Or why I can¡¯t do photos and movies.¡±

    Arnold looked at the illustrated woman, who scowled at him. ¡°But that¡¯s a person.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sitting right next to you, kid.¡±

    ¡°Like, are you making her say these things for a laugh, or is she doing it all herself?¡±

    ¡°You know, I was against corporal punishment of children when I woke up this morning.¡±

    ¡°Eh, maybe a little of both. I don¡¯t think it matters so long as she does what I say,¡± replied Mabel.

    ¡°Are you ignoring me because you don¡¯t want to deal with the implications of my existence?¡± asked the woman.

    Allison still had questions. ¡°If you brought a picture of a steak to life, and then ate it, what would happen?¡±

    ¡°Dunno. Never been brave enough to try it. My stuff disappears when I stop thinking about it or I fall asleep, and if I had eaten pretend food long enough ago that it had made into more of me¡­¡± She shuddered. ¡°I mean, look at what happens when I make the gun go away.¡±

    The woman went pale. ¡°No, wait a minute, I think we should establish whether or not I¡¯m a real person before you¨C¡±, she, the fishbowl and the gun vanished without ceremony. The tree branch stopped smouldering, though it remained blackened.

    ¡°...I wanted to try the gun,¡± said Arnold.

    Mabel rolled her eyes. The space-adventurer reappeared. ¡°Captain¨Coh, this again.¡±

    ¡°Yoink.¡±

    And so Arnold wildly fired a space-age weapon centuries beyond the 20th century into the sky, giggling like a loon. It was definitely infectious. The space-adventurer looked on in horror.

    ¡°Show us something else!¡± demanded Allison giddily.

    ¡°Encore!¡± added Maelstrom.

    Mabel flicked smartly through the binder. ¡°There, this should do nicely.¡±

    A bumpy, metal, pepper pot looking thing, about as tall as the children, appeared behind Arnold as he made war upon the clouds.

    ¡°SEEK. LOCATE. DESTROY.¡±

    Arnold shrieked and started running, trying to land a shot on the thing as it glided after him. Eventually, he decided to just teleport it away. It did not reappear.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Allison. ¡°I guess your power does just blow stuff up, if it¡¯s pretend.¡±

    ?

    It went on like that for hours. Allison tried Mabel¡¯s power for herself. Her song put her in mind of the music they played at Anzac Day ceremonies. Hordes of monsters were spawned from Mabel¡¯s pulp art collection and were gleefully slain with gadgets from the same source. Rocks, leaves, sticks, and fish were teleported into the living rooms of people Arnold and Allison didn¡¯t like. They splashed about in the river for a while. Despite some initial misgivings about doing so in their clothes, it turned out Maelstrom could quite effectively extract the moisture from them. According to Mabel, it had taken him ages to get over the fear that he might instead extract the moisture from their owner¡¯s bodies.

    For the first time in weeks, Allison noticed that she was happy. She was sure she had been at least a couple of times in the last few days, but it was the first time she wasn¡¯t too distracted to notice.

    Afternoon faded into evening. After a while, the children heard a bored, teenage voice without any identifiable source declare that it was time to wash up for dinner.

    Allison was deeply relieved to find out that the Institute¡¯s showers were partitioned into stalls. The fact they were co-ed gave her some pause, but she wrote it off as Lawrence simply being progressive, which was her parents¡¯ default explanation for any odd idea or behaviour, ever. The fact that they got proper baths every fortnight definitely helped her look past it.

    Dinner was wonderful. Aside from Allison finally letting herself eat her fill, Fran?oise, as it turned out, was a marvelous cook. Or at least a great kitchen supervisor. As she saw it, cooking had only ever really been practised in the south of France, with all foreign attempts being sad approximations. Alberto disputed this, but only halfheartedly. He sat apart from the other adult students, for whatever reason. Most of the vegetables had been grown in the Institute¡¯s garden, genetically coddled and pampered, and occasionally twisted, by ?ywie.

    Dinner was held in the manor¡¯s dining room. Through what Allison almost decided was some kind of space warping power, all forty-three staff and students managed to crowd around a fine jarra table. At the head, Lawrence enthralled the students sitting closest to him¡ªAllison and Arnold included¡ªwith stories about him and ?ywie travelling across war-torn Europe looking for others like her, and eventually finding them. They both got the idea that most of their new peers had heard these tales many times before, but the joy was clearly in the telling. The house was filled with noise and company.

    After dinner, they were treated to a bit of amatuer theatre by the Watercolours¡ªnamely, Maelstrom and Mabel, still known as Phantasmagoria in front of the grownups. It involved a six by ten foot body of water suspended over the lawn in front of the house, filled with mermaids. It was one of the most spectacular things either Allison or Arnold had ever seen in their lives, but it was clear none of the other students were particularly impressed.

    The students were divided into groups of ten and led to some of the outbuildings. To save on space, the student dormitories were furnished with hammocks rather than beds. Allison didn¡¯t mind, it was still better than sharing a hotel bed with Arnold. She snored, he kicked and whimpered, so the annoyance at least evened out. The dormitories were also mixed-gender, but after the showers, that hardly registered. Allison was just grateful that their dorm had a nightlight and a clock. McClare had taught her to cherish the telling of time.

    Barring the aforementioned hotel stay, neither Arnold nor Allison had ever shared a room with other children. Allison didn¡¯t mind the breathing of the other students, though. It drowned out the world¡¯s.

 Chapter Five: Greetings, Fellow Humans!

    Allison was jerked awake by the same omnidirectional voice that had called everyone in for dinner. Her night-terrors meant she had never been much of a morning person, so she took some schadenfreude in the fact the PA-girl had clearly just been dragged out of bed herself. She also took a moment to appreciate that, thanks to ?ywie, she now knew what schadenfreude meant. German was such a versatile tongue.

    The other children in her dorm were rising with widely varying degrees of enthusiasm. On top of the nightstand next to Allison¡¯s hammock was a set of clean clothes, the expected hygiene supplies, and a bag containing a few notebooks and some stationary. She was only supplied with shorts. Her mother would have been appalled.

    There was also a small stuffed bear, but that was there the night before. The Institute provided plushies for children young enough to still derive comfort from them. Allison had tried cuddling hers, but it could never truly replace Mr. Wuzzler back at home.

    The den-mother marched the children towards the shower block, carrying their kits. Allison could tell from her song that she was not a demi-human. Or new human, she supposed she should think now. Or was it New Human? She wasn¡¯t firm on the capitalization yet. Although it wasn¡¯t as if anyone would notice what she said in her own head. Hopefully.

    Allison ran up to Mabel, who was still rubbing sleep from her eyes. ¡°So, what do you do all day, here?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± she answered blearily.

    She considered how best to put it. ¡°I know this place is a school, but how much of a school is it really?¡±

    This time Mabel seemed to understand the question. ¡°We still have English and Maths and stuff. They did give you the timetable, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Then look at that, please. I can make it talk if you want.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay, just asking.¡±  She decided to wait until they showered before trying to extract any more information out of Mabel.

    Between the heat, Melusine, and Maelstrom, you could always count on hot water at the New Human Institute. Not that anyone sane would want a hot shower in that weather, of course.

    Allison was pleased to find that her hair had visibly grown since ?ywie¡¯s ministrations. The dark spots under her eyes had faded, too.

    Breakfast was nice. More sedate than dinner, but still loud enough that something resembling a private conversation could be held. Before everyone tucked in, Lawrence relayed the kind of platitudes that wouldn¡¯t have seemed out of place in any morning assembly, albeit with some vague allusions to evolution and the casual defiance of all known laws of physics thrown in.

    Allison arrived a few minutes late. If anyone cared, they didn¡¯t voice it. Arnold was wrapped up in a debate with Jumpcut over something or other, Lawrence was discussing lesson plans with Basilisk and ?ywie, Melusine wasn¡¯t there yet, and even if Tiresias were an option, he was engrossed in his paper, so she decided to sit with Mabel and Maelstrom, who were animatedly discussing future performances of the Watercolours.

    ¡°What do you think of this¨COh, hi, Allison. Budge over Maelstrom. So, I was thinking, since we haven¡¯t done a proper tragedy yet¨C¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve done plenty from our end,¡± interrupted a teenage girl to Mabel¡¯s left.

    ¡°Shut up, Stratogale! Anyway, we should do the sinking of the SS Koombana on the river! Imagine the drama, the spectacle, the raw emotion!¡± She was practically swooning at the prospect.

    ¡°Sounds neat,¡± opined Allison, scooping scrambled eggs onto her toast.

    ¡°Sounds gaudy,¡± countered Stratogale.

    ¡°Do you do stuff like last night a lot?¡± asked Allison.

    Stratogale laughed scornfully. ¡°Too much.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence likes them,¡± said Maelstrom, a little weakly.

    ¡°He¡¯s too nice.¡±

    ¡°Or he just has refined enough tastes to appreciate our adaptation of the classic Men¡¯s Adventure feature: ¡®Nailed to a Killer Shark¡¯.¡±

    Mabel was very proud of that one. It had been one of their earliest stagings, back when they still called themselves Blue Ultramarine Productions. Some detractors complained that being crucified on a great white would actually make it harder for it to devour you, but Mabel had held firm that what mattered was the hero¡¯s emotions and pathos, rather than how much actual peril he was in. Or as a then six year old Phantasmagoria had put it, ¡°Well, he doesn¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°Why do you even need Mealy for this? We all know you can animate water fine without¨C¡± She looked queasy. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go.¡± She ran off in search of a bathroom.

    The girls both looked at Maelstrom. He looked up from his eggs. ¡°What?¡± he asked.

    They looked at him harder. ¡°...No, that wasn¡¯t me! And she has a point, I mean, you¡¯re kind of, um, artistically limited working with me. There always has to be water. Don¡¯t you get bored of sea-monsters and mermaids and stuff?¡±

    Mabel took his hand. ¡°What would be the point without you? Besides, if I dumped you from the act, I¡¯d be stuck calling myself Colour. What kind of name for an artist is that?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t she have a number one hit with ¡®Love your Love¡¯ back in ¡®59?¡± said Melusine.

    Maelstrom brightened immediately. His mother squeezed in between the children. ¡°So what are we talking about?¡±

    Mabel¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Stratogale was making fun of Maelstrom.¡±

    ¡°Was she now?¡± Melusine replied, a little too evenly.

    Maelstrom put a hand on his mother¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s fine, really.¡±

    ¡°If you say so, droplet. Here, let me help you with that...¡± She started trying to cut up Maelstrom''s toast, to the obvious amusement of the other students.

    ¡°Mum!¡± He tried to scrunch up into as perfect a ball as possible without actually reverting to a liquid state. Lawrence gave Melusine a disapproving look. Allison couldn¡¯t blame him. ¡°I can cut my own food.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just being helpful.¡±

    ¡°Would you do that for the other children, Melusine?¡± asked Tiresias, from across the table.

    She put down her son¡¯s cutlery. ¡°So, what have we got to look forward to from the Watercolours?¡± she asked, a little too cheerily.

    ¡°We¡¯re not sure,¡± said Malestrom, voice muffled a little by his knees.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± insisted Mabel.

    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m worried we¡¯ve reached the limits of what we can do with the medium.¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t say that. Without you two, what would we do for entertainment around here?¡±

    ¡°Movies?¡± offered Allison. Some of the students sitting near them felt a pang of desperate hope.

    Melusine wrinkled her nose. ¡°Bah! Movies, anyone can make those.¡±

    ¡°It would be easier to come up with new acts if some of the other kids would chip in. Imagine if we had Reverb doing sound effects!¡±

    ¡°Reverb?¡± Allison whispered to Maelstrom.

    ¡°She does the announcements,¡± Maelstrom whispered back.

    ¡°Have you asked?¡± Melusine asked Mabel.

    ¡°Of course we have.¡±

    Allison decided to interject. ¡°I could copy her powers if you wanted.¡±

    Mabel¡¯s eyes glimmered with possibility. Melusine and Maelstrom¡¯s eyes also glimmered, but it would have been more noteworthy if they didn¡¯t. ¡°You could, couldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I can only do one at a time. I think.¡±

    Maelstrom looked uneasy. ¡°Isn¡¯t using someone¡¯s powers without permission, I don¡¯t know, mean? Unethical?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯d be taking anything from her.¡±

    ¡°Do you think you could get Arnold to work with us? The staging possibilities alone!¡±

    Allison grinned. ¡°I think so, if not, ¡±¡ªshe wriggled her fingers, Arnold¡¯s green flames dancing beneath her skin¡ª¡°we can work around that.¡±

    His light and their laughter managed to catch Arnold¡¯s attention. ¡°What are you guys laughing about?¡± he called out from the other end of the table.

    He was answered with more laughter.

    ¡°Come on, tell me!¡±

    Whether or not the scrambled eggs Allison teleported into his hair constituted an explanation is a matter best left to philosophers, but it certainly didn¡¯t satisfy him.

    ?

    All in all, Lawrence was fairly forgiving of the resulting food fight. ¡°First day jitters,¡± he said, chuckling. ¡°Good to see that you didn¡¯t leave your natural spontaneity at McClare. Still, try to temper it in future.¡±

    Melusine and Maelstrom were quite the help cleaning up. As the former put it, a lot of things were mostly water when you came down to it.

    The rest of the morning wasn¡¯t quite as fun. Then again, Allison and school never got along well. It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t enjoy learning, it was just that the Australian education system unfairly pandered to children who did so via the grossly inefficient method of watching and listening. It was like being forced to chew the same mouthful of food for a whole day. In spite of the earnestness and enthusiasm of its teachers, class time at the New Human Institute wasn¡¯t much better. However, McClare had taught her that boredom came in many varieties, and this one was almost meditative.

    Maths was by far the most tedious, not surprising given Mr. Kinsey¡¯s profession as an accountant. It didn¡¯t help that, like most maths workbooks, the ones used at the New Human Institute offered glimpses of a terrifying parallel universe where professional farmers couldn¡¯t figure out how much fencing materials to buy without the help of small children.

    Basilisk, bless his heart, did his best to inspire his under-tens on the subject. ¡°Maths is like magic, except everyone can do it,¡± he insisted, with immensely dramatic hand gestures.

    Being children who all regularly performed feats that less self conscious eras would call witchcraft, this did not do much to impress them. As Mabel put it, magic that anyone could do was little better than a set of matches.

    English was a little more engaging. Allison was surprised to find out that was mostly left up to  ?ywie. She supposed it made some sense to assign her there rather than her actual area of expertise; there probably wasn¡¯t yet a language on Earth with words for half of what ?ywie knew about human biology. Not even German.

    The healer presided over her class less like an English teacher, and more like the matron of a longstanding bookclub. Years of continual contact had worn away the expected distance between student and teacher at the New Human Institute.

    ¡°What I find most interesting comparing the Odyssey and the Aeneid is how each handles the character of Odysseus, or Ulysses if you prefer.¡±

    Allison always found stories odd. They lived on the border between knowledge and memory. When she read a new book, she was often gripped by a sensation she imagined was much like how grownups felt when they reread something from their childhood. Something mostly forgotten, but still there.

    That of course depended on her having met someone who¡¯d read whatever she was reading. When she hadn¡¯t, she almost understood what it was like to be any other person. She found she preferred the sourceless nostalgia, thank you very much.

    ¡°Both versions are essentially the same person: a wily trickster with a regrettable tendency to leave his comrades in the lurch. And yet one work lauds him, and the other heaps nothing but scorn on him, for all the same reasons. Of course¡ª¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± said Maelstrom, cheerfully. ¡°Some Romans did like Ulysses. Caesar''s family liked to say they were descended from him.¡±

    ¡°Yes, very good, Maelstrom. As I was saying, the Aeneid was written by the losers. At least, the Romans assumed they were the losers, but everybody likes to think they¡¯re secret Trojans. Mark my words, little ones, in a couple hundred years, they¡¯ll be calling Captain Cook Brutus. In my village¡­¡±

    ?ywie rambled on like that for some time. Sometimes, it was even relevant to the sad aftermath of Troy. Mabel occasionally made the text on the blackboard dance, disordering a fiendishly complex genealogy of basically everyone in Homeric Greece, which ?ywie in turn pretended not to notice. Allison was unsure if this was to avoid making a scene, or because ?ywie found it amusing, but she suspected the latter. Meanwhile, Arnold was already turning into an inveterate note-passer.

    It was during English that Allison heard it. It was a song. At least, she assumed it was a song, although its only meaningful similarity to any song she¡¯d heard before was its peculiar transcendence of actual sound.

    Music was nothing exclusive to human beings. Even the smallest, dumbest insects could boast at least a few notes. This meant that for Allison, silence was something that happened to other people. The songs of animals didn¡¯t do much for her though. It wasn¡¯t because they were less complex than a person¡¯s, but that they had vastly different artistic priorities. You simply couldn¡¯t describe the minds and talents of a human being and a bobtail lizard with the same musical language. And yet Allison would have felt more kinship with the lizard than whatever was creating this song.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    It was like God, or whoever He had writing people¡¯s songs, was playing a sick joke on her. The song built up expectation, only to break it and destroy whatever harmony it might have created. It changed and twisted as soon as she paid it any attention. It defied every idea she had of what a song was. And it hurt.

    She covered her ears instinctively, but she knew it wouldn¡¯t help. She always knew on some level that she would always be able to hear the songs, even if her eardrums burst. Until she heard this particular song, that had always been a comfort.

    ¡°Allison, is everything alright?¡±

    She unscrewed her eyes to find ?ywie standing over her desk. Everyone was staring at her.

    ¡°You were sort of¡­ screamy,¡± said Arnold.

    There was no room in her for embarrassment. Not even for the fact she was weeping. ¡°There¡¯s-this-sound.¡±

    ?ywie frowned. ¡°Let me take a look.¡± She went to take Allison¡¯s hand, when she heard a car pull up outside.

    Visitors to the Institute were novel enough that the class all got up to huddle around the window, aside from Arnold, who was awkwardly trying to comfort Allison. Their disappointment when they caught sight of the Holden FX parked out front was clear.

    ?ywie stopped, looking out the window. Anger flashed across her face, tempered by an odd kind of relief. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, little one, I think I know what¡¯s the matter. Just focus on my song, there¡¯s a good girl.¡± She had no idea if that would actually help, but it felt like good advice.

    It was, although Allison only took half of it. Beautiful as ?ywie¡¯s song was, the piano bits still bothered her. She instead latched onto Arnold¡¯s. It was the first superhuman leitmotif she ever heard, although she hadn¡¯t recognised it for what it was at the time. It was something she had years of familiarity with. Its strangeness was of a more wholesome species than what she was trying to block out.

    Reverb¡¯s voice filled the classroom. ¡°Would Arnold Barnes please go wait for the Physician in his office.¡± She sounded shakier than they¡¯d heard her before, not that either Arnold or Allison had much of a baseline to go on.

    Everyone looked at Arnold, clear pity in their eyes. Or in Allison¡¯s case, tears. ¡°What?¡±

    ?ywie slumped into her chair. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Arnold. Just a checkup.¡±

    ¡°But you did your magic thing yesterday!¡± he whined.

    She laughed without humour. ¡°Ah, bureaucracy! Go along with it and you can have a coke with dinner.¡±

    When Arnold left the room, and everyone was back in their seats, ?ywie attempted to press on with some readings from the Odyssey, specifically the parts detailing Circe¡¯s unique hospitality, but her students didn¡¯t settle easily.

    Allison listened intently, though. It was like her mum reading a bedtime story. And as conflicted as that made her feel, it was still better listening than the alternative.

    ?

    Allison ran into Arnold on the stairs when it came time for her turn. He looked shaken. In in his hand was an unwrapped but clearly unlicked lollipop.

    ¡°How was it?¡± she asked, her voice wavering between sympathy and fear.

    In lieu of an answer, he held out the lollipop. ¡°Try this.¡±

    She did. It tasted the way mildewy dishcloths smelt.

    ¡°Like that.¡± He continued on down the stairs and outside, or as he thought of it, further away from the Physician.

    He looked normal when Allison walked into his office. Tallish, rail thin, well dressed without over doing it, blond hair fading to grey; not terribly handsome, maybe even a touch jaundiced, but nothing you¡¯d demand hidden from the eyes of small children and pregnant women. If he hadn¡¯t been at the centre of that awful noise, Allison wouldn¡¯t have thought anything of him.

    Then he moved. That spoiled the illusion a little.

    ¡°Miss Kinsey, I presume?¡±

    Allison made a vaguely affirmative noise. She couldn¡¯t place his accent. She might have guessed South African, but an actual Afrikaner most certainly wouldn¡¯t have. It was unlikely anyone would¡¯ve willing claimed it as their own.

    He glided across the office, wrapping his fingers around Allison¡¯s left hand and jerking it up and down. They bent normally, but Alison couldn¡¯t quite feel any of his knuckles. She had fortunately grown somewhat accustomed to the Physician¡¯s song. It was still acutely unpleasant, but she was just managing to cope. ¡°Hello, Mr¡­¡±

    ¡°John Smith.¡± He offered up the name cheerfully and without hesitation.

    Silence.

    ¡°...We¡¯re not buying that, are we?¡± He chortled. It sounded prerecorded, somehow. Like the laugh track from an American sitcom. Aside from that, he seemed to experience none of the subtle bodily convulsions associated with laughter.  ¡°Look at it this way, names are meant to help us identify a person, correct?¡±

    She nodded, as though that needed clarifying.

    ¡°Well, you can identify me by the fact I am the only one in the room without one. If that doesn¡¯t satisfy you, just call me the Physician. Everyone else does.¡±

    She didn¡¯t respond. She was too distracted by the Physician¡¯s song. Now that its source was right in front of her, she was starting to unravel the underlying musical structure¡­ Sort of. It conveyed many of the same themes as most songs¡ªlocomotion,  spacial awareness, deductive reasoning, ukulele proficiency¡ªbut employed a vastly different set of motifs and structures to do so. It was like looking at someone¡¯s portrait, only to discover on closer examination that it was composed entirely of baby teeth.

    ¡°Right, let¡¯s get started.¡± He beckoned Allison to lie down on the examination bed in the corner of the room. Not seeing any other option, she obeyed. ¡°First off, heart rate.¡± He sounded more like he was reminding himself than informing her. He pulled a stethoscope out from under his jacket, briefly laying the diaphragm on her left breast before removing it again. ¡°Ah, all fine.¡±

    Allison knew enough about medicine to know that wasn¡¯t how it was done. She also realised that she couldn¡¯t tell how old the Physician was. Songs usually helped a great deal with that, but not this one. She had assumed from the hair that he was somewhere around Lawrence¡¯s age, but his skin was completely smooth. He didn¡¯t even look like he had pores.

    He went through the motions of medicine for a while. And that¡¯s what it plainly was: going through the motions. It was like when she and Arnold used to play doctors and nurses. He tapped Allison¡¯s knee with a reflex hammer, a little too hard; inserted a tongue depressor in her mouth, without bothering to look inside it, which did at least teach her that the Physician tasted strongly of crushed ants; he even ordered her to turn and cough for whatever reason.

    Through none of it did he show concern, or better understanding of Allison¡¯s physical health. If anything, he seemed bored, although he never let the broad smile he had been wearing since the beginning of the ¡°check-up¡± waver. Maybe he was hoping if he kept it up as much as possible, it would eventually seem appropriate.

    ¡°Now,¡± he said, packing up what Allison couldn¡¯t help but think of as his toys into a black bag. ¡°On with the important stuff.¡± He moved over to a small table, where a set of odd looking metal instruments were laid out. In the middle of them was what resembled a large, fanciful silver sculpture of a starfish, with a large ruby embedded in its body. The Physician placed an index figure on the jewel, which glowed in response. ¡°I know this looks a little funny, but just think of it as a tape recorder. Do you mind terribly if I test the playback?¡±

    Honestly, Allison was a little relieved the Physician seemed interested in something. She had begun to wonder if this was all a practical joke being played on her by a student with shapeshifting powers; and really substandard ones at that. ¡°Sure,¡± she said, sitting up on the bed.

    The Physician took a deep breath and sung:

    ¡°Click go the shears boys, click, click, click,

    Wide is his blow and his hands move quick,

    The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,

    And curses the old snagger with the blue-bellied Joe!¡±

    Allison thought it sounded disturbingly like the rendition from a record her mother used to play for her. The starfish then played back the Physician¡¯s singing with perfect fidelity, which she found genuinely impressive.

    ¡°Now, the translation!¡±

    The room was filled with what sounded like a newborn baby being fought over by hungry gargoyles. If not for the Physician¡¯s song, it would easily have won the title of the worst thing Allison had ever heard. And yet she thought she could detect notes of nostalgia in that howling.

    When the starfish went silent again, and Allison had uncurled from her fetal position on the bed, she found the Physician facing her again, face devoid of any apparent emotion. Apparently he didn¡¯t need to keep his finger on the jewel.

    ¡°Anomalous human study #128, February the 20th, 1965. Patient is¡ª¡± he sniffed, ¡°¡ªprepubertal female, aged approximately one hundred and two months. Patient was referred to me by Herbert Lawrence as a ¡®psychomimetic¡¯.¡±

    ¡°That means ability copying,¡± clarified Allison. ¡°Oh, sorry. Did I mess up the tape?¡±

    The Physician¡¯s grin returned, wider than ever. His lips were almost stretched thin. ¡°Talk as much as you want. The recorder knows what to exclude.¡±

    ¡°How does it know that?¡±

    ¡°The same way I hope you know not to copy down the entire conversation when you¡¯re taking down a message on the phone.¡±

    She decided not to press the matter.

    ¡°Previous research indicates that Patient¡¯s extranormal ability manifests as a form of auditory synesthesia, allowing her to perceive talent and skill as musical forms, and incorporate them into herself. Limited empathic capabilities. Anecdotal evidence suggests this is temporary in the case of superhuman ability. Will begin testing¡ª¡±

    ¡°Did Lawrence tell you all that?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°No, McClare forwarded me your file after he decided to have you.¡± Allison somehow doubted Lawrence would have phrased it that way. She hoped not, at least.

    ¡°Why¡¯d they do that?¡± she asked warily.

    ¡°I¡¯ve done some research for the DDHA. They¡¯d be lost without me,¡± he said, with some pride. ¡°Well, even more so.¡±

    For the entire check-up, Allison had felt a little guilty. Surely, she thought, it was wrong of her to dislike a man just because he was unlucky enough to be born a little physically and very musically deformed. She was glad to suddenly have a more valid reason.

    ¡°I must say, if Lawrence hadn¡¯t snatched you up, we probably would have met before long anyway. Your ability sounds fascinating. I¡¯m surprised nobody in the department recommended you to him before the boy you came here with did.¡±

    ¡°Arnold.¡±

    ¡°Yes, him. I will admit, I¡¯d never met an exclusively external teleporter before him. Now, as soon as I heard about you, I knew I had to come up with something special.¡± He spoke like a grandparent trying to drum up anticipation for a homemade birthday present, not realising disappointment was inevitable.

    He reached for another instrument, allowing Allison to notice that his arm was about an inch too long for comfort. It was a stout copper tube, with a black knob on its side, and topped with a milky white, faceted dome.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± said the Physician, cooly. ¡°Have you ever read a book called Slan?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Probably for the best. Has anyone you¡¯ve met ever read it?¡±

    Her eyes narrowed in concentration. ¡°...No.¡± She was pleasantly surprised.

    By some dark and terrible magic, the Physician¡¯s grin managed to tighten further. He turned the knob on his device.

    There was a new song. Baseline through and through, but still unfamiliar.

    ¡°If you would be so kind, Miss Kinsey, please recite the first line of A.E van Vogt''s Slan.¡±

    ¡°...His mother¡¯s hand felt cold, clutching his.¡±

    The Physician practically shook with giddiness. ¡°Oh, how I love that opening. It¡¯s not quite Dawn Treader, but it¡¯s close.¡±

    ¡°Um, thank you.¡±

    ¡°And Mrs. Joan Newark of Exmouth had how many children?¡±

    ¡°...Pass.¡±

    ¡°Hmm. Tell me, if we were pretending the Mrs. Newark machine was an actual person, could you tell me how she¡¯s feeling right now?¡±

    She looked at the machine. ¡°Not happy.¡±

    ¡°You win some, you lose some.¡± He turned the knob again, silencing Mrs. Newark¡¯s song. ¡°Could you show me one of your classmates¡¯ powers? Doesn¡¯t matter which, I am fairly familiar with all of them. ¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Immediately, a party of tiny, airborne cowboys rode through the space between Allison and the Physician, valiantly attempting to drive their cattle across a raging river, all formed from fire.

    ¡°I commend your taste, Miss Kinsey. Given Eliza¡¯s unfortunate tactile limitations, I would have picked Brian, too.¡±

    ¡°Brian? Eliza?¡±

    ¡°Ah, my apologies. You would have had them introduced to you as Snapdragon and ?ywie.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    It was an uncanny feeling, finding out what she supposed was ?ywie¡¯s old human name. It was like hearing your grade one teacher be referred to by their first name. Most likely because it was exactly like that.

    ¡°I respect Lawrence¡¯s sentiment, but the whole thing just feels like Halloween dressing up. Do you have Halloween down here? No? Shame, the Americans do it marvelously. I¡¯d go back every year if I could manage it. But no, I just have to content myself with making the trees on my property change colour the right time of year...¡±

    Allison wondered if the starfish had the same definition of relevant as the Physician.

    Eventually, he resumed what Allison thought of as his serious business mode. He replaced the Mrs. Newark machine, picking what looked like a handheld mirror mated with an impossibly flat, double sided television screen. ¡°Examining Patient for Socii.¡±

    ¡°Socii?¡±

    Allison should have known better than to summon the Grin back into our world. ¡°You know, I do appreciate it when you children try to engage with me a bit. A lot of you just sit stock still and let me do whatever, like the boy before you.¡±

    ¡°Arnold.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Anyway, Socii are a kind of metaphysical component many superhumans possess. I suppose you could call it a visual analogue to your songs. Well, let¡¯s take a look under the hood.¡±

    He pushed a button on the mirror¡¯s handle. The screen flickered to life. Allison gasped.

    Her face was covered in glowing, intricate patterns, like the tattoos a tribe of computers might come up with. Not only that, they looked as though they were alive. Shades of red and green flowed into and interfaced with each other like naturally occurring clockwork. When she held her hands up to the mirror, they were similarly patterned. She felt her face. ¡°Are these real?¡±

    ¡°...Patient is confirmed as Vincio. Yes, yes they are. Well, they¡¯re not exactly here. They¡¯re sort of in this tiny little dimension sandwiched between length and breadth, I think. They can tell you a great deal about a person¡¯s powers, but I haven¡¯t quite found the Rosetta Stone yet. Not all of you have Socii, mind you. The last boy didn¡¯t, for instance. Neither do Alberto and Fran?oise.¡±

    ¡°?ywie?¡±

    ¡°She has one. Some supers can even see Socii. Like Alberto, oddly enough.¡±

    ¡°He said he smelt new humans.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a liar. I think he¡¯s hoping someone will start calling him the Witchsmeller. Much catchier than Tiresias. Hmm, judging by the complexity of these glyphs, you¡¯ve had yours since just about birth, maybe prior. Rare, that.¡± She was almost certain the Grin had literally reached the Physician¡¯s ears. ¡°Tell me, Miss Kinsey, what do you dream about?¡±

    She stared at her knees for a long while.

    The Physician snapped his fingers in her face. ¡°Come on, Miss Kinsey, don¡¯t go all Barnes on me.¡±

    Now he remembers, she thought. ¡°It¡¯s not a dream. Not really. It¡¯s more like, I don¡¯t know, a thought I get when it¡¯s dark. A feeling I can¡¯t make go away.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like the darkness isn¡¯t just what¡¯s left when the light goes. It¡¯s heavy, like water. I feel like I can barely move, and everything¡¯s so tight, and I need to get out into the light, but that¡¯s even scarier. And if I get out of the dark, I¡¯ll hurt someone real bad. Someone who¡¯s the whole world. Someone I love.¡± She hugged her legs.

    He was still grinning. Allison wondered if it hurt. She wondered if anything hurt the Physician.

    ¡°Patient describes symptoms dissimilar to Asteria presentation. Will require further study.¡±

    After that, the Physician had many questions. Did her maternal ancestors tend more towards endogamy or exogamy? How young was the typical onset of what he called the cycle of blood in her father¡¯s family. Could she remember her great-grandparents¡¯ blood types? Was she an only child because of parental choice, or difficulty with further conceptions? Was she able to assume the powers of every student at the New Human Institute, or did some give her trouble? Could she copy the Physician himself?

    Her inability to answer most of these questions clearly frustrated the Physician, which mainly meant that his lips were no longer in danger of tearing themselves apart. ¡°I think we¡¯re just about done here, Miss Kinsey. Before we finish, though, has Eliza looked you over yet?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    The Physician whipped out what could have been an overgrown, mechanical mosquito. Before Allison could react, he stabbed it into her right arm, drawing a thin beaker¡¯s worth of blood.

    ¡°Gah!¡±

    He pulled the contraption out of her, leaving no incision mark.¡°Patient was subjected to biological readjustment prior to sample extraction. I do wish Lawrence would hold his horses. Skews the data. Still, a sample¡¯s a sample. Goodbye, Miss Kinsey.¡± He fished a purple lollipop out of his front pocket. ¡°Here, take this, for being a good girl.¡±

    Allison was backing away towards the door, rubbing her arm in spite of the lack of physical pain. ¡°No, thanks,¡± she said, voice quivering.

    ¡°You have to take it, Miss Kinsey. That¡¯s how check-ups work.¡±

    She cautiously snatched it from his hand. If it bothered him, it didn¡¯t show. He just kept smiling.

    Before she left the room, Allison took one last look at the Physician. He had stopped moving. There was no need to do so at this moment.

    ¡°Physician?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Are you a demi-human?¡±

    He released more of that canned laughter. ¡°Miss Kinsey, I can assure you I am nothing of the sort.¡±

    She believed him.

 Chapter Six: The Lion, the Witch, and the Barn

    As soon as Allison was out of the Physician¡¯s line of sight, she made a run for Lawrence¡¯s study. Sadly not much of a run, given it was only down the hall from the Physician¡¯s office, but any distance between them was a relief.

    She was less relieved to find Lawrence¡¯s door was locked. She swore in German, a language she found expressed frustration most efficiently.

    There was someone in the study with Lawrence; ?ywie, judging by the song. Even through the thick jarrah door, it was clear they were arguing. Allison didn¡¯t consider herself an eavesdropper, but she did occasionally like to listen to the conversations of others when they didn¡¯t know she was there. She leaned against a carving of a Galapagos finch. The door muffled the sound a bit, but luckily one of Allison¡¯s classmates possessed a measure of enhanced hearing. She did however have to filter out Mabel and Maelstrom debating the merits of The Chrysalids and The Midwich Cuckoos, as well as the confirmation of her worst suspicions as to what it meant when two songs combined.

    ¡°...You really couldn¡¯t let me sit in on them? The girl was clearly upset!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was wise after the last time. And you can¡¯t hold a child¡¯s hand through all of life¡¯s unpleasantries.¡±

    Bitter laughter. ¡°Yes, because the Physician is something every child will have to deal with on a regular basis when they grow up.¡±

    ¡°He just acts according to his nature.¡±

    ¡°Nothing ¡®he¡¯ does is according to nature. Just please don¡¯t invite him to their Naming. If Allison¡¯s powers work anything like she¡¯s described, I can¡¯t rule out that the Physician¡¯s song isn¡¯t a health hazard. At the very least, I think it¡¯d spoil the mood if one of the guests of honour felt like someone next to her was scraping their nails down a blackboard.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate your concern for our students, but I wasn¡¯t planning on it. He doesn¡¯t go in for it, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Good. How is that coming along, anyway?¡± Her tone had become more civil.

    ¡°Well enough. Took me a little while to narrow it down for Allison, though.¡± A chuckle. ¡°I briefly considered simply stringing all the other students¡¯ names together, but I figured that would put her at a severe disadvantage when she gets her driver¡¯s license.¡±

    ?ywie laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, if the aristocracy manages...¡±

    She moved towards the door, Allison scrambling backwards as it opened and doing her best to look above suspicion. ¡°Try to encourage him to leave by bedtime, would you? I highly doubt sleep will come easily to Allison, otherwise,¡± said ?ywie, still looking back at Lawrence. She turned and spotted Allison. ¡°Oh, hello. You here to see Lawrence?¡±

    She nodded.

    ¡°Well, go right ahead. Oh, how was the check up?¡±

    Allison held up the Physician''s lollipop.

    ¡°I see. Coke with dinner?¡±

    Another nod.

    ?ywie smiled, a little wanly. ¡°I hope the rest of your first day treats you better, little one.¡± Remembering some carrot plants that needed to be reminded of their place, she headed down the stairs.

    ¡°Well, are you coming in?¡± asked Lawrence from his desk, still looking at what was no doubt a very important sheet of paper.

    Allison stepped into the study. A large window behind Lawrence¡¯s desk let in some natural light, but most of it was devoured by the dark wood of the walls and the bookcase that lined them.

    What drew Allison¡¯s eye, though, was the oil painting hanging on the left wall. It was a portrait of Lawrence with his eldest students, all standing together in solemn dignity, its frame bearing the legend ¡°New Human Institute, 1953¡±. It looked like it had been painted when ?ywie and Basilisk were in their late teens or very early twenties. Tiresias and Melusine looked like they might have been somewhere between twelve or fourteen. Lawrence¡¯s beard was still completely red. They were all dressed quite nicely, which kind of surprised Allison in Basilisk¡¯s case. Artistic license on the painter¡¯s part? Or was Lawrence willing to throw away a good suit for a picture? Of course, that was probably a drop in the ocean for someone with portrait money. There was only one person Allison didn¡¯t recognise, a gangly Asian lad with the beginnings of a rubbish beard standing on ?ywie¡¯s left.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid AU is no longer with us, if you¡¯re wondering,¡± said Lawrence.

    Allison looked away from the portrait. ¡°That¡¯s AU?¡± she said, shocked.

    AU had been making national headlines with his raids on gold mines for nearly a year. From what Allison had read¡ªbecause if nothing else, supervillains always made for interesting reading¡ªhe had the ability to telekinetically manipulate gold. A few witnesses even claimed he could transmute it out of base metals. She recalled Arnold being confused by that. ¡°Why¡¯d he go to the trouble of stealing it then?¡± he¡¯d asked. It made a little more sense to Allison, but then, her father had taught her about inflation. Once even on purpose.

    AU may have further strengthened the superhuman scare, but in truth all he did was nurture an existing dread. Just another shadow looming over Australia. AU, the Witch, the Fox, Redcap, Circle''s End...

    A few months before the Flying Man even descended upon the White House, a little mining township, named Circle¡¯s End by its less than enthusiastic founders, went silent. Located deep as it was in the interior of WA, and with very few households having access to a phone anyway, it was two days before anyone noticed.

    Eventually, spurred to action by glimpses of odd lights and bizarre creatures, some men from a nearby cattle station had ventured into the settlement to investigate, or at least tell the locals to tone it down a notch.

    Every man, woman and child was dead.

    About eighty of the town¡¯s nearly two hundred inhabitants had been piled into heaps in what passed for the main street. They had lain untouched by any animal, for they too had perished. One of the men would later tell that they couldn¡¯t even hear any insects that day.

    The rest of the town had been left where they fell. Babies lay dead in their cots. Entire families had passed away over dinner. One or two homes had burned to the ground thanks to unattended ovens.

    If a cause of death for any of the townspeople was ever established, it wasn¡¯t released to the public. The perpetrator¡ªwhoever or whatever that was¡ªwould never be found. As the ones who stumbled on the scene told it, the people of Circle¡¯s End looked as though they had died in absolute terror.

    The news spread slowly across the country. The government wasn¡¯t exactly eager to publicize a catastrophe both unexplainable and horrifying. The lack of photographic documentation didn¡¯t help. Still, spread it did, and the consensus quickly formed that the only forces that could be responsible were superhuman powers, or God. And getting a warrant for the latter was unlikely.

    Only one clue ever emerged. Just before the generally agreed time of mass-death, the local mine boss had been on the phone with the insurance company. The conversation was proceeding as one would imagine, when the head of the mine announced, rising panic in his voice, that ¡°...There¡¯s a man.¡±

    Allison couldn¡¯t remember grownups talking much about Circle¡¯s End when it happened. Admittedly, it may have been that they didn¡¯t want to discuss supernatural mass murder in front of a five year old girl, but sometimes, when she could bring herself to care why folks suddenly decided they hated people like her, she wondered if the Flying Man was really who people like Dr. Carter feared. Sure, he radically altered the geopolitical landscape of the entire world for all of time, but he did it from far away. At the end of the day, he was essentially another strongman, if one operating on an entirely different level than any before him.

    And at least he didn¡¯t leave dead towns in his wake.

    ¡°Oh, you wouldn¡¯t have seen any pictures of him without that costume of his, would you? Gaudy thing, but I suppose you work with what you¡¯ve got,¡± remarked Lawrence, startling her from her reverie. He might have been discussing the weather, instead of the infamous supervillain that used to live with him. ¡°Why don¡¯t you take a seat, Allison.¡±

    She fell into one of the large, exceedingly comfortable chairs in front of Lawrence¡¯s desk. Nice as they were, they did make Allison feel like she was four instead of eight.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you didn¡¯t come here to talk about my wayward student?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Um, I¡¯m not sure if this is how I should be asking this, but what was that?¡±

    He peered at her over his reading glasses. ¡°What was what?¡±

    ¡°You know...¡± She tilted her head sharply in the direction of the Physician¡¯s office.

    ¡°Well, I know English, Latin, the offside rule... quite a few things, really.¡±

    She stared angrily at him, patience exhausted. ¡°You know what I mean! The Physician! Who is he? What is he? Why is he?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°It¡¯s important to be direct, child. You spoke with ?ywie outside. I imagine you heard our disagreement?¡±

    Unexpectedly deprived of fuel, Allison¡¯s indignation collapsed into guilt.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be ashamed. It¡¯s a natural instinct, wanting to know what the grownups are talking about, and I don¡¯t truck with keeping things from children. It¡¯s condescending. Do you know what that means, Allison?¡±

    At least he was trying. ¡°Yes. But the Physician is still weird. And scary. I¡¯m sorry, but he just is.¡±

    Lawrence silently wished that ?ywie hadn¡¯t explained the long term effects of tobacco so graphically. Or at least refrained from smoking her Dunhills in front of him. ¡°You know, Allison, a lot of people out there would likely say the same of you.¡±

    She scowled.

    ¡°I know, I know,¡± he said, ¡°but it¡¯s true. Tell me, who was nicknamed Darwin''s Bulldog?¡±

    ¡°Thomas Henry Huxley,¡± she answered, immediately and without any real thought.

    ¡°Whose grandson wrote?¡±

    ¡°Brave New World.¡± As soon as she said it, she immediately tried forgetting the opening of that book again.

    ¡°Who was Sigmund Freud¡¯s philosophy tutor, and why did he leave the priesthood?¡±

    ¡°Franz Brentano, and he didn¡¯t believe in the doctrine of papal infallibility.¡±

    The words felt strange in her mouth. Foreign.

    Lawrence was pouring himself a scotch from a bottle on his desk. ¡°Some might find a girl who can pull knowledge from a man¡¯s head like that unsettling. The paranoid might jump to the conclusion that she can read their thoughts as they think them. The insecure might resent how she equals or surpasses them at any human endeavour, especially if they knew how effortlessly she becomes what they have struggled all their lives to be.¡± He set the bottle down. ¡°Except, you and I both know this is no hypothetical. You wouldn¡¯t be sitting before me if it were. Now tell me, was that fair?¡±

    Allison sank into her seat, deeply uncomfortable.

    Lawrence sipped from his drink. ¡°As for the Physician, let¡¯s just say he¡¯s an old friend of mine¡ªan immigrant, you might say¡ªwithout whom I would understand you and the other children a great deal less. And if you or I were to find ourselves in the land he hails from, I suspect the children there would be asking much the same questions as you.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a space alien, isn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°...Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You know, something from another planet. I mean, if he was from another country or something, you¡¯d just say it. It isn¡¯t a big secret that ?ywie¡¯s Polish, or that Melusine¡¯s French. That is where they¡¯re from, right? Or are they aliens, too? Are we all aliens? I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d feel about that.¡±

    Lawrence ran his hands down his face, and made his drink a double. "You know, I suspect that if he really put in the effort he could seem more human. He probably just hopes people will assume he is for a lack of alternatives."

    ¡°Oh. Really? My God. I didn¡¯t think I was actually right. Or that you¡¯d admit it like that!¡±

    ¡°Why deny it? You all figure it out eventually. It hasn¡¯t even taken some of you this long.¡±

    "Really?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes. Metonymy was screaming that he was an alien as soon as he walked into the office.¡±

    Okay, so the Physician was an alien monster from beyond the Moon. At least Allison wasn¡¯t imagining it. ¡°So, what¡¯s his story?¡±

    Lawrence looked more relaxed now it was all out in the open. ¡°I met him a few months after I and the young men and women in that nice picture on the wall returned home from Europe.¡±

    ¡°Home?¡± asked Allison. ¡°I kinda thought you were from England.¡±

    He laughed. ¡°Allison, one thing you have to learn about the upper class in this country is that we go to a great amount of effort to sound like we¡¯ve never stepped foot in Australia. It¡¯s deeply pointless and probably unhealthy, but at this point me trying to sound ''Strayan would be no less false. Didn''t help my parents shipped me off to Eton as soon as possible. It¡¯s the one thing I have in common with MPs, captains of industry, and Zulu chiefs.

    ¡°Anyway, I honestly can¡¯t tell you much about the Physician. He tells me he arrived on our world in 1941, but I¡¯d forgive you for thinking he came down during the last long weekend. He landed in America, but migrated over here in ¡®48. Says he was ¡®tired of waiting¡¯¡ªfor what, I don¡¯t know¡ªand thought marsupials sounded interesting. Helped that Australia has a higher rate of superhuman births, or so he tells me. Something like one in every hundred thousand, the sort of number that only sounds impressive when compared to everyone else. What I can be sure of is that his people are thousands of years ahead of us in... well, likely every field of science, but biology and medicine especially.¡±

    Allison looked skeptical. ¡°He didn¡¯t look like a very good doctor to me.¡±

    Lawrence chuckled, raising a finger. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I have to correct you there, Allison. He¡¯s not a bad doctor, he¡¯s just very bad at pretending to be a bad doctor.¡±

    Allison tried parsing that statement. She failed.

    Lawrence decided to elaborate. ¡°Imagine you studied medicine at Oxford.¡± He smiled. ¡°That might be easier for you than most children. Now imagine that you were forced to treat a patient for the flu, using only the equipment and techniques employed by a tribal witch doctor. I believe he took a blood sample, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    She grimaced at the reminder. ¡°Yeah. He also complained about you letting ?ywie fix us before he does it,¡± she said, her voice positively brimming with what sounded like, but could never be mistaken as sympathy.

    ¡°Given that Stratogale came to us with early stage leukemia, he¡¯ll just have to deal with it. But believe me, child. With that blood sample, the Physician could diagnose your great-great-grandfather¡¯s first childhood illness.¡±

    A thought struck Allison. ¡°If he¡¯s that good, why do people still get sick?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about that, too. Sometimes I wonder if he¡¯s worried about his people¡¯s science being misused, but truth be told, and I know this will sound awful, I think he just doesn¡¯t care that much about us.¡±

    He was right. It did sound awful.

    ¡°That¡¯s not to say I ascribe any maliciousness to him. It¡¯s just¡­ Have you seen a nature documentary?¡±

    Allison hadn¡¯t, but she could remember some well enough that nodding didn¡¯t feel like a lie.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure you found the subjects of those films interesting. Maybe even felt a twinge of sympathy when a mother¡¯s cub got carried away, or when a lemming migration went horribly wrong. But did you feel the way you imagine you would if you saw another human child die?¡±

    It was then Allison realised how much she appreciated that the songs didn¡¯t transmit every kind of memory. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Imagine what it must be like for the Physician. At least you and the lemmings ultimately spring from the same source. Unless our friend Fred Hoyle is onto something, the Physician likely isn¡¯t even descended from the same molecules as us. We have more kinship with an ear of corn than with him. I¡¯m skeptical that truly alien lifeforms can form meaningful connections with each other. Our story is not his. Just remember, child, the Physician has vastly different emotional reactions to you or or I. Here, I¡¯ll show you.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¡ª¡±

    ¡°Physician!¡± shouted Lawrence. ¡°Could you come in here for a moment?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Lawrence, I understand¡ª¡±

    The Physician stepped into the doorway, and then was as still as a statue. Or a corpse. Allison half expected the tips of his smile to loop back around the front of his face. ¡°Ah, Miss Kinsey. Were you and Lawrence discussing something?¡±

    ¡°Yes. We were talking about the utter revulsion you inspire in her, particularly how your amateurish mimicry of our species feels less like a disguise and more like tasteless satire. I was just explaining that it¡¯s likely because you feel nothing stronger for our kind than mild amusement,¡± said Lawrence, like he was discussing the weather.

    If the Physician was at all taken aback by this, it didn¡¯t show. ¡°...And?¡±

    Somehow, only his lips moved when he said that.

    ¡°Nothing else, just illustrating a point. Now, could you make sure you¡¯re gone by eight? We don¡¯t want your soul to give Allison nightmares.¡±

    ¡°Got it!¡± he replied jovially, already heading back down the hallway.

    Lawrence and Allison sat in silence for a while, before the former stood up from his chair. ¡°How about a stroll?¡±

    ?

    ¡°Do you think we might actually be aliens?¡± Allison wondered aloud, skipping between half submerged rocks at the edge of the river. Her mood had improved considerably once Lawrence brought her away from the house, thirty-plus human songs insulating her from the Physician¡¯s. She felt even better when she heard that particular tune drifting away down the road.

    Lawrence seemed amused by the question. ¡°And what do we mean by that?¡±

    She jumped into the water. She didn¡¯t particularly care if her clothes got wet, but if they did, well, that was what Maelstrom¡¯s song was for, wasn¡¯t it? On the whole, she decided, powers were neat. ¡°Well, maybe me and Arnold and everyone have aliens for grandparents?¡± She suddenly had to suppress some unpleasant mental images. Sometimes knowing what she knew was less than nice. ¡°I mean aliens who were less¡­ fake, than the Physician. Maybe it¡¯s like how sometimes two people with dark hair have blond kids.¡±

    She was very proud of her theory, even if she knew it was technically a hypothesis.

    Lawrence smiled indulgently, like a father whose child was enthusiastically revealing the gnosis hidden in their favourite cartoons. ¡°That¡¯s a nice idea, Allison, but you¡¯ve been around learned people. I¡¯m sure you know how astronomical the chances of two unrelated species producing viable offspring.¡±

    ¡°I guess¡­ Wait.¡± An idea was trying to coalesce, but she was having trouble grasping it. She was used to much of her mind being a patchwork of other people¡¯s thoughts, but this was beyond that. It was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle, when all the pieces were perfect circles. ¡°Oh God, I think I managed to pick up some stuff from the Physician.¡±

    Lawrence looked delighted. ¡°Don¡¯t fight it, child. Imagine what you might be able to learn from him! If nothing else, if you can learn from his song, you¡¯ll might be able to acclimatize to it eventually.¡±

    Somehow, this prospect didn¡¯t fill Allison with joy, but she suspected repressing her new knowledge wouldn¡¯t be healthy. In fact, she could already feel a migraine forming. She screwed her eyes shut and did her best to translate the Physician¡¯s ideas into English. ¡°Earth isn¡¯t the only place human beings live. There¡¯s tons of planets out there with people like us on them, and a lot them can do things that¡¯d be called powers here. The Physician thinks they all started off here, because humans are related to loads of animals on Earth.¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Yes, he¡¯s told me about a few of those civilizations. The humanish races, he calls them. Enlil, Menrva, and E?erinis are a few I can name of the top of my head.¡±

    She beamed. ¡°So my theory could be right!¡±

    ¡°It is, in many cases. The Physician tells me Tiresias has some traces of Enlil in his genome, for instance. But it only accounts for a minority of new humans, and even then, it doesn¡¯t explain their powers.¡±

    Allison wrinkled her nose. ¡°And what does that mean?¡±

    ¡°Before we continue, I¡¯d like to remind you that when I speak of matters beyond our world, I¡¯m just going from what the Physician''s told me. I¡¯ve never known him to lie, except for that one year he decided to master the art of comedy and tried to convince me all my students had congenital syphilis. Still, this is all hearsay. I shouldn¡¯t be considered an authority on anything besides dressing like I¡¯m still at Oxford in over eighty degree heat.¡±

    She giggled. ¡°I was wondering about the gloves.¡±

    He smiled. ¡°With that being said, here¡¯s what I know. On these other worlds, the humanish races went through a similar phase of history to the one we find ourselves in now. A small subset of the population develops wildly varied, apparently paranormal abilities. Some credit their empowerment to radioactive contaminants, or genetic experimentation, or their gods, or yes, alien interference. What usually happens next is that one particular power-profile¡ªbe it cryokinesis, grab-bag psychic, or something else¡ªmanages to stabilise, outbreed and replace their non-powered brethren, typically doing away with any competing powers in the process.¡± His expression darkened. ¡°Of course, since, as you said, mutations and recessive traits are a factor, I imagine such cullings have to be¡­ ongoing.¡±

    Allison tried to imagine this bloody cycle, repeating from world to world, for probably thousands upon thousands of years. She then tried very hard to stop.

    ¡°So yes, you could be the far-removed scion of some lucky race of men for whom the educational system is merely absurdist theatre. But that wouldn¡¯t tell how how your gift began. All these ¡®just-so¡¯ stories posthumans have for their abilities cannot be the whole truth. It¡¯d be like a car being assembled via cyclone. No, worse: it¡¯d be like that happening so many times in one day, you were able to open a dealership.¡±

    ¡°What about the Flying Man? Could he be an alien?¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± he said, wearily. ¡°Sometimes, it feels like our society isn¡¯t capable of having a serious discussion about new humans without descending into yet more gossip about the Flying Man. ¡®What¡¯s he planning?¡¯ ¡®How powerful is he really?¡¯ ¡®Where¡¯d he come from?¡¯ ¡®What¡¯s his favourite breakfast?¡¯¡± Lawrence was beginning to sound frustrated. ¡°It¡¯s practically voyeurism.¡±

    Allison wasn¡¯t sure what to say, if anything.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard grownups claim the Flying Man is the vanguard of an invasion?¡± Lawrence asked.

    They were now on safer ground: Allison had in fact heard Arnold¡¯s father propose that very theory, though he typically named the conspirators as the Reds rather than aliens. Same thing, really, when Fred Barnes was the one talking. ¡°Yes?¡± she replied.

    ¡°Posthuman powers aside, you¡¯re a smart girl. I¡¯m sure you can see the flaws in that reasoning.¡±

    ¡°Mhmm.¡± Now that she thought about it, she couldn¡¯t imagine what you would need besides the Flying Man to conquer the world. Unless the rest of the coming occupation force was tasked with supplying him with post-genocide coffee and hot towels.

    ¡°Invasion!¡± He slumped onto the grass. ¡°I wish the people who run the DDHA, those politicos up in Canberra, could know you children the way I do. If they could see how you¡¯ve reinvented something as simple as tag, or hide-and-seek¡­ Those fear mongers would have a harder time making monsters out of you if they sat in on a performance from our Watercolours.¡±

    Many among the Watercolours¡¯ audience would have argued that was more than enough reason for the natural population to hate and fear posthumanity, but Allison hadn¡¯t sat through nearly three years¡¯ worth of their performances.

    ¡°Sadly, there isn¡¯t anything to do in Canberra besides making decisions about what you don¡¯t understand. Believe me, I¡¯ve been there far too much for my comfort. You probably understand far more than they do even at this young age.¡±

    Allison laughed, charitably, inspiring Lawrence to launch into a long chain of anecdotes. Abalone keeping the rain off the students and faculty during picnics; ?ywie¡¯s labours to cultivate ever more exotic plant hybrids; a photokinetic student called ¨¥¨­s fighting off those same exotic plant hybrids.

    Allison half-listened, letting Lawrence¡¯s reminiscing wash over her, until two new songs abruptly came to her attention, their tunes drifting across the river.

    Peering out from the trees near the far bank were two children, whom Allison recognised neither personally nor musically. One she thought was a boy, despite the distractingly fabulous hat he was wearing. It was so distracting, in fact, it took her a few seconds to notice his skin looked grey; almost blue, even. It then occurred to her that there wasn¡¯t any reason his skin shouldn¡¯t be blue. She knew that some demi-humans¡ªthough none at the Institute, it had seemed¡ªcouldn¡¯t pass as natural.  His song was bizarre, albeit not frighteningly so. Just frustrating. Whenever Allison tried listening to it, it was replaced with a completely new song, some perfectly baseline, some wildly superhuman. The other child¡ªa girl, probably¡ªwas more typical, at least by the standards of posthumanity. The tune of her song even sounded slightly familiar. The only thing that struck her as particularly strange about the girl was the way her hair appeared to taper from yellow to brunette and back again. There was also the sailor¡¯s outfit, she supposed, but it wasn¡¯t like the Institute had a set uniform. She looked disappointed at something, while the boy was waving gleefully, though not, it seemed to Allison, at her.

    She wouldn¡¯t draw attention to them; wandering beyond the river was against school rules, and nobody liked a dobber. She wondered, without much real curiosity, how the pair had escaped her notice. Her first idea was that they might have snuck off to one of the nearby towns, but surely someone would have mentioned a couple of kids being missing for nearly two days? Even if they hadn¡¯t, nobody ever snuck up on Allison, not even by accident, and there were less than fifty other people for over a mile. One of them was probably another teleporter, she decided. She was a little shocked how normal that explanation already sounded to her.

    ¡°...and then the pterodactyl pleaded with us for asylum. Well, naturally¡ªOof!¡± A soccer ball collided with the back of Lawrence¡¯s head.

    An Aboriginal boy, a little older than Allison, and whose song had hints of xylophone and intangibility, ran down to retrieve the ball. He smiled sheepishly. ¡°Sorry, Lawrence. Ball pulled a runner on us.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem, Haunt!¡± he exclaimed cheerfully, rubbing his head. ¡°I¡¯m guessing Britomart didn¡¯t kick it over here?¡±

    Haunt laughed. ¡°Would you be asking if she had?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s smile was tinged with dark humour. ¡°No, I imagine not. Who¡¯s winning?¡±

    ¡°The Comets!¡± replied Haunt, proudly.

    ¡°And which team is Brit playing for?¡± asked Lawrence.

    ¡°...The Comets.¡±

    Lawrence chortled. ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky, lad. The Thunder Kings could still make a comeback if you let your guard slip.¡±

    Haunt tilted his head. ¡°How¡¯d you know the other team was the Thunder Kings?¡±

    ¡°Lucky guess. Or I might need to throw myself a Naming. Either way, we¡¯ve probably held up the game long enough, run along now.¡±

    Haunt ran back to where the other players were just barely managing to wait for the ball to be returned. Aside from the children, a few of the teachers had been distributed between the teams in as egalitarian a fashion as possible, though Allison wasn¡¯t sure having an adult natural on your team really mattered when superpowers were involved. ?ywie and Basilisk languidly refereed from a couple of deck chairs. It was reassuring to know that even at the New Human Institute, kids¡ªincluding, she was pleased to see, quite a few girls¡ªstill played soccer.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I wish people could see,¡± said Lawrence, wistfully.

    Allison was starting to think she should go take a closer look. Lawrence was nice and all, but there was only so much adult company a girl could take.

    ¡°Uh, Lawrence, I¡¯m feeling better now. Do you mind if I leave you here?¡±

    ¡°Not at all! Go, be with your kind.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for keeping me company.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what I¡¯m here for, child.¡±

    She was about to step out of the water, when she looked back out across the river.

    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± asked Lawrence.

    ¡°Oh, nothing,¡± replied Allison.

    She was being quite honest. The new children were gone. She couldn¡¯t even hear their songs on the wind. It was like they had both dropped out of the world.

    ?

    Allison wandered around the Institute for a while. She was happy to discover that the school library had a copy of The Sword in the Stone. She¡¯d been sorely tempted to nick McClare¡¯s, but Melusine had insisted she be the bigger woman.

    At the moment, Melusine was levitating a large, ovoid mass of water in front of the house, allowing it to slowly drip down onto the children cavorting beneath it, eager to enjoy the sensation of rain before it once again became a daily annoyance. Allison thought it was great fun, even though there was something a little uncanny about the way Melusine stood there in her ice-state, smile carved and unmoving, like a mask. It didn¡¯t help she either was unable or chose not to make any kind of sound while she was that way.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Eventually, once the kids were thoroughly drenched, Melusine let the water collapse on top of them. Thanks to Allison¡¯s timely sampling of Britomart¡¯s song, who appeared to manipulate kinetic energy and momentum to enhance her strength and durability, she was the only child left standing. Not bad for a girl whose name sounded like an off brand supermarket.

    ¡°Again, again!¡± she demanded.

    Melusine resumed her regular form, her smile becoming much more palpable in the process. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s it for the day.¡± She tasted the air. ¡°You¡¯ll be begging me to make it stop in a month anyway.¡±

    There were some spirited protests, but eventually the children dispersed. Allison decided to go find Arnold, enjoying the feeling of the sun drying her clothes as she ambled around. Some of the other kids had actually stripped off for the water feature, but it would be a long time before Allison was willing to be seen¡­ as she was... by this menagerie of weird names.

    Arnold, Mabel, and Maelstrom¡¯s songs were all radiating from the same point, a weathered old barn on the northern edge of the property. As Allison approached it, she could hear voices coming from inside, and the clashing of metal. Whoever was speaking, they sounded angry. And Italian. Maybe Mabel¡¯s trapped Tiresias, thought Allison. She quickly attempted to ¡®undo¡¯ the thought, remembering what she had been told about the man¡¯s powers. She realised it was futile, though, and that, despite his protestations, he was probably used to hearing that kind of sentiment. She wondered, a little guiltily, if that was why he was the way he was.

    As she entered the barn, the voices became clearer. And louder.

    ¡°Quare ad depugnandum nos cogis?¡±

    Thanks to Harvey¡¯s parish priest, Dr. Lawrence, and a fair few besides them, Allison knew enough Latin to understand what that meant.

    ¡°Scelesta es, perversa¡ª¡±

    And that.

    Two gladiators were fighting in the middle of the barn. There were enough holes in the roof that Allison¡ªeven without the aid of the more visually oriented songs available to her¡ªcould easily see they possessed a similar unreal quality to the spacewoman Mabel had created. Or summoned. She still wasn¡¯t quite sure what was going on there, and it seemed these gladiators had been illustrated in a more hyper realistic style.

    The combatants were grinding their blades against each other in exactly the way real swordsmen didn¡¯t. It was embarrassingly filmy; a child¡¯s idea of what swordfighting should be. The fact she could recognise this surprised Allison. She wondered if some of the people in her hometown had led far more interesting lives than she ever suspected.

    Mabel and Maelstrom observed the fight from the hayloft, wearing togas fashioned from curtains and the closest thing to laurel wreaths that the local flora allowed. Like his mother, Maelstrom was in his ice-state, perhaps to help preserve the self-consciously grim expression he was wearing. Mabel needed no such help. Lying on his stomach next to them was Arnold, who was watching the fight with far less pretense.

    Mabel broke out in a grin when she spotted Allison. The gladiators became stiller than the Physician. ¡°Hey, Allison! Did you figure out the Physician¡¯s an alien yet?¡±

    She smiled up at them. ¡°It¡¯s real obvious, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°I know, right? Was he the one making you freak out in class?¡±

    ¡°No. Someone was just playing a really loud record only she could hear,¡± said Arnold, disdainfully.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I freaked out, exactly¡­¡±

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± asked Maelstrom, human again.

    ¡°Yeah. Lawrence talked to me for a long time after that. He¡¯s like, um¡­¡±

    ¡°Wise?¡± Maelstrom suggested.

    ¡°That uncle who really hopes you like his jokes?¡± added Mabel. Arnold and Maelstrom both looked at her blankly.  ¡°Oh, come on, you don¡¯t know what I mean?¡±

    ¡°All my uncles got blown up in Korea,¡± said Arnold, eternal font of good cheer. ¡°Dad says if Uncle Barney bought it a day earlier they would¡¯ve sent him home with his legs.¡±

    ¡°...I think I might still have a few in South Africa?¡± followed Maelstrom, a little limply.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I get it,¡± said Allison. ¡°My dad was the first one in his family to get married and have kids, so his brothers all kind of practised with me. They were hardly ever funny, but it felt nice they were trying.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Mabel, nostalgically. ¡°My Uncle Scott was like that. He used to have this little¡­¡± Her voice trailed off. ¡°Nevermind, had to be there. Now get up here so the melee can proceed!¡±

    Allison climbed up the ladder and lay down besides Arnold. Mabel made a grand sweeping gesture with her left hand, and battle¡ªas well as the torrent of bile and classical profanity from the gladiators¡ªresumed below.

    Allison found the spectacle more than a little questionable. ¡°Do you think they feel pain?¡± she asked Arnold, whispering.

    ¡°They¡¯re just drawings,¡± he replied, louder than she would have liked. Thankfully, Mabel didn¡¯t seem to hear.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know that,¡± retorted Allison. ¡°Remember what Maelstrom said his mum thinks? What if those gladiators are people who just got¡­ translated?¡± She huffed. ¡°I hope people invent words for the things we do soon. And have you asked Maelstrom why he doesn¡¯t call his mum mum? It¡¯s weird.¡±

    ¡°His business, isn¡¯t it? And even if those two are¡ªwere?¡ªreal blokes, they were already gladiators in the picture she got them from, and they were still fighting each other. Only difference is they¡¯re doing it here instead of in Rome.¡±

    ¡°I know what they¡¯re saying. They don¡¯t sound happy.¡±

    ¡°And them chopping each other up in the Colosseum would''ve been better?¡±

    Allison scowled at him. ¡°If Mabel got a picture of lions eating Christians or something, and made that real, would it still be alright?¡±

    He frowned. ¡°No, that¡¯d be gross.¡±

    ¡°Gladiators fought to the death, Arnold.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s being nice to us, can you not spoil it?¡±

    Allison noticed something clutched in Arnold¡¯s hand. ¡°What¡¯re you holding?¡±

    He stuffed it into his pocket. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°Come on, I won¡¯t laugh.¡±

    ¡°But you have! More than once!¡±

    Xylophones. She reached right through the fabric and pulled out a scrap of brown paper. ¡°Proverbs 13:20¡± had been meticulously handwritten on it in blue biro.

    He tried to wrench her hand open. ¡°Give it back!¡±

    ¡°Did your mum write this?¡± It was a bully¡¯s phrasing to be sure, but her tone was completely sincere.

    ¡°Who else do you think?¡± he snarled.

    The sounds of clanging metal stopped. ¡°Oi! What are you fighting about?¡± shouted Mabel.

    Allison answered for them, letting Arnold snatch the paper back. ¡°Bible verse. His mum used to write them on all his school lunches.¡±

    There were probably actual prophets who took their faith less seriously than Angela Barnes. Dealt a life few would consider enviable, the butcher coped with a religious fervour that even many of her neighbours thought excessive. And yet Our Lady of Immaculate Conception didn¡¯t always seem to appreciate Mrs. Barnes¡¯ devotion. Perhaps it was the way she ran her household, or her husband¡¯s open irreverence. Arnold, for his part, always suspected it was largely to do with her choice of profession: barmaids were at least respectably unsavoury. Or maybe it was the rather physical way she reacted to the parish priest¡¯s refusal to baptise infants whose names weren¡¯t down for the nearest Catholic school.

    Very little of that faith had rubbed off on Arnold, at least as far as Allison was able to tell. He was like a sponge left in a bucket of water. There was only so much it could absorb. She was actually surprised he was still carrying any of his mother¡¯s little messages. Aside from the sheer logistics of managing to hold onto it all that time at Roberts, they had gotten him viciously teased at times. Even by Allison on occasion, she was ashamed to admit.

    Mabel looked over Arnold¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about the Bible aside from Ten Commandments being a smashing film¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Sign of the Cross was better,¡± interjected Maelstrom.

    ¡°Oh, shush. Anyway, what does Proverbs 13:20 say?¡±

    Arnold sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know how Mum expected me to remember all those verses. Couldn¡¯t she have written the whole thing down?¡±

    ¡°Wise company brings wisdom; fool he ends that fool befriends,¡± recited Allison.

    Arnold laughed. ¡°So that¡¯s why Mum liked you so much.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°She had it memorised, I have it memorised. How¡¯d you sneak that into Roberts? They didn¡¯t even let me keep my pencil.¡±

    He rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m a witch.¡±

    ¡°At least your mum cared to enough to do it,¡± commented Mabel.

    ¡°And yours didn¡¯t?¡± Arnold asked, with just a tinge of sarcasm.

    ¡°No idea. She died having me.¡±

    Arnold went red. ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Why? Did ya kill her?¡±

    ¡°What¡ªno, I¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, really. Hard to be sad about someone you never knew. Dad did his best.¡±

    Allison was looking up at the holes in the ceiling. ¡°I wish I had something from Mum or Dad. Even Dad¡¯s bankbook would do.¡±

    They sat in uncomfortable silence. Allison and Arnold couldn¡¯t help but look at Maelstrom. He noticed. ¡°...Melusine loves all of us.¡±

    ¡°Basilisk''s your dad, right?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°...Yes. Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°Just curious.¡±

    To be frank, Arnold had mainly based his assumption on Basilisk being the only adult blackfella around. Allison had suspected the same thing, though she was also able to pick up the elder¡¯s influence on the younger song. Except when it came to powers. All Melusine there.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Mabel, ¡°if we¡¯re all clear on Maelstrom¡¯s proud lineage, I¡¯m going to let our friends down there finish up.¡±

    She stood and walked to the edge of the hayloft. The gladiators resumed fighting, only to stop once more when Mabel raised a hand. Allison was very concerned that she could smell their sweat.

    The gladiators looked up at her, desperate hope in their eyes. She extended her fist out in front of her. Thumbs down.

    Allison might have noticed that the gladiators reacted less like men being condemned to death, and more like men being condemned to an audit, if it weren¡¯t for the lion that leapt from the darkness.

    Their blood was strange.

    ¡°So, you guys looking forward to your Naming?¡± Mabel asked, perfectly cheerfully.

    ¡°I guess,¡± replied Allison, relieved that Mabel hadn¡¯t waited long to dispel the lion¡ªand his lunch. ¡°How does that work, by the way? Will Lawrence just start calling us ¡®Not-Here¡¯ and ¡®Every-Power¡¯ one morning?

    Mabel laughed. ¡°Oh, no, it¡¯s a bloody big deal. We build a bonfire, Lawrence decks you out in your Sunday best, he makes a speech, Kirk¡¯s Lemonade flows like water; it¡¯s pretty fun. They also cancel lessons on the day, so thanks for that.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± said Arnold, grinning.

    ¡°How long do we have to wait?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°Until Lawrence comes up with something he thinks fits,¡± replied Maelstrom.

    ¡°So you¡¯re better off the longer it takes,¡± added Mabel.

    Maelstrom frowned. ¡°He¡¯ll probably wait till he¡¯s decided on both your names. Wouldn¡¯t want us missing too much classes.¡±

    ¡°Very nice of him,¡± said Arnold, flatly.

    ¡°Hey,¡± said Mabel, ¡°you guys want to see something neat?¡±

    They nodded their assent. Mabel skipped to the back of the loft, returning with a magazine. ¡°Now, I¡¯m only showing this to you three because Maelstrom¡¯s my best mate, and you two¡­ Well, you¡¯re here and you seem nice.¡±

    It was a Time magazine. Specifically, the 1962 ¡°Man of the Year¡± issue. Its cover was a blurry photograph of said Man of the Year floating above the White House, Rudolf Anderson clinging to his arm for dear life.

    Arnold and Allison stared at Mabel, gobsmacked.

    She grinned at Allison. ¡°I found this in Lawrence¡¯s office while he was outside giving you the speech about how great it is that we were born super. Even if we weren¡¯t.¡±

    Before she could voice the obvious conclusion, Allison remembered something Mabel had said the day before. ¡°You¡¯re not going to try making him real¡ªI mean, real here¡ªare you? You said you couldn¡¯t do photos.¡±

    Mabel sighed. ¡°I know, stupid, isn¡¯t it? Doesn¡¯t help he¡¯s so blurry in the picture. Must be his jillion and oneth power or something.¡±

    It was hard for Allison to hide her relief. Luckily, Mabel eliminated the problem when she continued. ¡°Good thing they drew a picture of him for the article!¡± She flicked to the appropriate spot. It was a beautifully painted double-page spread of President Kennedy and his cabinet confronting the Flying Man on the North Lawn. ¡°That¡¯ll work just fine.¡±

    Allison couldn¡¯t speak.

    Mabel strode towards the edge of the loft again, Maelstrom trying to block her way. ¡°Um, Mabel, you sure about this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be great! He can give us all rides!¡±

    ¡°You sure he¡¯ll be up for that?¡±

    She looked at Maelstrom, puzzled. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. He has to do what I say.¡±

    Would he, Allison wondered. Over the course of three years, the Flying Man had proven himself impervious to gravity, bullets, bombs, heat, cold, and pretty much anything else you could care to name. Why should Mabel¡¯s power be any different?

    ¡°What if your powers do just take things from other places? He could be busy!¡±

    And if Mabel¡¯s powers did create rather than summon, would it matter? The Flying Man could lift thousand ton ships over his head, expertly dismantle thousands upon thousands of missiles all over the world in under a week, and occasionally, things he looked at straight up exploded. Could he know if someone out there usurped his image?

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll let him keep saving people. I¡¯m not a monster.¡± She threw the magazine onto the floor below, and pointed at it with an odd gesture.

    Maelstrom grabbed her arm. A futile gesture, as he well knew. ¡°Lawrence will be mad!¡±

    ¡°Then the Flying Man can go to the Quiet Room for us.¡±

    ¡°Do it,¡± said Arnold.

    ¡°What?¡± shouted Allison and Maelstrom, almost simultaneously.

    Arnold got up to stand beside Mabel. There was a glint in his eye Allison didn¡¯t like. ¡°Think about it for a sec. We could get the Flying Man to dig us a diamond mine. Or the government could pay us to make him smash the Reds! Hell, we could be the government, with the Flying Man on our side! I call Queensland! Well, if Mabel is nice enough to let us in on it.¡±

    She giggled. ¡°Sure! I¡¯m not greedy.¡±

    Arnold looked back at Allison, grinning unreservedly. ¡°You could have his song, Allison. Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t thought about it.¡±

    Allison frowned at him, hugging her legs. ¡°Her pictures don¡¯t have music.¡± She hated the part of her that was disappointed by that.

    ¡°Oh. Well, it¡¯ll still be great. He can smash Roberts, and McClare. Burn them to the ground, drop those doctors and nurses from the sky¡ª¡±

    ¡°Arnold!¡± shouted Allison.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit much,¡± agreed Mabel.

    ¡°Okay, okay. Maybe just beat them all up. We can decide when he¡¯s here. Do it!¡±

    Mabel resumed her stance, squinting in concentration.

    In the gloom of the barn, the Flying Man flickered into being. He turned to face Mabel, smiled, closed his eyes, and shook his head.

    The magazine burst into flames.

    ¡°Eeep!¡± exclaimed Mabel.

    Maelstrom melted into water, flowing out of his clothes and onto the burning magazine. The fire extinguished with a hiss.

    ¡°Damn it, Maelstrom,¡± yelled Mabel. ¡°I was going to put that back!¡±

    The water and steam reformed into Maelstrom. His nakedness didn¡¯t appear to cause him any shame. ¡°Yes, the thing that would have given away your plan to enslave the world with a picture of the Flying Man was a missing back issue of Time. Could you chuck down my clothes, please?¡±

    She did so. ¡°I wasn¡¯t really going to conquer the world. Just sorta¡­ run it for a while. Till I got bored.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s nice,¡± said Maelstrom, pulling on his shorts as he hopped towards the barn door. ¡°I¡¯ll talk to you later. Thanks, Allison. Though, next time, could you just teleport it away? There¡¯s still hay in here.¡±

    Mabel glanced her way.

    ¡°What? Hot day.¡±

    Mabel hurried down the ladder. ¡°Maelstrom, wait!¡±

    Arnold glared daggers at Allison. ¡°Yeah, thanks a lot.¡± He followed after Mabel.

    Allison slumped against the back wall of the barn and shut her eyes. After about twenty minutes, she was almost able to convince herself the Flying Man wasn¡¯t coming for them.

    ?

    The next few days were awkward, to say the least. Admittedly, it was hard for Allison to call them unpleasant, not after McClare, but the incident in the barn did cast an undeniable shadow over them. Class, at best tolerably boring, didn¡¯t help. Indeed, the only reason she was even still attending regular lessons was that the staff had yet to come up with anything else to occupy her time.

    If Maelstrom had told Lawrence or any other adult about Mabel¡¯s little experiment, nothing came of it. The two of them were already laughing and joking together again by dinner. Allison wasn¡¯t surprised. She¡¯d known plenty of friends like that at Harvey Primary. The kind that probably never went a week without some major row, but needed each other too much for any of them to matter. Both still kept their distance from her.

    They¡¯d also cut off Arnold, which Allison felt was more than a little unfair; he¡¯d been at least as stupid as Mabel in the barn. He certainly seemed to be taking it harder than her. He¡¯d always had a tough time making friends, even before you took his family¡¯s reputation into account.

    Allison, having written off Mabel and Maelstrom, and being half-terrified of the former anyway, had started making an effort to get to know the rest of her schoolmates. They were all friendly enough. She hurled a few of the Institute¡¯s least loved trees over the horizon with Britomart, and made a game of faking certain powers with others, just to see if anyone saw through it. Even the Institute¡¯s adolescent residents had deigned to keep her company for the better part of an afternoon, basking in the instinctual awe most children have for older kids and ignoring the slight bemusement that came with it. Allison couldn¡¯t help but find their almost-rule breaking a little adorable compared to Mabel trying to make the most powerful being on the planet do her evil bidding.

    None of the children had tried excluding her from their games, and had welcomed her readily into any conversation she decided to take part in. Except, she noticed, they didn¡¯t make much of an effort to invite her into anything. There was a faint but definite distance between her and the other students. She¡¯d put it down to her newness, or maybe her lack of a silly enough name.

    As it turned out, she only had to wait three days for that to be rectified.

    When Allison awoke that morning, she found herself alone in the dormitory. Judging by how the light from the windows fell on the walls, it wasn¡¯t far off noon. A note had been left on her bedside table:

    Good Morning, Allison. It¡¯s Naming Day! We thought we¡¯d let you and Arnold sleep in; if he hasn¡¯t woken up yet when you read this, you hereby have my permission to prod him awake. I¡¯m sure you know how boys can be. Festivities kick off at 5 O¡¯clock. If you don¡¯t think your hair has reached a suitably feminine length, come see me.

    -Z.

    Allison looked around, a vestigial response left over from millions of years of evolution spent without the advantage of ESP. Looked like Arnold was more of an early riser than her. She gathered up her clothes and enjoyed having the shower block to herself.

    Once she had deemed herself presentable, she decided to burn some of the hours between her and the Naming in the library. Halfway up the hill, a boy ran up to her. He was about eighteen, tall, flaxen haired, and¡ªas much as she was capable of judging these things from her prepubescent perspective¡ªquite radiantly handsome.

    ¡°Hey, Linus.¡± Linus had what could only be described as broad ¡®music¡¯ powers, and after word had gotten to him about the musical bent of Allison¡¯s own power, he¡¯d grown quite fond of the girl. He claimed to be a son of Apollo¡ªgod of healing, music, and pretty much anything else Hermes or one of the other supposed theoi hadn¡¯t already snatched up¡ªbut nobody bought that for a second. Apollo and the other Olympians lived all the way in Greece, after all.

    He grinned. ¡°Morning, Allison. Looking forward to trading the name in? What¡¯re you hoping for?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Not too fussed, long as it isn¡¯t too long. Maybe Symphony, ¡®cause of all the songs?¡±

    He slapped her on the shoulder, laughing. ¡°I¡¯ll keep my fingers crossed for ya. Maybe dad¡¯ll nudge Lawrence in the right direction.¡±

    He walked off, leaving Allison to wonder how seriously he meant that.

    She made her way inside and, soon afterwards, was ambushed by Britomart in the main hallway. She was a serious looking, deceptively slight¡ªalthough Allison would probably have been more surprised if she had looked as strong as she was¡ªseven year old. ¡°You gonna bet on yourself and Arnold?¡± she asked.

    ¡°What?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Did nobody tell you about the betting pool?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°We like to put bets on the Namings,¡± she explained. ¡°How many syllables you end up with, whether Lawrence goes for something Greek or T. S. Eliot, if you end up with a double nickname before the year¡¯s out, how long it takes him to decide on the name.¡± She allowed herself a small smile. ¡°I¡¯ve already won pretty big on the last one. Lots of different factors. You interested?¡±

    ¡°Not really? What do you even bet with?¡±

    ¡°Oh, lots of different things. Snacks, chores; sometimes Lawrence lets us do odd jobs in town to prove we aren¡¯t freaks or something and lets us keep the money. Not sure what he expects us to spend it on, but it¡¯s nice to know it''s ours. Windshear finds ways for people to pay.¡±

    ¡°Windshear?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s kind of in charge.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t she, like, five?¡±

    Brit shrugged. ¡°Six, but who''s counting?¡±

    ¡°The calendar?¡±

    She giggled. ¡°Happy Naming, Allison.¡± She ran off, at clearly inhuman speed.

    Much to her discomfort, Arnold was already sitting in the library. ¡°Oh, hi,¡± he said, not looking at her.

    ¡°Good morning,¡± Allison replied.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s the afternoon now.¡±

    ¡°Who cares?¡± She sat at one of the tables and opened her copy of The Secret Garden, less reading it and more ensuring she wasn¡¯t looking at anything else.

    ¡°Good book?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°Would I be reading it if it wasn¡¯t?¡± Actually, she did find she was dwelling a lot on the various ways the main characters could be done away with using the songs at her disposal.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. Maybe you were checking if it needed burning.¡±

    ¡°You know, I¡¯m pretty sure I could snap a kid in half right now.¡±

    ¡°And I could teleport them onto the Moon without a spacesuit.¡±

    ¡°That might not be so bad. Tea at the Gatehouse?¡±

    ¡°Jupiter, then.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Not surprised you need to aim at the biggest target.¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    Allison smirked. ¡°Looks like they¡¯re safe.¡±

    Arnold muttered something and looked back down at The Fellowship of the Ring, hoping to prove something to someone by not skipping the songs.

    Aside from lunch, where Lawrence made a game of not quite referencing the party that evening, the two children mostly stayed in the library that afternoon, better to avoid the avalanche of congratulations and eager speculations that greeted them whenever they left.

    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll have to do anything?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, Arnold?¡± replied Allison, testily.

    ¡°Well, are there words we¡¯ll need to say? Is Lawrence going to make us do a dance or something?¡±

    ¡°You can make a speech, at least.¡±

    ¡°When are you going to drop that? Mabel and Maelstrom hate me now, too, isn¡¯t that enough?¡±

    ¡°They can¡¯t hate either of us. We barely know them.¡±

    He scoffed. ¡°I thought you were meant to be smart.¡±

    Allison raised up in her chair. ¡°Listen¡ª¡±

    She was irritated enough to not notice the song drifting towards the door. A plump, matronly old lady opened it. ¡°Children, it¡¯s time to freshen up,¡± she declared in a thick, West Country accent.

    ?

    Mrs Gillespie¡¯s brush snagged in Allison¡¯s hair. ¡°Ow!¡±

    She tutted. ¡°Dear, I¡¯ve already accepted that all my efforts will be dashed as soon as you two are out on the grass, but for now, could you please sit still?¡±

    Allison stiffened. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, let¡¯s just¡ªEasy on the brylcreem, Arnold!¡± She rushed over just in time to prevent him from looking like Bob Hope on his worst day.

    Allison liked Mrs Gillespie. The other natural teachers put a lot of effort into making themselves seem as approachable and friendly as possible. As any child who¡¯s ever dealt with a youth pastor¡ªor certain breeds of student counsellors¡ªwill tell you, this had the unfortunate side effect of making them seem a touch pushy; hungry for the personal approval of their students. Mrs Gillespie, however, was to all appearances quite comfortable in her position of authority over her students, but did not wallow in it. It helped that she mainly taught history, which was close enough to being a story that Allison could get some enjoyment from the telling, even if it was still more like a pleasant reminder than actual learning.

    Mrs Gillespie was also the only teacher who preferred not being called by her first name. ¡°I¡¯m sure you new humans can forgive a very old human some backwardness,¡± she¡¯d explained to Arnold and Allison. Then she¡¯d offered them barley sugars. That and a sharp whack of a ruler just short of a distracted student¡¯s fingers comprised much of her strategy for dealing with children.

    She was presently occupied fussing over the two of them before their Naming. She¡¯d put Allison in a white gown that was not wholly unlike the one she¡¯d worn for her first Holy Communion. Same hair ribbons, too. She¡¯d dressed Arnold up ¡®smart¡¯, which meant he was quite acutely uncomfortable, but incredibly convenient for wandering family photographers.

    ¡°So, what do we do when we¡¯re in front of everyone?¡± asked Arnold, hoping to God he wouldn¡¯t have to wear the bowtie all night.

    Mrs Gillespie smiled warmly. ¡°Try to look thrilled by the attention. I don¡¯t expect you¡¯ll succeed, but at least everyone will know you¡¯re human.¡±

    Neither child seemed particularly reassured by this, but they did appreciate the honesty.

    ¡°Just remember this: every boy and girl out there went through the exact same thing. Well, apart from Maelstrom, but he¡¯s a special case. I can tell you now, you won¡¯t be able to match Phantasmagoria¡¯s faux pas.¡±

    Allison frowned at the mention of Mabel. ¡°What¡¯d she do?¡±

    ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t so much anything she did as much as what she said when Dr. Lawrence Named her.¡±

    ¡°And that was?¡±

    Mrs Gillespie cleared her throat dramatically. ¡°¡®That¡¯s it?¡¯ ¡±

    The children tried to suppress giggles, poorly.

    ¡°She¡¯s been such a good sport about her name. Even if she¡¯s usually run off before we¡¯ve finished saying it.¡±

    Arnold raised an eyebrow. ¡°You don¡¯t like the name?¡±

    She smiled, a little impishly. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that if you want to be a proper grown up, you need to accept that other grown ups¡ªeven the ones you most respect¡ªwill sometimes come out with some silly ideas. And I¡¯ve noticed that you two have been keeping your distance from Phantasmagoria and Maelstrom. Those two were all over you when you got here.¡±

    ¡°We haven¡¯t been here a week,¡± mumbled Allison.

    ¡°Now don¡¯t be giving me any of that,¡± said Mrs Gillespie, sharply. ¡°I was a mother once, you know. I can tell the difference between kids just not playing together and those same kids avoiding each other. Why don¡¯t you tell me what¡¯s the matter? Parties aren¡¯t nearly as much fun when there¡¯s bad blood in the air.¡±

    Arnold looked down at his hands, and not because the cufflinks made him feel posh. ¡°...We¡¯ll get into trouble.¡±

    Mrs. Gillespie looked thoughtful. ¡°Did anyone get hurt?¡±

    They both answered without hesitation. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Hmm, is anyone likely to get hurt?¡±

    Allison fielded that one, though she had to think about it. ¡°No. Me and Maelstrom made sure of that.¡±

    As a mother, grandmother, and educator, Mrs Gillespie was fairly confident in her ability to discern thoughtfulness from hesitation. ¡°Is the larder in order?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°And the latrines?¡±

    ¡°...Still yes.¡±

    ¡°Then I think I can live without the specifics. I think we¡¯ll let you go first, Allison.¡±

    Arnold opened his mouth to protest, but Mrs Gillespie held up a hand. ¡°You¡¯ll have your turn, Arnold. This isn¡¯t a race.¡±

    Allison tried to sum up as best she could. ¡°So Phantasmagoria and Maelstrom were doing something creepy in the barn, and then Phantasmagoria wanted to do something really stupid that¡¯d let her do more creepy things. Me and Maelstrom told her she was being stupid and kind of evil, but Arnold egged her on. Then I sort of¡­ burned the¡ª¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®sort of¡¯?¡± interrupted Arnold, bitterly.

    ¡°Don¡¯t interrupt,¡± ordered Mrs Gillespie.

    ¡°So I burned the magazine, and Maelstrom put it out.¡± She figured she wasn''t giving away too much with that.

    Mrs Gillespie nodded. ¡°Arnold, would you like to give us your side of the story?¡±

    ¡°She bloody burned it! Who does that? And now nobody likes us! And... And¡ª¡±

    She put a finger to his lips. ¡°Breathe, boy, breathe. Count to ten, recite a psalm, make a list of all the curse words you know for all I care. Just make sure you can say what you need to say without tripping over your words.¡±

    He went with all three suggestions. That out of his system, he started over. ¡°I thought he could keep us safe. Who was gonna try locking us up again if the Flying Man was on our side?¡±

    Allison flinched. If Arnold¡¯s admission disturbed Mrs Gillespie at all, she didn¡¯t let it deter her. ¡°I can¡¯t begrudge you the sentiment, if even a little of what Dr. Lawrence has told me is true.¡±

    ¡°But it wasn¡¯t just that.¡± Arnold¡¯s voice was beginning to quaver. ¡°I wanted him to hurt people. Not even just the people who shoved me in Roberts. I wanted him to hurt naturals for letting all that happen to me. I wanted him to hurt every bloke in Harvey who talked crap about my mum and dad. But I¡­ But I...¡± He broke into tears.

    ¡°Shhh.¡± Mrs Gillespie hugged him, tight. ¡°There, there, that¡¯s quite enough for now.¡±

    ¡°...I wanted him to hurt them, too.¡±

    Allison was clearly horrified. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Allison,¡± warned Mrs Gillespie.

    She didn¡¯t listen. ¡°Why would you want to hurt your parents?¡±

    ¡°...Because I thought they might have told on me.¡± It sounded childish even to his ears, but he could think of no other other way of putting it.

    Mrs Gillespie wished dearly that she could have told Arnold that he was being ridiculous. But she had worked with children like him¡ªand their families¡ªfor over a decade now, and she liked to think she was an honest woman. Her grip tightened. ¡°Oh, Arnold, honey¡­¡±

    ¡°I doubt that,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°And how would you know?¡± spat Arnold, tears still hot on his cheeks.

    She shrugged, dismissively. ¡°Just doesn¡¯t seem like them.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not your mum and dad.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just... Your dad hates the government. More than he hates anything besides the Reds. And even if your mum thought the Devil was in you or something, she¡¯d have made you take a holy water bath or something before handing you over.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about my mum like that!¡±

    ¡°You were the one who wanted the Flying Man to beat her up!¡±

    ¡°Shut up, shut up, shut up!¡±

    ¡°Please, children. Don¡¯t do this to each other.¡±

    Weeping is often contagious, and Allison was beginning to catch it. ¡°They came for you, Arnold,¡± she said. ¡°You let someone see you, and I got a rifle butt slammed into my head! Nobody would have ever noticed me if you hadn¡¯t messed up. We¡¯d both be home right now, I wouldn¡¯t have had to see two blokes get eaten by a bloody lion, and neither of us would¡¯ve been poked and prodded by a scarecrow wrapped in skin!¡±

    They were both crying too hard to argue after that. Red and puffy eyes flickered towards the door, worried that someone would barge into the powder room to see what was the matter. Mrs Gillespie doubted it. She found that the prospect of Naming had a way of dredging up submerged emotions.

    Arnold caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. ¡°We ruined all your work,¡± he moaned.

    Mrs Gillespie chortled, managing to make even that sound dignified. ¡°Oh, dears, there¡¯s a reason I always start a couple of hours in advance.¡± She pulled two hankies out of the floral patterned handbag she had on the counter. ¡°Now, if you would both take these, we can get started on the restoration efforts.¡±

    The two of them silently let her work on them. Mrs Gillespie rambled on about her own children and the old classroom she had presided over in Poplar, London. She held no delusion that either child was paying her much attention, but she figured they¡¯d rather have her anecdotes than silence.

    ¡°Allison,¡± she said while putting the finishing touches on said child, ¡°you don¡¯t have to answer this if it hurts too much, but what exactly do you think made the fellas from the DDHA decide to take you in as well?¡±

    For a moment, Allison found herself unable to answer. She knew she had nothing to fear in telling the plain truth, but the habits of secrecy and denial she had developed at McClare were not dying easily. She managed to push through it. ¡°I didn¡¯t know I could do powers before they came for Arnold. I didn¡¯t even know Arnold had powers. I just thought his song was very pretty.¡±

    Arnold blushed. Allison didn¡¯t notice.

    ¡°New human songs are just better like that. Um, sorry, Mrs Gillespie.¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°I never much fancied myself a musician, anyway.¡±

    ¡°We were at school when they came. They just marched into our classroom with guns and told Miss Rossi they were to bring Arnold in. Said someone had reported him ¡®causing paranormal phenomena with intent¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I find the DDHA has a need to use as many words as possible to describe very basic concepts,¡± opined Mrs Gillespie. ¡°If they were in our ?ywie¡¯s English class, I imagine she¡¯d find their prose quite purple.¡±

    ¡°Miss Rossi didn¡¯t argue. They pulled Arnold out of his chair and dragged him out of the room. We all followed to watch, even Miss Rossi. He was trying to squirm out of their arms, and I¡¯d just realised why his song sounded so different.¡± She looked at Arnold. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just use your power on the soldiers?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want them to know for sure I had one. If they thought I was a natural, they¡¯d have had to let me go home, right?¡±

    ¡°Very prudent,¡± said Mrs Gillespie. ¡°Although the DDHA is allowed to detain suspected superhumans for up to eighteen months before being required to provide evidence of a power.¡±

    ¡°God.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    Allison continued. ¡°So I just kind of took your song and threw it at the soldiers. I didn¡¯t even know I teleported them away. I might have felt guilty if they weren¡¯t trying to throw you in super-kid jail. Then one of their mates got behind me and...¡± She couldn¡¯t finish the sentence, not without reminding herself of that explosion of pain.

    ¡°Why¡¯d you do that, anyway?¡± asked Arnold.

    Allison didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to see you go, alright?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°Because we¡¯re mates. Even if I did laugh at your mum¡¯s Bible lunches. They¡¯re just weird.¡±

    ¡°Well, thanks,¡± he muttered.

    Allison grunted. ¡°It¡¯s fine. You got me out of McClare, anyway.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie seemed pleased. ¡°There we are! Prim as princes. They should be ready for you two about now.¡± She took the children by the hand and led them out to the front door. Before she opened it, she knelt down in front of them, meeting them at eye level. ¡°If you¡¯re still nervous, I can always escort you out to the stage.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a stage?¡± Allison asked. But she shook her head, trying to smile as bravely as she could. ¡°I think I¡¯ll be okay.¡± She looked to her friend. ¡°Arnold?¡±

    He shrugged, trying to reverse engineer some of his elder brothers¡¯ bravado. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s cool.¡± He liked the word cool. Made him feel American.

    Mrs Gillespie smiled. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it. Don¡¯t worry about the names you end up with, dears. I find names tend to grow to suit their bearers. Oh, wait a sec, almost forgot.¡± She removed a small, aquamarine brooch from her breast pocket, affixing it to Allison¡¯s dress. ¡°Belonged to my daughter. I like to have the girls wear it for their Namings, as long as they don¡¯t mind.¡±

    Allison was honestly touched. ¡°Not at all, Mrs Gillespie.¡±

    She smiled. ¡°Don¡¯t think you¡¯re being left out, young man. Those cufflinks belonged to my own dad.¡±

    Arnold appreciated the sentiment, though he would have rather not known the cufflinks¡¯ origin. After seven Anzac Days¡ªas well as two uncles and a granddad¡ªhe was a little over wearing the heirlooms of dead men. ¡°Thanks, Ma''am.¡±

    She opened the door onto the night. ¡°Well, your audience awaits you.¡± She broke out laughing. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have said that. Good luck, kids.¡±

    Arnold and Allison stepped outside. A white carpet had been laid out from the porch steps to just a little short of the river, where a large fire pit had been erected. Aside from Mrs Gillespie, who Allison could sense making her way down via the farmhouse¡¯s backdoor, everyone was assembled around it. She could hear their expectation, their curiosity; also impatience, boredom, and the vague hope they would get something to laugh at.

    She grabbed Arnold¡¯s hand. He did not reject it.

    ¡°So, what do we do?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°we either stay up here till we¡¯re old enough to leave, or we can let Lawrence give us Dan Dare names.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not Roberts. They can call me Lord Silly Squire for all I care.¡±

    Allison laughed. ¡°Wait. You strain your brain for an embarrassing name, and the worst you could think up was a regal title?¡±

    Arnold bit his lip. ¡°Let¡¯s just go, Every-Power.¡±

    ¡°Right behind ya, Not-Here.¡±

    They made their way down into the crowd. Allison did her best to wave like she imagined Princess Elizabeth would. They were surrounded by smiling faces; some, Allison could tell, were more sincere than others. Even the youngest students seemed to tower over the pair of them. They walked past them to where Lawrence and his eldest students stood waiting before the bonfire.

    When they reached them, they all shook Arnold and Allison¡¯s hand in turn, apart from Basilisk, who settled for a thumbs up in their general direction. ¡°Glad you could make it,¡± said Lawrence, too low for anyone but the two of them to hear. They were a little amazed he could pull that off.

    He turned back to the crowd. ¡°My friends!¡± he bellowed. All the subtle murmuring that arises when large groups of people are left idle stopped. ¡°We¡¯ve come out to welcome these two children into our family.¡±

    ¡°And because there was booze out here,¡± interjected Tiresias.

    The guests of honour laughed, as did a few others, but Lawrence ignored him. ¡°As you all know, I¡¯ve travelled a fair bit in my time. I¡¯ve met new humans from every corner of the globe. I¡¯m probably the only white man to look upon Fantomah and live¡ªat least in a state worth being alive¡ªthough that¡¯s entirely on her, believe me. I was lucky enough to be joined on my travels by these four fine men and women beside me, and then by all of you. And though I¡¯ve been settled and sedentary for nearly thirteen years now, I like to think we¡¯re all still on a journey together. And now, I wish to formally invite Myriad and Elsewhere to join us.¡±

    The crowd applauded, which was good, since it took Allison and Arnold a moment to figure out which was which.

    They let the newly christened Myriad¡ªor maybe Snapdragon via Myriad¡ªlight the bonfire, which she did with aplomb, conjuring a pair of flaming Chinese dragons to breathe life into it. She found it funny that Snapdragon¡¯s fires only burned if he willed them to.

    The teachers got utterly smashed, to put it generously, resulting in a drunken reenactment of the Nativity, with Mrs Gillespie standing in for that eternal cuckold, Joseph. ?ywie, Basilisk, and Melusine, arms linked, sang ¡°My Boomerang Won¡¯t Come Back¡±, as loudly and as foreignly as possible. In what was without a doubt his greatest possible contribution to the party atmosphere, Tiresias kept to himself.

    Myriad and Elsewhere¡ªwho had been expecting much worse, if they were being honest¡ªhad what might have been the best night of their lives. They danced like pagans in the lurid imaginations of Christians. They consumed enough party food and fizzy drinks to earn the hatred of their next morning selves. Bowties were discarded. Most importantly, for the first time since either of them realised what they were, they didn¡¯t feel alone: the barrier between them and the other children had well and truly crumbled. They both stretched their powers, or in Allison¡¯s case, the powers she found most appealing at any given moment, in ways they never before imagined.

    There was only one note of confusion that evening. It occurred to Allison that she hadn¡¯t seen either the blue boy or the girl in the sailor outfit since the day of her check-up, so she¡¯d decided to ask after them. By that point of the night, Lawrence had drunken approximately a pub-and-a-half worth of lager, and was thus slightly tipsy. He was entertaining Mrs Gillespie¡¯s theory that the various books of the Bible should each be paired with a different alcoholic beverage when Allison ran up to them.

    ¡°So, for the Apocalypse of Saint John you¡¯d obviously be drinking absinthe, like Byron¡ªOh, hello Myriad.¡± She beamed at her, not even caring about the grass stains.

    ¡°Hi, Mrs Gillespie! Thanks again for getting us ready.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± she slurred.

    She giggled. There was a reason she tried to stay up as late as possible when her parents had company. ¡°Um, Lawrence, have you seen the blue kid and the girl with the badger hair anywhere? It¡¯s been days since I heard ¡®em.¡±

    Lawrence chuckled. ¡°Blue kid? Badger hair? Did you lick that lollipop the Physician gave you? I told him it wasn¡¯t appropriate putting hallucinogens in those.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°No,¡± she lied. ¡°It definitely wasn¡¯t a dream.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie hiccuped. ¡°Don¡¯t fret, child. It was probably just some of Ma-, I mean, Phantas-Phantasma-Drawing Girl¡¯s creations walking around. Or maybe ?ywie¡¯s plants have learned how to give birth.¡±

    Lawrence looked at her warily. ¡°You think so?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure she¡¯s thought about it.¡±

    Allison decided she wouldn¡¯t press the issue till the two of them had sobered up. Slightly exhausted from the the new enthusiasm her classmates had for her and Arnold, she decided to experiment with Brit¡¯s power for a bit. Thanks to how she played with kinetic energy, it allowed her to leap tall buildings in a single bound. There were of course no tall buildings for hundreds of miles, so she contented herself with jumping over the house and the barn. At least until she spotted Mabel sitting alone by the river, looking out over the black water.

    Inspired by the camaraderie she¡¯d enjoyed that night, Allison decided to set down and try being friendly. It wasn¡¯t like she was even mean to her or Arnold. Sure, she tried roping them into a campaign of world domination, but that was simple courtesy. If anything, they should have been flattered. It helped that she didn¡¯t appear to have her binder nearby.

    ¡°You got lucky, Myriad,¡± she said as Allison approached her.

    She stopped. ¡°Thanks, I think. Probably be a while before I start calling myself that in my head. Where¡¯s Maelstrom?¡±

    Mabel patted a neatly folded set of clothes beside. ¡°In the river. Or being the river, I guess. He does that sometimes when the other kids get rowdy.¡±

    ¡°I can get that. Hey, I wanted to say sorry about the barn. I overreacted.¡±

    She laughed. ¡°Nah, I think you were right. Mostly. I would¡¯ve gotten bored with the world pretty soon, anyway. Or I would have picked one bit to do stuff in and let the rest of it go to waste.¡±

    Allison decided that this was likely what passed for good sense from Mabel. ¡°So, friends?¡±

    She waved a hand. ¡°Whatever you want to call it, Every-Power.¡±

    Allison sat down beside her. ¡°Mabel, do you have a Socii?¡± she asked. ¡°The Physician said a lot of us have them.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s what he said when he checked me out, at least. ¡±

    ¡°Were you born with your powers? I think I was,¡± she said, not without some pride.

    ¡°...No. I was like five or six.¡±

    Allison decided to ask Mabel something she¡¯d been rather curious about since coming to the Institute. ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s what like?¡±

    ¡°Getting powers. You know, if you weren¡¯t born with them.¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s different for everyone.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but what about you?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer. Eventually, Allison craned forward to get a better look at her face. There was something haunted in her eyes.

    ¡°Um, Mabel?¡±

    ¡°...There was a man.¡±

 Chapter Seven: Shall I Lose Twice?

    Mabel offered no further elaboration on what she had said by the river, and Allison doubted she¡¯d have much luck if she hounded her about it. Allison suspected she might have more luck if she continued hanging out with Mabel and Maelstrom in their creepy barn, even though this required warding off thoughts about lions lurking in the shadows.

    To be fair, Mabel did make a concerted effort to put Allison at ease in the week that followed. She refrained entirely from blood sports, and mostly animated pictures of aliens and monsters. They were gross-looking, and therefore evil, and thus it didn¡¯t matter what they did to them. Even Allison couldn¡¯t fault her logic there.

    Monsters aside, they also had a lot of fun fiddling with her armoury of fictional gadgets, though they failed to tempt anyone into trying the food-pills. They all agreed that Haunt letting them drop one down his intangible throat didn¡¯t count.

    One side-effect of Mabel opening back up to Allison and Arnold¡ªapparently they were a package deal¡ªwas that they were inextricably drawn into the sordid business that was the Watercolours. Neither was sure what to make of this development. Although Allison was considering proposing a vote to change their name to ¡°The Watercolours and Their Orchestra.¡±

    Regardless of their current name, the Watercolours were in the midst of a crisis, or at least Mabel seemed to think so. She stomped around the barn, agitated. Delicately painted ravens circled her head, cawing balefully.

    ¡°Do you think we¡¯re getting stale?¡± Mabel asked anyone who was listening, whether that meant the other children in the barn, the ghost of the property¡¯s original owner, or God.

    As it happened, this did not include Allison. She was too busy trying out Maelstrom¡¯s personal brand of shapeshifting for the first time. She¡¯d hesitated for ages, mostly out of an irrational¡ªif anything about her power was more irrational than the rest¡ªfear that she wouldn¡¯t be able to change back if she did.

    It was without doubt the most alien sensation she had ever experienced. Unless she consciously willed her body to move, it remained as still as if she were an actual ice sculpture. When she deigned to move, it wasn¡¯t through any exertion of her musculature or nervous system, for in that state she possessed neither. Her physical form was merely another mass of water for her to play with, no different from the humidity in the air, or the liquid in her friends¡¯ bodies.

    Disconnected from her body as she was, her senses were also completely unrestrained. She could see herself lying on a loose pile of hay, staring at her own translucent hand, as though she were floating just above herself. It was like was watching a film; one which allowed her to change the angle of the shot on a whim. Without moving her head an inch, she could simultaneously see Arnold in the far corner of the barn, sitting on a rusted out tractor and occasionally making engine noises, and Maelstrom, dangling his legs off the hayloft while he pondered the way forward for the Watercolours.

    If Allison were a little older or just more philosophically inclined, it might have occurred to her that Maelstrom and his mother¡¯s powers were the greatest proof for metaphysical dualism ever discovered. As it was, she was more interested in how effortlessly she could crush stones in her grip. Ice was surprisingly strong when you could telekinetically keep it from melting.

    ¡°Maybe we need to take a break for a while,¡± suggested Maelstrom, as gently as possible. ¡°Recharge our batteries a bit?¡±

    Mabel kicked the dirt like it had personally offended her. The crows¡¯ flight patterns became more erratic. ¡°We¡¯ll lose our audience if we go too long without a performance!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask,¡± said Arnold from his tractor, ¡°does Lawrence pay you at all for this? And if he does, where¡¯s my and Allison¡¯s cut?¡±

    Mabel sniffed indignantly. ¡°We do it for the craft.¡±

    ¡°The craft of using your magic powers to make spaceships fight over the house?¡±

    She turned her nose up, eyes closed. ¡°When you put it that way¡­ still yes.¡±

    He rolled his eyes and jumped down from the tractor. ¡°Maybe the reason you¡¯re having trouble thinking up new acts is because you¡¯re bored.¡±

    Maelstrom dropped down from the hayloft, his ice-state preventing any injury, apart from some easily remedied shattering. ¡°What do you mean?¡± he asked once he was back in one piece, as innocently as possible.

    Arnold started pacing. ¡°You guys watch movies, right?¡±

    ¡°Course we do. Basilisk loves mucking around with the projector¡ªwell¡ªhaving a kid muck around with it for him,¡± said Mabel.

    ¡°And sometimes the teachers take us to the cinema in town,¡± added Maelstrom.

    Arnold himself had only been to the cinema three times. Two of those occasions had been with the Kinseys¡ªAllison having successfully pestered her parents to let him tag along¡ªbut once the elder Barnes did manage to scrape together the money and time to take him to Harvey Drive-In themselves. He could still remember that night. The soundtrack of some B-movie rubbish filling their clapped out Ford, his father laughing at how his mother covered his eyes whenever anything she deemed inappropriate appeared on the screen.

    ¡°Ange, don¡¯t tell me you think anyone could ever mistake that for actual, proper violence!¡± his father had had said while Kieron Moore tried in vain to convince the audience he was struggling to keep triffids from battering down his door.

    ¡°It¡¯s trying to be, that¡¯s all that matters,¡± she had replied tersely.

    What his father hadn¡¯t noticed was the convenient gap between his wife¡¯s fingers.

    Arnold smiled at the memory. It was either that or burst into tears. He pulled sharply back into the present by one of Mabel¡¯s ravens cawing into his ear. ¡°Aauugh!¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Mabel, allowing the raven to alight on her shoulder. ¡°You kinda spaced out there for a sec.¡±

    His face went scarlet.

    Mabel smiled, with a little more kindness than Arnold had come to expect from her. ¡°Don¡¯t be embarrassed. Happens to most kids ¡®round here. Try talking about baked potatoes where Brit can hear ya.¡±

    ¡°Or don¡¯t. Because that would be awful,¡± said Maelstrom, very seriously.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Arnold, trying to steer the conversation back towards him sounding clever and insightful. Or at least he hoped that was where it was headed. ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, maybe people would be more into your stuff if it, like, had stories. Real stories. Not just people on a boat screaming and kissing each other before they sink.¡±

    ¡°But Lawrence liked that one,¡± complained Maelstrom.

    ¡°He¡¯s your teacher. Might as well be your granddad,¡± Arnold retorted, not a little wearily. ¡°He likes all your stuff because you did it, not because he likes the stuff.¡±

    Maelstrom¡¯s lip started trembling. Arnold rubbed his neck. ¡°Hey, mate, I didn¡¯t mean it that way. I mean, Lawrence loves you two too much to be¡­¡± As he searched for the right word, Arnold realised how much he envied the vast, stolen vocabulary of the ice statue lying on the haypile.

    ¡°Objective?¡± Maelstrom mercifully offered.

    ¡°Yeah, that,¡± said Arnold. A thought struck him. ¡°Also, he might love our powers too much to not be impressed? Like, you know those stories about explorers in Africa showing savages matches and stuff for the first time?¡±

    Mabel glared at him, backed up by the gaze of her pretend flock. Maelstrom didn¡¯t seem all that impressed, either.

    ¡°Oh¡­ Sorry, mate, I wasn¡¯t talking about¡ª¡±

    ¡°I was born here,¡± was all Maelstrom had to say about that.

    Inadvisable though it was, Arnold stayed the course. ¡°So, those¡­ natives, were really impressed, right? But if the explorers went home to London or wherever, gotten up on stage and lit some cigarettes expecting people to be impressed, they¡¯d be laughed all the way back to Africa.¡±

    Mabel snorted. ¡°Unless every match does something completely different, and nobody has the same ones, that¡¯s nothing like us.¡±

    Arnold pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit picked up from his mother. ¡°Yeah, but they¡¯ve seen you light a whole factory¡¯s worth of fags. And Lawrence can¡¯t even buy a pack. Or maybe he was born without hands.¡±

    Mabel nudged Maelstrom. ¡°Better pay attention, Maelstrom, master storyteller here.¡±

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, you¡¯ve shown everyone you can make sets and people. Now you need to do something with them. Maybe Shakespeare. Everyone will think you¡¯re smart. Might even want to join in.¡±

    Mabel scoffed. ¡°Yeah, right. We¡¯ve been trying to get the others to help for literally years!¡±

    Arnold shook his head. ¡°You just wanted them to use their powers for you. They already do that all day. Sometimes all night, too. But imagine if you asked them to act. Like in Hollywood. In America.¡± A glint appeared in Arnold¡¯s eyes at the thought of the Promised Land. ¡°There¡¯ll be a line from here down to the river just to audition.¡±

    Mabel gamely attempted to hide how much the idea of her fellow students competing to be in one of her productions excited her, instead attempting an air of thoughtful ambivalence. ¡°I guess that could work, but which Shakespeare?  There¡¯s more than one you know.¡±

    Arnold frowned. Of course he knew that. He wasn¡¯t an idiot, even if he did assume the ¡°Alas, poor Yorick¡± monologue and ¡°Now is the winter of our discontent¡± were from the same play. And that Shakespeare also wrote Faust. Shrugging, he answered, ¡°Up to you, directress.¡±

    ¡°Directress? Really?¡±

    They all jumped a little at the sound of Allison¡¯s voice. She looked at Maelstrom, her eyes fading back to their usual hazel. ¡°Your power is¡­¡± she searched for an appropriate description, eventually settling on something she overheard Arnold¡¯s eldest brother say one bank holiday. ¡°A real trip,¡± she finished, a little uncertain.  ¡°Do you know if your mum ever turned icy or anything like that when she was expecting?¡± she asked.

    Maelstrom looked at her quizzically. ¡°Expecting what?¡±

    His ignorance surprised Allison, though it did occur to her that most of the grownups he knew were foreigners. Maybe French women called it something altogether different. ¡°Well, you.¡±

    This didn¡¯t seem to clear things up for Maelstrom. ¡°...Expecting me to what?¡±

    Exasperated, Allison tried another route. ¡°I mean, when she was in the family way.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s asking if she did the water thing while she was pregnant with you,¡± cut in Mabel.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know, never asked. And why didn¡¯t you just ask that?¡±

    Allison wasn¡¯t sure herself. Most families in Harvey were farmers of one shade or another, and thus their children were usually fairly familiar with the basic mechanics of birth, and even if that hadn¡¯t been the case, Allison was Allison. Still, in her experience, people tended to dance around the subject unless the mother-to-be was livestock. She found Mabel and Maelstrom¡¯s straightforwardness quite refreshing, actually.

    Before she could answer, Mabel spoke again. ¡°Myriad, you know most of the things, what play should we do?¡±

    Allison was still getting used to that name. Mabel unsurprisingly rarely used it in private, but she did find it an effective way of getting her attention. ¡°Well, I of course know all of the Bard¡¯s plays off by heart,¡± she said, in the most outrageously pantomime pommy accent she could muster. Or, to put it another way, Lawrence¡¯s.

    ¡°They put them on every lunchtime at school,¡± continued Arnold, in the same accent. ¡°When the actors were busy beating houseboys or hunting peasants, we used cows instead.¡±

    That last bit seemed to grab Mabel¡¯s interest. Arnold looked her dead in the eye. ¡°Don¡¯t even consider it, Mabel. You could never afford their salaries,¡± he said in dead seriousness, before breaking out in giggles. Very contagious giggles.

    When they died down, Mabel made a suggestion. ¡°We should sneak out.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Maelstrom, hoping his voice carried a note of finality.

    ¡°Come oooooooon. We had fun last time!¡±

    ¡°No, you had fun. I spent the whole afternoon imagining everyone lined up waiting for us in front of the big house. Looking stern.¡±

    ¡°Well that didn¡¯t happen, did it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he conceded. ¡°Instead, I got to think Lawrence was just waiting till we thought we got away with it. Still not sure if we did.¡±

    Allison could relate. ¡°Do you ever worry about Tiresias listening in?¡± she asked.

    Maelstrom appeared to freeze¡ªfiguratively for once¡ªat the suggestion, but Mabel didn¡¯t seem phased. ¡°As if. Tiresias doesn¡¯t give a toss what we do. Only time he ever dobbed anyone in to Lawrence was when some of the big kids were drinking grog behind the barn.¡±

    ¡°Whydah think he cared about that?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°It was his grog,¡± explained Maelstrom.

    ¡°Ah. Hey, by sneak out, do you mean, like, to town?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± said Mabel.

    Arnold smiled expectantly. ¡°That¡¯s a bit far, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°We took a unicorn,¡± she said without fanfare.

    Allison squealed with delight. Arnold would have, too, if he hadn¡¯t remembered that unicorns were for girls. What would his father say? ¡°Um, why a unicorn?¡±

    The fact Arnold even needed to ask perplexed Mabel. ¡°¡®Cause someone might¡¯ve spotted a dragon.¡±

    Sound reasoning.

    A mostly undeclared game of tag was cut short by a knock on the barn door. ¡°Am I interrupting anything?¡± sing songed Mrs Gillespie.

    She was, but nobody besides Arnold minded particularly. Such was the way of tag with teleporters. ¡°Thankfully!¡± called back Allison.

    A muffled chortle, and the barn door swung open. ¡°Ah, Myriad, glad I found you. Me and the other teachers would like to speak with you.¡±

    She regarded the old woman warily, remembering the Institute¡¯s possibly all-knowing (if apathetic) watchmen, and asked ¡°Am I in trouble?¡±

    Mrs Gillespie laughed. ¡°Not at all! If anything, it¡¯s the opposite problem.¡± She glanced around at the other children. ¡°Morning, chooks. Making good use of your Saturday?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re doing a Shakespeare play!¡± announced Mabel, beaming with pride. Her ravens had at some point disappeared in favour of some very self-satisfied looking eagles.

    Mrs Gillespie clapped. ¡°Wonderful! Which one?¡±

    The eagles¡¯ confidence appeared to deflate somewhat. ¡°Um, Arnold hasn¡¯t picked one yet.¡±

    Arnold blinked. ¡°Why me?¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯re the ideas man now,¡± said Maelstrom.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Arnold dryly.

    Mrs Gillespie put a hand to her mouth, concealing a grin. She decided to let the misnaming slide. They were in private, after all. ¡°That¡¯s something for you four to decide, of course. I remember how much fun my class had putting on Macbeth back in secondary school. I tried out for one of the witches, but I ended up filling in as Hecate when Agnes Fuller came down with the mumps.¡± She laughed at the recollection. ¡°I was mortified.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t Hecate queen of the witches?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°I suppose, but they say Shakespeare didn¡¯t even write her bit.¡± She smiled wryly. ¡°I mustn''t be too ungrateful, though. The witches were all made to wear beards.¡±

    This sent the children into hysterics. When the laughter died down, Mrs Gillespie took Allison by the hand.  ¡°We should get going. I¡¯m sure Dr. Lawrence won¡¯t keep this one too long.¡±

    They exited the barn, leaving the other Watercolours to ponder the revelation that their teacher had not in fact sprung fully formed from the head of Zeus.

    ?

    On the whole, Allison liked the teaching staff of the New Human Institute well enough. Basilisk possessed an enthusiasm that could almost reach infectiousness, she found ?ywie¡¯s apparent indifference to actual teaching paradoxically engaging, and sports with Melusine was the one part of the curriculum that truly challenged her¡ªunless she was sampling someone like Britomartis, but that had its own appeal. As for Tiresias¡­ well, you always knew what to expect with him. And he didn¡¯t seem to teach classes anyway. In fact, when she thought about it, Allison couldn¡¯t quite tell what he did all day. The human teachers, besides Mrs Gillespie and Lawrence himself, Allison mostly regarded them as kindly non-entities, both green enough to still be slightly in awe of their students. They still smelt of university. Apparently, Lawrence had once confided to Allison, it was difficult to find more seasoned educators willing to teach dozens of children with demiurgic powers.

    ¡°At least the ones who came are here because they want to be here,¡± Lawrence had told her.

    All that being said, Allison still couldn¡¯t help but feel a little intimidated to find the entire faculty waiting for her in Lawrence¡¯s study. Especially when they all turned in their seats to look at her. Even more so when she noticed Tiresias slumped on the couch between Melusine and ?ywie, idly flicking through some baking book. She noticed him quite a bit, actually.

    Lawrence grinned. ¡°Ah, Mary, I see you tracked down our little polymath.¡± Allison was still glad she didn¡¯t end up being called that. ¡°I hope she came quietly.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie chuckled, blushing. ¡°Please, Doctor, surnames in front of the children.¡± She smiled down at Allison. ¡°And she was no trouble.¡±

    ¡°Well then,¡± said Lawrence, ¡°Have a seat, Myriad.¡±

    Allison did so, after the customary fraction of a second it still took her to answer. She also gamely tried to ignore the familiar crescendo she just heard in her teacher''s songs. ¡°You wanted to see me?¡± At least she¡¯d stopped reflexively calling Lawrence ¡°sir¡±.

    Lawrence laughed. ¡°My dear, I would never pass up an opportunity to speak with you, but actually, your teachers asked me to arrange this chat.¡±

    Allison looked around at the other grown-ups. They were all sporting expressions of benign concern, with the obvious exception of Tiresias, who looked like he was doing his best to pretend he was alone with his book. The presence of said obvious exception still made her suspect she was about to be called out for something. ¡°Okay¡­ why?¡±

    Mrs Gillespie put her hand over Allison¡¯s. ¡°We were all wondering, sweetie, if you feel you get anything out of our classes?¡±

    If Allison had been exploring the arctic, and came across a waddle of penguins eating a polar bear, she would have been less surprised than she was right now. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Therese Fletcher, the practical science teacher, flashed Allison a slightly pained smile. She was the least steady of the baseline teachers, possibly due to everything she knew about her subject being contradicted on a daily basis by watching her students play after class. She claimed this only enlivened her scientific curiosity, but if a few of Allison¡¯s classmates (especially Mabel) were to be believed, this attitude was only maintained thanks to frequent infusions of gin. ¡°Well, with your gift, it seems likely that we might¡¯ve already taught you everything we can just by standing in the same room as you.¡±

    ¡°And if that¡¯s true, it seems unfair to make you repeat the ritual day after day,¡± added Bryant Cormey. Bryant mostly taught civil studies, and was quite good at it, if prone to long tirades about his desire for a return to direct democracy, perhaps facilitated by species-wide telepathy. As nice as the idea sounded, Allison didn¡¯t think she could abide abide a world where her head was a venue for public debate. It was noisy enough in there already.

    ¡°I know this might sound like an interrogation from your end,¡± said Basilisk from one of his leather upholstered patio chairs¡ªa fresh one, as evidenced by the lack of fumes. Sometimes, the more mathematically inclined students attempted to figure out what percentage of the school budget was spent on those. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re worried about offending us. You shouldn¡¯t be. We¡¯re not that thin skinned.¡±  There were general nods of agreement from around the room. Basilisk broke out his Cheshire Cat impersonation again. He¡¯d always taken impeccable care of his teeth, knowing a filling wouldn¡¯t last a week in his mouth. ¡°Still,¡± he continued, ¡°we¡¯ve all noticed you spacing out a little in our classes, and it¡¯d be very comforting to know it wasn¡¯t our fault.¡±

    Allison blushed. This problem had in fact been pointed out to her a number of times back at Harvey Primary. They usually attempted to correct it via a quick, sharp strike to her knuckles, topped off with a tersely worded note to her parents. Didn¡¯t seem to care I learnt it all fine, she thought bitterly. There was usually less preamble than this, though, which gave her hope. ¡°Um, yeah¡± she said, hoping Basilisk and the others were as self-secure as he claimed. ¡°Class time is really kinda boring.¡±

    ¡°Never heard a student say that before,¡± said Tiresias, nose still in his book. He was up to the part about lemon meringues.

    Allison pouted at him, before remembering that Tiresias was still technically an authority figure, and quickly looking down at her knees. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not really learning anything? I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Lawrence leaned back in his chair, grinning. ¡°Don¡¯t be!¡± he boomed. ¡°You just reduced my colleagues¡¯ workloads. Now, if you could help me figure out how much I should dock their pay¡­.¡±

    Cries of mock outrage filled the study. Allison found it a little off-putting. This was a serious meeting about serious topics. Serious topics concerning her. ¡°What happens now?¡± she asked over the clamour.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The teachers got a handle on themselves. ¡°We were thinking,¡± said Lawrence, ¡°instead of keeping you in regular classes, we¡¯d invite over interesting people to come and meet with you.¡±

    ¡°You could sit down together, maybe over a cuppa, and just for chat for a while,¡± said Mrs Gillespie. ¡°I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll find you lovely company.¡±

    Flattering as that sentiment was, the idea made Allison uncomfortable. It reminded her of something unpleasant, but whatever it was, she couldn¡¯t quite put it into words. She decided that if she couldn¡¯t even decide why it bothered her, it probably didn¡¯t matter. ¡°Sure,¡± she said, with a shrug. ¡°Sounds alright.¡± She¡¯d stuck her hands in her pockets. Her fingers felt sore, all of a sudden.

    Lawrence clapped his hands together. Judging by his expression, he heard much more enthusiasm in Allison¡¯s agreement than anyone else did. ¡°Wonderful! I¡¯ve already made a couple tentative appointments. I hope you don¡¯t think that presumptuous of me, dear.¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± replied Allison. ¡°Who¡¯s on first?¡±

    Lawrence flicked through his rolodex, obviously quite pleased with himself. ¡°Well, first is an old friend of mine from Oxford. He majored in political science, and is quite good at it.¡±

    That might have excited someone out there, but Allison was eight. She wondered how they might test her on that. Have her run a sovereign nation out of the barn? ¡°And the other one?¡±

    ¡°Research engineer. Did a lot of work for the army back during the war.¡±

    That peaked Allison¡¯s interest a little more, even if the part about the war was unsettling.

    ¡°Glad we got that sorted,¡± said Mrs Gillespie, sounding a little relieved. ¡°Now chook, let¡¯s figure out what we¡¯re going to do with you the rest of the week.¡±

    Allison looked up at her. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    She looked a little bemused. ¡°Sorry if we got your hopes up, love, but we can¡¯t just leave you to your devices whenever we don¡¯t have an expert to throw at you.¡±

    ¡°Imagine what the other kids would think,¡± said Melusine, examining her fingernails. ¡°How do you think they¡¯d react to finding out one of their classmates gets to skive off school and¡ªI don¡¯t know¡ªrelax in the library all day? You¡¯d be lynched.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°I think I understand.¡± She couldn¡¯t lie, in their place she¡¯d probably be calling for her blood, too. ¡°But I do really like some classes, like sports, English, and history. Maybe I could keep going to those?¡±

    ?ywie looked genuinely touched. Most people thought her teaching was a distant second to the most important thing she did at the Institute; herself included.

    Sadly, Allison didn¡¯t notice, being distracted by Lawrence wagging his finger, having apparently missed the universal memo regarding that particular gesture. ¡°Ah, ah, ah, can¡¯t just have you picking and choosing your classes. Should probably keep you in sports, though, unless you learn how to mimic muscle tone.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie frowned. ¡°Doctor,¡± she said, her tone very even, ¡°If Myriad still finds certain lessons fulfilling, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s unreasonable to let her continue with them.¡±

    Lawrence smiled. ¡°I¡¯m sure many of our primary-age students would still find finger-painting fulfilling, but we don¡¯t keep it on the curriculum.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie inhaled, taking a moment to remind herself of the importance of presenting a united front. ¡°Regardless, we still need something for her to do.¡±

    ¡°I was getting to that.¡± He turned to Basilisk. ¡°How would you like an assistant, old boy?¡±

    Basilisk stammered a bit. ¡°I suppose it would be a help.¡± He did appreciate the offer, but the idea of having a child wait on him did not sit well with him at all.

    Lawrence chuckled. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be so hard on yourself. I can¡¯t imagine you being that harsh a taskmaster.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t want to be a bother.¡±

    Melusine arched an eyebrow, ¡°But you are, Basil,¡± she said, as though she were reminding him what they had for dinner the night before.

    Lawrence winced a little. He had to tolerate the use of nicknames, but preferably where he couldn¡¯t hear it.

    Melusine continued unabated, ¡°Think of how much paper and pens you go through in one day! And it it all melts before you get any real use out of it!¡±

    Basilisk looked hurt by the reminder. Allison felt like she was witnessing the latest skirmish in some ongoing quarrel. ¡°The gloves do help, you know.¡±

    ¡°Which might help more if your palms weren¡¯t so sweaty.¡±

    Basilisk winced at that, and Melusine seemed to decide that was a comment too far. ¡°Look,¡± she said, a more gently, ¡°you usually end up drafting one of the children to scribe for you during class anyway, surely having Myriad on hand will streamline things a bit?¡±

    Basilisk exhaled, ¡°It would,¡± he admitted, ¡°but it really should be up to Myriad. I¡¯m sure we could find something better to than pick up after me if she¡¯d rather.¡±

    ¡°So what do you think, Myriad?¡± said Lawrence. ¡°You¡¯d be doing your community a service.¡±

    Everyone was looking at Allison expectantly, aside from Basilisk, who was trying dearly to apologise for putting her on the spot using only his eyebrows. ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound too bad,¡± she answered eventually.

    The teachers seemed to interpret this as a yes, and Allison didn¡¯t do anything to puncture this assumption. The faculty meeting wound down quickly after that. Pleasantries were exchanged, and polite inquiries made into what Allison and her little friends were doing with their Saturday.

    ¡°Mabel and Maelstrom are going to do a Shakespeare play, and me and Elsewhere are helping. Haven¡¯t decided which one yet.¡±

    Lawrence corrected her, ¡°Phantasmagoria, dear. Try not to slip.¡± She still wasn¡¯t sure why he bothered. They both knew who she was talking about. ¡°And I¡¯m delighted to hear it. Personally, I¡¯ve always been partial to The Tempest, but don¡¯t let that leash your creative impulses.¡±

    Allison sometimes wanted to ask Lawrence how he talked to children who weren¡¯t her. ¡°I¡¯ll pass that along, thanks.¡±

    As everyone filed out of the study, Basilisk stopped Allison in the hallway. ¡°I hope you¡¯re not dreading this too much, Myriad. I promise it won¡¯t all be busy work. Mel was right, I could use a spare set of hands, and I really can¡¯t think of a better pair than yours.¡±

    Allison smiled, flattered. ¡°Thanks! Looking forward to it. Maybe maths will be more fun on the other end of it.¡±

    ¡°Bah,¡± he said, making a shooing gesture. ¡°Go enjoy being a free woman, while you still can.¡±

    And so she did. Specifically, she and Maelstrom had a splash fight. It was the best in recorded history, a distinction it would hold until the one the next day.

    ?

    Like many young children, Allison had once imagined her teachers to be creatures of pure function, who might as well enter a state of suspended animation the moment the bell rang its last note, and the last child had fled the classroom.

    After a week spent as Basilisk¡¯s personal assistant, she was beginning to wish that were true. It wasn¡¯t that Basil¡ªboth parties agreed she had earned the right to use the diminutive¡ªwas a difficult boss. If anything, Allison¡¯s biggest stumbling block was him taking every opportunity to try and spare her any actual work, instead of letting her spare the school supplies from his touch. Apart from that, he was sunny, polite, deeply devoted to the wellbeing of his students, and quite clearly appreciated everything Allison did for him. It all made her feel very grown up.

    The problem was, it seemed like any aspect of life at the Institute not already under someone else¡¯s purview was left for Basilisk to manage. He managed the school¡¯s finances, kept the pantry stocked, organised chore rosters, made travel arrangements when needed, put orders in for whatever the faculty felt like spending their salary on, and acted as a convenient vent for all the homesickness and other difficult emotions always boiling under the surface of any boarding school. He even occasionally went down to the dormitories and read bedtime stories, despite the laborious ordeal involved in turning the pages. The only duty he hadn¡¯t made his own was chaperoning trips off-campus, mostly because he felt the children were exposed to enough bigotry on those excursions already.

    In short, there was always something for Allison to do, and it left very little time for, say, helping settle the argument over whether the Watercolours should do Macbeth or The Tempest. She also found her newfound closeness to authority¡ªeven an authority as well-liked as Basilisk¡ªengendered some suspicion in the other children. It was like being Tiresias, without the long established and well founded reputation for negligence.

    Technically, she was only obligated to assist Basil during class hours, and she didn¡¯t doubt he¡¯d let her clock off as soon as she asked, but leaving him to go about his his endless, if, she suspected, mostly self appointed tasks alone made her feel guilty. He worked feverishly, as though he thought the entire school would collapse around his ears if he so much as took a breather. Allison wasn¡¯t even sure he was mistaken on that count.

    There were some upsides to the arrangement, though. Aside from being good company, Basilisk, as it turned out, was something of a board game enthusiast. And some evenings, when he had completed every job he could conceivably think of at least twice over, and wasn¡¯t in danger of falling asleep standing up, he invited Allison up to his room to play against him.

    If there¡¯s one thing that could be said about Basilisk¡¯s room, it provided a distraction free environment. The only furnishings were a bed, a wardrobe filled with enough leather to clothe an entire outlaw bikie club, a small table, and a couple of his special chairs. Otherwise, the only personal touches were a few photographs hanging on the wall and a stack of acid-stained game boxes piled in the corner.

    ¡°Knight to B8.¡±

    Allison moved the piece dutifully, taking her own rook. It hadn¡¯t taken long for her and Basilisk to decide chess was their game; Trivial Pursuit having turned out to be a mess of frustration and boredom, and poker being impractical for a number of reasons. With a fresh enough pair of gloves, it might not have been strictly necessary for Allison to move both their pieces, but Basilisk cherished his old chess set, and how much he treasured something was inversely proportional to how willing he was to ever lay hands on it. Besides, forcing his opponents to bring about his inevitable victory was just fun.

    Allison poked her tongue out in concentration, and proceeded to take Basilisk¡¯s bishop. He estimated she only needed a few more moves to make mate.

    He smiled. On the other hand, having an opponent worth a damn was also fun. ¡°Inspired. You sure you didn¡¯t play before coming here?¡±

    She thought about it for a second. ¡°I guess my dad tried to get into chess with me sometimes. I think he thought that was what you did with smart kids.¡± She smiled sheepishly. ¡°We both weren¡¯t very good.¡± She was just getting to the point where she could talk about her mum and dad without it hurting, though that in itself tugged at her conscience.

    ¡°Well, someone you know must have something going for them. Otherwise it¡¯d be like playing my reflection.¡±

    She appreciated him using the present tense.

    While Basilisk considered his next move, enjoying the rare sensation of knowing he was most likely the loser that night, Allison debated whether or not she should ask a question that had been niggling at her for days. On the one hand, it was absolutely none of her business; on the other, it was really, really bugging her. It had occurred to her when she first saw the photos on the wall, there being little else to draw one¡¯s eye in Basil¡¯s room. They were about what you¡¯d expect. A baby picture of Maelstrom, eyes still identifiable¡ªand slightly off putting¡ªeven in black in white; Lawrence posing proudly in front of Balliol College, arms around Basil and the long gone AU, both maybe thirteen or fourteen; a shot of ?ywie and Basilisk playing chess on the veranda that could¡¯ve been taken any given day in the last dozen years. There was, however, one person Allison was very surprised to find unrepresented.

    ¡°Why does Melusine have her own room?¡± she finally asked.

    Basilisk looked up from his dwindling forces. ¡°Hmm? Why shouldn¡¯t she?¡±

    She squirmed in her chair. ¡°Aren¡¯t you married?¡±

    He laughed and held up his right hand. ¡°Do you see a ring?¡±

    She crossed her arms, frowning incredulously. ¡°Why would you wear a wedding ring?¡±

    Basilisk nodded, acknowledging the point. ¡°Ah, but have you seen Mel wearing one?¡±

    Allison was getting exasperated. ¡°I don¡¯t know how it works around here! Maybe she didn¡¯t want it to be¡­ asymmetrical. Two of the teachers at my old school were married, they didn¡¯t wear their rings to work.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t they now?¡± he said. ¡°Well, in our case, there are no rings, because there was no wedding.¡±

    She blushed, hard. ¡°Oh. So, you¡¯re boyfriend and girlfriend?¡± That would at least be comprehensible. Scandalous, but comprehensible.

    ¡°Nope. Free agents, the both of us.¡±

    If it weren¡¯t for everything else, it likely would have been more shocking to Allison if Melusine and Basilisk were actually married. There were still plenty of people back in Harvey who considered relationships between Anglicans and Catholics unconscionably miscegenous. And she wasn¡¯t so sheltered to mistake the correlation between marriage and the appearance of children for causation. ¡°When¡¯d you stop?¡±

    ¡°Stop what?¡±

    ¡°Being boyfriend and girlfriend,¡± she replied. She wasn¡¯t sure if that was the right way of putting it, but she was pretty certain people only had ¡°lovers¡± in the little novelettes her mum tutted at in Harvey Newsagent.

    ¡°Eh, it was never like that for us,¡± he admitted.

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°Then how¡¯d Maelstrom happen?¡± She flinched, half-expecting her mother to burst into the room and clip her across the ear for being so rude. She curled up in her chair. ¡°Sorry! I shouldn¡¯t have asked.¡±

    ¡°Hey, don¡¯t let yourself worked up about it,¡± Basil said. He might¡¯ve put a hand on Allison¡¯s shoulder, if that wouldn¡¯t have risked burning a hole in her shirt. ¡°It¡¯s perfectly fine to be curious about these things. Melusine wanted a baby, and I was¡­ present. Simple as that.¡±

    Allison supposed there was an elegance to it, at least compared to the rites and procedures most people followed when seeking babies. Of course, she had no idea why anyone wanted those things to begin with. They managed to offend every one of her regular senses, with their smells and their noises and their terrifying breakability. She was convinced these reasons were behind her parents not giving her any younger siblings, something she was eternally grateful for.

    It still didn¡¯t seem normal, though. But neither did teachers with comic-strip names, or sharing a room with boys, or walking pumpkins, and none of those oddities were hurting anyone¡ªwith the very occasional but important exception of the pumpkins.

    ¡°I hope that doesn¡¯t make you uncomfortable,¡± he said. ¡°Don¡¯t think I¡¯m not aware that isn¡¯t how these things usually work, out there in the great, wide world of WA.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she said, a little faster than she intended. ¡°I mean, it isn¡¯t¡­ my normal? Not my normal at all. But it looks like it works for you, I guess. You might think I¡¯m backwards.¡±

    This sent Basilisk laughing again. ¡°Myriad, trust me, you¡¯re well ahead of where a lot of your classmates were when they were as new as you. Let¡¯s just say not every white child from the country is willing to sit down and let a black fella make them do maths.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Allison, disappointed but not surprised. Lawrence talked a great deal about race being a social construct, and how posthumanity transcended such petty baseline distinctions, but Haunt still sometimes found himself the subject of jokes he found difficult to write off as friendly teasing, and the student body rarely missed a chance to have a go at Maelstrom¡¯s funny accent¡ªit being the progeny of four or five other silly accents.

    ¡°I hereby accept your apology for inventing Aussie prejudice. If it¡¯s any comfort, you could have done a better job with it.¡± He made a pinching gesture. ¡°Your English insults just don¡¯t quite pack the same punch as ¡®kaffir¡¯.¡±

    This made Allison snort, and then grimace slightly. ¡°I wish I didn¡¯t know that word.¡±

    ¡°Ah, sorry, I forget how it is with you sometimes.¡± He leaned back in his chair, grinning. Allison swore she could hear it sizzle. ¡°Tell ya what, you clearly have questions¡ªa rare occasion, I¡¯m sure¡ªI¡­ probably have things I should be attending to, but I can¡¯t remember what they are right now, so ask away.¡±

    Allison untensed a little. ¡°What kind of questions?¡± she asked, mindful of the usual unspoken caveats when grown ups extended that invitation.

    ¡°If you¡¯re just fishing for teasing fodder, don¡¯t bother; I¡¯m a teacher, we can tell. Other than that, go wild.¡±

    Allison decided to start with an easy, uncontroversial question. ¡°Is Father Christmas real?¡±

    Basilisk looked taken aback by that. ¡°Of course he is. Is someone spreading rumours he isn¡¯t?¡±

    Okay, so he¡¯s being honest, Allison thought. She¡¯d heard some howlers from grownups trying to explain away unexpected present. ¡°Forgot we bought that one¡± indeed. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t Maelstrom call you and Mel mum and dad?¡±

    In some ways, that whole business struck her as far more alien than anything to do with Mel and Basil¡¯s relationship¡ªor lack thereof. A white lady having and then co-parenting a son with a black fella, apparently picked purely for convenience? That alone would have sustained Harvey¡¯s gossips and stickybeaks till the end of this universe and the start of the next, and quite possibly attracted police attention. Said son going on to call his parents by their first names, or first aliases as the case may be? Would probably have gone down about as well as Devil worship, and witches at least had a sense of propriety. They didn¡¯t go around calling their patron ¡°Luci¡±.

    Basilisk chuckled. ¡°You knew he was our son without being told, why advertise it? In all seriousness, Lawrence always thought modern society puts parents on a pedestal, or at least neglects the importance of other adults in a kid¡¯s life. It takes a village and all. And I think he has a point there. I couldn¡¯t ask for a better boy than Maelstrom, and it¡¯d be a crime not to give ?ywie, or Laurie, or Mrs G  their share of the credit for how he¡¯s turned out.¡±

    That never seemed like much of a pressing issue to Allison, but then again, she grew up in a town with a lot of Italian families.

    She sniggered. ¡°How much credit does Tiresias get?¡±

    Basilisk hummed disapprovingly. ¡°I don¡¯t like how you kids are always sniping at Tiresias.¡±

    Allison looked at him blankly. ¡°...Why?¡±

    ¡±When I was your age, I hated when I asked a grownup something, and the only answer I got was another question. So, I hope you can forgive my hypocrisy if I ask why you and the other children pick on Tiresias? What exactly does he do that makes your day worse?¡±

    She thought about it. There were a lot of reasons, really. To the students of the New Human Institute, Tiresias was a peculiarly liminal figure in their lives. He dwelled in an unnameable borderland between student and teacher¡ªunbound by the strictures naturally placed on the children, yet seemingly unburdened with any duties or responsibilities to the school. That last part in rankled Allison in particular, with how hard Basil¡ªand now, by extension, herself¡ªworked.  Yes, he did apparently aid in the search for new students, but there was a whole government agency that did most of the work there, nowadays. Lawrence himself didn¡¯t appear to quite hold Tiresias in the same regard he did the other elder new humans, occasionally scolding him with the same tone he usually reserved for students Allison¡¯s age. All this made it difficult for the children to see him as much more than another, unusually large, and intensely uncharismatic student, one whom they could ostracise at leisure without any major disruption to the scholastic ecosystem.

    That¡¯s not to say the kids made fun of Tiresias to his face, partly because he was usually with another adult, mostly because they assumed he was probably listening anyway. Insulting him out of his earshot offered the best of both worlds: they knew that he knew they were doing it, but he couldn¡¯t complain without admitting he spied on small children. He was like a bridge troll with all his teeth pulled.

    She shuffled her feet against the slightly warped and burnt floor, not looking at Basilisk. ¡°I dunno. He¡¯s a bit of a drip?¡±

    English was still only Basilisk¡¯s third language, but that colloquialism was easy enough to decipher. ¡°So, if I¡¯ve got this right, the reason you like having a go at Tiresias is that he always seems like he¡¯s having a bad day?¡±

    Allison suddenly felt very ugly inside. ¡°I didn¡¯t think of it like that.¡±

    Basilisk smiled kindly at her, and said, ¡°I know you didn¡¯t. Just try not to slag off at Tiresias, unless he gives you a proper reason to.¡± The smile fractured further into a grin. ¡°That goes for all of us, by the way. I could write up a list of insults for if I ever melt anything of yours if you¡¯d like.¡±

    She laughed. He was good at making that happen.

    Basil went back to figuring out how interestingly he could lose the game. ¡°I think he still misses AU, truth be told¡± he said, not looking up from the chessboard. ¡°Right pair of contrarians, those two.¡± He only realised what he¡¯d done once it was too late.

    Allison started. How had she not thought to ask about Australia¡¯s most notorious supervillain since Ned Kelly, who happened to have once been a close personal friend of the man sitting across from her, before anything as boring as why two grownups didn¡¯t share a bed? She didn¡¯t even know why people did that when they weren¡¯t actively making babies. Seemed liked a very uncomfortable arrangement to her¡ªlegs and elbows everywhere. ¡°Tell me about AU!¡± she begged. ¡°Was he always a git? Is that why he was friends with Tiresias? Can he really turn stuff into gold, or just make it do stuff for him? Why¡¯d he leave? When¡¯d he leave? Has he he ever come back? Do you¡ª¡±

    Basilisk raised a finger and shushed her. ¡°Ease up, I can¡¯t answer all those at once. And we¡¯ve only got twenty minutes before your bedtime.¡± As awkward as the subject of long absent AU was to all the adults at the NHI, he supposed it was better Myriad got the story from one of them, rather than the strange, contradictory library of rumours, tall tales and flat out lies that the other children had built for themselves. He composed himself for the onslaught to come. ¡°Which first?¡±

    Allison found it surprisingly difficult to pick one. ¡°Where¡¯d Lawrence even find him?¡±

    ¡°Melbourne,¡± answered Basil.

    That she hadn¡¯t been expecting. ¡°Melbourne? Huh.¡±

    Basilisk clarified, ¡°His family was Chinese. Came over during the gold rush, which just goes to show you how childish the universe can be.¡±  He smiled, a little sadly. ¡°Lawrence found him before he even left for Europe¡ªhis first student, and his strongest.¡±

    Allison regarded him dubious. ¡°Really? Him?¡±

    ¡°Apart from Melusine, of course,¡± Basil added quickly. He grinned. ¡°Or do you think it might be me?¡±

    She bit her lip. Much as she liked Basilisk, Allison wasn¡¯t even sure sometimes how his thing even qualified as a power.

    He noticed her discomfort. ¡°I¡¯m joking, Myriad. Believe me, I know nobody¡¯s writing any comic-strips about me. Hell, if anything proves Lawrence is a good man, it¡¯s that he sees any worth at all in my power. No idea what he sees, exactly, but he sees it.¡± He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°I guess if a child was pinned under rubble, and you held some really good boerewors under my nose, I might be of use.¡± It was a decidedly tamer version of a joke he¡¯d told a number of times with older company, but it still raised a giggle from Allison.

    Once it passed, she remembered her objection. ¡°I would¡¯ve said ?ywie¡¯s power was better, honesty.¡±

    Basil nodded emphatically. ¡°Oh, I completely agree with ya. The things ?ywie can do are just fantastic. She¡¯ll change the world someday, mark my words. But who do you think the papers are going to put on the front page? The nice lady from the continent who can cure bronchitis with a pat on the shoulder, or the scary Chinaman who can turn a gold mine into a machine gun? Forget that, a whole artillery line?¡±

    It was an interesting question to be sure, and Allison couldn¡¯t deny that the blurry, very hastily taken photos she¡¯d seen of AU in action had left an impression on her. Still¡­.

    ¡°But gold is so rare. It¡¯s like having the power to command bilbies.¡±

    ¡°Eh, I wouldn¡¯t say gold is all that rare. Now, controlling platinum, that would be a parlour trick¡ªunless maybe you were from a certain part of Russia.¡±

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°Isn¡¯t being rare the whole point of gold? That¡¯s why people used it for money.¡±

    Basilisk leaned forward and smiled, a little self-indulgently. ¡°And is money all that rare? The bossman doesn¡¯t seem to have trouble finding it. That¡¯s the thing about money, whatever you¡¯re using has to be scarce enough that you can¡¯t just go outside and pick some off the ground whenever you feel like a pint, but not so much that a lot of people can¡¯t have at least a little¡ªor a lot, if you¡¯re Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°But who even uses gold for money anymore?¡±

    ¡°Mad people, mostly,¡± replied Basil. ¡°But gold¡¯s still everywhere, Myriad. Your parents both wore wedding rings, right? Maybe their engagement rings, too?¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°My mum mostly wore¡±¡ªshe corrected herself sharply¡ª¡°wears hers on a necklace, but yeah, they do. But that¡¯s only about forty grams between them.¡±

    Basilisk¡¯s eyes lit up with exaggerated shock. ¡°Wow. I knew you and Arnold lived out in the boonies, but I had no idea your parents were the only married couple in Harvey!¡±

    She giggled again, ¡°Shut up!¡± She flinched immediately, half expecting her mother to burst into the room and smack her across the ear for speaking to a grownup like that. Not that Basilisk seemed to mind.

    ¡°And I¡¯m sure nobody in town owned any other kind gold jewelery, either. Arnold¡¯s mother didn¡¯t wear a cross? I doubt the Church would approve of tin candlesticks.¡±

    ¡°I get it, I get it!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the brilliant thing about gold, it¡¯s so innocuous. Some places might pat you down for guns or knives or bombs before they let you inside, but not watches or bracelets. And even if you don¡¯t have any gold on you, pretty much anywhere worth robbing will: A packet of ammo hanging from every wealthy woman¡¯s neck! They even use the stuff in computers these days, or so I¡¯m told.¡±

    It seemed like he was talking good sense, but Allison still wasn¡¯t completely sold on the idea. ¡°But gold is so soft. It¡¯s like bronze but worse.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± said Basil. ¡°You also never hear about clear-smiths forging swords of ice, or brave warriors ditching their armour for a nice pre-battle bath. Still don¡¯t mean you not gonna run like crazy if you hear a tidal wave¡¯s coming, or that Mel¡¯s testy with you.¡±

    Allison rested her chin in her hands. ¡°So what was he like?¡±

    ¡°Abrasive, totally incapable of swallowing his opinions, always seemed angry at something or other.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a prat.¡±

    Basilisk looked nostalgic, ¡°Eh, AU wasn¡¯t so bad to be around. Never abided anyone being treated unfairly when he was around. There was this sense of honesty about him.¡± He sighed. ¡°At least, that¡¯s what we thought  back then¡­¡± The look in his eyes was one Allison was fairly familiar with. Both her mother and Mr. Barnes sometimes got it when they spoke of their respective Wars.

    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, her voice quiet.

    Basilisk forced a smile. ¡°Myriad, it¡¯s been nearly nine years, and I¡¯m still not sure what the answer to that is. I think, at least to start with, he just wanted to go. And it¡¯s understandable. When you have so much to offer the world, being cooped up here for years and years wears on ya. Look at ?ywie, much as she loves all you kids, I¡¯m sure she sometimes wishes she were off wiping out the measles or something. It¡¯s easier for me, in a lot of ways. A man who sweats acid ain¡¯t going to amount to much more than one who doesn¡¯t. Probably a lot less, if we¡¯re being honest. Least here, I have a job I love, and all the appkin I can catch.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t know how to respond to that. Most grownups she knew were only capable of being that frank when they were drunk. Basilisk meanwhile didn¡¯t even sound sorry for himself. His very tone defied attempts at pity. The ever present discordant strain in his song briefly rang a little louder, though.

    ¡°AU, though, he wanted to go out and make his fortune. Hope he had a plan for after he did, because I can¡¯t imagine that taking more than half an hour¡ªif he was lazy about it. Lawrence¡­ advised against him leaving.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    He grinned crookedly, ¡°You sure you¡¯re not just trying to stay up past your bedtime?¡±

    At that, Allison just crossed her arms and frowned. Hard.

    Basilisk¡¯s expression became sombre, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was patronizing, but it¡¯s not an easy thing to explain. You¡¯d have been better served asking Lawrence, really. I guess you could say he was worried about AU giving the sort of people who run the DDHA more to work with. All it would have taken was him pulling gold out of the wrong fella¡¯s land, and well, Old A&U never had a reputation for staying out of arguments.

    There was nothing he could have done to keep him here if didn¡¯t want to stay, of course, but things still got out of hand. There was an argument. We found Lawrence curled up on the floor of his study, bleeding out the mouth. He had three gold teeth, you see.¡±

    Allison winced in horror.

    ¡°Sorry you had to hear that. By the time we found Laurie, AU was already down by the river, whipping up that gold disc he flies around on¡ªyou¡¯ve probably seen pictures. The rest of us didn¡¯t follow. Had to keep the children, the few we had back then, from panicking. And honestly, we were scared out of our wits. Tiresias, though, he went to try and talk AU down.¡±

    ¡°Why him?¡± Allison asked, swallowing a yawn.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t want him to go,¡± he answered simply. ¡°Tiresias had worshiped the ground AU walked on since he was seven. I think it was because they both knew what exploitation felt like. I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you the sort of things a poor, ethnic child who attracted gold growing up during the Depression, and a little mind-reader in Mussolini''s Italy might be made to do. The two of them knew how each other worked, and AU might have been the only person ever born who could reliably make Ti smile without suffering for it.¡± He laughed. ¡°If AU was running away, he was taking Ti with him!¡± The brief burst of fond recollection seemed to drain Basil. ¡°I don¡¯t know what Tiresias said to AU that day, but he copped a hand¡¯s worth of broken fingers and two cracked ribs for his trouble.¡±

    Allison sat limp in her chair, sound asleep.

    ¡°Maybe I should reconsider my choice of bedtime story,¡± Basilisk said, addressing the empty air, or possibly Tiresias. He looked at the chessboard, its combatants doomed to enjoy neither the taste of victory, nor the release of defeat; ascension to the throne now forever beyond reach of the lowly pawns that trooped across the monochrome battlefield. ¡°Bugger, now who¡¯s going to pack this up?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t too surprised that Allison had nodded off on him. With her nyctophobia, the opportunity to fall asleep in a brightly lit room under the eye of someone she trusted would¡¯ve been hard to pass up. Still, wouldn¡¯t do to leave her there overnight. The fumes would leave her with a thumping headache come morning. He squeezed her hand. ¡°Myriad, time for bed, dear.¡±

    No response. He made a few more attempts to rouse her a little, to little success. He didn¡¯t want to risk waking Allison up in full, not if she could be spared the nightly ordeal of trying to fall asleep in the dark. Still, it didn¡¯t seem like this need be a concern. Well, someone clearly needed her sleep, Basil thought.

    He couldn¡¯t carry her down to her dormitory, not without melting her clothes¡ªand she¡¯d probably have to scrub off the acid before being allowed into bed. He quickly recognised the obvious solution¡ªget someone else to do it. But that was always the answer to his problems, wasn¡¯t it?

    He was about to get up and go find someone, when someone rapped smartly on his door. Without waiting for a welcome, Tiresias opened the door, ¡°Thought you might need another pair of hands.¡±

    Basilisk grunted, ¡°That¡¯s always the case, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Tiresias didn¡¯t smile. Being out of practise, he knew it¡¯d just seem disingenuous. ¡°Cheer up, mate, that¡¯s one less voice for the choir of nighttime moaners.¡± He walked over to the table and, with surprising gentleness, pulled Allison to her feet by her hand. ¡°Come on, girl, we¡¯ve bugged Basil enough for one night.¡±

    Allison mumbled something about not being tired, as is customary, and raisin bread, which is slightly less so.

    As the two of them stepped out into the hallway, Basil said, ¡°Hey, thanks for this, Ti. And I¡¯m sorry if you didn¡¯t want me talking about¡ª¡±

    Tiresias cut him off, ¡°He was a prat.¡±

    ¡°Oh, alright. You¡¯d be the authority.¡±

    ¡°Mhmm.¡±

    Alone, and with nothing better to do, Basilisk decided to head to bed. Turning off the light switch with the leather handled pointer he kept for the purpose, he stripped off in the dark and climbed into his bed. The mattress would need replacing in a night or two. Draping a cheap, disposable blanket over himself, he tried to get to sleep before it dissolved.

 Chapter Eight: Beyond These Fields We Know

    Aleister Johnson (¡°Al¡± to his friends, ¡°Alice¡± to his friends if they were in a certain mood) lay flat on his stomach, blades of sun-yellowed grass stabbing uncomfortably through his rugby shirt, and peered from his hiding place amidst the bushes and bent trees through his dad¡¯s old army binoculars. His mates Eddie and Bazza crouched on either side of him. Both strained to look over his shoulder, as if they might somehow glimpse whatever their friend saw in the clearing below, reflected and magnified in the field glasses pressed firmly against his eyes.

    ¡°That her?¡± asked Eddie Taylor, voice lowered to a whisper¡ªnot that they were likely to be heard from that distance over the autumn bluster and the flow of the Avon River. He was a very solidly built young man, whose parents had let leave school the year before to pursue an electrician¡¯s apprenticeship¡ªa decision which baffled many of his friends, as he seemed the sort incapable of understanding electricity as anything other than Jupiter¡¯s anger.

    Al squinted. ¡°No,¡± he said, sounding put out, ¡°just that kraut with the hooked snozz.¡±

    Said ¡°kraut¡± was presently sprawled out on a checkered blanket a few yards from the riverbank, contentedly sipping from a visibly steaming beverage; an orange travelling cloak was wrapped tight around her against the wind, laden with harsh prophecies of encroaching winter. She was surrounded by a quartet of infants and toddlers, bundled up almost to the point of excessiveness, even taking the weather into consideration. A black fella in a leather deerstalker sat perched nearby on a moss covered rock, steadily working his way through a sandwich while watching the babies much more attentively than his lady companion.

    In spite of the disappointment all round, Bazza took his turn with the binoculars. Training them on the lady in orange, he said, ¡°I¡¯ve spoken to her.¡±

    Eddie eyed him incredulously. ¡°You¡¯re so full of it, Bazz.¡± It wasn¡¯t a totally outrageous claim, not really. Even weirdos from the freak-farm needed to eat (presumably), and Northam was as good a place as any to do your grocery shopping. Usually, though, they were sensible enough to send

    one of the naturals that worked there. And Bazza¡¯s penchant for ¡°amateur herbalism¡± was widely known around town¡ªand by anyone he met with even the slightest sense of smell.

    ¡°It¡¯s true!¡± he insisted. ¡°I think I was about twelve. She brought that ute¡±¡ªhe pointed to a truck parked a little way off¡ª¡°into Dad¡¯s shop for a new carburettor or something. Had me keep her company while he worked.¡±

    Al gave his friend a sideways look, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. He hadn¡¯t expected anything half as plausible. ¡°Whatcha talk about?¡±

    ¡°Oh, crikey.¡± He ran his hands through his massive, dirty blond, Anglo-Saxon analogue of an afro, as if trying to pull away a veil of time and smoke. ¡°The weather, mainly,¡± he answered eventually. ¡°She asked a lot about about Dad¡¯s health. I think she was worried about him breathing in engine fumes all day.¡±

    Figures, Al thought. Your mate has a face-to-face conversation with the pumpkin-witch herself, and they natter on about nothing.

    The lads had all been around four or five when Mad Laurie and his girlfriend rolled into town, their brood of queer foreign children in tow. None of the three had any real recollection of the months the couple spent in Northam proper, living out of a few rented rooms above Duke¡¯s Inn, but if you went by how often the townsfolk felt the need to revive old gossip about them, you would be forgiven for assuming they had never left. Whenever conversation began to run thin down the pub, someone¡ªwithout fail¡ªwould rhapsodize over the oriental who shouted for rounds of drinks with shillings made of solid gold; or maybe sing the praises of the young continental woman who cured the landlord¡¯s baby of whooping cough with nothing more than kind words and a cuddle. When they were in a good mood, of course. Otherwise, they might bitterly recall the sullen little wog who always looked he knew something you would rather he didn¡¯t, or the boong who smelt of burnt metal and broke every bloody thing he touched.

    For the last twelve years, every child in Northam had been raised on such stories. The odd patchwork family had come to fill a folkloric niche usually occupied by gremlins, and were accused of causing any and all manner of strange occurrences. Old men still blamed unseasonable rains on the girl with the skylight eyes. Sometimes, they were even right. Eventually, though, Mad Laurie¡ªbeing as well off as you would expect a man with a natural born alchemist at his side to be¡ªmanaged to snap up some prime Crown land a healthy distance from town for himself and his peculiar retinue, and the good people of Northam were free to weave an illusion of distance between themselves and the superhumans. Apart from the infrequent new demi kid passing through on their way to join their kind, or when someone opened their shed to find a watermelon or a pumpkin snapping and hissing at them in the dark, both sides of the evolutionary chasm kept to themselves, which suited all involved just fine.

    Then news of Circle¡¯s End reached Northam, and all of a sudden the nest of supers a few miles off the road felt much closer. With those twin spectres hanging over the town, there was no way the Flying Man could have hoped to meaningfully add to the atmosphere of submerged paranoia; except maybe the influx of new super-children into the region his emergence had prompted.

    But none of that had much bearing on why the trio were making the clandestine trek to the New Human Institute. At least that¡¯s what they told each other.  No, they were spurred by tales they¡¯d heard of the obscenely gorgeous French bird that liked bathing nude in the river. Hence the binos.

    ¡°...Think she might get her tips out?¡± said Eddie, willing to settle.

    Al glared at him. ¡°Really? Her?¡±

    ¡°She isn¡¯t that bad looking,¡± his friend said defensively. ¡°Once you get past the nose, at least. Pretty fit, all things considered. She must be¡ªwhat¡ªthirty summit¡¯?¡±

    Al just shook his head. ¡°Her sprogs are right there, mate. You don¡¯t look at a little kid¡¯s mum like that.¡±

    Eddie smirked. ¡°What? You¡¯re telling me you¡¯ve never given Tamra Carpenter¡¯s mum a good squizz?¡±

    Al stammered, ¡°Well¡ªno¡ªbut not ever while she was being her mum.¡± He managed to regain his composure. ¡°Why would she get her jugs out in front of her babies to begin with?¡±

    Eddie put a finger to the side of his nose, looking very pleased with himself. ¡°The smallest ones might need a feeding.¡±

    ¡°Brilliant,¡± Al replied, rolling his eyes. ¡°Definitely going to get an unobstructed view that way.¡±

    Thankfully, Bazza diverted their attention from the debate, before it degenerated into a very confused punch up over the pumpkin-witch¡¯s honour. ¡°I wonder if they¡¯re really hers,¡± he pondered aloud, still looking through the binoculars.

    Eddie made a ¡°pass them here¡± gesture. ¡°Could be,¡± he said as he held them up to his face. ¡°Don¡¯t look much like her, though.¡±

    ¡°Eh, babies don¡¯t look like anyone, really,¡± said Al.

    ¡°Maybe the Noongar is their dad?¡± Bazza suggested.

    His companions stared at him in mutual disbelief. ¡°They¡¯re all white, you bloody idiot!¡± Eddie half-shouted, any notion of stealth disregarded for the moment.

    Bazz threw his hands up. ¡°Hey, man, we don¡¯t know how anything works for demis. I mean, for us it¡¯s like mixing paint, but maybe for them God tosses a coin?¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just throw out everything you know about¡­ everything just because they¡¯re demis.¡± Al protested. ¡°You could just as well say they lay eggs, or get pollinated like flowers!¡±

    ¡°....And?¡±

    ¡°I heard,¡± said Eddie, ¡°that he had a son with Blue-Eyes.¡±

    The other lads were struck dumb with envy. Eventually, two words escaped Al¡¯s lips,  ¡°...Lucky bastard.¡±

    Eddie nodded, almost subliminally. ¡°If that¡¯s true, you have to wonder what he¡¯s doing out here with¡ªBUGGER ME, THAT BABY''S FLYING!¡±

    His mates crowded excitedly around him, eager to get a look in. None of them had ever seen superpowers in action, regardless of what they might have told the other blokes at Northam Senior High.

    The pumpkin-witch was grasping frantically at the ankle of what might have been an eighteen-month old in a thick purple jacket, her inaudible cries of alarm snatched away and reduced to mist in the cold air. For its part, the child didn¡¯t seem at all perturbed, gurgling happily as it attempted to ascend above the treetops.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think babies could have superpowers,¡± commented Eddie.

    Al couldn¡¯t see why not. He already thought it silly enough that eight year olds and people in their twenties had powers. ¡°Why¡¯d ya think that?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Guess I hoped the world had more sense than to let that happen.¡±

    Never a good bet, thought Al. ¡°Crackbone Pete from the off-licence told me once there was this posh lady down in Albany, whose baby put out all the windows in the house with his first cry.¡±

    Eddie¡¯s interest was piqued. ¡°Is that true?¡±

    ¡°Just what Crackbone Pete told me, mate,¡± replied Al.

    ¡°So, no?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. I mean, he also said the baby was a tiger.¡±

    Bazza shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s Crackbone for ya¡ªalways oversells it on the last detail.¡±

    By then, the pumpkin-witch had managed to grab hold of the baby¡¯s leg, but was now being dragged into the air along with it. It could be argued this was an improvement in regards to adult supervision, but it was unlikely the witch saw the benefit, if her screaming was anything to go by.

    The black fella lept up and threw his arms around the woman¡¯s waist (a pity, as she rather liked that cloak), trying to pull her and the infant back down.

    As the boys had themselves a good laugh at the whole spectacle, the baby clapped.

    It was like a star was born by the river, with a sound like the thunderous applause of God. The sheer shock of it sent the lads reeling into the dirt and dead leaves. They tasted music, and in the all-pervading glare glimpsed the very structure of time itself. Their nostrils were filled with a scent that could only be described as ¡°blue¡±. Birds fell limply out the sky, having momentarily lost track of which way was up, or indeed why they¡¯d been so dead set on avoiding the ground to start with. They got off easy.  Every winged insect within a mile radius would spend the rest of their short, frustrated, and very damp lives labouring under the belief that they were in fact fish.

    The boys lay prone on the ground, groaning softly. They were dimly aware of wailing coming from the direction of the picnickers. For a dreadful moment, Eddie was convinced the blast¡ªif that was even what it was¡ªhad deafened him. Fortunately for him, though, it soon became clear that it wasn¡¯t his ears that were ringing, but rather everything around them.

    ¡°God,¡± he muttered, ¡°it¡¯s like someone got hangovers backwards.¡±

    His friends gave little response, being still in the process of recovering the power of speech.

    Painfully, Bazza crawled over to where he had dropped the binoculars. He had decided that the risk of the baby in purple clapping again was outweighed by the risk of being caught unawares if it or its siblings somehow did something worse.

    He had to be a little impressed by how fast the adult demis had got their bearings back. They were both already back on their feet and attending their young charges, if they had even been felled in the first place. He supposed they must be used to this kind of thing. The wind had died down a little by then, so he could hear much of what was being said down there.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ever do this during the mozzie season, Ophelia?¡± the pumpkin-witch complained, cradling the small culprit gently. She wiggled in her arms, her face aglow with that look of ignorant omniscience so common in little children.

    The man was busy trying to settle down the other babies, whilst simultaneously preventing one from poking and prodding a catatonic galah. Between his exertions, he chatted, ¡°I still don¡¯t know how you get that from flying and¡­ well, you know.¡±

    ¡°I think that¡¯s why Mendel got his start with peas and not ¨¹bers.¡±

    Having paid attention in year ten science, Bazza had some idea of what the pumpkin-witch was talking about, unlike his friends. Well, the bit about the peas, at least.

    There was something the boys couldn¡¯t catch about Thai food, or possibly art class.

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking we should head back,¡± the man finally declared.

    ¡°Definitely,¡± the witch agreed, already carrying their esky to the ute.

    ¡°At least we got the childlers out in the fresh air before the weather turned completely. Winter¡¯s such a miserable stretch down here.¡±

    The pumpkin-witch looked back at him, grinning. ¡°Hugo, did I ever tell you what Xhosa and  Noongars have in common?¡±

    ¡°No, I don¡¯t believe you have,¡± he said, his expression flat and neutral.

    ¡°Neither of them have any bloody clue about real winter.¡±

    ¡°You racist cow!¡± he shouted, cackling.

    The two demis were packed up and ready to leave in short order, though the boys did note that Hugo didn¡¯t seem eager to assist the lady with loading their truck. This seemed very shabby, regardless of species. The lads took advantage of the lull to recover from their psychic trauma with supplies from their own ice-box. Cold beef sandwiches and beers nicked from their fathers or purchased from Crackbone Pete at exorbitant black market rates were consumed with the sort of self-conscious furtiveness that only makes one both louder and more likely to draw the eye. Luckily, at least as they saw it, Hugo and the pumpkin-witch were very much preoccupied. Bazza offered to share some of his ¡°special¡± cigarettes, but was met with what passed for polite refusal from his mates; they thought it best they kept their wits about them as they approached the demi-human lair. The tinnies were of course strictly to tame the nerves.

    Once the engine noises and the sound of tires chewing earth faded into the distance, the trio followed the ute¡¯s tracks. Babies tearing their minds asunder and flooding them with preternatural sensations were one thing, but the lads were on a quest. Sure, they knew it wasn¡¯t exactly a noble quest. Certainly not one they would ever admit going on to their parents, or their priest, and most definitely not their girlfriends, but they had set out that morning to try and infiltrate a school full of creatures more than human in order to peep on an almighty water nymph, and by God, they were going to give it their all.

    It soon became clear they still had a way to go before reaching the Institute proper. Those resilient birds who remembered they could fly before the wild dogs and feral cats discovered their good fortune made confused conversation above the boys¡¯ heads. Over the river, sad, mad bugs made desperate, fatal attempts to find their way to a home they had never truly known. Gripped by a fit of generosity, Al passed along one of his decidedly regular fags to his friends as they trailed behind him. Perhaps by virtue of him being the pseudo-rightful owner of the binoculars, he had ended up, by unspoken agreement, de-facto leader of the expedition.

    ¡°It¡¯s a wonder they haven¡¯t blown up the world yet,¡± Al mused as they walked along the riverbank.

    Eddie frowned in confusion. ¡°Why¡¯d they wanna do that? They live here, too.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t mean they¡¯d do it on purpose! I¡¯ll give ¡®em that much. But if even babies can do stuff like that, how is it they haven¡¯t killed us all just by accident?¡±

    ¡°Maybe the older demis keep them under heel?¡± said Eddie absently, nudging downed birds out from his path with his boot as he trudged onward.

    Aleister nodded, not that his friend was paying attention, or that he cared if he was. ¡°There¡¯s that. But it¡¯s not as if you need demi parents to be a demi. Naomi Phillips didn¡¯t.¡±

    Naomi Phillips was the little girl who used to live across the road from the Johnsons. She was at least ten years younger than Al, had no older siblings who he might¡¯ve ran with or lusted after, and her family kept to themselves to the precise extent that it drew no one¡¯s curiosity as to why. She was less than an extra in the young man¡¯s life, and he probably wouldn¡¯t have even remembered her name if it wasn¡¯t for how she departed town.

    He¡¯d been putting the bin out front when he saw the van. He had expected the DDHA to use armoured cars, or helicopters, or some sci-fi amalgamation of the two. Not something that looked like it was driven around by a dodgy tradie. Two men in ill fitting suits each held Naomi by the hand, leading her out of the Phillips¡¯ place. Still in her pyjamas, she blinked at the streetlights, disheveled dishwater blonde bangs partially obscuring her face. She made no effort to resist, even as the two DDHA agents¡ªwho moved with haste, lest poorly concealed guilt give way to clear terror¡ªloaded her into the back of the van. Perhaps she thought she was dreaming. Aleister could see her parents standing in the doorway. Their expressions were sobre, but they made no move to protest or resist their daughter¡¯s removal. They even looked to be beckoning her forward.

    Mr. and Mrs Johnson, along with half the neighbourhood, had joined Al out on the front lawn by then. He hardly noticed. ¡°Cor blimey, the Phillips¡¯ girl?¡± his father had asked, more to the air than anyone flesh and blood, and mostly out of astonishment that the Phillips could ever be up to anything that interesting.

    ¡°You never know anyone, do you?¡± his mum had replied.

    Anyone hoping for a show was disappointed. Whatever Naomi could do, she displayed no hint of it before being ensconced in the DDHA van, which drove off without incident. The remaining Phillips made no acknowledgment of their fellow Northamites still watching from their front gardens, simply turning off their porchlight and shutting their front door to deal with their grief, or whatever it was they were experiencing, away from prying eyes.

    Deprived of spectacle, the residents of Burnside Avenue had retreated inside, ready to spin their own explanations for what they had witnessed, no matter how outlandish or anemic.

    Al lingered for a bit, though, out there on the curb. Quite naturally, he tried to figure out what the girl¡¯s powers might¡¯ve been, not that he had anything to work from. He pondered whether her mother and father had always been aware of their daughter¡¯s true nature, if that indeed had always been her nature. Maybe she¡¯d only come into her powers recently. Or maybe, they had just grown weary of sheltering her.

    I wonder if she¡¯ll be here, he thought to himself.

    ¡°No, she¡¯s not,¡± an amused, Italian sounding voice said into his ear.

    Aleister yelped, swinging his fist wildly in the air, just short of the bloke bent over with laughter at his side. Unconsciously, he wished his fright had sounded manlier. His friends¡¯ reactions were about the same in tone if not in content, shouting and swearing as they tried vainly to figure out how they had been snuck up on. Even their own memories of the event offered no clues.

    The way he was dressed, the man looked like he was either in mourning for autumn or eagerly anticipating meeting her daughter, practically mummified in dark winter gear, with a mulberry woolen hat emblazoned with the letters ¡°NHI¡± and the vague picture of a galapagos finch. He was still laughing.

    ¡°You¡ªshould have¡ªseen¡ªthe look on your faces!¡± he managed to get out between bouts of giggling. An idea struck him. ¡°Actually¡±¡ªhe raised a hand and waved vaguely at the boys¡ª¡°why not?¡±

    The lads were suddenly overwhelmed by a second hand recollection so vivid, it momentarily blotted out all present perception: they saw themselves screaming and flailing about, all from the stranger¡¯s mirthful perspective. Which only inspired them to a repeat performance.

    ¡°You¡¯re a demi!¡± Eddie cried, unnecessarily.

    The man straightened his posture, or tried to, anyway. Bazza thought he looked a little unsteady on his feet¡ªand he was one to judge such things, having put a lot of effort into reliably inducing similar states within himself. The demi spoke, smiling dazedly, ¡°No, I learned how to do this after filling out an ad in the back of an old Marvelman. If you would, keep it to yourself. It¡¯s no fun if everyone can do it.¡±

    Once the initial surge of fear subsided, Aleister decided the demi was a bit touched. Perhaps his sort were more susceptible to whatever the baby did. He couldn¡¯t decide whether that made him more or less of a threat. Nevertheless, he had questions.

    ¡°Did you say Naomi Phillips isn¡¯t at Mad Laurie¡¯s?¡±

    The man tilted his head. ¡°What?¡± He then remembered what had spurred him to approach the lads to begin with. ¡°Oh. That. No, no she isn¡¯t.¡±

    He didn¡¯t appear troubled by this, but Al found himself saddened by the news. Saddened and offended, much to his confusion. ¡°Why not?¡± he asked. ¡°She lived right next to your mob!¡±

    The interloper scowled. ¡°What makes you think I¡¯m with them?¡±

    Eddie tried to narrow it down. ¡°Your¡­ hat?¡±

    He looked up at his own cap, looking surprised by what he found. ¡°Who put that there?¡±

    Al wondered briefly if there was even any point in trying to extract information from the demi-human, but then, accurate or not, it wasn¡¯t as though he¡¯d be doing anything with it. ¡°If you know Phillips isn¡¯t at the¡­¡±

    ¡°The freak-farm, yes.¡±

    ¡°...Then you¡¯d probably know at least why she didn¡¯t get in, right?¡±

    The man laughed. ¡°Yes, because we all know each other! Why, just before you wandered by, me, the Flying Man, Pendergast, and the bleeding Crimson Comet were all sat down for tea!¡±

    He staggered over to Eddie, before stumbling and draping himself over the boy. With his wiry frame, an uninformed observer might have guessed the demi was the younger of the two, though for fairness¡¯ sake, at seventeen Edward Taylor was already taller and broader than many full grown men. He was also fully aware how little that mattered when demi-humans were involved.

    ¡°Look at this guy,¡± the man slurred. ¡°He got up this morning, looked at the thermometer, saw the fog on the window, probably had to chisel the cat out from the ice, and he chucks on a singlet! So now he¡¯s standing here, trying for his life not to shiver, all because he wanted to look hard in front of you two!¡± He thumped Eddie¡¯s chest limply. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, big fella?¡±

    Eddie made a face like his ribs had been shattered by the Flying Man himself. He couldn¡¯t decide which was worse, that this weird wog was right, or that he hadn¡¯t realised till he said it. ¡°Al, Bazz¡­ help.¡±

    Bazza managed to pry the demi off his friend, supporting him by the shoulders. ¡°Look, mate, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯ve taken, but I hope it was from someone you trust.¡±

    ¡°You¡­¡± The man bent down in a shrill fit of giggles. ¡°You baselines, you wouldn¡¯t be able to fully appreciate little Ophelia¡¯s ovation, am I right? Shame, really. She¡¯s something, let me tell you. Just the right amount of ESP, and she makes you see the point in everything. Living, dying, having babies, everything. For just a few seconds, nothing¡¯s a mystery, and those seconds feel like they¡¯ll outlive time¡­ then the bullshit creeps back into your brain and you¡¯ve forgotten why you were so happy to begin with. But sometimes the memory of being happy is enough.¡± He closed his eyes for a moment, smiling to himself, then looked at Al. ¡°Tell you what, son, throw me one of the cold ones you had in that cooler there, and I¡¯ll answer your question properly.¡±

    The cooler had been in Eddie¡¯s possession when the demi-human had pounced on them, and he¡¯d dropped it in the confusion. He extracted a can of Swan Draught from the spilt ice and tossed it to the man, who caught it rather smartly for someone so obviously addled. ¡°What¡¯s ya name by the way?¡±

    He cracked the can and took a deep swig. ¡°People with working brains call me Alberto, otherwise it¡¯s Tiresias.¡±

    Bazza thought he recognised the name¡ª

    ¡°Yes, that was the bloke who saw the future in the old stories.¡±

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    That still made Bazza jump a bit. ¡°...Man, conversation must feel real slow for blokes like you.¡±

    Alberto smiled, quite warmly despite the lack of practise. Ah, so he¡¯s smarter than his thoughts sound. He chuckled softly at the private absurdity. ¡°Yes, actually. So let me speed this one up, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± He took a long breath. ¡°Yes, I can see the future¡ªsome of them, at least¡ªtoo; no, I can¡¯t talk to birds, that¡¯s someone else; yes, Tiresias was the fella Odysseus met in Hell, but he definitely never shagged his mum.¡±

    Once Bazza processed that barrage, he grinned waggishly. ¡°But have you ever¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Tiresias cut him off, scowling, ¡°I¡¯ve never turned into a ¡®bird¡¯.¡± He strode into Bazza¡¯s personal space. ¡°Are you calling me a checca?¡±

    Bazza shook his head, three years of fear remembered in a moment. ¡°No! I mean, I think I¡¯m not, I don¡¯t know what that means!¡±

    Alberto nodded slowly, apparently placated. ¡°Right, right. So, Naomi Phillips!¡±

    Finally, Aleister thought, before he could stop himself.

    If Alberto caught that, he didn¡¯t seem to take offence at Al¡¯s impatience. ¡°I will admit, I was aware of her. They don¡¯t call me ¡®the witchsmeller¡¯ at the Institute for nothing,¡± he lied. ¡°I think I even mentioned her to Lawrence once.¡±

    If there was one thing you could commend Al for, it¡¯s that he didn¡¯t immediately ask what Naomi¡¯s powers were. ¡°So why didn¡¯t he take her on?¡±

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t doing any harm where she was. Laurie¡¯s a rich git, but even he can¡¯t afford to put up every super-kid in the country. Be crowded, anyway.¡± He laughed. ¡°I¡¯m trying to remember what he actually told me, it¡¯s priceless.¡± His brow knit in recollection, before smoothing in weary solemnity. ¡°Oh, Tiresias,¡± he began, spreading his arms, as if hoping to embrace every glittering new human child out there, ¡°you of all people should know how many of your kind live in ignorance of their gifts, subtle as they are. I¡¯m sure you¡¯d agree it¡¯s best, in times such as these, we focus on those children so violently blessed, they can¡¯t help but be what they are.¡±

    It was a good impression, further enhanced by Alberto psionically layering his own recollection over it. If the lads had known Herbert Lawrence, he might¡¯ve gotten some polite chuckles. As it was, though, they mainly thought he sounded like some of the long-haired, Bazza-smelling blokes who sometimes passed through town in their Kombi busses.

    Alberto continued, his tone and diction unwavering, ¡°And we already have two bloody sonic manipulators as it is!¡±

    He broke into laughter again, but Aleister didn¡¯t see the humour in it. ¡°You really think that¡¯s what he thought?¡±

    Alberto slumped back, his face tilted skyward. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. I try not to listen too closely to Laurie¡¯s thoughts; don¡¯t wanna catch the Anglo off him. Maybe he was worried another sound sorceress would throw off his naming scheme. And what do you care, anyway? You¡¯re a baseline! And hardly knew the girl to begin with.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± concurred Eddie. ¡°Why are you so broken up about the freak-finders hauling off a demi? For all we know she was making us sterile just by walking around town.¡± He hastily added, ¡°No offense, Alberto.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t blame ya. Little kids with superpowers are like if nukes could have temper tantrums, except the Flying Man hasn¡¯t ripped their guts out.¡± He grinned. ¡°Not yet, at least.¡±

    Al tried to avoid meeting anyone¡¯s eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it just seems like a crap deal locking up a young kid who didn¡¯t do nothing in an asylum, even if they are a demi.¡± A comparison occurred to him. ¡°They¡¯re like a rabid dog, ya know? You can¡¯t have it runnin¡¯ around biting folk, but you¡¯d cure it if you could before going for your gun.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ever let Laurie hear you running your mouth about ¡®curing¡¯ demis, kid. Or calling them demis, while we¡¯re at it,¡± said Alberto.

    ¡°What, you¡¯re a demi-lover now?¡± Eddie asked his friend, voice full of mockery. ¡°Gonna go scrub dunny cans for Mad Laurie?¡±

    ¡°Aww, lay off him, Eddie,¡± said Bazza. ¡°Nothing wrong with showing some sympathy.¡±

    ¡°Sympathy?¡± He gestured at the young man sipping his beer on the ground. ¡°You heard Alberto here, demis are like the Bomb. You don¡¯t feel sorry for it when you hear it ticking.¡±

    It seemed to Alberto that Eddie had forgotten that he was a demihuman. He didn¡¯t mind; this was the most fun he¡¯d had since the river caught fire.

    ¡°Oh, so we don¡¯t like nukes now? I thought we were all riled up because the Flying Man put them all outa commission. You know, my uncle served with the Crimson Comet in the War, and if he saw what¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, piss off, ya bloody hippie!¡±

    ¡°Will both of you shut up!¡± Aleister shouted.

    The other two boys both went silent, staring at their friend; Alberto meanwhile tried to shake the last drops of lager from the bottom of his can.

    ¡°Listen, I don¡¯t want demis hanging around normal blokes, either. They scare the shit out of me. This one here actually went out of his way to scare the shit out of me.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯d do it all again!¡± Alberto piped up cheerfully. The after effects of Ophelia¡¯s exuberance were only just beginning to fade, to be duly replaced by the effects of the grog.

    ¡°But that¡¯s sort of on me, isn¡¯t it? All being bastards to them is going to do is get the ones we can¡¯t shove in that hole down south mad enough to try doing the same thing to us. And we¡¯re kidding ourselves if we think we could stop them. We¡¯re like abbos chucking spears at sailing ships. You might hit a deckhand or something if you¡¯re lucky, but that just means they won¡¯t even leave us the scraps.

    ¡°Who knows, maybe Mad Laurie¡¯s right, and they are better than us¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t say that,¡± said Alberto, his tone almost perfectly approximating sympathy.

    ¡°¡ªI mean, what have we got on them? Numbers? They¡¯re finding more and more everyday!¡± He was beginning to sound panicked. Alberto could see suppressed anxieties clawing their way out of his subconscious like titans from Tartarus. ¡°You know what ¡®superhuman¡¯ means? It means you can do everything a person can, and more. It¡¯s like God¡¯s bored with us!¡±

    Eddie stared at his friend, concerned. Even before the Flying Man, Alistair had always been the sort of kid who looked at clouds and saw only the flight paths of ICBMs. ¡°Al, mate, are you alright?¡±

    He was ignored. ¡°Why can¡¯t they all just pile into a rocket and bugger off to some perfect planet in Andromeda and leave us alone?¡±

    ¡°I could go for that,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Just so long as they¡¯ve got a decent vineyard up and running for when I arrive.¡±

    Al laughed joylessly. ¡°Maybe you can come back once we¡¯ve gone and blown ourselves up. Can¡¯t see how we¡¯d do it without no nukes, but I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll manage.¡±

    Bazza moved to sit beside Al. ¡°You came out here for Naomi, didn¡¯t you?¡± he asked, not unkindly.

    He nodded. ¡°The idea of her is horrible, but so is her sitting in a cell, all alone.¡±

    Bazza smiled gently. ¡°Confusing, innit?¡±

    ¡°I thought it was a bit odd trying to catch a lady nude outdoors this close to winter,¡± Eddie grumbled.

    ¡°Well, I suppose you¡¯ve wasted a trip,¡± Alberto commented. ¡°If only Lawrence had picked the musician over the critic.¡± He looked around expectantly at the lads, but was only met with confusion. ¡°...See, if you were espers¡ªthat¡¯s literate person for mind-reader¡ªyou¡¯d know the context there and we¡¯d all be laaaaaughing.¡±

    He was only mostly wrong.

    ¡°... Any of you want your future told?¡±

    This garnered a bit more enthusiasm. ¡°Sure, I¡¯m game,¡± said Eddie.

    Alberto extended a hand. ¡°Ah, ah, ah, you must first cross my palm with beer,¡± he said in his best gypsy fortune teller voice.

    Eddie made a sound like a wounded lion, but handed over the last can. ¡°This better be good.¡±

    After taking a quick sip of his fee, Alberto set it down between his legs and closed his eyes. It would be dishonest to claim that he saw any kind of definitive, concrete future for Edward Taylor. There were too many of the bloody things, with new ones being born and dying every time a housewife forgot their purse at the chemist¡¯s, a mouse copulated, or an atom turned. Sometimes it made Alberto wish the determinists had come out on top. Still, looking at the commonalities between different strands of the mosaic could at least gave him gave him an idea of the most probable path a life might take, even as it branched and narrowed unto infinity.

    ¡°I¡¯d be staying the course with Belinda Waites if I were you, pal,¡± Alberto said, not opening his eyes. ¡°Keep doing what you¡¯re doing, and you¡¯ll probably have tied the knot by ¡®68.¡±

    Voicing that prediction instantly had the effect of lightly culling the timelines where it was accurate. Alberto had expected as much. Counterintuitively, true foreknowledge invariably sent storms of change down people¡¯s lives. That said, it hadn¡¯t reduced the chances of Eddie and Belinda¡¯s eventual union nearly as much as he thought it would, which he supposed reflected well on the pair.

    As for the subject of the prophecy himself, this display sent him more off-kilter than even the mind-reading. It wasn¡¯t necessarily unwelcome news¡ªEddie and Belinda had been going steady since they were twelve, and it was becoming increasingly difficult day by day for him to imagine life without her. But to have it spelled out like that¡­

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    Alberto pulled a packet of clove cigarettes and a pack of matches from his coat pocket.

    ¡°Hey man, those things¡¯ll give you cancer,¡± said Bazza.

    ¡°Maybe, but who wants to be sixty anyway?¡± he retorted, trying to spare a flame from the wind long enough to light the fag clenched between his teeth. Once it was lit, he continued laying out Eddie¡¯s future for him. ¡°You¡¯ll only ever have one daughter. That¡¯s on you, just so we¡¯re clear. She¡®ll be smart, though, so I reckon it evens out.¡±

    Eddie looked conflicted by this revelation. Behind him Bazza muttered, ¡°Heavy, man.¡±

    Alberto hoped he wasn¡¯t too put out. The boy had a bluntness of spirit he didn¡¯t find totally charmless. ¡°And then you have between one and ten grandchildren.¡±

    The ambivalence in Edward¡¯s expression was promptly replaced by indignation. ¡°What do ya mean ¡®between one and ten¡¯?¡±

    The demi exhaled smoke. ¡°It¡¯s called honesty, mate.¡± He pronounced the last word in as ¡®Strayan a manner as possible. ¡°I understand if you¡¯ve never gotten that from the dried up old gypos you get in the wake of circuses.¡± His lips curled sardonically. ¡°Huh, they all look exactly the same. You and Belinda aren¡¯t cousins, are you?¡±

    Eddie started to rear up off the ground, right hand balled into a fist. ¡°Now look here, ya great¡ª¡±

    Bazza loudly cleared his throat, causing Eddie to look back at him and grunt, ¡°What?¡±

    Much as he couldn¡¯t blame his friend for wanting to clock the demi one right there and then, Bazza couldn¡¯t see any physical conflict going his way. Weedy as Alberto was, he had provided ample evidence that he could see what someone was going to do before they did it. Besides, violence would only harshen this interspecies dialogue they had going. ¡°I was just wondering, if you see the future, why couldn¡¯t you decide how many grandkids Eddie¡¯s gonna have?¡±

    Alberto shrugged. ¡°There¡¯s plenty of futures, I just try to figure out which one¡¯s the most probable.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that called guessing?¡± asked Al.

    ¡°Enhanced stochastic reasoning,¡± Alberto corrected promptly. He would never admit¡ªnot even with his dying breath¡ªthat it was Lawrence who first came up with that name.

    ¡°Great,¡± said Eddie, kicking Alberto¡¯s first discarded can, ¡°I wasted a beer on an ¡®educated guess¡¯.¡±

    Bazza placed a placating hand on his shoulder. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t look at it that way. At least we know free will is real. That¡¯s pretty righteous.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care about free will! I paid for real information!¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be saying that if I said you ended up in the gutter, thinking you could game the system by selling both your kidneys.¡±

    ¡°...Who¡¯d want to buy one of my kidneys?¡±

    A smile. ¡°You¡¯ll find out.¡±

    ¡°Know if there¡¯s anything coming my way?¡± Al asked half-heartedly.

    Alberto clicked his tongue thoughtfully. ¡°Well, you don¡¯t have any booze, but I¡¯ll tell you one thing: they mostly speak Spanish in Paraguay.¡±

    Al shrugged. ¡°Guess I have a holiday to look forward to?¡±

    ¡°You could say that.¡± He looked to Bazza. ¡°And before you ask, don¡¯t take the pill, it¡¯ll just make your todger fall off¡ªif you¡¯re lucky.¡±

    At least he¡¯s trying to be helpful, Bazza thought, ever the charitable one. ¡°It¡¯s alright, man, I don¡¯t take anything the Earth didn¡¯t give us.¡±

    They made small talk for a while after that, Alberto doing a poor impression of an interested listener, while the boys sat in awe of how dull he could make living on a commune of super-children sound. There was something of a highlight when he demonstrated what he called psychometry on Al¡¯s dad¡¯s binoculars. Looking through them at nothing in particular, he claimed to see through time to the Battle of Thermopylae; sadly not the one where a society of over-militarised slaveholders got roundly thrashed, but instead the one where they won the day. It did occur to the lads that Alberto might have been leading them on, but he relayed what he claimed to see with such little interest, they could hardly see why he¡¯d bother.

    Eventually, Aleister stood up again. ¡°Well, I¡¯m heading off again, nice meeting you, Alberto.¡± He bent to shake the super¡¯s hand, much to his surprise. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll run into you again on your way home.¡±

    Alberto pulled his hand back sharply. ¡°You¡¯re still going to the Institute? Oh, why am I even asking? Of course you are, but still, why? I told you, we don¡¯t have Naomi.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but we came this far. Might see something interesting.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± exclaimed Bazza, leaping to his feet and slapping his mate on the back.

    ¡°Or, maybe, we could head back into town, and I could buy us all some beer,¡± Alberto suggested. Al thought he could detect a note of wistfulness in the man¡¯s voice. ¡°Everyone at the Institute''s a nutter, anyway. They¡¯re not like us.¡±

    Al smiled awkwardly. ¡°Ah, maybe some other time, mate.¡±

    ¡°Oh, alright then.¡± Alberto resumed his original countenance of bemused detachment. ¡°If you should encounter trouble, just remember what your old dad said at Thermopylae.¡± He put on an expression of exaggerated terror, looking wildly around his person while shouting, ¡°Ah, Germans! Germans everywhere! I want to go home, I want to go home!¡±

    Eddie would have thumped any bloke who made a crack like that about his dad, but Aleister just laughed. ¡°Be seeing ya, Alberto.¡± With renewed cheerfulness, he set off again down the river, Bazza following close behind.

    Eddie however hesitated a bit, unsure whether he still had a stake in the journey.

    Alberto sighed. ¡°She¡¯s impervious to cold.¡±

    At that, Eddie immediately started running to catch up with his mates, shouting, ¡°Wait up!¡±

    Good kids, Alberto thought as they passed from his human sight. There was something refreshing about talking to someone who wasn¡¯t so high on manifest destiny. He might have joined them, if he thought they had slightest chance of getting anything they wanted, and if Fran?oise hadn¡¯t enthusiastically offered to help him better emulate his namesake the first time she caught him peeping on her. He could have told them there was little point in trying to sneak up on someone who could sense every drop of water in your body, but he didn¡¯t want to begrudge the lads their fun. Might as well get some excitement in before their birthdays were pulled triumphantly out of that ghoulish barrel by sober-suited old men, and they were sent to find more excitement than they would ever have believed possible.

    He sipped his beer. It was cheap, Australian piss, but he¡¯d been drinking it since he was eleven, and at least they didn¡¯t insist on serving it at a temperature that suggested it¡¯d recently exited a human body.

    In the back of his mind, a particularly amusing set of futures grew denser and brighter. He smiled. Maybe this day wouldn¡¯t be a total wash.

    ?

    There were almost as many stories about Mad Laurie¡¯s demesne as there were about its inhabitants. Almost predictably, some interlopers reported large domed structures rising from the earth like bubbles of mercury. Others claimed that the new humans had dug deep underground, where they bred themselves into ever more bizarre forms and plotted to wrest control of the world above from their forebearers, or that the land was merely used as a launch pad, with the Institute proper being located in orbit. The prominence of these theories in the discourse was generally proportional to Crackbone Pete¡¯s bottom line. Pete himself maintained that the Institute was housed in an airy tower five miles tall possessing neither floors nor staircases. When questioned how it wasn¡¯t visible from town, or space for that matter, he would say it was obviously invisible from about the third story up.

    After all these tales, the lads might have been sorely disappointed¡ªif it weren¡¯t for the great serpent circling the air above the retired farmstead. It was a thing of smoke and flame, that chased and bit at its own tail as its dusky light washed over the land below. It made no sound, not even the roar and crackle of fire, yet the boys could feel its warmth on their faces. A normally well sublimated instinct in the back of their heads wanted to offer up fruit and fat oxen to the silent, burning phantasm.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± said Eddie, under his breath. ¡°I knew these kids could do some wild things¡ªbut this¡­¡± He averted his gaze, rubbing his eyes as they watered from the glare. The snake¡¯s afterimage still swam behind his eyelids.

    Beneath the immense wyrm, tomorrow-children were at play. They wove through the grass in wild pursuit of one another, attacking each other with arcane distortions of reality. One small girl in pigtails and overalls looked to be corralling the wind itself into her service, filling it with vendettas against her kin, until the ground gave way under her feet. A cohort of children cowered under a large, shining shield of liquid light held aloft by a boy at their centre, a flock of rainbow lorikeets bravely flinging themselves against it, no matter how trying the day they¡¯d already had. Adding to their troubles, they were also boxed in on all sides by a brigade of redcoats and Zulus, no doubt even more confused about their situation than the lads.

    Some children, of course, just ran up and tried their best to tackle each other onto the ground, because some strategies never cease to be effective, no matter how far up the long-ladder you are.

    It rained in reverse, water droplets springing from the river and coalescing into an orb hanging above the serpent¡¯s hunting ground, glowing like a second moon from its reflected glory. Bazza thought he glimpsed the shadow of a child within.

    ¡°I wonder what they¡¯re playing,¡± said Al, leaning on the old copper log fence that bordered the Institute.

    His tone vaguely mystical, Eddie said, ¡°Dunno. Maybe they¡¯ve evolved past real games.¡± He wiggled his fingers like he imagined a magician would.

    Bazza was studying the firedrake as intently as he could without going blind. It occurred to him that, despite appearances, there was no way it could be burning anything. Even if it was fueled by the air, it would have had to continually consume and expand just to continue existing. It worked like how people in myths understood fire, as a substance, not a process.

    Or a little kid, he thought. All he knew was that the snake took nothing from the world, and gave out warmth and light. That alone made it the most beautiful thing he¡¯d ever seen.

    The watery orb stretched and undulated through the air, sweeping up a flag fluttering on the big house¡¯s roof up in its current. Below, a little girl with waist length chestnut hair in an overlong leather coat moved with such speed that the lads¡¯ eyes barely registered any movement at all. Watching her was like viewing a succession of still images, a dull white aura emanating from her skin. The lads were too far to feel the air turn bitter at her presence, as she robbed it of its heat and turned it into momentum, like she were reminding the space around her the summer the serpent brought was a falsehood. They did however see the patches of ice she left on the grass as she launched herself upwards at the twisting mass of water.

    She pierced the globe like a cannon shot, before tumbling out of it alongside the flag and something that resembled a Greek statue of a boy, if it had been sculpted by someone with readier access to a glacier than marble. At that moment, whatever spell held the water together broke, sending it cascading down onto the girl like a vertical wave.

    The girl was laughing when the deluge ended, chunks of ice rapidly melting around her. Instead of soaking into the soil as was proper, some of the water pooled instead towards a point slightly behind its attacker, and¡ªwith no thought to either gravity or fluid dynamics¡ªresumed a boyish shape, before changing from a mere likeness to the genuine article. Once incarnate again, the brown skinned little boy tapped the girl on the back, and said something that was doubtlessly a variation of of ¡°boo!¡±, startling her and provoking yet more giggling.

    Eddie shielded his eyes. The boy¡¯s power of personal transmutation evidently did not extend to trousers. ¡°Uh, is this that ¡®karma¡¯ thing you¡¯re always blathering on about, Bazz?¡±

    The girl handed the boy her coat, which he took with a look of obvious gratitude. It covered anything objectionable.

    ¡°Aww, that¡¯s what I like to see,¡± Bazza commented.

    Al sniggered. ¡°What, little boys?¡±

    Bazza laughed and punched Aleister in the shoulder. ¡°Piss off!¡±

    The two children¡¯s moment of camaraderie ended when they remembered the fallen flag a few feet away. They started scrambling for it, only for a dagger of green light to go whizzing past their heads. They both looked at each other, scowling. Most of the other children in eyeshot seemed to sense that wrongdoing had been committed.

    None of this concerned the mousy haired teenager sitting on the sculpted diamond chair in the middle of the lawn. From all available evidence, she appeared to regard the frolics of her fellow superhumans as nothing more than an unwelcome distraction from her copy of New Idea. Only when a young half-caste boy (who Eddie unfortunately assumed was the little water-sprite¡¯s older brother) approached the foot of her throne to complain animatedly about something, did she display any reaction to what was going on around her, sighing and languidly raising two fingers to her forehead.

    Every molecule of air for a quarter-mile spoke, in a low and smooth voice that sounded like Old Hollywood distilled. ¡°Elsewhere, stop trying to teleport the flag directly, or the other littlies are gonna drag you behind the trees, and I can¡¯t be held responsible for whatever happens after that.¡±

    And with that, capture the flag could continue. Which it did. With vigour. The complainant, apparently not satisfied by the older girl¡¯s verdict, crossed his arms and turned translucent, sinking sullenly beneath the ground.

    From a wicker chair on the house¡¯s veranda, a fat, grandmotherly woman in unseasonal but wisely donned sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat watched all this with frank indulgent pride. The boys recognised her right away as Mary Gillespie, who depending on who you asked, was either living in sin with Mad Laurie or kept around by him to handle modes of communication other than speechifying. Aside from occasionally being called on to prevent the townsfolk from needing to bulk order torches and pitchforks, she also sometimes came into Mrs Taylor¡¯s salon to get her hair done.

    Al was jealous. Incredibly so. And he was okay with that. He couldn¡¯t see why a normal, sane person wouldn¡¯t envy what demis could do on a whim. Humankind toiled for hundreds of thousands of years at the mercy of predation and the cold to pry the secret of fire from an indifferent cosmos, and then some kids wish it up so they don¡¯t have to wear jumpers outside. That probably got to people just as much as the extinction anxiety.

    He wished Naomi had been there. Much as Aleister still preferred for posthumanity to keep its distance, the Institute felt like somewhere she would¡¯ve been happy. And far away. That was also important.

    ¡°Why do you think so many of them are kids?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Is there any reason they shouldn¡¯t be?¡± Eddie answered.

    ¡°Maybe not, but where are all the old demis? You hardly ever hear about the DDHA carting off grannies who brew brainwashing tea or summit¡¯, do ya?¡±

    Eddie thought this over for a moment, then snapped his fingers and pointed back at Al. ¡°Mrs G. She could be a demi for all we know.¡±

    ¡°Mary Gillespie is not a demi.¡±

    ¡°And how would you know?¡±

    ¡°Would your mum cut her hair if there was even a chance of it?¡±

    ¡°...True.¡±

    ¡°I read,¡± said Bazza, ¡°that it¡¯s like an Age of Aquarius thing. Like, the world¡¯s¡­ energy I guess is changing, and now better and better kids are being born, like in in prehistoric times when some monkeys stopped clubbing each other to death and started talking instead.¡± He frowned. ¡°Okay, they also invented better and better clubs, but you get what I¡¯m saying, right?¡±

    Aleister did, and it was the exactly what he didn¡¯t want to hear just then. He smiled queasily. ¡°I guess us three missed the cut-off, eh?¡±

    Eddie laughed, a little too loudly for his friends¡¯ comfort. ¡°Look at it this way, fellas, there¡¯s still monkeys!¡± A thought struck him. ¡°And I don¡¯t support that theory, Bartholomew.¡±

    Bazza winced, as he usually did when anyone other than a first degree relative used his Christian name. ¡°And I suppose you¡¯ve got a better one?¡±

    ¡°That I do! I¡¯m gonna present it to the freak-finders, and it¡¯ll net me a Nobel Prize for Demi-Hunting.¡±

    Al raised his hand. ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Quiet! I¡¯m doin¡¯ science here. Now, everyone started seeing demis under the bed after the Flying Man turned up, right?¡±

    Aleister and Bazza both nodded.

    ¡°And most of those kids are pretty little, correct?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I say that?¡± said Al.

    ¡°You did! And do you know why you said that?¡±

    He rolled his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re going to tell me?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Because the Flying Man is clearly the source of their power!¡±

    At that suggestion, Bazza looked intrigued. ¡°How do ya reckon that works?¡±

    ¡°By him boffing their mums,¡± he proclaimed gravely, before breaking down in laughter once more.

    If they had been smoking behind the bike sheds at school, Bazza and Aleister would likely have joined in. Here, so close to a concentration of power perhaps only once exceeded by nuclear missile silos, it felt flippant. To Bazza, it came off almost like a profanation. Aleister saw it more as taunting the tigers with the gate to their enclosure unlocked.

    Eddie wasn¡¯t thrilled by the reception to his hypothesis. ¡°Come on, where¡¯s your sense of humour? It even makes sense! While all the blokes are gawking at the boat he¡¯s pulled out of the whirlpool or whatever, he¡¯s having it off with their wives! Flying Man catches a falling plane, and he¡¯s got all those scared stewardesses to comfort¡­¡± He thrusted his hips. ¡°I bet the whole reason the DDHA wants to lock up all these kids is so they don¡¯t grow up and make little clubfooted superbabies together.¡±

    Even as his friend spoke, Bazza was shaking his head. ¡°And he got rid of the nukes, why, then?¡±

    Eddie put his hand to his mouth and stage whispered, ¡°Because if we used them, all the sheilas would¡¯ve gotten scabby. Might¡¯ve made him wilt a bit, too.¡±

    Aleister could have pointed out that children didn¡¯t live in a state of invisibility until their fathers achieved international fame, or that a couple students he¡¯d seen looked less than a decade younger than the Flying Man, or even that there¡¯d been superheroes going back to Spring Heeled Jack¡ªbut he was more concerned with what was creeping through the grass towards Eddie.

    ¡°...you could just about rename this place Camp By-Blow, I reckon¡ªWhat¡¯re you two looking¡ªAAAUGGH!¡±

    He¡¯d been stabbed in the ankle by a toy bayonet, wielded by a six inch high member of Napoleon''s finest. Until earlier that afternoon, the universe had assumed that, being only a block of wood carved and painted to resemble a man, the soldier should remain still, and not march in drills or make regular patrols of the fence. One of its younger tenants had disabused it of that notion.

    Eddie collapsed, as much out of fear as pain. Being small, sharp, and shaped like a man without being one, the toy soldier was like a bingo card of all Edward Taylor¡¯s phobias. It would¡¯ve filled the whole sheet if it had fired some weird space ray that transported him to a test he hadn¡¯t studied for, without his clothes.

    Aleister kicked the wooden soldier, sending it sailing into the bush. Bazza got down on his knees to get a better look at his friend¡¯s wound. All three of them heard the distant young cry out, ¡°Naturals!¡±

    Al¡¯s pulse quickened. ¡°We need to run,¡± he said, slowly and purposefully.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t bet on us being able to outrun all of them,¡± said Bazza.

    The children had abandoned their game and were moving towards the fence, their expressions curious, or worse, gleeful. Mrs G followed, flanked by the soldiers and Zulus, but being both elderly and baseline, she was lagging behind.

    ¡°...Whoever sent the doll was probably just playing and got too excited, anyway,¡± continued Bazza, trying to convince himself it mattered at all. He¡¯d seen photos of killer whales ¡°playing¡± with seals. ¡°Think you can walk, mate?¡±

    Eddie nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡± He swallowed hard. ¡°Might as well be a mozzie bite.¡±

    He managed to stand, and found he was able to support his weight unaided, if a little painfully. The lads, without feeling the need to discuss it, were making their way back into the safety of the trees; slowly, as to not exacerbate Eddie¡¯s injury, or provoke the children.

    They were almost there when they heard him. ¡°Hi!¡±

    Slowly, Bazza turned to face the speaker. Rudeness wasn¡¯t going to get them anywhere.

    The boy had climbed over the fence. Or flew, who could tell? He was eleven or so, blond almost to the point of transparency, and when Bazz looked closely, he thought he could see sparks burning inside his pupils. He wanted to ask if they hurt. Blondie was regarding the older boys with a look of amiable condescension, in sharp contrast to his fellows, who were smiling at them in a way more suited to scaring off big cats than conveying any kind of goodwill.

    They had to have rehearsed that, Aleister thought. They watched Children of the Damned ten times, and then they practised their creepy smiles for hours in front of a mirror. Wait, did the kids in that movie even smile? Why is that what I¡¯m trying to figure out? We¡¯re gonna diiiiiiiiiiieeee.

    For the moment, Bazza was keeping his cool. He¡¯d decided to treat this whole adventure as a bad trip. Not even the worst one he¡¯d ever experienced¡ªat least this time he knew the monsters would still be there if he looked away. He grinned broadly. ¡°Hey, man, pleased to meet ya.¡± To speak of things purely human, Bazza¡¯s composure was without a doubt the most amazing sight his friends had ever seen. He walked up and took the demi child¡¯s hand, who permitted it to be shaken. ¡°Name¡¯s Bazza.¡± He jabbed a thumb at the other lads behind him. ¡°Those two geezers are Alice and Eddie.¡±

    ¡°Alice¡± grimaced. ¡°Is this really the time?¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why we call him Alice,¡± Bazza said, winking. ¡°What do you go by?¡±

    ¡°Snapdragon.¡± The boy sniffed distastefully. ¡°You stink, mister.¡±

    The name surprised Bazza, but he supposed it would be hypocritical of him to declare fault on someone for using a nickname. ¡°Do I? Guess you get used to it after a while.¡±

    He looked over the gathered children. They could have all passed for happy, healthy specimens of rootstock humanity; for the most part. A few had something nearly imperceptibly off in the cast of their skin, or the colour of their eyes. One boy he couldn¡¯t decide if his hair was black or blue. In that mode of hyper-clarity fear so often engenders, Bazza thought he saw faint markings on some of the children¡¯s faces, almost but not quite wiped away.

    ¡°...So, you¡¯re all demis? That must be cool.¡±

    ¡°New humans,¡± insisted one girl, her every movement leaving a momentary outline in the air. ¡°And that¡¯s a stupid question.¡±

    Bazza threw his hands up. ¡°It¡¯s whatcha¡¯ say, isn¡¯t it?

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s what we are,¡± said Snapdragon. He pointed at Al. ¡°Why¡¯s he got binoculars?¡±

    Al looked down at his binos like they were a laser dot hovering over his heart. By then, the teens could hear Mrs Gillespie calling out to the children, but deer are seldom comforted by the knowledge that the tigers will be gently rebuked by field mice.

    Through the pain, Eddie thought fast. ¡°They¡¯re for watching you!¡± Fast, but not well. ¡°I mean¡ªnot like that. Was that capture the flag you were playing? So badass. Puts us three rolling down a hill in a tractor tire in perspective, that¡¯s for sure.¡±

    Aleister picked up from Eddie. ¡°We heard so much about about you lot, we just had to see for ourselves.¡±

    The children found this to be a quite understandable desire. It solaced Al to find that his replacements had not yet progressed beyond the appeal of flattery.

    Laughing, Snapdragon spoke again, ¡°I totally get it. Actually,¡± he smiled knowingly back at his friends, ¡°if you want to get to know us better, we could play a game! It¡¯d make up for you guys breaking Captain Lester.¡±

    Eddie made as if to protest, but then he saw the toy, sans his left leg, crawling wretchedly towards a stricken five year old. If he had been allowed a mouth, he would have begged forgiveness with his last ounce of counterfeit life for having failed her. ¡°...What kind of game?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a hard one. We give you a¡ª¡± He turned to look at the other kids, who were raising fingers and calling out numbers. ¡°¡ªtwo minute head start. Then we get you.¡±

    Not ¡°chase you¡±, Alistair noticed, ¡°get you¡±. Like it¡¯s a foregone conclusion. Cocky, but accurate, I bet.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Lawrence would like this,¡± piped up a fretful voice from near the back of the crowd. None of the lads could pin down the accent. It belonged to the former puddle, his hair somehow still damp despite the serpentine imitation of the sun skulking above. Unmistakably the naiad¡¯s son, looking at him made Bazza feel distinctly guilty. ¡°It¡¯s ¡®playing into the perception of posthumans as unthinkingly cruel and callous towards their predecessors¡¯,¡± he dutifully recited.

    The children all looked at him like he was a youth pastor suggesting they retire for scripture reflection and a guitar sing along. Snapdragon¡¯s pupils were white. ¡°Shut. Up. Mealy.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s mean!¡±

    Bazza¡¯s hope for the species grew a little.

    Then the girl in the pigtails flicked her wrist, and Mealy was blown fifty feet into the air. Mrs Gillespie and her accompanying warriors halted in their tracks and started running to where they guessed he would land.

    Bazza never felt more justified wanting to wring a little kid¡¯s neck, but he managed to resist the urge. ¡°Look, kids,¡± he said benignly, ¡°we¡¯d love to play, but it¡¯s getting late, and we¡¯ve got mums and dads at home waiting for us.¡±

    Snapdragon¡¯s smile returned, but his eyes still smoldered. ¡°So do most of us.¡±

    The veneer of calm finally began to crack. ¡°This is actually happening, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The remaining children all nodded eagerly, falling only a little short of synchronicity. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Do we start now?¡± asked Al.

    The kids did not answer, or make any movement other than try to suppress laughter. High above, the firedrake was finally allowed to clamp its jaws around its tail and devour itself.

    The lads moved into the bush, walking at first, glancing every few seconds back at the children, before breaking into a run.

    The children did plan on letting them have that head start, they really did.

    But then, they were young.

 Chapter Nine: The Powerless of This World

    Aleister ran stumbling through the coarse undergrowth, his friends struggling to keep apace with him. His thoughts were lapine, concerned only with what lay directly ahead of him¡ªand what made pursuit of him.

    The chase had mostly pushed the lads in circles. This was largely the children¡¯s doing, but the boys¡¯ own panicked indecisiveness certainly contributed. With no spare moment to stop and devise a plan of action, they were relying completely on their hind-brains, which randomly and rapidly alternated between urging them to flee as far and as fast as possible from the New Human Institute, and compelling them to try and make a dash for the farmhouse, so that they might petition Mad Laurie for protection.

    They were in a holding pattern: the children mostly kept out of sight, excepting the odd glimpse or giggle or gust of flame, only to pour out of the trees or rise from the long grass to subject the lads to some new round of terrors, before slinking back into cover. Sometimes they found themselves foes of the wind like poor Mealy, unable to take a step forward as the children flitted around them¡ªpoking and prodding and scorning¡ªand an aviary''s worth of birds clawed and pecked at them. Then there was the time they were almost cut in half by the edge of sharpened light, or when fatally solid stones rained from the heavens like unwanted blacksmiths. Sometimes the disembodied Audrey Hepburn soundalike would level threats of punishment at the children, ranging from death to Italian lessons with Tiresias.

    Eddie was convinced he¡¯d have to be left behind. Now that the initial flush of adrenaline had given way to the banality of persistent fear, his right ankle was becoming more and more unbearable to move on. Even with Bazza supporting him, every step sent stabbing, shuddering waves of pain through his body. His grip around Bazza¡¯s shoulders loosened, and he collapsed. ¡°Shit, shit, shit shit shit¡ª¡± he repeated, with no plan of stopping soon. ¡°I can¡¯t keep going like this.¡±

    Bazza pulled him to his feet with uncharacteristic roughness. ¡°Come on, mate, we just need to stay moving. They¡¯re kids! They have to sleep sooner or later!¡±

    Eddie looked at him, despairing. ¡°Do they?¡± he gasped. ¡°You learned this where? How do ya know staying up late doesn¡¯t make them smarter and sharper?¡±

    He was on the brink of tears.

    That exchange slowed them down to the point where Aleister found himself three yards ahead of them. He might have gotten even further, if he hadn¡¯t smacked face first against the iridescent dome that came into existence over the boys, severing the tops of any tree it intersected. ¡°Oh, for God¡¯s sake, what now?¡± he moaned.

    His curiosity not yet deadened by horror, Bazza set Edward down for the moment, before moving to the edge of their enclosure. It was like a crystallized aurora, bright swirls of blue, green and pink suspended in the film of a soap bubble. He dared not touch it.

    Oh, why couldn¡¯t it just be beautiful?

    ¡°We¡¯re finished!¡± Eddie shouted. ¡°Any second now this thing is going to start closing in on us like the walls in that fucking Batman serial!¡±

    The bubble did no such thing, but it did catch on fire, making Bazza yelp and jump back. Which he did again when he saw the filthy rag doll digging its way out of the ground in front of him, rusted butcher¡¯s knife in hand.

    The earth spewed forth toys of all sorts. Tin VWs with kitchen scissors fastened to their hoods  extricated themselves from the ground, dirt falling away from their wheels as they spun in their arches, headlights beaming obscenities in Morse code. The sod became mother to autochthonous infants with bodies of stained plastic.

    ¡°I thought Alberto said you were going to be a granddad?¡± cried Al.

    ¡°Yeah, right before he said he was guessing!¡± Eddie slammed his fist into the ground. ¡°Bloody wog owes me a brew!¡±

    The toys were closing in on the lads. They huddled together in the centre of their prison, clutching one another. Their own faces, sculpted from flames, mocked them in silence just outside the dome. Beyond them, the children danced and laughed, their voices brimming with the kind of ecstasy known only by children and madmen.

    The ragdoll¡¯s cross stitched mouth tore itself open, hissing, ¡°We¡¯ll kill you, kill you all. You¡¯ll never see us. Beneath your pillows, in the toilet, inside your teapot! We can be everywhere!¡±

    Eddie wet himself. ¡°Nice knowing ya, lads.¡±

    His friends responded in kind.

    It was then that Aleister remembered something Alberto had said. It was a foolish thought, but what harm could it do, at this late stage? ¡°Flying Man!¡± he screamed. ¡°Flying Man! Help us!¡±

    There was more screaming; it took a moment for the boys to realise it wasn¡¯t their own. Then the bubble popped, the toys went limp and still, and the flames quietly extinguished themselves. There weren¡¯t even any scorch marks.

    The children were under attack by flying monkeys: taxidermied horrors with immense wingspans and blue, all too human, faces. They pulled at their hair, or menaced them with their scimitars. One boy lay curled in a fetal position under a much smaller version of the bubble that had entrapped the lads.

    That¡¯s not to say the children weren¡¯t making any effort to fight back. Snapdragon was hurling flame from his person. The monkeys he ignited were unphased by this, until the boy shouted something. Then they fell to the ground, writhing and screeching. The lads could smell barbecue and burning fur.

    Thoroughly forgotten, the boys wandered bewildered through and past the scene. Most of the posthuman children were making a run for it. One kid, his skin literally bronze, was plucking monkeys from the air and tearing their wings off with the ease of a boy mutilating flies, before being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

    Once the boys were out of sight, Eddie spoke: ¡°Do ya think, when these kids are being given the runabout by the the ultra-mega-superhumans, a buncha¡¯ flying blokes with machine guns are gonna swoop in and rescue em¡¯?¡±

    Al and Bazza laughed, exhaustedly, their lungs aching with relief. ¡°I don¡¯t think the monkeys were for us,¡± Bazza said. ¡°Like, whoever made them was more angry at the kids than they cared about us.¡±

    Al shrugged. ¡°Works for me. Maybe Mealy¡¯s got someone lookin¡¯ out for him.¡±

    ¡°His name¡¯s Maelstrom,¡± came a young boy¡¯s voice, ¡°and she is.¡±

    The trio turned as one to look in its direction. In a thicket of branches so dense, they prevented fallen trees from reaching the ground, a ball of lightning was obliterating a path through to reach them. Everything its thin, jagged limbs touched flickered out of existence.

    When it was finally free of the covert, the light dimmed somewhat to reveal a child. At least, it was the size and shape of a child. It was as though his veins flowed with light rather than blood, the colour of ozone. Bright embers flecked the ends of his eyelashes, the eyes themselves glowing like they were trying to inform traffic if it was allowed to move.

    The lads weren¡¯t sure if that applied to them.

    ¡°Uh, hi,¡± said Eddie, ¡°you from the Institute?¡±

    The child¡ªthe glare made gender difficult to discern¡ªnodded. It regarded them curiously. ¡°And you¡¯re the naturals?¡±

    ¡°...Yes.¡±

    Its expression brightened. ¡°Oh, good. I thought I missed my go.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wha¡ª¡±

    The kid threw its arms out. ¡°SHAZAM!¡±

    The boys tasted metal. For the second time that afternoon, they were blinded, this time by a green flash. And they were falling.

    They landed with a thud in a perfect bowl, about twenty feet across and fifteen feet deep. They had not moved.

    The kid was already on its feet when the lads recovered and got their faces out of the dirt, dendrites of lightning lashing out around him. ¡°Do ya like it?¡± it asked. ¡°Rivers are cool and all, but I¡¯ve always wanted a pool. And the rain will fill it up easy in a few weeks! It¡¯ll be kinda cold, but that¡¯s what Maelstrom and his mum are for. I could charge for entry!¡±

    The boys weren¡¯t able to offer their opinion, as they were busy trying to climb out over the rim of the sudden lake.

    ¡°Well that¡¯s just rude.¡± He pointed his left index finger like a pistol and said, ¡°Bang.¡±

    A sheath of lightning shot through Edward Taylor¡¯s heart. He didn¡¯t even have time to cry out before his body shattered into light.

    He was nothing. A jiffy later, he was something again. Something that was lying in some bushes, being looked down at by a half-caste boy, and a younger girl with an exceedingly boyish haircut and vaguely elfin, Semitic features. As Edward staggered and tried to scramble away, he noticed that her skin pulsed with the same white light that had surrounded the other girl, the one who had given her coat to Maelstrom.

    ¡°Oh, look. We found one of the naturals,¡± said the boy.

    The girl hummed in agreement. ¡°That we have, Haunt.¡±

    ¡°What do we do with him?¡±

    The girl rubbed her chin. Finally, she said, ¡°...Things.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± agreed Haunt. ¡°Things.¡±

    ?

    Back in the crater, the remaining lads were looking at the storm-child like it¡¯d just killed a man. This was of not the case, of course; Eddie was only seventeen, after all.

    ¡°Oh, what?¡±

    Bazza boosted Al out of the hole, and Al wrenched Bazza out in turn, almost dislocating his arm. He didn¡¯t care. The boys had only two things on their mind: what they would tell Eddie¡¯s mother, and what Mad Laurie or Mary Gillespie would tell their mothers.

    The child sighed, and with a look and another green flash removed a large amount of dirt from the side of the bowl, its absence creating a very serviceable set of steps. Bazza and Al ran faster.

    Ahead of them, the air parted. Or maybe two points in the universe touched. Either way, a little girl stepped out of it. The same little girl that had knocked Mealy out of his watery vessel.

    Like freight trains, the boys had built too much speed to stop easily. Luckily for them, the girl was more than willing to help. Smiling beatifically, she held out her arm, three golden globes orbiting her hand. They started revolving faster and faster, until the naked eye could only perceive a halo.

    Something viscous splattered against the boys¡¯ legs, and for an indescribable moment they felt it trying to decide what it wanted to be. It settled on diamond so molecularly pure, it would be dismissed as cheap synthetic trash by any reputable jeweler. However, it did the job of keeping Aleister and Bazza rooted in place just fine.

    The girl clapped. ¡°Elsewhere, I caught them!¡± she said, standing on her toes and looking over their heads.

    The boys, too terrified by this point to even vocalise their fear or struggle against their bonds, craned their necks as much as possible to see behind them. Out the corner of their eyes, they saw Eddie¡¯s slayer strolling casually towards them, hands in its pockets. As it drew near, its majesty faded, until all that was left was a fox-faced little boy with grey eyes and too much pomade in his hair. ¡°Looks like Ex Nihilo and Cardea did most of the work from where I¡¯m standing.¡±

    The girl put her hands on her hips, frowning slightly. ¡°So if you find yourself at the bottom of the river, it¡¯s your own fault?¡±

    He smirked. ¡°I¡¯d like to see me try.¡±

    The two of them inspected their quarry, as though the two boys had already been stuffed and mounted over the mantle. The presumed Elsewhere rifled through their pockets, availing himself of their wallets, the key to Aleister¡¯s bike lock, and two exquisitely rolled joints. He threw the last two behind his back, followed by the wallets, lighter by four pounds and ninety-one pence. ¡°You don¡¯t mind if I borrow this, do ya?¡± Elsewhere asked, cheerfully.

    Bazza and Al made no protest.

    ¡°Cheers, mates.¡± He pocketed the cash and turned to the girl. ¡°I don¡¯t think these two are getting away from us.¡±

    She beamed. ¡°Yes! Kneel mortals, before the glory of Myriad and Elsewhere!¡±

    For their lives, the boys tried desperately to comply, but in their fetters, they couldn¡¯t even bend their knees. Aleister gazed at Myriad, his eyes full of helpless pleading.

    She blinked a few times. Then, to Al and Bazza¡¯s mutual surprise, her face became apologetic. ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t mean you actually had to do it.¡± She tweaked Bazza¡¯s nose. ¡°Nice of you to try, though.¡± Bowing, she said, ¡°Such is the mercy of Homo novus.¡±

    Elsewhere grinned wickedly. ¡°Yeah¡ªHey, what?¡± He glanced back at Myriad. ¡°I thought we agreed we were called Homo superior?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but we both know Homo novus sounds better.¡±

    ¡°But what does it mean?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a term from Roman times, meant the first member of a family to get political honours,¡± explained Myriad, very proud of herself.

    Elsewhere gave a derisive snort. ¡°Oh, I see, it¡¯s another swotty joke that nobody but you and Lawrence will get. Very clever.¡±

    The freckles spread across Myriad¡¯s cheeks crinkled with anger. ¡°And what¡¯s so great about Homo superior?¡±

    Oh, God, she looks like my little sister, Bazza realised.

    Elsewhere took a step towards Myriad. ¡°Not great, superior. It¡¯s in the name.¡±

    Their noses were almost touching as they stood there, staring each other down, assured in the semantic righteousness of their convictions. The lads would have thought it adorable¡ªif they didn¡¯t think one half of the pair had murdered their best mate.

    ¡°What do you guys think?¡± Myriad asked, addressing the lads.

    As Bazza especially would come to learn, superhumans have a way of making their baseline cousins almost forget their own existence in their presence, so his and Aleister¡¯s reaction to the question was only slightly more pronounced than a plaster wall¡¯s would have been.

    ¡°Ah, fellas? You two alright?¡±

    There were many possible answers to that question, almost all of them accurate, but almost none of those were ¡°yes¡±. ¡°What do we think about what?¡± said Al.

    ¡°Which name¡¯s better? Homo novus or¡ª¡±  Myriad sighed. ¡°¡ªHomo superior,¡± she finished reluctantly.

    ¡°It¡¯s like a multiple choice question where the question is also the answer!¡± Elsewhere added.

    Aleister froze up. He knew with certainty that both children could kill him without even moving, and he could see no way of pleasing both of them. It didn¡¯t help that he could see lightning fork between Elsewhere¡¯s fingers.

    By that same token, Bazza saw no reason not to give his honest opinion. He briefly considered that his answer could well influence textbooks for generations to come, then dismissed the thought as pompous.  ¡°Sorry Elsewhere, but I think I dig Homo novus more.¡± He continued to live, and, seeing that as a good sign, elaborated. ¡°Homo superior sounds too stuck up. Like, if you know you¡¯re¡­ that, why do ya need to go putting it in your name?¡± He smiled. ¡°Homo novus, though, now that sounds groovy. Like those suns that explode when they die. It¡¯s sad, for sure, but it spreads star stuff everywhere. And that star stuff becomes new stars, and planets, and you and me. Forever. ¡±

    Myriad giggled at the idea. Even Elsewhere was won over, however much he didn¡¯t want to admit it.

    Bazza squinted at him. ¡°You move things, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Elsewhere looked disarmed. ¡°How¡¯d you know?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d ya say a sec ago? ¡®It¡¯s in the name¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, of course,¡± Elsewhere said, blushing.

    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be embarrassed. That¡¯s way better than blowing stuff up. Especially if you¡¯re Eddie¡­ where is he, by the by?¡±

    ¡°...I¡¯m not sure,¡± he admitted sheepishly. ¡°He can¡¯t be more than a few metres away. I wasn¡¯t thinking about it too hard.¡±

    Al had to push anger down, but Bazza¡¯s smile didn¡¯t let up. Aleister was beginning to doubt his friend¡¯s status as a natural. ¡°That¡¯s alright then. I was worried you¡¯d put him on the Moon, in one of the parts you can¡¯t breathe in.¡± He glanced down at the diamond encasing his and Al¡¯s feet. ¡°Maybe if you send this away, we could all look for him together.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°That might be a good idea,¡± rang a voice like tempered silver.

    The lads by then had forgotten what had brought them to the Institute¡ªwhether as pretext or genuine desire. But when they saw her making her way up the trail of flattened greenery, they remembered.

    It is beyond useless to describe a woman as looking like a goddess. Some goddesses are graven images of desire; just as many are round, swollen icons of fertility. Many goddesses have the heads of beasts, or are beasts altogether. Sometimes, they are not even personified, and are simply the sky itself. Or the sea.

    What she had, though, was the presence of a goddess. Leonine and severe, the lads felt pale and insubstantial before her. She was like something real and whole wandering a world of half-truths and reflections.

    Her son walked hand in hand with her, along with a chunky little girl in a pink jumper and horn-rimmed glasses with the lenses poked out, from which she glowered at Elsewhere and Myriad. Tucked away in the saddlebag she was carrying was a vast arsenal of weaponry more varied and deadly than any assembled in history, and a standing army waiting to put it to good use. Following at a respectable distance were a Zulu and a redcoat, who kept exchanging dark looks with each other.

    Bazza waved brightly. ¡°Hey!¡± He searched for a name that wasn¡¯t coined beneath the benches at the sports green. ¡°You¡¯re Fran, right?¡±

    Tight-lipped, she nodded reticently, ¡°Some people feel they can call me that, yes.¡± The world felt quieter when she spoke, as though in deference.

    He pointed then at her son. ¡°It¡¯s Maelstrom, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the child confirmed meekly.

    He nodded, impressed. ¡°Badass name, if I may say so myself.¡±

    Maelstrom and the girl seemed pleased by Bazza¡¯s assessment; Fran, less so. She clamped a hand around each of the children¡¯s ears. ¡°Please try not to swear in front of the children, young man.¡±

    He laughed abashedly. ¡°Sorry, ma''am.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Phantasma,¡± the girl with the purely aesthetic spectacles announced, not waiting to be asked.

    ¡°Hello, Phantasma.¡± Bazza nudged Aleister. ¡°Say hello to Phantasma, Al.¡±

    Al didn¡¯t speak. Bazza was beginning to worry he never would again, but that was a matter to address later. ¡°So, Elsewhere, think we could stretch our legs now?¡±

    ¡°Does he have to ask again?¡± asked Fran, her tone mildly reproachful.

    Elsewhere shook his head. Lightning lashed from his eyes, some lucky souls on the other side of the world thought they saw four shooting stars at once, and the lads were freed.

    Once that was done with, hands were shook, and awkward apologies made. ¡°Sorry about getting all¡­ excited,¡± said Myriad.

    ¡°Eh, I probably would have been just as bad your age. Really, it¡¯s Maelstrom you should be apologising to.¡±

    ¡°...Why? I didn¡¯t do anything to him. He told on us!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything when that other girl was doing things to him.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but Windshear and him go way back. Nothing to do with me.¡±

    Bazza laughed. ¡°You¡¯re like, six¡ª¡±

    ¡°Eight.¡±

    ¡°¡ªEight. How far can any of you go back?¡±

    ¡°Far enough.¡±

    ¡°Are you two any kind of friends?¡±

    ¡°Yeeeeees!¡±

    Bazza said nothing.

    She sighed. ¡°Point taken.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± said Al, ¡°you were in charge of the monkeys?¡±

    Phantasma nodded, smiling. ¡°Yep! How¡¯d ya know?¡±

    ¡°Lucky guess. You were the only one I didn¡¯t see chasing us who wasn¡¯t Maelstrom, and flying monkeys on top of all the water stuff would be a bit much, I think.¡±

    ¡°Smart! Kinda weird that people¡¯s powers tend to be so similar, though. Where¡¯re all the kids who can fire atomic blasts, breathe underwater, and make insects do their bidding?¡± She pointed towards the riverbank, where the Zulu and the soldier sat exchanging jokes about their wives. ¡°I also made those guys.¡±

    Aleister didn¡¯t even know what he couldn¡¯t be bothered questioning.

    Fran cleared her throat. ¡°I was told there were three of you boys?¡±

    That dampened the mood. ¡°Yeah¡­ I vanished him,¡± Elsewhere confessed.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure he¡¯d prefer we find him sooner rather than later. Then maybe we could see about a ride back to town for you three?¡±

    She phrased it like an offer, but Bazza and Aleister could tell a command when they heard one. ¡°Sure, that¡¯d be good,¡± Al replied.

    She regarded the two of them wonderingly, ¡°What were you even doing out¡ª¡± She spotted the binoculars still hanging from Aleister¡¯s neck. Her brow furrowed.

    Al¡¯s breathing stopped dead. He figured it might become necessary to kick the habit in the very near future.

    ¡°...I¡¯m going to pretend I didn¡¯t see those,¡± she said archly. She held up a hand. ¡°Oh, I think that might be him now.¡±

    Even with the warning, Eddie¡¯s reentry into their midst was a sudden, violent thing. He burst screaming from the trees, wild-eyed and delirious. Still reeking of urine, his face was covered in fresh scratches, his bare chest smeared with honey, leaves, and lavatory paper like some polluted Green Man.

    His gaze danced manically from his friends to the assembled posthumans, but all he saw were wolves. They spoke to him, but he didn¡¯t hear what they said. Rational thought had left him when he felt the boy¡¯s hand around his heart, only the smallest exertion of will away from crushing it. And he knew, more surely than he¡¯d ever known anything else, that they had only let him go because they had bored of him. And who knew when they might need more diversion?

    The unnatural woman in blue offered him her hand, but he knocked it away, before barrelling towards the river. Something old and forgotten told him witches could not cross running water.

    The black boy with the cobalt eyes stood in his path, chatting with a fat girl and a time-lost soldier. He shoved him to the ground as he made for the water. ¡°Out of my way, ya fucking boong!¡± he screamed as he ran splashing past the prone child.

    The river was nearly at a boil before he was even in up to his knees. Improbable waves forced him back towards the shore. They would not harbour one who had offended their mistress.

    When he crawled back onto the mud, sputtering and coughing, she was waiting for him. ¡°Could you not guess whose son he was?¡±

    Maelstrom had picked himself up, and was tugging on his mother¡¯s arm, blood trickling from his nose. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Mum, really. I¡¯ll go icy and it¡¯ll be fine.¡± He bent down next to Edward. ¡°Look at him, he was just scared!¡±

    Eddie flinched away from the boy.

    ¡°I think that was clear, Maelstrom,¡± his mother said, cooly.

    Bazza spoke up plaintively, ¡°Fran, I swear to God, he isn¡¯t usually like that.¡±

    She nodded her agreement. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it. I imagine most of the people he interacts with on a regular basis are human. And white.¡± She almost spat the last two words.

    Phantasma was whispering something to the Zulu, while Elsewhere weighed whether he should send Eddie on another trip; the Gold Coast, perhaps, or was that too close to the ocean?

    Fran crouched to Eddie¡¯s eye level, her bare feet and pale fingers digging into the mud. Maelstrom stepped aside without question. Unable to escape her sight, Edward Taylor found his fear changing into something like animal awe. ¡°You come to my home to have me with your eyes, and when you can¡¯t, you gawk at little children, treat them like curios, or sideshow freaks. Here, the one place they should be free from that! And then, when they try to drive you out, you knock down and shout abuse at the only one who came to your defense.¡±

    She added no comment nor qualifying statement nor rhetorical question, except, maybe, the sound of water flowing over stone. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Edward said, meaning it.

    Fran brushed Eddie¡¯s cheek. ¡°I know,¡± she said, regretfully, almost kindly.

    She reared up over him, staring down. The disguise was gone¡ªshe was no longer a woman, but a figure cut from glass, capturing and refracting the last glinting rays of a tired sun. She made no movement, uttered no sound. Edward¡¯s heart, conversely, thundered in his chest, beat so hard it hurt. Everything hurt, as his blood rushed through his veins. Outwards.

    He screamed.

    ?

    Beneath the lengthening shadow of an old ghost gum, an ice sculpture rested. Carved with peculiar detail to resemble a melancholy child with a coat draped over it, a passing rambler might have mistook it for some kind of artistic statement. If they were wise, they would have fled the area with haste, knowing a lost street theatre troupe could not be far away.

    For Maelstrom, there was a relief in the stillness. This way, the water his soul usually clung to would not betray him. Ice melts¡ªit does not weep.

    Drifting intangibly over the trees like the most junior partner in that most famous of trios he perceived a human shaped concentration of liquid and negative space making its way towards his vacated body; almost definitely someone his age, likely a girl, but probably not Mabel. That was the closest anyone had ever come to taking Maelstrom by surprise.

    Myriad, still wearing his eyes, sat down against the bark-deprived trunk beside him. ¡°Hey, Mael,¡± she said, aiming for casualness, but betrayed by the tenseness of her movements.

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t feel ready for a return to the intensities of emotional biology, but he was a polite boy. ¡°Hi, Miri,¡± he said as soon as he had vocal cords again. ¡°Did the grownups send you?¡±

    She shrugged uncomfortably. ¡°I kinda sent myself, but they let me. You okay?¡±

    ¡°Better than that guy.¡± He curled in on himself. ¡°I should have got out of the way.¡±

    ¡°Oh, stop it. He could¡¯ve ran at any of us.¡±

    ¡°But would Melusine have done that for any of you?¡±

    Myriad thought about it. ¡°Okay, maybe not for Windshear.¡±

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t laugh. ¡°Windshear won¡¯t go near Mels. You ever slipped in the bath?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Did the water ever pull you under and hold you down for half a minute?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± At least, that explained the indoor hurricane first bathnight.

    They sat there for a while in companionable, if downcast silence. Eventually, Maelstrom asked his friend a question:

    ¡°Your parents, did they ever fight like that?¡±

    Myriad honestly didn¡¯t know. Her mother had a talent for preempting incoming marital strife, and usually had her daughter out the door with a little pocket money before any serious argument could break out. This did have the unforeseen side effect of creating an association in her mind between sweets and parental stress.

    However, there was one time she could remember swinging around Elsewhere¡¯s place, only to find him already milling about out front. She didn¡¯t hear much of what was being said inside, but Elsewhere spent a lot of time at her house that weekend.

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°I never really thought my parents loved each other. But it was nice when I thought they at least liked each other.¡±

    Myriad¡¯s only response was to shuffle in closer to him. It almost physically hurt hearing that; she couldn¡¯t begin to imagine how it felt saying it.

    They watched the sunset. The day was ending in an extinction burst of beauty, the clouds caught alight with gold, fading into sullen reds and the rich purple of a monarch¡¯s cape.

    ¡°Why does the sky only get this pretty at the end of the day?¡± Maelstrom wondered out loud. He hadn¡¯t spoken since his confession.

    He quite courteously allowed Myriad to explain all the mechanics of a sunset. To her surprise, he was smiling a little by the end of her lecture. ¡°I was asking¡­ rhetorically? Philosophically?¡±

    ¡°Oh. Hey, is it okay if I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Are you real?¡±

    ¡°...I think so. But could I tell you if I wasn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I guess not. I had this bloody stupid dream once where Christmas came early, and I kept asking everyone if it was a dream. They all said no, but BLAM! I woke up, and it was still June. But that¡¯s not really what I¡¯m asking.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°Are you a boy who turns into water, or water that turns into a boy?¡±

    He considered the question. ¡°Is there a difference?¡±

    ¡°Usually when I¡¯m copying someone, I can just do something extra. With you and Melusine, it¡¯s like I-you¡¯re-we¡¯re something completely different. Like our bodies are something we¡¯re just walking around in, instead of our¡­ us?¡± She huffed. ¡°I know I have the words, but I can¡¯t find them right now.¡±

    Maelstrom stretched out. ¡°I kinda thought it was like that for everyone¡ªthe difference was, me and Melusine weren¡¯t stuck in ours.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you were right.¡±

    He snuggled into her a bit, yawning. ¡°You probably know more about it than me.¡±

    He was right. The songs of supers conveyed to Myriad not only their powers, but also their knowledge and skill; same as any other talent. Right from the outset, she was at least as skilled in their use as their true owner. With Maelstrom, it was even more pronounced, what with the added wellspring of his mother¡¯s lifetime of experience to draw from. When Myriad realised this, borrowing his posthumanity had felt almost akin to thievery.

    Maelstrom gave her a reassuring smile, which just felt wrong, given the circumstances. ¡°It¡¯s fine¡ªjust the way you work. It¡¯s nice, really, talking to someone besides Mels about it.¡±

    Her guilt assuaged for the time being, Myriad pointed up at the dimming sky. ¡°You ever played with the clouds? They¡¯re nothing but water!¡±

    He shrugged noncommittally. ¡°Melusine sometimes puts shows on with them, but Lawrence doesn¡¯t like it. Says it could have ¡®wide reaching effects on the balance of nature¡¯.¡±

    Myriad continued looking at the clouds, pensive. ¡°Well, we¡¯re probably already in trouble, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    Maelstrom suspected she was right. But there was something liberating in that. He walked out from the shade and squinted at the sky. ¡°Um, what do we do with them, exactly?¡±

    Myriad hopped from foot to foot in thought. ¡°Get a closer look?¡±

    And so they stood there, arms flung out like a confused Moses parting the Egyptian sky, and called the clouds down to them. They billowed over the pair, leaving their clothes damp and covered in ice crystals. Neither of them minded: water would do them no harm. They didn¡¯t even need to breathe when completely submerged in it. That was something Myriad could only bring herself to question when she wasn¡¯t experiencing it.

    Giggling, Maelstrom coaxed some of the newly relocated fog around his neck like a feather boa. ¡°Oh, Lord Moxy, you must attend Lady Foppington and I¡¯s flower show.¡±

    ¡°Sexist!¡±

    ¡°Classist,¡± he corrected.

    She proceeded to make it rain over Maelstrom, and he was a good enough sport to let it hit him. He did, however, send his own miniature storm cloud after Myriad, and for the next few minutes a weather war played out between them, droplets twisting and turning unnaturally in the air after their target.

    When they tired of that, they tried their hand at sculpture¡ªcrafting and peopling fleecy kingdoms of clouds and vapour, before trampling through them like rampaging giants. For reasons perhaps best left unasked, they took turns pretending to be Jack the Ripper, stalking each other through the debris of their creations.

    If someone, somehow, forced Myriad to pick one power and stick with it for life, she suspected it might be Maelstrom¡¯s. She was beginning to wonder how she¡¯d gotten caught up in all the fuss over the natural teenagers. Humans can''t do stuff like this together. Who needs them?

    The two of them had almost forgotten how and why they had found themselves out there in the bush, when Lawrence made himself known:

    ¡°Enough of this, children.¡±

    The thick forest of mist Maelstrom and Myriad had grown around themselves dispersed, the former instantly standing to attention.

    ¡°Um, hello, sir,¡± said Myriad, before clapping her hand over her mouth.

    Lawrence just stood there, suit disheveled from his journey through the bush. He looked faintly ridiculous. Even heading into the coldest time of the year, in the wettest, coolest part of the country, Dr. Herbert Lawrence was something altogether too hothouse English to exist comfortably in the Australian outdoors. ¡°Don¡¯t call me sir. And for Christ¡¯s sake, get dressed.¡±

    Myriad looked down at herself. At some point she and Maelstrom had intermingled themselves with the fog, and not bothered to retrieve their clothes when they put themselves back together. Maelstrom wore clothes mostly as a matter of courtesy rather than shame, and Myriad had shared a bathtub with him, so neither of them minded. They felt considerably less comfortable under Lawrence¡¯s dark look.

    With practised ease, Maelstrom threw his dad¡¯s coat back on. For Myriad, it was a bit more involved. She was pulling on her shorts when she heard Lawrence bark, ¡°Oh, hurry up, girl!¡±

    His tone stunned Myriad into inaction. In the month she had been at the Institute, she had never heard Lawrence snap at a child like that. She found her shirt being forced roughly over her head. ¡°Don''t dawdle!¡±

    She almost broke down in tears right there and then.

    They made their way back to to the Institute, Lawrence half-dragging the children by the wrist, making very little concession for their shorter stride. Much to Myriad¡¯s confusion, he rounded on Maelstrom first:

    ¡°I cannot begin to express how disappointed I am with you, Maelstrom.¡±

    Myriad opened her mouth, then closed it. She wanted to defend her friend, but all her focus was on keeping her footing. Somehow, being pulled along by her massive teacher, she didn¡¯t think to play any of the songs that might have aided her in this.

    Maelstrom, though, clearly felt he deserved no advocate. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Lawrence. I should have done better.¡±

    Lawrence grunted as he forced his way through some shrubbery. ¡°The other children, they¡¯ve all been dealt a bad hand. Poor, lost things were raised as though they were human beings! You¡¯re the firstborn son of a new culture; if you don¡¯t show them how a young posthuman is meant to behave, no one will.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°But Lawrence,¡± said Allison, almost tripping over a rock as she did, ¡°Maelstrom really did try. We just didn¡¯t listen.¡±

    His grip tightened. ¡°Any other time, Myriad, maybe trying would have been good enough. And don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten your involvement.¡±

    Myriad didn¡¯t need to worry, though¡ªLawrence was far from done with Maelstrom.

    ¡°...And what were you thinking with that stunt with the lad? Even I could have told you how that would turn out, and I¡¯m not the one who¡¯s been splashing around with water since the nursery! If your father¡¯s power ever comes in, I can only pray you¡¯re more responsible with it.¡±

    ¡°I will. I promise.¡± Maelstrom¡¯s voice was quavering. He bit his lip.

    ¡°Running away like that was completely immature as well. Did you think that would get you out of talking to me? Were you planning on staying out here till I forgot?¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°The state of abandon I found you and Myriad in suggests otherwise. Enjoying yourselves, I take it?¡±

    ¡°...Yes.¡±

    ¡°And what should you have done instead?¡±

    ¡°Gone straight back to the house and waited for you to come home,¡± Maelstrom said, like he was reciting a commandment.

    It went on like that all the way back to the Institute. Apart from the sins and foibles Maelstrom displayed that day, Lawrence also reamed him for his standoffishness towards the other students, his allowing of the Watercolours to preoccupy him¡­ even the times he called Melusine ¡°Mum¡± in public.

    Maelstrom¡¯s apologies and promises to conduct himself better were ceaseless. It was a tactic Myriad was well acquainted with: agree with whatever the grownup says till they leave you alone.

    Except, she realised, he was being completely earnest.

    Lawrence didn¡¯t let go of the children till they were in front of the farmhouse. There was something to be said for a man who could keep ahold of mist.

    ?

    Aleister Johnson irritably polished a long, already spotless patch of countertop, the Beatles blaring out ¡°Yes It Is¡± from the wireless playing in the back of the Camel Stop Diner¡¯s kitchen:

    ¡°...Scarlet were the clothes she wore, everybody knows I''m sure, I would remember all the things we planned¡­¡±

    Al gritted his teeth. Sometimes he felt like the only bloke in the world who couldn¡¯t stand those four. When it came to the British Invasion, he wasn¡¯t capitulating to anyone but the Kinks. ¡°Say, Sal,¡± he said, ¡°would ya mind changing the dial for a bit?¡±

    Aleister¡¯s back was to the kitchen¡¯s window, but he would¡¯ve sworn he could feel Sal, a hulking mass of menace and scar tissue that had learned to cook somewhere along the way, flipping him the bird.

    He sighed and resumed his busywork. He normally wouldn¡¯t have bothered contesting Sal¡¯s choice of work music¡ªnot the least because he might in turn contest the present arrangement of his bones and innards¡ªbut the week had not been kind to him. As of late, he¡¯d found it necessary to circumvent Northam Primary School as widely as possible on his journey home, lest he pass through the front door in a cold sweat. And that was nothing compared to Eddie. Once, he¡¯d caught the poor fella accusing a glass of water of conspiring against him.

    Bazza¡¯s company was of little help. He¡¯d gotten deep into the super thing, devouring every book, newspaper clipping, or fun-fact on a discarded Cherry Ripe bar he could find. His interlibrary loans had likely put him on some kind of watchlist. Al half-expected any day now to hear that the police had caught him, blazing bright on some obscure plant or another, attempting to stitch babies and unwary housecats together into the Shining, Perfect New Human.

    ¡°...Please don''t wear red tonight, for red is the color that will make me blue, in spite of you, it''s true for red is the color that will make me blue¡­¡±

    The diner was virtually deserted that Sunday afternoon, which suited Aleister fine. He still got paid, after all. The only customers were a pair of middle aged ladies in a corner booth proudly discussing their sons¡¯ numbers coming up, both holding back tears, and two children blowing bubbles in their milkshakes. One, an Arab girl dressed like a royal yachtsman, made Al wonder how her mother let her walk around with hair dyed like that. Her friend looked like he was about to drop dead of anemia, but seemed to be in high spirits. In fact, Al would¡¯ve greatly appreciated it if they stopped laughing quite so much. It made him twitch.

    The bell above the door jangled, snapping Al to attention. A man in an Akubra hat strolled into the diner, a newspaper folded under his arm. As he passed the children, he tossed a couple of what looked like chocolate coins towards them, like Father Christmas from the top of a fire truck. They were eagerly snatched up.

    ¡°...I could be happy with you by my side, if I could forget her, but it''s my pride¡­¡±

    He greeted Al when he reached the counter. ¡°G¡¯day mate, the usual?¡±

    Al nodded, before calling out to Sal over his shoulder, ¡°Steak sandwich with peppercorn sauce!¡±

    Sal made a disgusting, yet affirmative gesture.

    The man pulled up a stool and opened his paper, grimacing at some new horror of Redcap¡¯s down in Perth.

    ¡°You local?¡± Al asked, sure he already knew the answer.

    ¡°Nah, mate,¡± he replied, ¡°Melbourne. Down here visiting family.¡±

    That came as a surprise. ¡°Oh, didn¡¯t realise there were any of your lot in Northam, to be honest.¡±

    The man frowned slightly. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Or maybe not.¡±

    He ate his meal in silence, the children shooting him furtive glances, trying to hide what might have been disappointment. When he finished, he stood up and fished around his pockets. ¡°Shit, mate, I¡¯ve only got twelve pence. I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    Al smiled. ¡°Eh, it¡¯s two pence, we¡¯ll survive.¡±

    The man looked relieved. ¡°Much obliged.¡± He dumped some coins on the counter, tipped the brim of his hat to Al, the children, and the ladies, before taking his leave.

    ¡°...In spite of you, it''s true, yes, it is, it''s true¡­¡±

    The Oriental was gone before Aleister could yell after him. The profile of King George glinted up at him six times over, all set in gold.

 Chapter Ten: Other Beasts

    Myriad sat cross legged outside ?ywie¡¯s office, the bruises on her back aching even at the touch of her shirt. She was not alone in her pain: most of the student body were also waiting in the hallway, some overflowing onto the stairs. All were twisting and twitching, searching for a posture that didn¡¯t hurt, with little success.

    The door opened, ?ywie ushering Maelstrom out. ¡°...And come to me if you feel those pains you were telling me about again, little one,¡± she called after him.

    He nodded, not that he thought it would be necessary. He didn¡¯t like bothering ?ywie if it could be avoided; easier to abandon his body if it fell into disrepair. He made his way to the stairs, awkwardly stepping over and around the other children, a few glowering at him as he passed. ¡°Sorry-excuse me-pardon me!¡±

    Once he was gone, ?ywie scanned the hall for her next patient. ¡°You can come in now, Metonymy.¡±

    When the door was shut again, Windshear muttered from the staircase, ¡°Bloody show-off Mealy.¡±

    Some of the other kids voiced their assent, quietly, for fear of ?ywie overhearing.

    Myriad bent forward to glare over at the other girl, then winced as the motion upset her bruises. ¡°What are you moaning about now, Windshear?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t need ?ywie to fix him, he could¡¯ve done done it himself! I bet he did¡­¡±

    ¡°Talos could¡¯ve, too,¡± Elsewhere pointed out, idly teleporting a tennis ball from one end of the hall to another, producing a muffled thunderclap with every transfer. He could¡¯ve just bounced it against the wall, but that entailed physical movement. And didn¡¯t entail bright flashes of lightning.

    Everyone turned towards the russet haired boy who¡¯d claimed the sunny spot under the end window, begging an objection. ¡°...Well, yeah, I could, but I¡¯d get it if I did! Mealy¡¯s the favourite, if he turned icy early, Z would just tell Lawrence he didn¡¯t.¡±

    Keep telling yourselves that, thought Myriad.

    She was one of the last to be treated. Having directly used her powers¡ªor someone¡¯s, at least¡ªon the three interlopers that weekend, it was deemed that her penalty should be among the longest. Haunt, Snapdragon and Britomart weren¡¯t even due to have theirs lifted till well after dinner that night.

    ?ywie¡¯s office was well and truly an English teacher¡¯s, strewn with books and whatever minutia of her life she couldn¡¯t fit in her bedroom. The only real concessions to her role as school nurse were an examination table, and the disorganised mess of papers stuffed in her desk, filled with insights into biology both human and superhuman. They¡¯d been written as aide-m¨¦moire rather than for anyone¡¯s else¡¯s benefit, and it would be decades before earthly science caught up enough to make much sense of it. She¡¯d had to devise a lexicon all of her own to describe many of her discoveries.

    On a mat in the corner, Ophelia was smashing wooden blocks together with intense focus. Upon Myriad¡¯s entrance, she looked up from her project and giggled. ¡°Miri!¡±

    Myriad tried to ignore the toddler, in case it deflated while she was looking at it. The presence of babies at the NHI had surprised her initially, but then, who else was more likely to out themselves? Ophelia, especially.

    ?ywie beamed proudly. ¡°Yes, it is Myriad!¡± She gestured at Myriad like a gameshow host presenting a new stove. ¡°Say hello to Myriad, Ophelia.¡±

    Still smiling, Ophelia shook her head. ¡°No!¡±

    The healer quirked her shoulders. ¡°She knows what I am saying, at least.¡± She turned to Myriad and asked, ¡°Do you prefer the chair or the bench?¡±

    ¡°The bench, I think.¡± She looked at Ophelia. ¡°...You don¡¯t think she¡¯s gonna clap, do you?¡± Myriad wasn¡¯t strictly a telepath, but she was enough of an esper for Ophelia¡¯s ovation to hit her hard, as Elsewhere had taken great pains to inform her between laughing jags.

    ?ywie studied the child carefully. ¡°She seems calm, but babies operate on no timetable but God¡¯s. I don¡¯t think she really needs to clap, either. Might just be a physical association that makes it easier for her to trigger it. You know, I wouldn¡¯t mind taking a look at a clapped esper¡¯s brain chemistry. I¡¯ve asked Tiresias, but he would never¡ªthat¡¯s probably not something you want to hear right now, is it?¡±

    Myriad shook her head.

    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s get you fighting fit.¡±

    ¡°Do I have to take off my shirt or anything?¡±

    ¡°No, just your hand will do.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Most children got used to ?ywie¡¯s wires sooner or later. Strange and perilous as her powers felt, they mended skinned knees and dried runny noses. Sick-days at the New Human Institute were like Armageddon, anticipated with dread and hope in equal measure, but so far always delayed.

    Myriad, however, had little need of a medic. She had Maelstrom¡¯s song for that¡ªor Talos¡¯, sometimes. Talos¡¯ song was a much different beast, though, like a euphonium designed for worlds where light had gravity and texture. It would put her back together just fine, but where Maelstrom¡¯s powers offered an escape from physicality, Talos¡¯ powers did all they could to remind her she had a body. One with hydraulic fluid for blood, stirred and forced through copper veins by a turbine where her heart used to be, her every thought etched unerringly onto crystalline substrate. When she changed back, though, she found that she couldn¡¯t visualise anything she¡¯d experienced in that state: only recall abstract data, like lines in a book.

    She still preferred it to the wires.

    ?ywie was not one to just a do a job and get out. She was the medical equivalent of the house-sitter who helpfully rearranged your furniture before you got home. She muttered what to any other child would sound like nothing more than some sort of strange wizard biologist¡¯s spell:

    ¡°...Someday I won¡¯t have to re-up your flu immunities every year¡­¡±

    ¡°...Basil just needs some rest. He always rebounds, eventually¡­¡±

    ¡°...I know it feels awful, but he means well¡­¡±

    ¡°...And all done. Everything feel in order?¡±

    Myriad bent and stretched. The only evidence she¡¯d been in any pain was memory. She wasn¡¯t sure why, but that felt like a mixed blessing. She was relieved to have her body to herself again, though. ¡°Yeah. Thank you.¡±

    Her teacher put a hand on her shoulder, very deliberately making sure she couldn¡¯t accidentally brush the skin of her arm or neck. ¡°You were very brave.¡±

    ¡°I was being bad.¡±

    ¡°Yes. But brave, all the same.¡±

    When Myriad left, ?ywie found herself needing a moment to collect herself before seeing the next students. Cracking open a window and leaning out for the baby¡¯s sake, she lit herself a dunhill, and tried to watch some of her earlier patients amuse themselves.

    Her thoughts kept coming back to Maelstrom and Myriad. Dear God. They both kept the bruises.

    ?

    The punishment was not administered immediately after the intruders were escorted off the Institute. Days passed as normally as they ever did. Classes were held, meals were eaten, games played, albeit with a kind of rehearsed self consciousness, like public theatre. Lawrence seemed to dote on the children as always.

    When the time came, there was little warning.

    The children came up to the big house for dinner, only to be greeted by the staff and the oldest students assembled on the veranda, bar Basilisk. Most had sympathy in their eyes; Lawrence, especially.

    He also held a long cane, with a smooth stone set into the head.

    Myriad and Elsewhere both seized up at the sight of it. The former heard the note of dread that had been playing through her peers¡¯ songs the last few days peak. She did not catch anything that sounded like surprise.

    ¡°This hurts,¡± Lawrence began, his tone low and grave. ¡°Because it must. The young men you brutalised found it in themselves not to press charges, and I¡¯m told the unfortunate Edward Taylor has made a full recovery. However, for me to let this crime go unpunished would be like ?ywie not excising a cancer from your bodies.¡±

    Many of the children made noises of resigned agreement. ?ywie herself remained stone-faced.

    ¡°And the cancer would not only claim you children. Imagine if those boys had told their families and friends about what you did to them. Imagine if kindness and what good sense is left in the hearts of human beings failed the people of Northam, and a mob arose. Imagine this hysteria spreading to Baker¡¯s Hill, or maybe even Perth.¡± His voice was rising, threatening to become as solid and substantial as the man himself. ¡°Now imagine being dragged screaming from your beds, your home burning. Maybe the babies being dashed against the walls, or the butt of a soldier¡¯s rifle¡­¡±

    A few of the teachers looked apprehensively at their employer. Therese Fletcher made to step forward, but a warning glance from Mrs Gillespie convinced her otherwise.

    Some of the children were already in tears. Lawrence nodded; it meant they were listening. ¡°It would not end with you. Think of your fellow new children, still left rotting in this country¡¯s ¡®asylums¡¯. Imagine when they hear the doors of their cells open, think they might taste the sun again... only to be disposed off. Maybe a few will be retained¡ªlobotomised, neutered things¡ªto be aimed at whatever else the Crown wishes to be rid of.¡±

    The sobbing was spreading like an infection among the children. Maybe to Myriad, as well, but it was difficult for her to tell. She was aware of Elsewhere¡¯s hand grasping for hers, though. Somehow, she had a better idea how he felt than how she felt.

    Lawrence wasn¡¯t shouting, but he was still louder than most men when they screamed. ¡°You have to be better than us! The world out there is looking for any excuse to snuff you all out. What you did wasn¡¯t only a barbarity, it was calling down genocide on yourselves!¡±

    He gave the children a moment to calm down before continuing. ¡°I know all of you, one way or another, have been wronged by your forebears. I can¡¯t begin to comprehend what it must be like for you, confined when you should be soaring, remaking the world as is every generation¡¯s right and privilege; yours none the least. And I can understand the desire to lash out, especially when confronted by¡ªlet¡¯s be honest¡ªvoyeurs. But, whether by birth or transformation, you are no longer Homo sapiens, and I would hate for us to infect you with our pettiness as we pass.

    ¡°Phantasmagoria, you can come up now.¡±

    The crowd parted for Mabel. She walked up to Lawrence with the steady, determined pace of someone eager to put whatever lay ahead behind her, before turning to face the other children. Though she was looking at the ground, her expression was unmistakably resolute.

    ¡°I must stress that Phantasmagoria is to be commended for her attempts to protect the young men.¡±

    Mabel did not contradict him.

    ¡°...But she turned her gift on her fellow new humans, and that is not acceptable. Do you accept this, Phantasmagoria?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Mabel replied, eyes still fixed on the grass at her feet.

    ¡°Good. Remove your shirt.¡±

    She complied, dropping her shirt and sweater next to her, along with her glasses. She then tensed completely, her eyes screwed shut and her fists balled at her sides.

    Lawrence drew back the cane, high over his head. ¡°Neque hic lupis mos nec fuit leonibus umquam nisi in dispar feris.¡±

    ¡°Is that Latin?¡± Elsewhere asked, his hot breath tickling Myriad¡¯s ear. ¡°What¡¯s it mean?¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t the way of even wolves or lions, who only fight against other beasts,¡± Myriad whispered back.

    Quickly, but clearly, Mabel repeated the mantra back. ¡°Neque hic lupis mos nec fuit leonibus umquam nisi in dispar feris.¡±

    Lawrence struck her mightily across the back. Even knowing it was coming, the pain was so stunning she didn¡¯t even shout, only gasping as she stumbled forward, barely standing. A choked, poorly-suppressed sob, and she was weeping.

    Her headmaster stepped aside as she made her way up the front steps, ?ywie brushing a finger across her neck once she was on the veranda. From there, Mrs Gillespie took her hand and led her inside.

    To Elsewhere and Myriad¡¯s silent bafflement, Maelstrom was called up next. There had been much debate amongst the faculty whether he deserved any kind of punishment. Almost everyone argued against it¡ªbut it was hard to make a case when even the boy himself was pushing for it.

    He approached Lawrence with a child¡¯s impression of stoicness, turning and removing his shirt without prompting. He stared out at his fellows, who quickly averted their eyes.

    ¡°Maelstrom, through inaction, you allowed members of your family to inflict harm on defenceless human beings. Through foolishness, you caused further, grievous harm, before attempting to escape the consequences. Do you accept this?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Lawrence.¡±

    Melusine buried her face in ?ywie¡¯s shoulder, who drew an arm around her. Whether to her credit or condemnation, the healer did not look away.

    ¡°Dum inter homines sumus, colamus humanitatem.¡±

    ¡°As long as we are among humans, let us be humane,¡± Myriad said under her breath, to no one¡¯s interest. Next to her, Elsewhere¡¯s leitmotif rose in volume, but everything remained where it was supposed to be.

    Maelstrom repeated the phrase back quite perfectly. Shortly afterwards, he screamed and fell forward. Gently, Lawrence lifted him back onto his feet, shaking and sobbing. Unused to any great pain persisting for more than a few seconds, he wore it gracelessly even by the standards of children.

    Lawrence¡¯s voice was kind as he said, ¡°Just one more time, Maelstrom.¡±

    He nodded, and got back into place. The second time, it was Melusine who picked him up, rushing him inside while whispering in Occitan.

    It took a great deal of time to get to Myriad. Most of the children were only made to repeat Maelstrom¡¯s phrase, though Windshear had to utter both. Thanks to a mispronunciation, she ended up receiving three blows of the cane.

    Some children reflexively mitigated or deflected Lawrence¡¯s strikes with their powers. This did them little good, as it only reset the count. Abalone suffered the worst from this, his force field earning him five whacks in all. Elsewhere was amazed he could walk afterwards.

    For Myriad, fear and sympathy soon gave way to a simple longing for the noises to stop. She wondered if that was how Aleister and Bazza had felt, watching their friend bleed out in the water. In an attempt to distract herself, she tried looking past Lawrence and whichever of her classmates was undergoing penance to the teenagers standing by the teachers.

    Linus, Stratogale, Ex Nihilo, and Reverb had been the New Human Institute¡¯s first students, dating all the way back to the 50s, before even Circle¡¯s End. For years they¡¯d pretty much had the run of the place. Well, them and Maelstrom, but he was in a category all his own. Sometimes, Myriad and Elsewhere envied them. Aside from them, there was also Gwydion, a slightly younger boy who¡¯d graduated from preadolescent circles some time ago. As Myriad had learned through experience, he crafted geometric constructs out of nothing in particular.

    Stratogale, a heavy-lashed young woman with burgundy hair, was leaning against Linus for comfort. Myriad had no clue why she wasn¡¯t down there with them. Aside from being one of the world¡¯s precious few true flyers, Stratogale had the ear of any and all birds; Myriad doubted that lorikeets had a natural hatred of hippies.

    The sun had set fully by the time Myriad¡¯s turn came up. She was after Artume, who¡¯d shrouded the lads in some kind of inviolate darkness into which the children hurled pebbles, while Automata¡¯s thralls grabbed at their ankles.

    It had seemed like good fun, at the time.

    She moved forward without much input from her conscious mind. It took a moment for Elsewhere to let go of her hand.

    She tried not to look at Lawrence as she assumed the position.

    ¡°Myriad, I can tell when Britomart is using her powers, and I can certainly tell when you¡¯re using hers.¡±

    She tuned out the warbling, echoing twang of metal strings. Suddenly, she felt very cold, standing there exposed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good of you to admit it. That¡¯ll only be one extra strike, I think. Do you understand why this is happening?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Dum inter homines sumus, colamus humanitatem.¡±

    She repeated it back to him, shakily, but with no obvious mistakes.

    Though the cane came down on her four times, Myriad would only ever remember the first explosion of pain. After that, it was a blur of Latin, the dampness of grass against her cheek, matronly hands guiding her towards the house, and the briefest sting of ?ywie¡¯s wires.

    When some measure of clarity returned to her, Mrs Gillespie was setting her down in the parlour with the other punished children. Most of them held bowls of ice-cream, trying to decide whether to eat them or press them against their fast developing bruises. Melusine, Maelstrom, and Mabel were huddled together in a corner of the room. Icewater snaked its way up and down the latter two¡¯s backs.

    ¡°What¡¯s your flavour, Myriad?¡±

    She blinked, still slightly disoriented from the thrashing. ¡°My what?¡±

    ¡°Ice cream, chook,¡± Mrs Gillespie said. ¡°You¡¯ve earned it.¡±

    That did not help. ¡°But we¡¯re being punished.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie would have hugged her student, if she hadn¡¯t known that it would only hurt her more. ¡°You were being punished. And you took it like a champion. So, what do you like?¡±

    ¡°...Strawberry.¡±

    And so Myriad was left to stew in her confused guilt. Slowly, she moved over to Melusine. Without a word, a watery tendril slithered up her body. She shuddered at its touch, as much from the source of the relief as the sharp cold.

    ¡°You alright?¡± Mabel asked, her voice low.

    Drawing in breath to speak hurt, so Myriad kept it short. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She was being truthful. Sore and beaten as she was, there was something preferable about it to the state of apprehension she¡¯d lived in for nearly a week. Pain was tangible. With time, pain might pass.

    Lawrence never spoke again of the three young men from Northam after that night.

    ?

    The idea of a Watercolours production of The Tempest caught on well with the NHI staff. Some saw it as evidence of a maturation in Phantasmagoria¡¯s creative process¡ªlike when a child first realises that a knock-knock joke should only be told to the same person once, if even that. Others just hoped it would serve as a distraction from the recent unpleasantness.

    Whatever their reasons, the production now had the school¡¯s official backing. Official backing in this case mostly amounted to a spare bedsheet for them to turn into a banner. So they painted ¡°THE TEMPEST: OPEN AUDITIONS¡± onto it with strategically reversed letters, and hung it over the barn door. Then they set up a table and chairs, and waited.

    Much to Mabel¡¯s well concealed surprise, there were takers:

    ¡°Abhorred slave¡­¡± Ex Nihilo¡¯s eyes darted down to the battered script she was holding. ¡°Which any print of goodness wilt not take!¡± A long pause. ¡°¡ªBeing capable of all ill! I pitied thee¡­¡± Another glance down. ¡°Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour¡­¡±

    Mabel peered sideways at Elsewhere through her lensless spectacles. Meeting her gaze, he shook his head. They had not found their Miranda.

    ¡°...Who hadst deserved more than a¡ª¡±

    ¡°Um, Ex, you can stop now,¡± said Elsewhere, hand raised.

    Ex Nihilo frowned. She was a blonde, slight-featured girl with green eyes and a song Myriad thought sounded like it was played on a pipe organ built somewhere sound and velocity were the same phenomenon. Perhaps it was the same place the amorphous clay she summoned resided, before it was forced into a state of harsh certainty. Haunt and Windshear claimed that she helped garnish the school¡¯s budget by synthesising expensive industrial chemicals, but she refused to either confirm or deny this, which was all the proof those two needed. Like many youngsters throughout the Commonwealth, her conception of acting was mostly limited to adopting a bad American accent.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t finished.¡±

    ¡°True,¡± said Mabel, ¡°but you did give us a good idea of your range.¡±

    Elsewhere pointed at Ex Nihilo. ¡°Don¡¯t call us, we won¡¯t call you.¡±

    ¡°Oh, fu¡ª¡±

    There was a blinding flash, and the Tempest script fell to the dirt floor.

    Elsewhere smirked and blew on his finger like it was a birthday candle. He¡¯d insisted on having a say in the casting process for the play. Partly because doing Shakespeare had been his suggestion in the first place, but mostly so he could do what he¡¯d just done to Ex Nihilo.

    In the seat next to him, Myriad looked impressed. ¡°You¡¯re aim¡¯s getting good,¡± she commented. ¡°It was kinda embarrassing going and getting the book back the first couple of times.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Miri.¡±

    Mabel tried to keep her eyes from rolling back into her head. She couldn¡¯t remember exactly when Arnold and Allison started using their new human names with her, but it had come as a surprise. Still, they weren¡¯t making a big deal out of her using her given name in private, so she figured she should return the favour. She slumped onto the table, an ellipsis floating above her. ¡°Five auditions, and we¡¯ve only got ourselves a Caliban.¡±

    ¡°Weird Linus went for that one,¡± Elsewhere said.

    ¡°Baddies have more fun,¡± replied Myriad.

    Mabel moaned. ¡°He¡¯s gonna need makeup for sure.¡±

    Elsewhere tapped his chin in thought. ¡°Maybe you could take a monster face and put it over his? Or Ex could make us something to stick on him.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Ex is going to be doing anything for us, but the first thing might work.¡± She turned to Maelstrom. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    Maelstrom sat up in his chair, remembering to smile. ¡°Oh, sure. Sounds good.¡±

    Mabel frowned. Her friend had been distant and removed since the night of the caning, like he¡¯d figured out how to become icy while remaining flesh. Before she could say anything, one of Reverb¡¯s favourite voices resounded through the barn:

    ¡°So, you¡¯re really doing this?¡±

    Reverb was standing in the barn doorway, her lips not moving even as she asked the question. For reasons not even ?ywie could figure out, Reverb was completely mute. Given her power over sound, this wasn¡¯t really an impediment. Lawrence liked to say she had more voice than any human. Still, it always made her stand out, even before the superhuman scare.

    ¡°No,¡± said Mabel. ¡°We just put that banner up so we could lure in kids to eat.¡±

    Reverb smiled rakishly. At least, she hoped it was rakish. ¡°Oh, Phantasma, don¡¯t start making those jokes, too.¡±

    Maelstrom looked offended, but Mabel just snorted. ¡°I really hope you aren¡¯t here to audition.¡±

    ¡°I am, actually.¡±

    Normally, working with the Watercolours wouldn¡¯t have had much appeal for Reverb. She¡¯d known Maelstrom since the day he was born, and viewed him as somewhere between a teacher¡¯s pet and a painfully sincere little brother. Phantasmagoria was a bit more fun, but her performances had stopped being cute for Reverb by the time she turned six. Still, the idea of an actual play¡ªwith lines and everything¡ªhad a novelty to it.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°Who¡¯re you going for?¡± asked Elsewhere.

    ¡°Who¡¯d ya think? There¡¯s only one girl in The Tempest, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    ¡°Not true,¡± said Mabel. ¡°There¡¯s Sycorax.¡±

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t have any lines,¡± Myriad clarified.

    ¡°Which would actually work out really well for you,¡± Elsewhere pointed out.

    ¡°But we promised the part to Mrs Gillespie already,¡± added Myriad.

    Reverb¡¯s lip curled in frustration. ¡°If you¡¯re done telling me about parts who don¡¯t speak that are already taken, is there anyone I can audition for?¡±

    ¡°Anyone, really,¡± Mabel said. ¡°Used to be that blokes played everyone in Shakespeare, why not us?¡±

    ¡°Girls,¡± insisted Reverb.

    ¡°Okay, okay, there¡¯s Miranda. She¡¯s the heroine. Bit boring, really, but if you need to be a lady, deal with it. Find some of her lines in the book on the floor and get on with it.¡±

    Reverb picked up the script and flipped through it, looking for a choice monologue. She found very little; this Miranda truly was one of the dullest ladies in all of theatre. She eventually gave up and went with the first long stretch of dialogue she found. The sonorous voice of an English rose permeated the barn:

    ¡°O, I have suffered with those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel, who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her, dash''d all to pieces. O, the cry did knock against my very heart. Poor souls, they perished. Had I been any god of power, I would have sunk the sea within the earth or ere it should the good ship so have swallow''d and the fraughting souls within her.¡±

    She tried her best to lip-synch, but she ended up giving the impression that she was struggling to keep up with her own words. Mabel half-expected her to try and warn them about the giant lizard attacking Tokyo.

    ¡°...You sound pretty, but the voice thing is distracting.¡±

    ¡°You should be Ariel! The ghost thing that helps out the wizard, I mean,¡± Elsewhere suggested enthusiastically.

    Mabel lit up at the idea, as did the lightbulb that appeared over her head. ¡°Yeah! Ariel¡¯s supposed to be a boy, but Mrs Gillespie says loads of girls have played him. Think about it. You could just stand there, dead still, but everyone watching hears this creepy voice.¡± She trilled with delight. ¡°It¡¯d be so weird.¡±

    Reverb sighed and walked over to the table, dropping the script in front of Mabel. An ordinary, teenaged voice said, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be weird.¡±

    Elsewhere watched as she trudged towards the barn door¡­ before banishing her with a flicker of lightning.

    Myriad chastised him: ¡°Cheap shot!¡±

    ¡°The best kind!¡±

    Mabel gave him a dirty look. ¡°Great, now she won¡¯t help us with the special effects.¡±

    Elsewhere waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Oh, like we need Reverb to make wave sounds.¡± He smiled. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Maelstrom?¡±

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t answer, his attention devoted to the gaps in the barn ceiling, and the dance of dust the sunlight revealed.

    ¡°Um, hello? Earth to Maelstrom? I¡¯m trying to be nice here!¡±

    Maelstrom jerked in his seat. ¡°Oh, yeah, sure Elsewhere, we should do that.¡±

    Elsewhere grimaced and slouched deeper into his chair. ¡°This distraction is going to hurt the production.¡±

    The other boy looked at him contritely. ¡°Sorry. Was thinking about something¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re still beating yourself up about the thrashing, aren¡¯t you?¡± said Mabel.

    Maelstrom decided lying to both his best friend and a girl who sometimes hummed along with his emotions would be pointless. ¡°...Yes.¡±

    Mabel clucked her tongue. ¡°You always do this. Lawrence says the punishment¡¯s the end of it, but you keep hating yourself for weeks and weeks! Wish he¡¯d just leave you to it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop it,¡± Mabel commanded.

    ¡°...Stop what?¡±

    ¡°Being sorry. Stop doing it.¡± She bent over and fished a poster out of her power-fodder bag. ¡°Here, this might cheer you up. I found it floating around our dorm a couple of days ago.¡±

    It was a flyer for THE LIEROINEN FAMILY CIRCUS in bold, bombastic letters, against the backdrop of a white stag. Beneath that message, a goateed man in a red velvet tuxedo and top-hat stood delighting in the antics of the clowns, lions, and seals that cavorted around him under the big top, promising MAGIC, BEASTS, STUPENDOUS FEATS, and GLIMPSES INTO TOMORROW.

    ¡°Why would that¡ªoh, oh, no.¡±

    Mabel nodded slowly, grinning. ¡°Oh, oh yes.¡±

    ?

    Alone in his room, Tiresias sighed and set down his copy of Till We Have Faces, waiting for the expected knock on his door. It came about a minute later. ¡°Come in if you must, Windshear.¡±

    She bounded into the room, a hessian bag over her shoulder. ¡°Helloooooo, Tiresias.¡±

    Tiresias made a show of looking about his room. ¡°I see no grass, or playground equipment, or even other children. What possible reason could you have for being here?¡±

    Windshear giggled. She doubted it would move Tiresias either way, but it was traditional at this point. ¡°Can¡¯t I just say hi to my favourite teacher?¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m pretty sure it¡¯s in the school charter.¡±

    ¡°Okay, what if I was asking you a favour?¡±

    ¡°Depends, why would you do such a terrible thing?¡±

    ¡°Because if Phantasma can paint the barn next month instead of Abalone, then Abalone can clean the nursery on Tuesday, which means I have a way of paying Brit¡ª¡±

    Tiresias threw a hand up. ¡°Enough, enough. Stuff that makes Bertie cry, I get it. What do you need me to do?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± She spun on her foot. ¡°The Watercolours and the new kids are going swimming on Saturday, and they need someone to watch them.¡±

    ¡°I guess I could do that, if there¡¯s nothing better going on.¡±

    ¡°Cool! And if they aren¡¯t at the river on Saturday... would you still stay they were? Just if Lawrence asks.¡±

    Tiresias tilted his head. ¡°Now, I¡¯m not sure how I could make that mistake.¡±

    Windshear smiled and pulled a bottle of Penfolds Grange from her bag. ¡°Because you¡¯ll have had too much of this, you big lush.¡±

    Tiresias leapt from his chair and snatched the bottle from her hand. ¡°You!¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer, being too awed by the bottle¡¯s label. It was the 1955 vintage: a real voice-quieter. ¡°Phantasma didn¡¯t pull this outta one of my catalogs, did she?¡± he asked, his tone almost reverent.

    ¡°Does it look like a drawing?¡±

    That it didn¡¯t. Unless Phantasmagoria had finally cracked photographs, it was the real deal.

    ¡°I can get you another bottle on Sunday, if you play along.¡±

    Tiresias wanted to rush up to Lawrence¡¯s office to tell him his search had been over for years¡ªthey¡¯d found Homo superior, and she was glorious. He went to shake the girl¡¯s hand. ¡°I think we have a deal, Windy.¡±

    ¡°Windy¡± let the nickname slide. ¡°Thanks, really helpful.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯re being so nice to Mealy.¡±

    Windshear was heading out the door. ¡°Eh, Phantasma¡¯s alright. And business is business.¡±

    ¡°Business is business,¡± Tiresias repeated as he returned to his chair. He tried to find the spot in his book where the ugly princess sees the God of the Mountain.

    Kids, he thought.

    Windshear quickly made her way back outside, hoping she wouldn¡¯t run into Melusine. Business was business, but there was also what Phantasmagoria had said to her under the barter tree:

    ¡°...And that was just for shoving him.¡±

    ?

    The Watercolours and Their Orchestra rose early that Saturday morning. The only kid who beat them was Artume, but she only slept an hour a week at most, and she asked no questions anyway.

    They chatted happily as they showered, luxuriating in the limitless hot water, except for its provider. He fretted with the steam, tying it into strange, ephemeral knots.

    ¡°What if someone gets a look at my eyes?¡±

    ¡°Nobody really goes around looking at people¡¯s eyes, Maelstrom,¡± Elsewhere called from his stall. ¡°Just don¡¯t get into any conversations and you¡¯ll be fine. Even if ya do, what are the odds they¡¯ll recognise you?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll recognise Melusine¡¯s eyes,¡± the other boy retorted, a little bitterly.

    ¡°Do you still have those contacts?¡± Mabel asked. ¡°The ones Z made for you?¡±

    When the Flying Man first made himself known, there were worries at the New Human Institute that he might drive the wolves to their door. ?ywie and Tiresias even worried they might be forced to flee. To aid in this eventuality, the healer had coloured contacts made for Maelstrom, that dulled his eyes to an ethnically incongruous but otherwise unremarkable shade of blue.

    ¡°I think so, but Lawrence hates them. Says we shouldn¡¯t have to hide what we are.¡±

    Elsewhere laughed. ¡°I bet he also says we shouldn¡¯t run away to the circus!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t remind him!¡± Myriad called back, before laughing herself.

    ¡°We¡¯re not even going to be shaped like kids if we get caught so soon after last time.¡±

    The rest of the shower passed more quietly. The contacts were surprisingly easy to find since Maelstrom didn¡¯t actually own that many things. They did the job exceptionally well, even when his eyes were burning bright with power.

    ¡°The Physician knows his stuff. They don¡¯t even itch.¡±

    They crossed the river using the same stepping stones as the lads from Northam. They hadn¡¯t noticed the impossibly regular shape of the rectangular stones, or how they were all spaced the precise stride length of an average ten year old.

    Once she deemed them a safe distance from the Institute¡ªnot far from where Maelstrom and Allison had sported with the clouds, in fact¡ªMabel set down her backpack. Inside was nearly ten pounds fifty, scrimped and saved from odd jobs in the nearby towns, all done without the aid of their powers, for fear of upsetting the locals. That would more than fund their adventure, but if need came, they always had Elsewhere. After his power¡¯s manifestation, he¡¯d acquired a reputation in Harvey as a thief. An utterly baseless accusation, that merely had the good luck to be true.

    ¡°So, how are we getting there?¡± asked Elsewhere excitedly. ¡°Dragons?¡±

    ¡°I told you, dragons are too obvious,¡± said Mabel. ¡°We need something stealthy.¡± She gestured grandly at the bag. ¡°We need a Thoat.¡±

    A slate-coloured horse appeared before them, or at least what a horse might look like to a hippophobe on a three-day barbiturate binge. Long and sleek, it stood on eight great legs like an offspring of Sleipnir. Ten feet tall at the shoulder, its head was almost split in half by its mouth, filled with teeth designed more for intimidation than breaking down food. Its broad, flat tail swished angrily behind it.

    ¡°...That¡¯s stealthy?¡± said Myriad.

    Mabel shrugged. ¡°It just looks like a horse from far away. And it¡¯d blend in fine if we were on Barsoom.¡± She watched the Thoat as it sized the children up, like it was trying to decide whether there was enough meat on them to be worth the effort. I hope the lady who was riding you didn¡¯t fall too hard.

    After some persuasion, they all clambered onto the beast¡¯s back, Mabel in front, clinging to its neck for dear life. Her arms wrapped around his waist, Myriad started playing Maelstrom¡¯s song, hoping she had the reflexes to go icy if she were thrown off.

    Mabel thumped the Thoat¡¯s flank. ¡°Hi oh, Silver, away!¡±

    They shot forward, faster than any earthly horse. The children screamed in terror, then exhilaration, then both.

    They passed through rain flooded paddocks, magnified by their imaginations into lakes and oceans, sending up great waves and traumatising cattle, as well as one unfortunate farmhand. They chased down wallabies and kangaroos, their mount neighing at them like the Devil¡¯s own steed.

    When the carnival¡¯s big top came into sight, Mabel compelled the Thoat to come to a stop. The sun shone down on them past thick grey clouds over the horizon. Overlooking the circus from the hilltop, she felt like Hannibal come again. ¡°We should walk the rest of the way. Unless we want to sell Silver to the freak show.¡±

    The other children dismounted the creature, happy but shaken from the journey. Fun as it was, they would definitely be asking for a more placid mode of transport on the return trip. Mabel dispelled the Thoat back to Mars: not the barren disappointment two Vikings would find, but a world made of dashed dreams and naivety.

    As they walked through the grass towards the carnival, something began to tug at Myriad¡¯s stomach. It got worse as they neared the outermost stalls. Her breathing became quick and frantic. She dug her fingernails into her palms, stopping in her tracks and falling behind her friends, expecting to be hit.

    Mabel was busy trying to talk Maelstrom down from his own anxiety attack, but Elsewhere noticed the state Myriad was in. He went to see what was the matter.

    ¡°Myriad? Are you okay?¡±

    She shook her head, not looking at him.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Miri?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared, alright?¡± she blurted.

    ¡°Oh.¡± For whatever reason, he leant in and lowered to his voice to a whisper. ¡°You worried about getting caught?¡±

    She shook her head again. ¡°The air¡¯s empty.¡±

    ¡°...The air¡¯s what now?¡±

    Myriad didn¡¯t expect him to understand. Nobody who didn¡¯t hear the songs could. For over a month, she¡¯d been surrounded by the songs of children like her. At a moment¡¯s notice, she¡¯d been able to turn into mist, or toughen her skin to bronze, or envelop herself in light stronger than steel. Now it was quiet, like in her dreams.

    ¡°I¡¯m-I¡¯m¡­ me. And there¡¯s hardly anyone I can be. Anyone that would help, anyway.¡±

    Elsewhere¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°Oh. So it¡¯s a power thing?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a ¡®power thing¡¯. At school I can do¡­ most things! Here¡­ even back home, I¡¯m barely a new human. Just some kid who knows stuff.¡±

    Much to Myriad¡¯s surprise, Elsewhere hugged her. They were never really the sort of friends who hugged much. Maybe when they were younger and less self-conscious about such things. Still, he was doing it now, and she reciprocated.

    ¡°Allison, you¡¯re the smartest girl I know. You¡¯re so smart you don¡¯t even learn things. And you¡¯ve got us! If any of those naturals over there try something, you can zap them into the sun, or tidal wave them to death, or make the clowns climb out of their posters and¡­ do whatever clowns do to people.¡± He pulled away from her, frowning playfully. ¡°Also, this is a circus. Just a few more steps, and you¡¯ll become a trapeze artist, or a magician, or a lion tamer, forever. So stop blubbing.¡±

    Myriad smiled. ¡°Too late!¡± she shouted as she somersaulted past Elsewhere.

    The Lieronien Family Circus was doing very good business that day. Hundreds wandered the fairgrounds, consuming carnival food prepared in dubious conditions, gawking at firebreathers and strongmen, trying to not let their wonder be spoiled by the sideshow performers¡¯ frequent reminders that their amazing feats were all within the bounds of natural human capacity, lest anyone in the audience decide to give the DDHA a ring. Men and boys alike tried to impress their significant others on the high striker, the bell painted with a red and purple diamond.

    It was an odd experience for the children. With three regrettable exceptions, it had been sometime since they¡¯d seen anyone they didn¡¯t know by name. Myriad and Elsewhere had of course been to more than a few fairs and agricultural shows in their time, but neither Maelstrom nor Mabel had much experience with crowds. It suddenly struck Myriad how inane a crowd of human songs sounded after sampling those at the Institute. It was like going from a full orchestra to a tinny, worn out music-box.

    They watched children their age running around the petting zoo, chasing alpacas and manhandling rabbits, and felt somehow older than all of them. They then proceeded to join them in harassing the piglets until they were escorted out.

    ¡°Me and Maelstrom are going to go get our faces painted, you two in?¡±

    Elsewhere scoffed. ¡°Wait half an hour to sit around for half another half an hour? I don¡¯t think so. What about you, Miri? We could go see how the talking horse people are faking it.¡±

    Myriad had her head tilted, as if straining to hear something. ¡°Oh, sure¡­ in a bit. Gonna go look at something.¡±

    She wandered off.

    Mabel grinned. ¡°We¡¯ll be in line if you change your mind.¡±

    Just like that, Elsewhere was alone. That was okay; he had half the money.

    He set off in search of something to do. He considered trying to cheat at some of the games with his powers, but he had no idea how he could do that without being totally conspicuous. He¡¯d had the same problem back in Harvey, and while he¡¯d been thrilled when his flames refined themselves into lightning, it¡¯d only made the issue worse.

    He was pondering the possible applications of teleportation in regards to shoot em'' up games when he saw him.

    The burly young man was dressed in blue electrician coveralls, and his hair was cut quite severely. A girl in a yellow sheath dress and a passable Jackie Kennedy do was almost hanging off his shoulder as he hurled ball after ball at the target of a dunking booth, above which was suspended a spotty, afroed, tie-dye clad teenager.

    ¡°Come on!¡± he shouted as another ball missed. ¡°You can do better than that! Well, I say that¡­¡±

    It was something of an irregularity that Bazza was serving as the incentive to dunk. The actual carnival employee who¡¯d been in the position had been struck in the head and nearly drowned. Bazza kindly offered to take over for him, to which the carnie had responded, ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit.¡±

    Eddie had to admit, he did the job well.

    ¡°Belinda, surely you deserve a bloke who can hit a big honking target? Do I have to take your woman from you, Eddie?¡±

    Belinda smirked and purred into Eddie¡¯s ear, ¡°You¡¯re not going to let him get away with that, are you?¡±

    Eddie grunted. ¡°Bazza, if you don¡¯t stop talking bollocks, I¡¯m gonna come over there and hold ya under till the bubbles stop!¡±

    ¡°I still like my chances.¡±

    Eddie unleashed a torrent of threats and borderline obscenities at his friend, mostly centering around him rendering down and smoking him in vengeance for all the plants he¡¯d visited the same fate on.

    Belinda laughed. It was good to see her boyfriend enjoying himself. He¡¯d seemed haunted by something ever since that day hike he¡¯d gone on with his mates, but he¡¯d refused to speak of it,  and Bazza and Al hadn¡¯t coughed up, either. Not surprising, really. Eddie was the kind of fella who¡¯d only tell you that he was dying after the wake.

    ¡°Um, hi.¡±

    Eddie and Belinda both looked down to find a small, nervous looking face staring up at them with grey eyes. ¡°It was Eddie, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    Belinda thought she saw a look of complete terror pass over Eddie¡¯s face, but it was replaced by perplexment as soon as it registered. ¡°Uh, yes¡­ how did you know my name?¡±

    The little boy looked taken aback by the question. ¡°Bazza told us, remember?¡±

    Eddie looked over at Bazza, who shrugged and mouthed, ¡°I have no clue.¡±

    Belinda tried to figure out where any of them might have seen the child. Is he someone¡¯s little brother? That boy we¡¯re all pretending is Martha Corey''s little brother?

    ¡°I guess you never saw me when I wasn¡¯t being¡­ shiny.¡± Ashamed, he admitted, ¡°I was the lightning-making go away kid. I didn¡¯t get to say on the day, but I¡¯m sorry for what we did to you.¡±

    For a moment, Eddie just stood there, silently mulling the child''s words over in his head. Then, his confusion turned to rage. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re from the freak-farm? What the hell are you doing out here? They letting you out without minders, now?¡±

    The boy cringed. ¡°We snuck out! Please don¡¯t tell, please don¡¯t tell!¡±

    ¡°And what if I do?¡± A bitter smirk twisted Eddie¡¯s mouth. ¡°Yeah, call the freak-finders and tell em¡¯ Mad Laurie¡¯s not keeping an eye on his monsters!¡±

    The child¡¯s eyes started to water. Belinda stared at Eddie, aghast. ¡°Edward!¡±

    ¡°Jesus, Ed,¡± said Bazza. ¡°Lay off the kid. He¡¯s probably just playing pretend. Tell a kid there¡¯s a school for supers down the river, what do you think he¡¯s gonna do?¡±

    Elsewhere looked pleadingly at the teenager. ¡°Come on, Bazz, you remember, right?¡± He forced a smile. ¡°Homo superior or Homo novus?¡±

    Bazza almost thought he did. At least, he remembered remembering, when he¡¯d lit up or when sleep escaped him. He didn¡¯t think, though, that him remembering would do the boy much good. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, mate, I don¡¯t.¡±

    Eddie snarled, ¡°So piss off!¡±

    Confused and hurt, Elsewhere ran off into the crowd. Some of the other fairgoers gave Eddie dirty looks, judging him for either snapping at a clearly ill child, or for risking provoking a demi. Belinda scowled at him. ¡°Well, I hope you¡¯re happy.¡±

    She walked off, not after Elsewhere, but away from Eddie nonetheless. He stood there holding his last ball.

    Still perched on the dunk tank¡¯s seat, Bazza decided he needed to comfort his friend. ¡°Eddie¡ª¡±

    It sailed true.

    ?

    As the song grew louder, so did Myriad¡¯s excitement. A grown up new-human, she thought, grinning at the idea. Lawrence would love to talk to him¡ªI think it¡¯s a him, at least¡ªnot sure where we¡¯ll say we found him, but maybe we can get him to say he was out for a walk in the bush. Hope Mabel¡¯s bribe stretches that far¡­

    The song was a fanfare played on a few hundred cornets somewhere with dust instead of air, but Myriad thought she heard structural similarities to Melusine and Maelstrom¡¯s. Some kind of telekinetic, I bet. That she could now make educated guesses about such things pleased her to no end.

    The new human was arguing loudly with a cheap trinket vendor. Dressed like an old swagman, including an akubra hat with corks dangling from it, Myriad could only see the back of him. She decided not to beat around the bush.

    ¡°You call this gold? It¡¯s a wonder everyone thinks your mob curse people¡ª¡± The man felt a small hand tugging at his sleeve. He turned around.

    ¡°Excuse me¡ª¡± Myriad went pale.

    AU beamed. ¡°Stephanie! You lost your mum?¡± he said with a Melbournian twang. His smile strongly suggested that Myriad play along.

    She nodded slowly, trying not to scream. She remembered what Basilisk had said about the omnipresence of gold. She could probably take him. She had no gold on or in her that she knew of, and the other three were still well within earshot.

    She was, however, also eight.

    ¡°Yeah. I lost her near the big tent. Will you help me look for her, Uncle Bertie?¡± She tried to catch the stall-owner¡¯s eye, hoping that an Oriental being her uncle would at least raise some questions, but he seemed quite indifferent.

    ¡°Of course! Maybe we¡¯ll get you some fairy floss, too.¡± He patted her shoulder; she tried not to flinch. ¡°Gotta keep your strength up!¡±

    He took her roughly by the hand. As unpleasant as that development was, Myriad could see an upside. If she needed to, it would be even easier for her to send him away. She even kind of hoped he was taking her somewhere secluded¡ªthen he could become the Gatekeeper¡¯s problem. Or the Great Red Spot¡¯s.

    It thus came as something of a disappointment when they actually got in line for fairy floss. ¡°You from the Institute?¡± AU asked, false cheeriness gone.

    Myriad didn¡¯t say anything.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯ve been away since you were a baby, at least. Just telling me you¡¯re a student won¡¯t help me murder you or whatever.¡±

    ¡°...How¡¯d you know?¡±

    He sighed. ¡°Because despite clearly knowing who you¡¯re talking to, you¡¯re still scared of someone overhearing us. Also, my mask covers my face because I don¡¯t want to die, you¡¯re too little to remember when I lived in this town, while the DDHA released those photos of me they were all in black and white, and we Chinamen all look the same to most of you white folk. You Institute kids, though, you¡¯d have seen that stupid, bloody portrait a hundred times, and I know who draws the eye. Congratulations on not letting the beard throw you off. It was a lost cause, anyway.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re AU?¡±

    A street flooded by a burst water main. A copper pinned under broken asphalt, shouting into his walkie-talkie about ¡®AU¡¯ making his escape. Laughter¡­

    ¡°My mum and dad liked to call me Chen. I suggest you do so. So who¡¯s with you? Fran? Eliza? Bertie himself?¡±

    Myriad tensed up. Inwardly, she told herself off for worrying that the nationally reviled supervillain might dob on her.

    Chen grinned knowingly. ¡°Oh, so you ran away. Smart girl.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t run away!¡±

    ¡°Pity. Only way you¡¯re getting out.¡±

    Taking offence seemed redundant given her company, but Myriad did anyway. ¡°Lawrence got me out of McClare!¡±

    ¡°But would he let you leave if you asked?¡±

    ¡°Well, no. But I¡¯m eight. My parents wouldn¡¯t have let me just leave if I said I wanted¡ª¡± As it often did, the thought of her parents cut her words off.

    Chen adjusted the strap of his bag, thinking. ¡°Tell me, are Eliza and Fran?oise still there?¡±

    ¡°Eliza is ?ywie, right? Yeah, they¡¯re both still there.¡±

    ¡°Alberto?¡± he asked with some distaste.

    ¡°Him, too. Basil said you two were mates.¡±

    Chen hesitated, as though unsure how to put what he said next.  ¡°...We fell out over a girl,¡± he said finally.

    ¡°That¡¯s silly.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t seem that way at the time. Bugger me, this line¡¯s long. What about Sadie, or Mavis?¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Jesus, has Bertie gotten that strict about the names? Stratogale and Reverb, girl!¡±

    ¡°Both of them.¡±

    ¡°...They must both be eighteen by now. Tell me, does it seem regular to you for so many grown people to never move out? I¡¯ll tell you one thing, Eliza is a lot older than eighteen.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence says it isn¡¯t safe for us. We have to show the world what we can do for it, first.¡±

    ¡°And how is keeping you all cooped up on his farm playing orphanage going to help with that? Do you think people would be half as frightened of demis if Eliza made their kiddies walk? Or let them see a sunset again? Do you know how many places just in Australia need more rain? But no, Bertie would rather pretend to be Mr. Chips for the rest of his life!¡±

    ¡°...Mr Chips?¡±

    ¡°Movie. You don¡¯t watch anything good these days, do you?¡±

    They found themselves at the front of the line. ¡°Blue or pink, deary?¡± asked the fat old man operating the fairy floss machine.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Chen, ¡°are you going to tell the nice man what you want?¡±

    ¡°...Blue.¡±

    And so ¡°Stephanie¡± and the supervillain went in search of a bench, each with a stick of spun sugar. For some reason, Myriad had stopped looking so hard for an escape opportunity, or even her friends.

    When they finally found somewhere to sit, Chen asked, ¡°Did they tell you why I left?¡±

    ¡°Basil said you just got tired of being at the school.¡±

    He took a bite of his fairy floss and nodded. ¡°That¡¯s pretty accurate,¡± he said with his mouth full. ¡°Did he also tell why that was such a terrible thing? Because I¡¯ve been wondering about that for nearly nine years.¡±

    Myriad had no answer.

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s a no.¡± He shrugged. ¡°How¡¯d you like to see my power in all its glory?¡±

    Her soul ached for it, truth be told, but Myriad still shook her head. ¡°Someone will see us!¡±

    ¡°Look, we¡¯re in the middle of a crowd. I could start asking you what furniture you¡¯d prefer in my dungeon, and nobody would care,¡± he said as he pulled a bulky, gold plated, cigarette lighter from his traveler¡¯s satchel. He handed it to Myriad. ¡°Hold it close if it makes you feel safer.¡±

    It was a heavy thing, almost too big for her hand. As she watched, lines started forming in the gold. The lines formed pictures, like an Etch A Sketch for only the richest of children. The illustration they created was of a small Oriental boy next to what was unmistakably Lawrence. ¡°I knew Lawrence for over twenty years. The man was practically my dad since I was seven.¡±

    Lawrence was suddenly gone, replaced by a Chinese man and woman standing to either side of the boy. ¡°My parents were good people. Both born here, you know. Funny, isn¡¯t it? A bunch of whitefellas can come over, kick around the actual Australians, and now suddenly they¡¯re Australian enough to tell the first lot what they can and can¡¯t do. A bunch of Chinese wander over to pan for gold and lay down railways, though, and they¡¯re still Chinese even when their grandkids can¡¯t speak the language. My folks tried to keep me safe, but the things I can do attract the worst kind of crooks¡ª¡± Some very Fagin looking figures appeared in the gold. ¡°¡ª and they had five other kids to think about. And Lawrence seemed like an okay sort. Rich as sin, too, which helped. I hope he¡¯s still sending them money. Anyway, the two of us spent a while going up and down the country, looking for people like me. Found a couple, too, but Lawrence let them be. A girl who can read any language can only get into so much trouble. I hear she works at Oxford, now.¡±

    Now the Fagins were replaced by a bespectacled young woman pouring over Egyptian hieroglyphs.

    ¡°Eventually, he decided we needed to broaden our search, and we headed for Europe¡­ in 1938.¡±

    Ward Bond on top of Adolph Hitler, in the act of shaving his moustache.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Oh indeed. After the war broke out, Laurie kind of took it on himself to make sure the Krauts didn¡¯t get their hands on any of us high-supers. They found Eliza, you know. Were calling her Freyja or some rubbish.¡±

    A young ?ywie, atop a mighty winged steed, clad in Valkyrie armour. In spite of everything, Myriad giggled. Chen¡¯s expression remained sobre, though.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give Lawrence one thing, if he didn¡¯t steal her out from under them, I doubt either of us would be sitting here.¡± Mighty ?ywie was succeeded by a muscular man in an all covering, skin tight suit with one wing, holding a small girl. ¡°Then the Crimson Comet¡ª¡±

    ¡°You knew Comet?¡±

    ¡°... Yes. This was before he marched on Berlin with all the others. He gave us Fran to keep safe after he rescued her from the old bastard who made her. That man did things that don¡¯t bear repeating with company under a hundred and eight.¡± The Crimson Comet and the young Melusine-to-be were swept away in favour of a sullen little boy. ¡°Then there was Alberto. The local repubblichinos were using him to round up even private dissidents. Damn near depopulated his village by the time we got there.¡±

    A rapid succession of images passed over the lighter¡¯s surface, none lingering for long. A black teenager huddling under a slapdash shelter. Hitler swinging from a noose to the cheers of Red Army soldiers. What might have been a younger Mrs Gillespie searching through rubble. A girl AU used to fancy in town. The Institute. The lighter went smooth again.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot more to tell, but I doubt you have days to listen. In the end, I just wanted my own space. And Lawrence had some odd ideas about demis I couldn¡¯t abide by. He has a lot of those, really, but he likes having us all close by too much for them to come to anything. This one, well¡­ it kept everyone close to home.¡±

    ¡°If you wanted to be left alone, why¡¯d you start stealing gold?¡±

    He was quiet for a while. ¡°... I thought I could make better use of it. Had a hell of a pressie in mind for Bertie.¡± Another image appeared on the lighter: Lawrence drowning in a vat of molten gold. ¡°Did you bring any friends with you?¡±

    Myriad hesitated, which gave Chen all the answer he needed. ¡°How many?¡±

    Why not tell him, she thought. Then he¡¯ll know we¡¯ve got strength in numbers. ¡°Three. Elsewhere, Phantasmagoria, and Maelstrom.¡± She hoped the names sounded fearsome.

    ¡°Teleportation, illusions, and¡­ storms?¡±

    ¡°Water stuff,¡± corrected Myriad. ¡°Maelstrom¡¯s Melusine¡¯s son.¡± She reckoned if he knew Melusine as well as he claimed, that would give him pause if he decided to try something.

    And indeed, he suddenly looked much less at ease. ¡°Melusine has a kid? With who?¡±

    ¡°Basilisk.¡±

    He stared out into space for a while. Finally, he turned to to look Myriad right in the eyes. His own were a rich brown, flecked with gold around the iris. Just fatty tissue, came an unbidden bit of secondhand knowledge. Probably.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name, girl?¡±

    ¡°Myriad,¡± she replied, almost automatically.

    He leant in closer. ¡°What¡¯s your real name?¡±

    ¡°...Allison.¡±

    He pulled a pouch out of his satchel. ¡°Look inside,¡± he said, with some urgency.

    She did. Inside was gold, lots of it, in the form of pence coins and even some stiff, glinting pound notes. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Money made into better money. I want you to take it. And then I want you and your friends to never go back to that place, for your own good. You can probably trade the coins and notes at any gold dealer or pawn shop you find. They don¡¯t ask many questions. Some places might even take it as is. Rampage across the countryside for all I care. Stuff yourselves with sweets until you explode, whatever suits. Just don¡¯t go back to the Institute. It might not be there for long.¡± He stood up. ¡°I would like to say I hope we see each other again, but that¡¯s not true.¡± He picked up his bag and started to walk away. ¡°Goodbye, Allison. Don¡¯t tell anyone I was here.¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do, Chen?¡± she called after him. ¡°What¡¯re you going to do?¡±

    He gave no response but a joyless smile as he disappeared into the throngs of baselines.

    Myriad found a secluded spot behind the portable toilets to zap the bag of gold beneath some hay in the barn. It might have been wiser to simply throw it in a bin, but even if gold were worthless, it was hard to part with anything so strange.

    Trying to ignore Chen¡¯s song as it fell away from her perception, she soon found the others again. All of them¡ªeven Elsewhere, who looked anxious about something¡ªhad gotten their faces painted, and insisted she did, too. She didn¡¯t mind; it gave her time to think.

    The tiger, the fish-monster, the elephant, and the eagle were making their way towards the edge of the circus, ready to head home, when a loud, strident voice caught their attention:

    ¡°Come one, come all, step right up! Bask in the presence of the one, the only, the Singular Elsa! She who can unravel the Fates¡¯ thread, she who sees all the River¡¯s myriad branches!¡± The barker, unmistakably the man on the poster, stood in front of a silk tent, too fine for such a frankly rinkadink carnival, effortlessly tossing and catching a jewel topped staff into the air as he spoke. His song was odd. Quieter than most, and somewhat discordant, like it was pieced together from many others, but nothing exactly superhuman to Myriad¡¯s ear. He pointed at the four children. ¡°You four young ones look like the focus of a great destiny! Why not come inside and let the Singular Elsa unveil it for you?¡±

    The kids looked at one another. Mabel and Maelstrom seemed eager to try it, and Elsewhere and Myriad both needed a distraction. Harvey had been home to an ex-medium, so the latter was quite familiar with the art of cold reading. Still, she could appreciate the facade.

    ¡°Sure, we¡¯ll bite,¡± said Elsewhere, as they made their way towards the tent¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°As foretold by my mistress this very morning,¡± the barker intoned. The children paid him no mind.

    Perhaps they should have.

 Chapter Eleven: The Singular Elsa

    The man in the red tuxedo led the children into the innards of the tent, extolling the precognitive virtues of his mistress as they went. It was very dim within, the only illumination provided by via ornate, free standing candelabra. Elsewhere worried that a wrong step would set the whole place alight, but he figured that if this lady was a real fortune teller, she¡¯d have known in the first place if that was going to happen. The air was spiced with incense and other rich scents: water lilies, cedar, and fresh riparian mud. They felt thick carpet between their toes. As brisk as it was outside, it was stuffy in the tent. It made the children drowsy, except for Myriad. Warmth and darkness never put her at ease. She could hear two songs coming from the centre of the silk cave, one ancient in length, the other scarcely longer than her own.

    The barker was tall and ruddy-faced to the point of looking almost feverish, the tips of his moustache trimmed into swirls. What the circus poster had omitted was the small scar on his left cheek, the kind German fencers coveted. ¡°Madame Elsa is not your typical carnival con-artist, children. They only feed you happy lies, telling you your grandmother loves you and supports all your choices. They never say she hated your slag of a mother and thought you were the one thing keeping her precious boy from leaving and making something of his life.¡± He chuckled. ¡°That was a good session.¡±

    He sounded Greek. Not the exact breed of Greek Myriad was familiar with, however. As she mouthed some of the new words she¡¯d picked up off him, she thought they sounded... like the whole language was different when they were spoken.

    Mabel cringed. ¡°Why would someone pay to hear stuff like that?¡±

    ¡°Because,¡± the barker replied, ¡°some people care about truth, Miss Henderson. Of course, most of our customers come to us assuming we peddle in nothing but lies to begin with. And the dead do not always feel the need to spit bile across the veil. Most people¡ªbelieve it or not¡ªare fond of their children and spouses. Your father, for instance, thought the world of you.¡±

    ¡°...How did you know my name?¡±

    The man smiled. ¡°I told you Madame Elsa was expecting you, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    Mabel drew into herself like a frightened hedgehog. Myriad was amazed she of all people was falling for it.

    ¡°It¡¯s all a trick,¡± she whispered to her. ¡°I know how these people work. They get the other gypsies or whatever to steal your wallet so the ¡®psychics¡¯ know your name and face¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a wallet,¡± Mabel whispered back.

    ¡°Then one of them heard you using your name while you were walking around.¡±

    Mabel scowled at her. ¡°I don¡¯t know how it works in Harvey, but I don¡¯t go around calling myself ¡®Miss Henderson¡¯, Miss Kinsey. And he was talking about Daddy¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just cold-reading, Mabel. He knows you must¡¯ve have a dad at some point¡ªbecause you¡¯re not a special kind of lizard¡ªand he said it himself: most people like their kids. And if your dad didn¡¯t, he could just say he does and is bad at showing it.¡±

    ¡°Did.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying he didn¡¯t like you, I¡¯m saying¡ª¡±

    ¡°I meant he did like me. He¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Hate to butt in, girls, but I do not believe you covered Miss Henderson¡¯s objection regarding her surname, Miss Kinsey. Also, if we were frauds, your conversation would just feed us more material. You are right, though, cold-readers graze on the unwary.¡± He made a sharp stop, turning around to study the four children. ¡°Hmm, regardless, I don¡¯t expect Madame Elsa will be focusing on mediumship today. Between Miss Henderson and Master Barnes, you wouldn¡¯t be back at the Institute by sunset tomorrow. And none of us want that now, do we?¡± Another chuckle. ¡°Military families, always charge extra for seances.¡± He started walking again. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you should be so blindly skeptical, Miss Kinsey. You live with a man who sees the future!¡±

    For that, Myriad had no comforting rationalization. Maelstrom scurried over to her side. ¡°He knows we¡¯re from the Institute, Miri!¡± he hissed into her ear, though he was sure the barker could hear him.

    ¡°Did you take your contacts off around here? Maybe someone recognised your eyes?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± He bent his own fingers back, biting his lip. ¡°What if Lawrence pays them to tell him if kids sneak out here?¡±

    ¡°Master Venter, I assure you we¡¯re not in Dr. Lawrence¡¯s employment.¡± The man sounded offended by the idea. ¡°I doubt he believes any of you capable of this calibre of disobedience.¡± He twirled his staff. ¡°His life is a continual parade of surprises.¡±

    Myriad agreed, it was a mad idea. Much saner, she thought, that this man and his mistress were informants for AU. It didn¡¯t occur to her that¡ªwhatever their scheme was¡ªit depended on four children with a pressing need to be present and accounted for at home being willing to follow a strange man who talked like Lawrence¡¯s great-grandfather into a dark, reeking tent. How big even is this thing, she thought. Feels like we¡¯ve been walking for ages.

    As though in answer, the tent opened onto a large central space. In the centre was a round, wooden table, with four hardbacked, cushioned chairs at the ready. A shawled, redhaired woman with very solid cheekbones looked up from a crystal ball and the backs of the four straining Atlases supporting it. ¡°Myles,¡± she said cheerfully in a Finnish accent, ¡°you¡¯ve brought the nelyudi to us!¡±

    The woman came as a surprise. She¡¯d expected an old crone, but this lady appeared no older than her own mother. Younger, even. Her song, though, was still one of the longest she had ever heard. It was rich, too, by baseline standards, with measure upon measure of languages and historical knowledge. Strangely, some of the new historical trivia contradicted other things she knew. Normally, when two pieces of information conflicted, the correct fact replaced the falsehood. Her power curated knowledge, not ignorance. Now, she would have to remind herself that John F. Kennedy was still alive.

    Myles bowed with a flourish. Elsewhere was a little impressed his hat stayed on. ¡°Honour to be of service, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Elsa laughed heartily. ¡°Don¡¯t grovel, Myles. It¡¯s a partnership and you know it.¡± She twisted in her seat to look at a partition behind her, which exuded steam and cooking smells. ¡°¨¢vr¨¢!¡± she shouted. ¡°Is the tea ready?¡±

    A nervous looking twelve year old girl, hair as red as Elsa¡¯s, poked her head out from behind the screen. When she spoke, her tone was excessively conciliatory: ¡°It¡¯s almost done, Mother!¡±

    Elsa made a low growling sound in her throat. ¡°I told you we would be entertaining!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m-I¡¯m sorry, it¡¯ll only be a second¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nevermind! It¡¯s too late now.¡± She made a shooing gesture. ¡°Leave us, attend to the laundry or something.¡±

    To the children¡¯s relief, ¨¢vr¨¢ slipped through the folds of fabric into the daylight.

    ¡°Please forgive my daughter,¡± said Elsa. ¡°Somebody has to. Do any of you children actually like tea?¡± She looked straight at Maelstrom. ¡°And no, pretending you like it to make your headmaster happy does not count.¡±

    The children shook their heads, except for Maelstrom, who just stood there, stunned.

    ¡°Ah, no loss then. But don¡¯t tell ¨¢vr¨¢ that.¡± She chortled. ¡°Sit down, all of you.¡±

    Uncomfortably, they all took a seat around the table. They were all considering backing out, or at least going outside and giving ¨¢vr¨¢ a hug, but something about the way Myles stood in the entrance made that course of action seem unwise. Myriad could see his reflection in a full length mirror in the corner, and there was something off about it that she couldn¡¯t quite name. She found she was continually reminding herself that their songs were those of human beings.

    Elsa raised two fingers. ¡°Let me fetch you some refreshments.¡±

    She spat some syllables in Russian, and four glasses of a chilled, light pink liquid appeared before the children in puffs of brimstone.

    The Watercolours and their Orchestra were all superhumans. One of their superhuman natures specifically took the form of dramatically moving things from place to place. This display still sent them into hysterics.

    Maelstrom stared wildly at Myriad. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us she was a new human?¡±

    Elsa¡¯s voice rang with quiet, steady authority. ¡°I am nothing of the sort, boy.¡±

    The other three children went silent.

    ¡°When Adam and Eve were first fumbling at love in the Garden, the mother of my kind was beguiling angels and spirits alike.¡±

    ¡°...Lawrence says the Garden of Eden probably wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Did he beat all the poetry out of you children? I¡¯m a witch, is what I¡¯m trying to say!¡±

    ¡°But, your song¡ª¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m certainly not going to let some petty esper peek under the hood. I¡¯m not ten.¡±

    ¡°...Could you teach someone to be a witch?¡± asked Mabel.

    Elsa made an exasperated noise. ¡°No, you have to be born to it first. I can¡¯t wait till those books come out and people stop asking. Here, this should cover any pertinent questions.¡±

    Four business cards wafted down onto the table from the shadows. Printed on black cardstock, they bore the same white stag as the circus advertisement, as well as the legend:

    ELSA LIEROINEN

    FULLY INITIATED WITCH OF THE MOURNERS OF VIPUNEN COVEN, FINLAND

    WHOLE OWNER OF OWN SOUL, ARNOLD

    ¡°Pass them around, I do birthdays and bat mitzvahs.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a bat mitzvah?¡± asked Elsewhere.

    ¡°My, we are provincial, aren¡¯t we? Have a sip of your drinks before we start. I¡ªwell, ¨¢vr¨¢¡ªsqueezed that juice from fruit grown in Prester John¡¯s own orchards.¡±

    Myriad couldn¡¯t hide her disbelief. Laying it on a bit thick.

    Elsa noticed. ¡°Oh, so that you don¡¯t buy, but you¡¯re willing to entertain that I¡¯m a real house-haunting, broom-riding, cauldron-stirring witch?¡±

    Myriad wiggled one of the business cards. ¡°The Americans have a warlock.¡±

    ¡°And he would most likely turn you into something awful if he heard you call him that,¡± said Myles.

    Elsewhere examined the card. ¡°Leinonen?¡± he said, mangling the pronunciation, ¡°Is this your circus?¡±

    ¡°Yes. I let Myles act as ringmaster, though. Most people expect a man in the role. You should give the show a look after this, he¡¯s ever so good.¡±

    Elsewhere had only one question. ¡°Do you get much money from it?¡±

    ¡°Child, money is as relevant to me as giant carved courtship rocks are to you. Shall we get started?¡±

    They all nodded. What else were they going to do?

    With a snap of the witch¡¯s fingers, all the candles in the tent were snuffed out. The only thing that kept Myriad from flying into a panic at the sudden darkness was the sound of her friends¡¯ breathing.

    Before the children¡¯s gasps faded, the crystal ball lit the room with a pale glow, mist swirling inside. Myles had moved to Elsa¡¯s side, though the thick, heady air was undisturbed by his passing. As he stood there grinning, his eyes glinted like a cat¡¯s. Mabel decided it was probably a witch thing, but that was no reassurance.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure all your parents told you you were special. I know Lawrence told you that. Let¡¯s take a look and see if they were right. Gaze deep into the Eye of Odin...¡±

    And so they did.

    ?

    At first, Maelstrom thought the idea was to look for shapes and patterns in the ball, which he regarded as something of an anti-climax. Then again, he wasn¡¯t convinced this woman and her sidekick were really witches to begin with. Lawrence had always maintained that posthumans who claimed mystical or divine origins for their gifts were either delusional, misinformed, or liars. Although, that did imply Madame Elsa possessed the oddly specific power of fooling Myriad into thinking she didn¡¯t have one, but that wouldn¡¯t even have been the naffest power he¡¯d heard of. He still remembered Lawrence telling him about that boy with the porcupine quills.

    As he stared, the fog resolved into a landscape: thick, rainy-green shrubland, beneath blue skies contaminated by only the slightest wisps of clouds. Maelstrom could even see the heat haze. He also thought he saw a person making their way towards a tiny structure on the horizon, hauling something behind him. He leaned forward to get a closer look...

    It took him a moment to notice that is perspective had changed from a bird¡¯s-eye view to an eye-level one. As soon as he did, he fell in the dirt, still in a seated position.

    For most people, their first thought probably would have been something on the theme of ¡°Where am I?¡± or ¡°How did I get here?¡±. Maelstrom¡¯s friends might have thought to curse Elsewhere¡¯s name¡ªeither of them. None of those things crossed his mind. He was too horrified by the complete absence of water.

    It was impossible. Water was everywhere. There were plants all around him. Even scraggly, desert-born weeds had water in them. Out of his mind with terror, he felt around his eyes. Tears were welling in them; he could feel the moisture on his fingertips. But the sense his mother had passed down to him felt nothing: not even his own blood. It was like waking up one morning to discover the world no longer possessed width or depth.

    He changed into ice, but still, nothing. For a terrible moment, he knew what non-existence felt like.

    Maelstrom was about to curl up into a ball and cry out for his mother, when suddenly, water made itself known. He felt it within himself and the air and the plants and all the things that crawled through the dirt¡ªlike God hastily correcting an omission on His part, hoping no one noticed.

    This was a great relief to Maelstrom. Now he was only alone in a strange place, with no idea where his friends were. And, presumably, he was still playing hookey.

    He paced frantically in aimless circles, squeezing a rock he found till it drew blood and muttering under his breath, ¡°So stupid, got us all killed, should¡¯ve said no, told¡­¡± He imagined his mother looking for him. Wherever this place was, he doubted it was part of the world as he knew it. She¡¯ll never find anything, not even bones. And there was Basilisk to think about, too: he might slip into one of his dark spells and never come out. He wondered what was happening to his friends. He almost hoped they didn¡¯t make it out without him. What¡¯ll Mum think? He remembered Eddie, twitching in the water¡­

    ¡°Try not to recollect so hard, child. It might leak into the visionscape.¡±

    Maelstrom screamed. His gaze darting in all directions, he found Elsa sprawled out on a deckchair in a white beach dress and sunglasses, a tanning mirror in one hand and a tumbler of scotch in the other. ¡°Also, I don¡¯t know if this hurts¡ªno pun intended¡ªor improves your little self-harm ritual, but none of this is real. Why I¡¯m not bothered about the tan lines.¡± She got up and stretched. The chair, the mirror, and the remnants of her drink all fell away into dust and then the dust became nothing at all. ¡°Sorry for the scare, but most people only have five senses worth mentioning. User incompatibility, you understand?¡±

    He didn¡¯t, but he doubted any further explanation would help. ¡°Where are we?¡±

    ¡°In a tent, at a carnival, in the Wheatbelt of Western Australia. I¡¯m sitting in my lovely, comfy chair, watching you sort of sway about in your seat. You¡¯re still blinking, so I figured I didn¡¯t need to make ¨¢vr¨¢ moisten your eyeballs. If you¡¯re asking what you¡¯re looking at, we¡¯re in South Africa, somewhere along the Eastern Cape.¡± She licked her index finger and held it in the air. ¡°Closer to East London than anywhere else, I think.¡±

    The description stirred a memory in Maelstrom. He looked toward the figure in the distance. ¡°But that¡¯s where¡ª¡±

    Elsa smiled. ¡°Your father¡¯s fatherland, yes.¡±

    Maelstrom suddenly stood very still.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Did I forget something else?¡±

    ¡°...If I step on a bug, do I stop existing? Or do the Germans win the war?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s 1946, sweetie, I think we¡¯re safe on that front. And even if it wasn¡¯t, I already told you: this is just a vision. You can¡¯t change anything. Take a look at where you were cutting a trench in the dirt. Notice anything?¡±

    ¡°...No.¡±

    ¡°Exactly, no footprints! Think of this like reviewing the Book of Days, except you can¡¯t even draw dirty pictures in the margins. Only I can do that.¡± She drew something in the sky Maelstrom would certainly not have been allowed to lay his eyes on at the Institute. ¡°Come along, boy, there is much for us to see.¡±

    Seeing no other choice, Maelstrom followed the witch, pointedly not looking up. Every time he blinked, it felt like the world around him ceased to be. He suspected that behind him lay nothingness, or maybe just the tent.

    Maelstrom immediately recognised the young teenager huddled under the heap of corrugated iron as Basilisk. He¡¯d seen enough pictures of him at that age. Although, in those photos, he¡¯d always been dressed in sturdy leather clothes, not ragged tatters held together by scraps of animal fur. He hadn¡¯t been so gaunt, either. He was clumsily attempting to cut his hair with a pair of rusted scissors, his progress painfully uneven. Tools and utensils in varying states of corrosion were strewn around him. After a while, the scissors fell apart in his hand.

    The shadow that crossed his face was not disappointment. Disappointment required some betrayal of hope, or unexpected hardship. Basilisk just looked numbed with despair.

    ¡°Do you know why your father shaves his head? It¡¯s not for aesthetics, it¡¯s so his hair doesn¡¯t retain so much oil and sweat.¡±

    ¡°Why is he so far away?¡± Maelstrom whispered.

    Elsa shouted, making him jump. ¡°Why are you whispering? I keep telling you, this isn¡¯t real! You could blow a euphonium in his ear and he wouldn¡¯t notice.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll pass,¡± replied Maelstrom. ¡°But still, where¡¯s his village? Basil always said he stayed close by.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure it can¡¯t be more than an hour¡¯s walk from here. He probably scavenges on the edges, maybe is allowed to cart away the refuse and the scraps. I¡¯d wager that¡¯s what¡¯s in that sack lying next to him.¡±

    The sun was setting, prompting Elsa to dispel her sunglasses. They watched Basil attempt to start a fire. He worked with some skill, but nothing came easy to him. Sticks snapped, leaves and kindling melted. When he finally got a flame going, it released a noxious, metallic stench from the scarred wood he¡¯d collected.

    There was an awful mechanicalness to his movements, like living had become more a matter of stubborn instinct than any real want. He cooked a couple of chicken heads, eating them with great speed, to the point where Maelstrom almost worried he would choke. This habit was not unfamiliar to Maelstrom. Basilisk tended to try and swallow his food as fast as possible, lest the acids in his saliva spoil the taste.

    ¡°...He never made it sound this bad.¡±

    ¡°Of course he didn¡¯t. What man wants their son looking at them and seeing that?¡± She shook her head, tutting. ¡°I have no idea how destroying everything you touch counts as a power. Or is diabetes ¡®insulin negation¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Basilisk¡¯s power is really useful!¡± Maelstrom said, sounding defensive. ¡°There¡¯s clearing up debris¡­ you couldn¡¯t handcuff him, could you?¡± He stopped trying to convince himself, and just stood watching his father struggle alone.

    ¡°I think the powers thing was just your auntie¡¯s excuse to get Lawrence to bring him along. Why he needed an excuse to rescue a boy from this, you might have to bring him to me to find out. I doubt he believed it in his heart of hearts, though. But that¡¯s the tricky thing about lies. You tell yourself one enough, you start believing it. Would explain a lot¡­¡±

    Maelstrom looked up at the witch, smiling weakly. ¡°But things still got better, didn¡¯t they? Lawrence took him to England, then Australia, and now he¡¯s somewhere he could do what he loves, with people he loves.¡±

    Except when he¡¯s so sad you wonder if he was ever happy at all¡­

    ¡°Maybe,¡± said Elsa. ¡°Let¡¯s see how that turned out.¡±

    A great wind swept across the land, taking the world with it. When the dust and sand settled¡ªand Maelstrom finished sputtering and rubbing his eyes¡ªthe two were standing in  ?ywie¡¯s bedroom, minus almost a decade¡¯s worth of the detritus of life. The boy had spent a lot of time in that room. Sometimes, when he felt upset or unloved, he found the healer easier to approach than his parents. Especially when they were fighting.

    She was laying on top of her bed with a copy of The Lancet, laughing and occasionally frowning at what passed for medical science at the time

    Maelstrom giggled at the sight. ¡°She sends them letters sometimes; never gets any answers. Probably think she¡¯s a crank.¡±

    The door flew open, Basilisk barging in, his features twisted with anger. ¡°Damn Lawrence, damn Chen, and damn me!¡±

    Maelstrom and the memory of ?ywie both yelped. ¡°Jesus Christ, Hugo, what¡¯s the matter?¡±

    Maelstrom was confused. ¡°Why is she calling him Hugo?¡±

    ¡°Because that¡¯s how it happened,¡± was Elsa¡¯s only response.

    Basilisk was practically shaking, like it was taking everything he had not to rip a picture from the wall and throw it. ¡°Fran?oise is late.¡±

    Sometimes, English idioms escaped ?ywie. ¡°...Late?¡±

    ¡°Her monthlies, Eliza. She¡¯s pregnant.¡±

    ?ywie looked conflicted. ¡°Oh, of course¡­ isn¡¯t that what we wanted?¡±

    ¡°What Lawrence wanted. What I hope to God Fran wanted. Not me.¡±

    ¡°...Then why¡¯d you go through with it?¡± asked ?ywie, a subtle but unmissable note of anger in her voice.

    ¡°Because I thought I was sterile!¡±

    ¡°I told you to your face you weren¡¯t!¡±

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°And I didn¡¯t believe you,¡± Basil said, hanging his head. ¡°A man who burns holes in the bed-sheets shouldn¡¯t be able to have children. Not in any sane world.¡±

    ¡°Stop it!¡± shouted Maelstrom. This wasn¡¯t the story either of his parents had told him. It didn¡¯t even agree with Tiresias¡¯ account.

    Basil, ?ywie, and every insect and mite of dust in the room became still, like the moment had been preserved in glass.

    Elsa looked down at the boy. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Did I forget the water again? God, you¡¯re like a little kid who¡¯ll only see movies if they¡¯re in 3D.¡± She touched Maelstrom¡¯s nose, materialising red and cyan anaglyph glasses over his eyes.

    He tore them off. ¡°You¡¯re lying! It didn¡¯t happen like this! Basil wanted me!¡±

    Elsa rolled her eyes. ¡°Yes, Maelstrom. This is all a lie. I deliberately prepared this elaborate illusion just to fool a random superpowered little boy into believing his dad thought he was a mistake. Actually, that does sound like fun. Must try it some time.¡± She knelt till her head was level with Maelstrom¡¯s, pointing at the frozen scene and grinning like a schoolgirl. ¡°Oh, this is where it gets good.¡±

    The afterimages were allowed to proceed with their play. ?ywie smiled, a little sadly, and embraced Basilisk. ¡°Oh, Hugo, the world has never been sane. You¡¯ll be a brilliant father, don¡¯t you doubt that.¡±

    At the time, that gesture¡ªthat unreserved contact¡ªmeant everything to Basilisk. Still, he pulled away. ¡°You know this isn¡¯t about fatherhood. This is about genes. And I don¡¯t know how Lawrence could¡¯ve picked a worse set. A random yobo from Northam would¡¯ve made a better stud¡­¡±

    Maelstrom and ?ywie were both left without words.

    ¡°...Why¡¯d she say Lawrence picked¡ª¡±

    Elsa put a finger to his mouth, shushing him. ¡°You¡¯re drowning out the dialogue.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you see it that way,¡± said ?ywie. ¡°If I could have children, I think I¡¯d like them to be yours.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m diseased, Eliza.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that! If you¡¯re diseased, then so are me and Fran¡ª¡±

    ¡°You and Fran give goddesses a run for their money. I have a skin condition. I¡¯m not so small you need to pretend otherwise.¡± He sat down on her bed, rubbing his hands over his face. ¡°Why did Chen have to bugger off! He¡¯d at least be a father worth having¡­¡±

    ¡°What!¡±

    The world stopped again.

    ¡°I-I was meant to be AU¡¯s son?¡±

    Elsa looked at him sympathetically. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Maelstrom¡­¡± She beamed at him. ¡°Sorry you missed out on great bonus powers! I can see it now: Goldwater!¡±

    Maelstrom burst into tears.

    ¡°...I thought it was a pretty good name.¡±

    She waited till Maelstrom¡¯s wailing tapered off into quiet sobbing before ending the intermission.

    ?ywie sat down beside Basilisk. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you want me to do.¡±

    ¡°Fran?oise said she¡¯d come up in the morning to have you check on the¡ª¡± The word caught in his throat. ¡°¡ªthe baby.¡±

    The healer looked indignant. ¡°She should have ran to me as soon as she suspected she was expecting! At least she doesn¡¯t drink much¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t judge her too hard, Z. I think she just wants it to be hers for a night; no one else¡¯s. Probably only told me because it was polite. Lawrence doesn¡¯t even know yet.¡± For the first time in over a week, Maelstrom saw his father smile¡ªeven if only in memory. ¡°I¡¯ll say one thing for this kid: he¡¯ll have an excess of mothers.¡±

    They both laughed. It was the saddest sound Maelstrom ever heard.

    Basilisk quickly sacrificed what happiness they had reclaimed. ¡°When you¡¯re looking over through that child-to-be¡¯s genes, I want you to keep a look out for what went wrong with me, and cut it out.¡±

    ¡°Hugo, I told you,¡± she said with patient sadness. ¡°Trying to alter your whole physiology like that would kill you.¡±

    Maelstrom couldn¡¯t even process the idea that Basil had wanted his power removed.

    ¡°I am a grown man, that child is still a clump of cells. It doesn¡¯t have a ¡®physiology¡¯ yet. If you can change anything, you can change it now.¡±

    ¡°Damn it, Hugo, people aren¡¯t shopping lists of traits! They¡¯re like¡­ cakes! If I take one ingredient out, without adjusting the entire recipe as well, the whole thing comes undone! Your son or daughter could be born without skin! Without eyes! Or just be this mass that does nothing but scream and choke on puss and-and¡ª¡± She began to weep. ¡°I couldn¡¯t do that to you. I couldn¡¯t do that to Fran.¡±

    Basil held her close. He hated himself for what he was about to say to his friend. ¡°Eliza, do you remember what you told me about genetic drift? What if this child¡¯s¡­ secretions are a hundred times stronger than mine? What if they affect living flesh and blood the same as everything else? What if he isn¡¯t immune to it? Fran could have this baby, and then have to watch as its insides slowly rot away. That, I couldn¡¯t do to Fran.¡± He began to tear up as well. ¡°Is it so wrong? You said I¡¯d make a decent father¡ª¡±

    ¡°A brilliant father.¡±

    ¡°¡ªand what father doesn¡¯t try and give their kids a better life than they had?¡±

    ¡°And what if I end up killing your kid?¡± Eliza asked through sobs.

    Basilisk let her go, standing up and making for the door. ¡°Eliza, sometimes, a better life is not having one. Good night.¡±

    He closed the door behind him, leaving Eliza to weep into her pillow. His tears renewed, Maelstrom wept along with her.

    ¡°Brava!¡± Elsa cried, applauding. ¡°Magnifique!¡± She watched her companion attempt vainly to either comfort or seek comfort from ?ywie. ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve probably had enough entertainment for the evening.¡± She pried the boy away from the long-ago woman. ¡°Time for you to wake up.¡±

    Sniffling, Maelstrom asked, ¡°Why¡¯d you show me this?¡±

    Elsa smiled. ¡°So you, Maelstrom, second-choice grandson of the boundless sea, kin to the Cosmic River herself, will always know that you were Lawrence¡¯s child. Hugo, Fran?oise: they were just the delivery mechanisms.¡±

    Maelstrom¡¯s image began to fade away. ¡°...I knew that already.¡±

    ¡°I thought you might.¡±

    Before Maelstrom was gone completely, Elsa hissed in his ear, ¡°Your father¡¯s deformity? It only made itself known at puberty¡ªteenagers and sweat and all that¡ªYou have five years till you find out if Eliza listened¡­

    ¡°Enjoy.¡±

    ?

    ¡°Where are we?¡± asked Myriad.

    If there was one nice thing you could say about Madame Elsa, it was that she did not correct the child by saying, ¡°I think the question is when are we?¡± She would have slit the throat of anyone who tried being that smart with her. Instead, she said, ¡°Paraguay, July 9th, 2019.¡±

    Myriad exhaled in wonder. ¡°You mean this is the future?¡± They were standing in a dense patch of jungle, waiting for the rain to stop. Moisture and threads of cloud-greyed sunlight leaked through the canopy above. It was cooler than many summer days she¡¯d lived through in Harvey, at least if you asked a thermometer, but the air was wetter than she was used to. It put her in mind of a warm bath, or maybe the inside of a kettle.

    Dressed in warm shadow, the witch answered, ¡°Yes, child, this is the future. And just beyond these trees is one of the only places on Earth that looks the part.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Elsa winked. ¡°Follow me, and you¡¯ll see.¡±

    They made their way across the forest floor, Elsa wildly swiping ahead of them with a machete suddenly in her hand. Sometimes she did this even when there were no vines or other foliage blocking their path. Her dreamself had traded in her fortune teller gown and veil for a safari suit and a pith helmet. ¡°The-problem-with-the future,¡± she said between grunts of exertion, ¡°is that the past doesn¡¯t clean up after itself. Those pictures in the magazines with the rough paper ink that rubs off as soon as you glance at them? The ones where all the buildings have been replaced by art-deco monstrosities? Madness. No one is going to tear down a city every time some new architectural fad emerges. If you want to build the city of tomorrow, you need a lot of land no one cares about.¡±

    Myriad was only half-listening. She¡¯d never been outside Australia before today, and she supposed she still hadn¡¯t, but still, it was an experience. Leaves slick with water droplets glistened in the gloom. Insects chittered and chirruped all around her¡ªtheir sounds both familiar and indefinably foreign. Even the soil smelt different. It was like the heat was more alive than at home.

    Most importantly, she could hear songs in the distance. New human songs. Scores of them. Hundreds, maybe.

    As they neared the edge of the trees, Elsa said, ¡°Behold, the city-state of Nova Australia!¡±

    They emerged onto a vast plain of neatly cut grass, bordered by yet more trees. Over them loomed tall, airy buildings. At least, Myriad thought they were buildings. They looked like they were grown rather than built, from titanic seeds of metal and silica, with immense blossoms of solar sail petals. She couldn¡¯t help but imagine them swaying with the wind.

    All around them, new humans went about their day. Myriad couldn¡¯t reproduce their songs¡ªseparated as they were by a gulf of over sixty years¡ªbut still made clear what they were. They threw frisbees, played chess, and walked dogs and cats and things Myriad would¡¯ve imagined the Physician owning as a boy.

    For the first time in her short life, Myriad could hear no human songs. ¡°...Is this a park?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Adam James Memorial Park, if memory serves.¡±

    ¡°A park for new humans?¡±

    Elsa shrugged. ¡°I doubt there¡¯s a sign or anything telling the old model to stay out, but yes, most if not all the people you see are¡ªwhat¡¯s that word Lawrence likes? Ah, yes, posthuman.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Find us a place to sit and I¡¯ll tell you.¡±

    Myriad wasn¡¯t sure why the witch didn¡¯t just conjure up a lounge chair or a throne, but they found themselves a bench by a duckpond. A raven-haired little girl chased a blond Asian boy dressed in what looked like a Flying Man costume through the air, while what could have been her twin chased ducks below them. Though her words were a bit muffled, Myriad thought she was berating them for not being seals.

    The Flying Man costume surprised her. Children of course played pretend as the Flying Man all the time; it was like playing Superman, but thrillingly skirting the edge of taboo. Myriad herself could remember being the Flying Girl, with Elsewhere press-ganged into being Rudolf Anderson, but never where grownups might hear.

    ¡°Tell me, girl, do you know anything about the New Australian Movement?¡±

    For once in Myriad¡¯s life, the answer was no. ¡°Some people call my mum a new Australian?¡±

    Elsa chuckled. ¡°No, not that kind of new Australian.

    ¡°You see, in the 1890s, Australia was in a bit of a recession. Lots of dissatisfied shearman wandering around looking for work and not finding any. If Federation hadn¡¯t happened in 1901, Australia might¡¯ve gone red, which would have pleased a man named William Lane to no end. He and two hundred or so other Aussies decided to set sail for Paraguay in 1893. Paraguay had lost nine out of ten of its fellas to war with Brazil and Uruguay twenty years before, so they were pretty keen on importing new, white faces. I would have suggested moving to an industrial milking model, but instead they gave the Australians 185,000 acres to build their perfect, socialist society.¡± Her voice took on a mockingly pompous tone. ¡°One founded on white, English speaking brotherhood, the pursuit of life marriage, teetotalism, the preservation of the colour-line¡­¡± She glanced up at the flying boy as he skimmed over the water, trying to throw his pursuer off. ¡°Should have introduced your drippy little friend to them.¡± She cackled, as is traditional. ¡°Half of them thought they were recreating an old science fiction book. Looking Backward, it was called.¡±

    Myriad looked incredulous. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that sort of thing happens all the time. You ever see that Star Trek program? I know of two communes that tried to live life the Vulcan way. Neither of them lasted seven years.¡±

    Myriad made a face.

    ¡°It¡¯s so nice having precocious company for once. ¨¢vr¨¢¡¯s just one blank stare after another. Anyway, those guys still did better than New Australia. Two years of infighting and schisms and the Paraguayans dissolved the place as a cooperative. New Australia became another quiet backwater.¡±

    They watched the super-children at play for a while. While Elsa talked, they had been joined by a child with golden skin, her hair tinged with copper. Myriad thought she was a machine at first, but her movements were too natural, and she had a song. She didn¡¯t fly, but instead teleported through the air, appearing and disappearing before gravity could ensnare her.

    ¡°Backwater, huh?¡± Myriad said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get smart with me!¡± snapped Elsa. ¡°I haven¡¯t finished my story. Eventually most of the New Australians moved into the big cities or back home. One of them only died a couple years ago, actually. Mary Gilmore, I think she was. They¡¯ll put her on your ten dollar note eventually.

    ¡°Amazingly, in the 1980s, nearly thirty years after a living god broke the arsenals of mankind over his knee, people will still care about reds under the bed. Especially a man called Alfredo Stroessner. He¡¯ll be very worried about communists. And being kicked out of office by his own soldiers. So when a group of superhumans offer to make sure the commies stay out of Paraguay, in exchange for a bit of living space, he¡¯ll be happy to give them a dusty old social experiment to play with.¡± She gestured at the buildings towering over the park. ¡°They make the most of it, as you can see. The first posthuman city. Also, they renamed it Nova Australia, because, why wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    Myriad giggled. ¡°Elsewhere would¡¯ve called it ¡®Superior Australia¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Well, the food is certainly superior.¡±

    They sat on the bench for some time, not speaking. Elsa entertained herself by reading a thick children¡¯s book with a red steam engine on the cover, billowing steam from a chimney like a dragon¡¯s head. ¡°If they make him cook their breakfast, why doesn¡¯t he just poison them?¡±

    Myriad didn¡¯t pay attention to her commentary. She was too busy people-watching. The four children had wandered away from the pond and into the trees. Myriad thought it an awfully wild place for a city-park, but they were new humans. What could they possibly find in there more terrible than themselves?

    They were replaced a picnicking family; a young couple and two toddlers. They ate, they laughed, they played, all with no fear. It was only by their songs that Myriad could tell they were like her.

    ¡°Thank you for showing me this.¡±

    The witch was startled from her reading by the child¡¯s gratitude. ¡°You¡¯re welcome¡­ why?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nice knowing that this isn¡¯t forever.¡±

    ¡°What isn¡¯t?¡±

    Myriad rocked a bit, looking up at the sky. ¡°The DDHA, the centres, even the Institute. I mean, it¡¯s great there, but it¡¯s good knowing we won¡¯t have to live on a farm forever. That there¡¯ll be somewhere else for kids like us.¡±

    Elsa nodded. ¡°Glad to hear it. Hope for the future is so important.¡± She grinned, then raised her hand.

    With a click of her fingers, everything cracked¡ªthe buildings, the grass, the people, everything shattered and fell away like a broken pane of glass.

    What was left was desolation. Broken towers of mirrored glass bled smoke and ash into the sky, staining it brown and grey. The street around them was cracked and warped, like the asphalt and pavement were a sea snap-frozen in the middle of a storm.

    Worse was what loomed over the city. A tree, towering over even the skyscrapers, too vast to possibly support its own weight by any natural means. An armoured colossus, forty meters tall, was caught in its roots, an outstretched arm reaching for help and finding none. Its eyes glowed balefully, flickering in the shadow of the tree.

    ¡°Where-where are we?¡±

    ¡°The future¡¯s future, my darling. Perth, 2025.¡±

    Myriad whispered, ¡°What happened here?¡±

    Elsa shot up from the bench, the one thing from Nova Australia that remained intact, her arms outstretched. ¡°A pale horse rode through!¡± the witch shouted exultantly. ¡°And Hell rode behind it!¡± She turned to face Myriad, beckoning her forward as she walked backwards. ¡°Come and see, come and see.¡±

    She didn''t want to. She didn''t want to go anywhere with Madame Elsa. She wanted her friends. She wanted the park in Nova Australia back. She wanted her mother. But she also didn''t want to be left alone in this place.

    Elsa led her through ruined streets, past homes and businesses with the fronts torn off them, like dollhouses. Broken glass was everywhere. It did not cut her bare feet, but she felt the suggestion of sharpness against her skin. Totalled cars were strewn along the roads, or jutting from the sides of buildings, like they¡¯d been blown about by a cyclone. Or thrown. Children¡¯s toys lay abandoned in strange, lonely places.

    They encountered the dead, of course, some so charred as to be barely recognizable as once being people. One or two bodies were dressed in unfamiliar, scarlet uniforms. Myriad tried not to look at them.

    She heard a groan behind her. She should not have turned around.

    The man looked like he¡¯d been struck by lightning. Half his body looked like melted wax, his clothing fused with his flesh. He stumbled right through Myriad, like she were a trick of the light,  making her scream and cling tightly to Elsa.

    ¡°Help him, help him, help him!¡±

    ¡°Yes, we must¡­¡± Elsa said breathlessly, her face full of concern. She could only hold the expression for a moment before breaking down laughing. ¡°In about seventy years!¡± She pulled Myriad along. ¡°Don¡¯t linger, pet, we still have a show to catch by the river.¡±

    Myriad had been to Perth twice in her life. Once on her way to the Institute, and before that with her parents on the way to Monkey Meyer. During the long drive, her father had pointed out the Swan Brewery on the foreshore along Mounts Bay Road. The houses and markets that once resided along the road were gone, as was the parking complex, but the brewery was almost perversely intact. In its shadow stood a white haired old man and two redhaired children, talking to a woman in scarlet. Myriad thought she was laughing through tears.

    ¡°Who are they?¡± she asked.

    ¡°You tell me,¡± Elsa answered.

    Myriad tried to focus on the woman¡­ no, it was a man¡­ or a child or¡­ Tiresias? She rubbed her eyes. ¡°That lady¡¯s blurry.¡± She had never heard her song before, nevertheless it¡¯s structure sounded... familiar.

    The witch looked puzzled. ¡°Huh. Must have missed a syllable or something in the spell. Sorry about that.¡±

    Myriad was beginning to tear up. ¡°Why did you show me this?¡±

    Elsa cupped the girl¡¯s chin in her hand. ¡°So you know this isn¡¯t as bad as it gets.¡± The world started to burn, like film caught in a fire. ¡°So stop feeling sorry for yourself. It¡¯s very rough justice all around.¡±

    From the corner of her eye, Myriad saw movement. Something was descending into the midst of the four by the river.

    His costume had changed, but she had seen him up close in the barn. The Flying Man had come.

    ¡°...What did he do?¡±

    She let go of her face and laughed.

    ¡°Elsa, what did he do?¡±

    ?

    Charlton Heston stopped beating the sand before the Statue of Liberty, and Elsa ceased fawning over him for a moment, looking over disdainfully at the girl. ¡°Oh, what is it now, child?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve shown me nothing but bollocks since I looked into your stupid ¡®Eye of Owen¡¯.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Eye of Odin! And I¡¯ve shown you edifying glimpses of things to come!¡±

    ¡°Yes, like how the future is going to be ruled by monkeys, or how we¡¯re all going to wear leather and chase each other around the desert in stupid looking cars. Is everyone in the future queer or something?¡±

    ¡°Those were haunting allegories for problems we face in the here and now.¡±

    ?ywie was a good English teacher. ¡°Allegories? I thought they were the future!¡±

    Elsa titled her hand. ¡°They¡¯re the future somewhere.¡±

    Mabel sighed. ¡°Look, it was fun at first, watching that commie super lady throwing singers into mountains, or that world where geckos replaced us, but I want to see something that involves me.¡±

    ¡°Do you now?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she repeated.

    ¡°Really really?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    Elsa nodded with her eyes closed. ¡°Alright.¡±

    Walls burst from the sand around them, joining together to form a house, a roof falling on top of it from the sky. When Mabel recovered from the shock, she recognised the place immediately.

    To call the building a house was being generous. To call it a cottage was being polite. To call it a shack¡­ well, not to the owners¡¯ faces. It was also Mabel¡¯s home for the first five years of her life.

    A stolid, bearded man in work trousers and a white singlet smoked anxiously next to his bedroom door. Cries of pain and exertion carried through the thin walls, making him cringe with every every bout. Mabel knew the sounds well. There was a woman in labour behind that door.

    She walked up to the man, looking up into his dark, sombre eyes. ¡°Daddy?¡±

    Elsa looked at her watch. Like many high-end timepieces, it had a moon-phase display, though the moon in question orbited a gas giant. ¡°He will be in about fifty seconds.¡±

    Mabel ignored her. She was reacquainting herself with her father¡¯s face. The broad, flat nose, the faded smallpox scars, the wrinkles around his eyes. Mr. Henderson had not been an old man by any means when he died, but hard work and worry had lefts its lines and scars, even before his wife fell pregnant.

    Please see me, she thought. Smile at me, or yell, just please look at me.

    A young nurse emerged from the room, her face brimming with sympathy and well-worn regret. ¡°Mr Henderson, your wife has given birth to healthy baby girl.¡±

    Mr. Henderson drew deeply from his cigarette. ¡°That¡¯s not all you came out to tell me, is it, miss?¡± he said, holding onto his composure for dear life.

    ¡°...No, I¡¯m afraid not. There¡¯ve been some complications¡ª¡±

    ¡°Let me see her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that wouldn¡¯t be advisable, Mrs Henderson is in a very delicate condition.¡±

    Mr. Henderson knew what that meant. That he was the one in a delicate condition. That he couldn¡¯t be allowed to see the state his wife was in. He didn¡¯t let himself get angry. He did however force his way past the nurse and into the bedroom.

    Mabel and Elsa followed, not even bothering to go around the nurse¡¯s memory.

    There was honestly no harm Mr Henderson could have done barging in. By that point, all the midwives and the doctor on call could do was tend to the newborn and make sure Mrs Henderson was as comfortable as possible. Blood had soaked the towels between her legs. More blood, Mabel knew, than what¡¯s right. Sweat plastered her hair to her bone-white brow.

    ¡°Andrew¡­¡±

    He was at her side immediately, clutching her hand and murmuring love and comforting lies into his wife¡¯s ear.

    Mildred Henderson bought none of it. She was a nurse and a midwife herself. More than once, she¡¯d been the one to deliver the bad news to the husband in the next room. ¡°The baby.¡±

    Nobody in the room needed any further explanation. Mr Henderson looked wide-eyed at the nurse rocking the squalling bundle of blankets and life, who laid it in Mrs Henderson¡¯s arms.

    From where they were standing, Mabel and Elsa should not have heard Mildred¡¯s last words. They were scarcely a whisper; she hadn¡¯t the strength for anything more. But they were magnified in the retelling:

    ¡°Don¡¯t name her after me, you daft bastard.¡±

    Mr Henderson nodded, and she was gone.

    Madame Elsa puts her hands on Mabel¡¯s shoulders. ¡°It was nobody¡¯s fault, of course, excepting maybe evolution or Eve. But I don¡¯t have to tell you that, do I? You¡¯re too smart a girl to blame yourself, and your father was too good a man to let you.¡±

    Mabel nodded slowly, gripped by a grief too great for mere tears.

    Elsa leant down and whispered, ¡°But I know what you do blame on yourself.¡±

    Before Mabel could react, her mother, father, and the doctor and midwives all faded away. The blood and the towels were gone, too. Just them and an unmade bed.

    Elsa straightened up. ¡°Your father did better than anyone expected. Lot of folk around Circle¡¯s End thought he would palm you off to a cousin, or marry the first young, dumb thing he laid his eyes on to get you a mother. We didn¡¯t put much stock in the ability of men to carry on without a wife.¡± ¡°Still don¡¯t, really,¡± she added quickly.

    Mabel could smell smoke.

    ¡°But everyone makes mistakes. His was leaving you home unsupervised while he was at work. To be fair, the neighbours knew you well, and you were a pragmatic child.¡±

    The temperature was rising, and with it, Mabel¡¯s panic. ¡°I know this story, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    Elsa¡¯s face cracked into a grin. ¡°But the problem with pragmatic children is that, sometimes, they figure out things too soon for their own good. Like how to operate a stove!¡±

    The bedroom door opened of its own accord. Flames burned beyond. Mabel frantically scrambled away from them, whimpering.

    ¡°You were braver when you were five and the fire could actually burn you.¡± She laughed. ¡°Tried putting it out with glasses of water from the sink, didn¡¯t you? God, I love it.¡±

    Mabel was huddling in the corner, unresponsive. Elsa strode over and yanked the girl to her feet. ¡°Come on Mabel, up you get.¡± She pulled her towards the door, despite the child¡¯s inarticulate begging. ¡°We aren¡¯t afraid of a memory, are we?¡±

    They walked through the inferno. Segments of roof were already falling in. ¡°Shoddy construction. I would have sued.¡±

    Mabel had her face buried in the witch¡¯s dress. She could feel the heat of the flames and smell the smoke, even as she remembered them.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, you know. Well, the fire was. That was just boneheaded. You could have just gone next door for porridge.¡±

    I thought he¡¯d be proud.

    ¡°And hiding under the couch where nobody could see you.¡± She tutted. ¡°Idiotic. But what happened next¡ª¡± She shook her head. ¡°You mustn''t blame yourself for that.¡± Her expression became cheerful. ¡°That was your father¡¯s mistake.¡±

    They passed through the cottage¡¯s front door. A crowd had assembled, four large men barely holding back Mabel¡¯s father.

    ¡°It¡¯s too hot, Andrew!¡±

    ¡°Get off me, ya fucking cunts! Mabel¡¯s in there!¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± said Elsa. ¡°I¡¯d wager some of them were seriously considering letting him burn with you.¡±

    ¡°Why would they want that?¡± Her words were choked.

    ¡°Oh, you misunderstand, child. They didn¡¯t consider it out of malice, but love. Those men knew your father. What is Drew Henderson even for without his daughter?¡±

    Mr. Henderson still struggled, but his anger was crumbling into despair. ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake, she¡¯s all I have¡ª¡± He went limp in his mates¡¯ arms, looking up at something only he saw. ¡°Jesus.¡±

    Despite standing on the porch of her burning home, Mabel suddenly felt very cold. ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not doing anything,¡± said Elsa. ¡°The world is just remembering. Here, let me peel back a layer for you.¡±

    There was a man. He towered over Mr. Henderson, cloaked in terror and majesty. The sun had fled the sky, as though it could not bear to shine down upon the man, leaving only unfamiliar stars. His eyes and mouth were also stars, burning bright in the wayward night.

    ¡°Recognise him? Of course you do. So do most of the kids you know. Hell, ask all the superhumans in the world how they became the what they are, and fully half the ones who weren¡¯t born that way will tell you one thing: ¡®there was a man¡¯. Superpowers are the vulgar, stunted cousin of magic, but they can be quite fascinating.¡±

    The man knelt on one knee. Mr. Henderson met his gaze. With perfect calmness and conviction, he said, ¡°No. Help her.¡±

    Mabel screamed, ¡°No, don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    They were back inside the house. Mabel¡¯s younger self was seizuring on the floor.

    ¡°See,¡± said Elsa. ¡°Your father, faced with the God-Maker itself, palmed the burden off to his kid!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± moaned Mabel, clutching the sides of her head.

    ¡°Don¡¯t understand what?

    ¡°For one second, I could do everything, I knew everything. I think I was everything.¡± She sobbed. ¡°It was too much. It didn¡¯t fit. I thought if I just spread it around¡­¡±

    A town¡¯s worth of screams drowned out the hiss of the flames.

    ¡°...It was an accident.¡±

    When the screaming died off, a literal knight in shining armour appeared over the smaller Mabel, taking her into his arms and making his way out of the house. His armour should¡¯ve been scalding, but it was cool against her skin. It was of somewhere else, and it carried part of that place with it.

    Everyone outside was dead. Judging by their faces, they did not pass easy. Still coughing and sputtering from the smoke she inhaled, Mabel the younger was set on her feet by the knight. She stumbled towards her father, and tried to rouse him. ¡°Daddy.¡±

    ¡°I thought he was asleep¡­¡±

    Elsa¡¯s mind was on other matters. ¡°Sounds like you needed to whittle the power down to something you could comprehend. Were you the kid who always made sure your dad showed you the pictures in bedtime stories?¡±

    Mabel¡ªboth of her¡ªwas crying in earnest by that point. ¡°If I had a drawing of Daddy, do you think I could bring him back?¡±

    ¡°Pray you never find out,¡± said Elsa. She started walking down the corpse laden street. ¡°I have to get you all ready to wake up, I¡¯ll leave you to enjoy the rest of this vision alone, alright?¡±

    Mabel looked away from her past. ¡°Wait, Elsa, don¡¯t leave me¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t moan. You¡¯ll only have to live through this one more time.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I meant to mention it while we were watching the penguins dance. Someone¡¯s coming to the Institute. He¡¯ll pretty much be the beginning of the end. Still, it¡¯ll be months before the¡ª¡±

    Mabel was alone with herself. She watched her for two days; unnoticed, though hours seemed to pass in moments when she wasn¡¯t paying attention. Soon she was joined by other unreal figures. The people of Circle¡¯s End were not a bookish lot, but there were enough pictures within the town for Mabel¡¯s power to surround her with an army¡ªrecruited from children¡¯s books, magazines, illustrated Bibles, packets of matches, even a drawing in the sand made by a boy Mabel once played with. If they were aware of their future mistress, they gave no sign of it. She was a ghost even amongst phantoms.

    Though she didn¡¯t speak, the summoned creatures carried out Mabel¡¯s will. They ensured their nearly catatonic creator was marginally fed and hydrated, her instinct for survival mostly diverted into them, and gathered the bodies together.

    She buried her father first.

    Eventually, a ute pulled into the street. A thin man holding an ice-packet to his head got off the backseat, followed by a red bearded man in a deeply out of place suit, and finally a woman in an orange travelling cloak. As they passed through the prophets, knights, mascots, and models, their numbers thinned. By the time they reached the little girl curled up in the centre, the only shade left was Mabel.

    And then she was gone, too.

    ?

    The children woke with a start, like someone had held smelling salts under their noses. Tears streaked all their faces.

    ¡°That was horrible,¡± said Elsewhere. He looked around the tent. Neither Madame Elsa nor Myles (nor ¨¢vr¨¢) were anywhere to be found. ¡°Uh, do any of you guys know where the witch and the Myles guy have gotten to? Wouldn¡¯t they want paying?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Maelstrom. As much as he had grown to dislike the pair, he wasn¡¯t comfortable with the fact that they were somewhere he couldn¡¯t see them. ¡°Myriad?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± she said. ¡°Or they¡¯ve done some witchy thing so I can¡¯t hear their songs.¡±

    The Eye of Odin was also gone, a note left in its place. Written in Finnish, Myriad read it out:

    ¡°Had to step sideways, hope you had fun, payment has been extracted in full. Have a good life.¡± She frowned, crumpling the piece of paper. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±

    None of them had any desire to linger. They hurried out of the tent, minus a hair from each of their heads.

 Chapter Twelve: Some Mothers Son

    The harsh clamour of the alarm clock threw Jack Kinsey into yet another morning without his daughter. He was still amazed how many of those there were. It was like being trapped in a cinema long after the ¡°Fin¡± screen faded.

    Groaning, he rolled over and nudged his wife. ¡°Drina¡­¡±

    He could tell by her breathing she was awake, but her only response was a prolonged sigh. Like most days nowadays, it seemed Drina Kinsey couldn¡¯t bring herself to get out of bed.

    Jack couldn¡¯t blame her. Most mornings he wanted to just lie in bed beside Drina until the roof timbers rotted and collapsed on top of them. But, God willing, Allison would return to them someday, and there would be a house and home waiting for her.

    He went about his morning routine like his veins ran with molten led. Actions that he once performed without any conscious thought now required immense effort and willpower. It was like his body was a clumsy, reluctant robot he was shouting orders at from some distant place of grief. ¡°Jack, Shower,¡± ¡°Jack, Brush your teeth,¡± ¡°Jack, for the love of God, shave.¡± It didn¡¯t help that for some time, he¡¯d only made breakfast on Mother¡¯s Day.

    He picked up the newspaper as he stepped out the door. He had scant interest in its contents, but reading it helped maintain some sense of normalcy in his life. And maybe, just maybe, there might be news of a mass reparation of the children held by the DDHA. Or at the very least, a headline announcing the release of Allison Kinsey¡ªobvious natural child¡ªand the flogging and dismissal of whoever was in charge.

    A quick flick through its pages revealed no such joy; just something about a circus convoy running off the road, and the Witch of Claremont stealing the private parts of a whole office building.

    They think my Allison is one of these freaks.

    Jack made it to the local Bank of New South Wales with no conscious memory of how he got there. His co-workers greeted him with the same muted pleasantries they always employed, even before his daughter was taken. By some unspoken agreement, the people of Harvey seemed to have decided to deal with the Kinseys¡¯ loss by not acknowledging it beyond the mildest tinge of sympathy in their voices.

    That was the rub. If Allison had passed away, there would be condolences, people asking how he and Drina were coping. And, if nothing else, they would know their daughter could come to no more harm.

    Among the office notices and inoculation flyers, the bank¡¯s bulletin board also had a DDHA affiche pinned to it:

    REPORT DEMI-HUMAN ACTIVITY

    The message hovered between the silhouettes of the Flying Man and a child levitating a ball in the air, motion lines radiating from their hands. The hotline number for the Demi-Human Rapid Response Team was printed along the bottom. Jack tried not to look at it. He could swear they were putting up more of those posters every day. Maybe he just hadn¡¯t noticed them before. Or maybe the powers that be did see more of a need. After all, they had found two demis in the same town on the same day. Might be something in the water¡­

    His day passed in a haze of numbers. Much as he enjoyed it, Jack never would have called his work exciting, but it let him comfortably slip into functional oblivion for the better part of the day. He was maths, concerned only with the finances of farmers and cattlemen. Time felt both measureless and nonexistent.

    Once or twice, his thoughts would drift uncomfortably close to the desolate present. On those occasions, he would inform the office secretary that he wouldn¡¯t be taking any calls for fifteen minutes, put on a record of old bush ballads Allison liked to play till he thought his ears would bleed, and weep as quietly as possible. If anyone heard him, nobody made a fuss.

    Jack could have stayed past closing time if he really wanted¡ªand he did¡ªbut he feared what Drina might do if she was left alone too long. At the very least, he wanted to make sure she ate something.

    It was that notion that brought him to Barnes Country Butchers. He stood outside the door for some time, trying to decide if it was even appropriate for him to step inside.

    The door opened with a jangle of the bells above it. ¡°Evening, Kinsey,¡± said the young man who stepped through, arms full of newspaper-wrapped meat.

    ¡°Oh, hello, Peters.¡±

    Peters smiled uncomfortably. ¡°You gonna let me pass?¡±

    Jack stepped aside sharply. ¡°Ah, sorry.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem.¡±

    As Peters walked down the street, Jack thought he saw the man look back suspiciously.

    He wasn¡¯t surprised. People get it in their heads that you have a demi for a daughter, they start asking questions about the rest of the family.

    The men from the DDHA had, when they came to tell the Kinseys their daughter wasn¡¯t coming home. They¡¯d asked a lot of rather searching questions of the two of them, as they sat in their lounge room, enjoying their tea. Would they say they were luckier than average?  Did they ever know things without being told? Was there anything either of them could do that they thought was improbable?

    As it happened, neither Mr nor Mrs Kinsey were in much of a state to answer.

    Maybe their Christmas bonuses would have been bigger if they had smoked out a whole nest of demis, Jack thought, bitterly. He almost wished he and Drina had said yes to their questions. Maybe they could have been with Allison¡­

    He stepped inside the butcher¡¯s. Weary sunlight filled the store front, gradually retreating as shadow marched towards the windows. Its owner and proprietor, care-worn and tight lipped, was chopping beef behind the counter, bony fingers wrapped tight around her cleaver. Narrow featured, her her dark hair was bound up in a net, steadily losing ground to the grey strand by strand.

    Angela Barnes and Jack Kinsey were closer acquaintances than either of them would have liked. The breadwinner of her family after her husband¡¯s partial return from Korea, much of Harvey considered her to be an utterly humourless creature. Whatever the truth was, she was most definitely a woman who doled out smiles sparingly. That would have been alienating enough without adding her intense religiosity on top of things. Most folks in Harvey were church-going Catholics, of course, but Angela Barnes actually listened to the sermons and read the Bible in her own time enough to sometimes object to what was said in them. This among other Frederick Barnes shaped things had earned her some thinly veiled references from the pulpit, especially after the Great Parish School Debate.

    Her pork sausages were without compare, though. And they would have been the extent of the association between the Barnes and the Kinseys, if it weren¡¯t for their children. First day of pre primary, for reasons she never bothered explaining, Allison had started following around the Barnes¡¯ youngest and much delayed son, Arnold. To the deep disconcertment of Mrs Kinsey when pickup time rolled around, this had extended to the Barnes residence.

    After that, there was little separating them. Jack wouldn¡¯t have gone so far as to call Arnold a bad kid. He was sullen, definitely a sneak-thief, and Jack half believed he only played with Allison because they had more money, but nothing too objectionable¡­ aside from his father. Jack would have preferred Allison not spend so much time with the bitter, raving veteran, especially after she¡¯d complained of nightmares about communist takeover. And come home one day knowing four new curse words.

    Jack had tried¡ªnot as subtly as he might¡¯ve thought¡ªto widen Allison¡¯s circle of friends. A lot of playdates that went nowhere. His daughter just seemed to find Arnold Barnes comfortable, for whatever reason. And so, the Kinseys were forever doomed to pay for an extra child.

    As it turned out, forever only lasted about three years.

    ¡°Were you here for anything specific, Mr. Kinsey? Or just browsing?¡± Mrs. Barnes asked, not looking up from her work.

    Jack started. ¡°Ah, just some smoked bacon, thanks.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    Her tone withering, Angela said, ¡°I¡¯m afraid ¡®some¡¯ is not a useful measurement, Mr. Kinsey.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry¡­ half a pound?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s better.¡±

    She wrapped his order for him in football results and election worries, setting it down on the counter while he fished the appropriate sum from his wallet. ¡°It¡¯s usually your wife in here. How is Drina doing?¡±

    It was the first time in months anyone had asked Jack that question. He wanted to scream that he left home every morning not sure she¡¯d be there when he came back. Instead, he answered, ¡°She¡¯s¡­ coping.¡±

    Angela looked the man over. He looked worse than she imagined he knew. Unkempt suit, the telltale rash of a clumsy shave. ¡°Oh, Jack, are we really going to do this to each other?¡±

    She stepped out from behind the counter, before walking over to the door and flipping the sign to ¡°closed¡±. Jack froze when he saw her turn the lock.

    She took his hand, leading Jack towards the back room, a dingy space mostly reserved for the uglier parts of meat preparation. He visibly cringed at the bloodstains.

    ¡°Look, Angela, if you¡¯re gonna offer to pray with me¡ª¡±

    She removed two cans of Hannan''s Lager from a small fridge, handing one to Jack. ¡°Prayer is always helpful, Mr. Kinsey. But right now, we need good drink.¡±  She pulled up two milk crates to sit on.

    Jack was surprised to say the least. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you drank.¡±

    Angela was already opening hers. ¡°My family¡¯s Irish. We¡¯re damned if we don¡¯t drink.¡± She didn¡¯t sound like she was joking.

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    They didn¡¯t say much, at first. There wasn¡¯t much need to. They were both explorers in a dry, empty land, and they knew the territory well.

    ¡°I¡¯m almost thankful,¡± said Angela.

    ¡°They took your boy. How could you be thankful for that?¡±

    ¡°Because at least the DDHA isn¡¯t a mob. Whatever they¡¯re doing to our kids, it¡¯s probably better than what our neighbours might¡¯ve done. There was a lynching over in Kalgoorlie. Some boy who could tell dogs what to do. Or was it cats? Doesn¡¯t matter. They just dragged him out of his house and¡ª¡± She sucked her lips. ¡°You don¡¯t need to hear that part.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t doubt it,¡± replied Jack. ¡°Didn¡¯t AU hit them a few months back?¡±

    ¡°I think they thought the boy was working for him.¡±

    ¡°People are better than that around here.¡±

    Angela expected Jack would think that. When did people ever look at him with that sickly mixture of pity and revulsion? The strained smiles and the barely hidden bemusement. There but for the grace of God¡­ ¡°Maybe they are. But when a lot of people are angry, or scared, they can become very similar.¡± She took a long sip of her beer. ¡°Fred¡¯s not doing so well. Being a dad was the only thing that kept him from feeling completely useless. He¡¯s been sending letters every day. I just hope they aren¡¯t anything like the ones to the papers.¡±

    Jack nodded sympathetically. ¡°Drini¡¯s been a mess. I don¡¯t know if anything could make it worse, but Allison was the only flesh and blood she had left. It¡¯s like the War all over again.¡± He stared down at his beer can. ¡°Fucking Flying Man.¡±

    He half-expected Angela to reprimand his language, but she just raised her beer and said, ¡°I hear that.¡±

    ¡°What do you think he¡¯s here for, anyway?¡±

    The butcher looked perplexed by the question. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Why he does what he does, I suppose,¡± Jack clarified.

    This did not appear to clear anything up for Angela. ¡°You mean why he flies around putting out bushfires and getting food to starving folk? He¡¯s trying to help, clearly.¡±

    ¡°It can¡¯t be that simple!¡± objected Jack. ¡°He¡¯s thrown everything off-kilter. He got our kids thrown in prison!¡±

    ¡°Because he¡¯s a helpful idiot,¡± she replied mildly.

    ¡°An idiot can¡¯t disarm thousands and thousands of a-bombs.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say he wasn¡¯t smart. The most dangerous idiots always are. Dumb idiots, they don¡¯t get up to much.¡±

    ¡°Angela, you¡¯re not making sense.¡±

    Angela leaned in, regarding Jack with the air of someone trying to figure out the best way of explaining the obvious. ¡°I have two grown sons, Jack. Both of them went to university. And they both came home first break ready to burn down the world for all its crimes. And the Flying Man don¡¯t look any older than them.¡±

    It was then Jack realised how much longer the Barnes had been parents than he and Drina.

    ¡°So when did you realise?¡± asked Angela.

    ¡°Realise what?¡±

    ¡°That Allison was¡­well, you know¡ª¡± For what may have been the first time, Jack thought Angela looked unsure of herself. ¡°¡ªa demi?¡± She looked away from him. ¡°Awful thing to call a child.¡±

    Jack immediately went on the defensive. ¡°She¡¯s not! I mean, she¡¯s just smart! Since when do we jail children for being clever?

    ¡°Oh, for crying out loud, Jack. Your daughter threw fire at armed soldiers. What else could she be?¡±

    ¡°Those kids were panicking, who knows what they saw?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no shame in it. For either of you.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s exceptional, not abnormal!¡±

    Angela¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Then what¡¯s my Arnold?¡±

    Her words hung between them.

    ¡°I¡¯m-I¡¯m sorry. That was uncalled for.¡±

    ¡°I get it,¡± said Angela. ¡°Your child seems to know everything without even being taught it. She¡¯s good at everything. If I were you, I¡¯d like to think it was something that came from us or something we did, too. And maybe it¡¯s not such an obvious gift. It¡¯s a bit like being a simpleton, in a way. If you¡¯re lucky, you don¡¯t even know you¡¯re lacking.¡± A low, sad chuckle. ¡°It was harder for us to pretend, with Arnold.¡±

    ¡°...When did you find out?¡±

    ¡°Me? A few days after he was born. He kept¡ª¡± She searched for a word.  ¡°¡ªwishing his bottle into his hands. I had to keep him pretty close for a while. Make excuses when things went missing. Should¡¯ve taken it as a warning; we never could completely belt the thief out of him.¡± She suddenly looked ashamed. ¡°I prayed constantly for it to stop. It was a terrible thing to ask.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because it was clearly a gift.¡± She did not miss the expression on his face, the probably subconscious arching of his eyebrow. ¡°Oh, don''t give me that look. There¡¯s nothing else it could be. Fred always said it was his fault, but that could mean anything.¡±

    Jack Kinsey was not a superstitious man. He mostly only went to church because it was the Done Thing. But these were strange times¡­ ¡°A gift from who?¡±

    Angela looked at him like he¡¯d just suggested it came from Woolworths. ¡°Only Protestants burnt witches, Jack. If the Devil could do what Arnold does, what hope would any of us have? He stopped when he started walking. I once read¡ª¡± A hint of a smile appeared in the corner of her mouth. ¡°¡ªor it might have been your daughter that  told me¡ªthat babies are born able to hold their breath under water. Then they have to pick it up again.¡±

    ¡°And you think that¡¯s how it was with Arnold?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Can¡¯t be sure when it came back. Me and Fred were waiting for the right time to talk to him about it.¡± She fussed with the strings of her apron. ¡°We waited too long, didn¡¯t we? What must he think of us, now?¡±

    ¡°You really think Allison and Arnold are the same?¡±

    ¡°Did you teach her how to fix our car? I think that¡¯s why they were so close. Like they knew what they were, in that place faith sits. And I want to thank you for letting them have that. I know a lot of people around wouldn¡¯t have let their child spend so much time with ours.¡±

    ¡°I-it was nothing. He made Allison happy. I¡¯d hardly deserve to live if I didn¡¯t let her have that.¡±

    Angela smiled mournfully at him. ¡°They both deserved so much better. And so do we.¡±

    In that moment, Jack Kinsey felt watched; whether by God, or ghosts, or something else altogether. What he knew for sure was that he did not deserve this woman¡¯s gratitude. ¡°I did it.¡±

    The words slipped out almost of their own violation. Angela stood staring. ¡°...Did what?¡±

    ¡°I saw Arnold doing what he does to some cans in the McKinleys¡¯ paddock. I called the DDHA¡ª¡±

    If Jack had anything more to say, he was on the floor before he could get it out, bleeding out his nose. Before he could make any sound, Angela¡¯s boot collided with his solar plexus.

    ¡°You bastard! You sat in my shop, acting like you cared one bit for my son, when you were the one who took him away from me!¡±

    Jack fought to speak through the pain, but was rewarded with another hard kick to his chest.

    ¡°I knew what your daughter was for years, Kinsey. And did I ever do anything about it?¡±

    Jack made no attempt to answer, too concerned with trying to shield anything vital.

    ¡°No! Because you can say whatever you want about me and my family, but we¡¯re not cowardly enough to fear children!¡± She pulled the man up by the scruff of his neck, pushing him back out into the storefront towards the door, which she began unlocking.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±

    ¡°You got what you deserved, Kinsey. I¡¯m just sorry my boy and your daughter have to pay for it.¡± She shoved Jack out onto the street, before throwing the bacon packet after him. ¡°And don¡¯t come back!¡±

    Angela slammed the door shut, slumping down against it. For a minute, she allowed herself to bathe in her anger, finally able to put a face on her family¡¯s suffering. Then the worry, which had dominated her life ever since her husband first shipped out, returned keener than ever before.

    He could press charges, she thought. Not as if he broke any law. He was just doing his ¡°duty¡±. What¡¯ll Fred do if I¡¯m locked away, too? What if they let Arnold out, and there¡¯s nobody there for him?

    Her thoughts turned to Jack Kinsey. God help that bastard. God help that girl.

    She was startled from her grief by a thundercrack. That was unfamiliar to her, but the green flash was. There was a piece of stationery at her feet, a Galapagos finch in flight printed in the top left corner. She picked the letter up with trembling fingers. She¡¯d helped her son enough with his homework to recognise his scrawl.

    Hey Mum, sorry I didn¡¯t send you this sooner. I thought you might be mad if I did. But I saw something that made me think you wouldn¡¯t. This professor guy took me to live on his farm with a load of other new human (that¡¯s what he likes us to call demis) kids. Near Northam, I think. It¡¯s weird, but nice. Allison¡¯s here too (she helped with the spelling!). If her letter doesn¡¯t get to them, could you tell her mum and dad she¡¯s okay?

    Love you.

    Relieved, Angela Barnes clutched the letter to her chest, finally allowing herself the luxury of tears.

 Chapter Thirteen: The Most Startling Supervillain of All!

    The flying carpet glided low over the grass, sending ripples of green movement across the field. It said something about Mabel¡¯s mood that this was the best she could come up with. Its constant, sourceless motion made for a smoother ride than the Thoat, at least.

    Nobody felt much like talking, after what they had seen in the witch¡¯s tent. They couldn¡¯t remember all of it clearly. Like dreams, visions burn easily in the light of day, no matter how deep the truths they reveal.

    Elsewhere remembered enough, though.

    ¡°It was like they were at Roberts, and they don¡¯t know it.¡±

    ¡°They have a pool and a television with four thousand channels, I wouldn¡¯t be whinging.¡±

    And then there was the other thing he¡¯d seen. He desperately hoped Myriad didn¡¯t ask him about it. She¡¯d think he hated her, and then she¡¯d hate him. It wasn¡¯t as though she really needed him anymore, with the whole score of songs she now had access to. Elsewhere may not have been Myriad, but he was no fool. He¡¯d put the dots together when she¡¯d explained how her power worked. Especially now that he knew his own had been inside him since before they met.

    Myriad blinked at him with Maelstrom¡¯s eyes. ¡°What¡¯s up with you?¡±

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Elsewhere blurted. ¡°That witch-lady just freaked me out, okay?¡±

    ¡°But you were looking at me weird.¡±

    ¡°I thought you looked sad.¡±

    ¡°We all look sad right now,¡± Mabel pointed out. ¡°And you didn¡¯t look so good when you were getting your face painted¡­¡± An italicised question mark bounced over her head.

    Growing up with Angela Barnes as a mother, there are only two real approaches a boy can take to lying. Elsewhere¡¯s brothers had become better than average at it, for what little good it did them. Elsewhere, however, had the misfortune of being born at the height of his mother¡¯s powers, and had taken the other approach.

    ¡°I saw Eddie!¡±

    The children all crawled in closer, their faces worried and curious in equal measure.

    ¡°Eddie? You mean the big guy from when we¡­¡± Mabel didn¡¯t finish her sentence. She didn¡¯t need to.

    Maelstrom¡¯s reaction was perhaps predictable. ¡°He¡¯s gonna dob on us!¡±

    ¡°...To who?¡± Mabel asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, his parents? The police? Lawrence will hear about it anyway.¡± He twisted and squirmed, squeezing one hand in the other. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t he tell someone? After what we did to him¡­¡±

    Despite herself, Mabel¡¯s tone was more chastising than consoling. ¡°You didn¡¯t do anything!¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t remember us,¡± said Elsewhere.

    Myriad looked confused. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°I was trying to say sorry, and he didn¡¯t know who we were. He said he never even went to the Institute.¡±

    ¡°Maybe he was lying?¡± suggested Mabel, mostly trying to comfort Maelstrom. ¡°I bet he would¡¯ve gotten into trouble if his folks knew he came ¡®round our place.¡±

    Elsewhere shook his head. ¡°You weren¡¯t there. He wasn¡¯t lying. He got really mad, but I think that was just because I said I was a new human.¡±

    ¡°When something really bad or scary happens to someone, people try to block the memory out. Maybe that¡¯s what Eddie did?¡± said Myriad.

    ¡°But Bazza was there, too, and he said he wasn¡¯t at the Institute, either.¡±

    ¡°We still chased him around like a fox,¡± Myriad reminded him.

    ¡°But he was so calm¡­¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± said Mabel, testily. ¡°So he doesn¡¯t remember getting his blood ripped out. Who cares? Isn¡¯t that a good thing? There¡¯s lots of stuff I don¡¯t want to remember. And Bazza looked like the kind of fella who gets ¡®forgetful¡¯ a lot.¡±

    Distressed, Elsewhere said, ¡°But what if he¡¯s sick? Maybe ?ywie missed something, and his memory¡¯s leaking!¡±

    The argument lasted the rest of the flight. Privately, Myriad was relieved. It meant nobody asked her about what she had seen at the carnival.

    When they reached the spot where Mabel had conjured the Thoat, she insisted they walk the rest of the way. On the surface, there wasn''t anything incriminating about a flying carpet, but having a mode of transport might give people ideas.

    Tiresias was waiting for them on the other side of the river. His attention was divided between his bottle of wine and jangling keys in a delighted Ophelia¡¯s face. ¡°Look, birbantella, it''s the world¡¯s driest, landiest fish! How was your swim?¡± His voice was uncharacteristically cheerful, but characteristically slurred.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Mabel called back flatly. She felt it best to humour the telepath. ¡°The water¡¯s great.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Tiresias, as though remembering a chore, ¡°speaking of which.¡± He tossed a bag at Mabel, almost knocking her off her stone. ¡°Your lord and saviour told me to give you this.¡±

    Recovering her bearings, she looked inside the bag. ¡°Wet towels?¡±

    ¡°Thinks of everything, Windshear.¡±

    The children had to admit, she did. As they skipped their way back onto dry land, Tiresias looked at their faces. Their powers left a stigma on each of them. The psionically nearsighted couldn¡¯t make them out¡ªat least not consciously¡ªbut for him they were as clear and unremarkable as freckles or missing milk teeth. Like most superhumans he had seen, the girls¡¯ skin swirled with iridescence, forming patterns that danced on the border between organic and mechanical; tree roots with aspirations to circuitry. The boys¡¯ marks were a bit more distinctive. Elsewhere¡¯s forehead bore a calligraphic mark drawn in luminous green ink. Tiresias thought the symbol might be Oriental, but he wasn¡¯t actually interested enough to look into it. Maelstrom meanwhile appeared to simultaneously exist as ice, mist, water and flesh. None of those were what caught his attention, though:

    ¡°Going to show Laurie the new paint job?¡±

    The children all looked at one another, or more precisely, at the facepaint they still had on. They then leaped into the water as one, frantically trying to wash it off, the psychic and his young companion laughing all the while.

    ?

    Myriad spent the next week in a state of complete anxiety. It was almost worse than at McClare. There, the worst she had to fear was nothing changing. Now she expected every morning to awaken to  screams, or Lawrence waiting at the foot of her bed, cane in hand. It shamed her that she couldn¡¯t decide which idea inspired more dread.

    She wondered how Tiresias hadn¡¯t picked up on her fear. Sometimes, she wished he would. Then it would be out of her hands. It would be handled¡ªeven if it meant another beating. But maybe it was a good sign that the esper wasn¡¯t concerned. He¡¯d know if AU¡¯s warning would come to nothing, right? Unless he¡¯s in on it. Basil did say they were mates.

    She checked the haypile where she sequestered the gold pouch as often as she could, which wasn¡¯t nearly as much as she would have prefered, thanks to The Tempest auditions. She knew  AU could well have intended it as a weapons stockpile, but she still couldn¡¯t bring herself to get rid of it. What if they did end up having to run?

    She had to talk to someone, before the stress burned a hole in her stomach. She couldn¡¯t work up the steel to speak to Lawrence himself, and the idea of bringing it to Melusine was even scarier. ?ywie was infinitely more approachable, but there was the note, and that part she hadn¡¯t read the others¡­

    Eventually, she settled on Basilisk. Excusing herself from what distantly resembled a game of soccer, Myriad headed down to the nursery.

    For the sake of everyone else¡¯s good night¡¯s sleep, the youngest of the New Human Institute¡¯s students were housed in a separate building closer to the edge of the property. The adults took it in shifts looking after the infants. To Myriad¡¯s perpetual amusement the most frequent volunteer by a fair margin (after ?ywie, of course) was Tiresias.

    Or he might have been, until the unfortunate incident by the river. Since that day, Basilisk had kept almost completely to the nursery, to the exclusion of all his other duties. Therese Fletcher and Mrs Gillespie had all but taken over his classes, with Myriad being passed from teacher to teacher like an itinerant knight.

    The nursery smelt of baby powder, disinfectant, and stale milk, almost but not completely smothering the scent of sick. Myriad had been told that many mothers found the aroma pleasant. She suspected all the screaming made something in the brain rupture. The walls were painted with stars and planets, covering up a mural of Superman Lawrence had once begrudgingly tolerated.

    Having somehow managed to get Ophelia, Chorus, Chant and Choir to sleep at the same time, Basil was reading a maths book in his usual manner: very carefully. He got up when he saw Myriad enter, flashing her a forced smile. ¡°Miri! Thought you might have forgotten about me.¡± Although he was whispering, Basil still managed an impression of exuberance.

    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry,¡± Myriad whispered back.

    Basilisk chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s no problem, dear. You shouldn¡¯t be spending all your time with a geezer like me, anyway. You might pick up grown up words, like mortgage.¡±

    Myriad laughed uncomfortably.

    ¡°Something the matter?¡±

    ¡°Nah, everything¡¯s fine,¡± Myriad lied. ¡°Some of us were wondering when you¡¯d get back to maths.¡±

    ¡°Soon, soon. A man¡¯s entitled into a holiday now and then, isn¡¯t he? And it¡¯s good for the littlies to have a consistent face, now and again.¡±

    Myriad couldn¡¯t imagine what difference it made when they all lived in the same school, but she didn¡¯t dispute the idea. It sounded like something Basilisk needed to be true.

    ¡°How¡¯s the play going, by the way?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay. We finally got a Miranda.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    Myriad was finding it surprisingly hard to move the conversation towards Basil¡¯s supervillainous former friend. ¡°Stratogale.¡±

    Basilisk smiled to himself. ¡°She¡¯ll like that.¡±

    ¡°As long as she doesn¡¯t get any more fat,¡± said Myriad.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be nasty, Myriad. Back in my village, a girl didn¡¯t look good if they didn''t have a bit of a figure. Made them look rich. Actually, Miri, could I ask you a favour?¡±

    Myriad felt like this was the reverse of how these conversations were supposed to go.  ¡°I can try? What is it?¡±

    His smile had a trace of bashfulness. ¡°Could you maybe try steering Maelstrom into taking a part in the play? If Phantasmagoria doesn¡¯t mind, of course.¡±

    This only elicited confusion. ¡°But he¡¯s already part of the play. He¡¯s doing the waves and stuff.¡±

    ¡°I know, and believe me, could not be more proud, but I mean being a part of the cast. I think he¡¯d make a smashing Ariel.¡±

    Myriad tried to picture Maelstrom performing on stage. She imagined it would look much the same as if the roof sprung a link. ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t think he¡¯d go for it.¡±

    Basilisk grinned out the side of his mouth. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Maelstrom can be pretty gregarious if you catch him in the right moment.¡±

    Myriad remembered playing in the clouds with Maelstrom. He had seemed more at ease with himself. But this would be in front of the whole Institute, with Lawrence watching¡­ ¡°Um, Basil, are you sure that¡¯s really true?¡±

    The expression on Basil¡¯s face was one Myriad had rarely seen from the man. He looked angry. ¡°What are you saying, Miri?¡±

    She tried to phrase it like a therapist. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s the way you want Maelstrom to be, instead of how he is?¡±

    ¡°Are you saying that I don¡¯t know my son?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot you don¡¯t get to see.¡± Like secret trips to carnivals and encounters with probably evil witches.

    ¡°Myriad, you¡¯ve only know Maelstrom for a few months.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s different when you¡¯re a kid¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are you serious? You¡¯re telling me that you think you know my boy better than me because you¡¯re the same age?¡± There was a disdainful edge to Basil¡¯s voice Myriad would never have expected from him.

    The problem with trying to engage with a child on their level on a regular basis is that after a while they start to think it¡¯s a good idea for them to do the same. ¡°You only hang out with him in class!¡± Myriad shouted.

    One of the babies woke up and started wailing, the other three quickly joining them.

    ¡°I¡¯m-I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just go, Myriad,¡± Basil snapped while trying to quiet the screaming infants. ¡°Maybe you could get to know Maelstrom better.¡±

    She did not take his advice. Instead, she wandered out of the nursery, angry and shellshocked. Curled up under an out of the way tree, she cried confused tears. She wasn¡¯t concerned about anyone coming across her. Weeping fits were common enough at the New Human Institute that it was considered impolite to ask about them.

    Ugly, paranoid thoughts filled the girl¡¯s mind. He knows I don¡¯t like babies, maybe he¡¯s been hanging around them so much so I¡¯ll stay away¡­

    ¡°Oh, oh Myriad.¡±

    She was dimly conscious of Lawrence taking her hands pulling her to her feet. ¡°Chin up, girl,¡± he said. ¡°I know it can be rough going sometimes, but it¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    He knows, thought Myriad. Better this way. Hope he doesn¡¯t know the others were there, too. Maelstrom would die¡­

    Lawrence tilted her head up so she was looking at him. ¡°If it will help dry your eyes, I¡¯ve got some good news.¡±

    ¡°What news?¡± asked Myriad, sniffling.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been talking on the phone with Tim Valour¡ªthat¡¯s the headman at the DDHA, but try not to hold it against him¡ªand I¡¯ve convinced him to let me put on a little demonstration for the bigwigs over in Canberra.¡± He grinned proudly. ¡°I¡¯m told the Prime Minister will be in attendance. Now, obviously if I¡¯m to show the great and the good the merits of our little experiment, they¡¯ll need proof. So I¡¯ve decided to take you and Maelstrom along; if you¡¯re so inclined, of course.¡±

    ¡°Wait, Canberra?¡± said Myriad.

    ¡°Yes. I know, dreary little testament to the folly of planned cities, but we must go where we are needed.¡±

    ¡°How long would we be gone?¡±

    Lawrence ran his fingers through his beard. ¡°Hmm, I have some business I need to attend to while we¡¯re there, but all in all we shouldn¡¯t be gone more than a week.¡±

    ¡°...When would we leave?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got our flight booked for the Tuesday coming. You ever flown? No? Well, I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll prove more fascinating than our destination. You will be coming along, won¡¯t you?¡±

    Myriad put on some false cheer. ¡°Sure! Sounds like an adventure.¡±

    Lawrence smiled kindly. ¡°My child, you don¡¯t have to put up a front for me. I won¡¯t think any less of you for having butterflies in your stomach.¡± He began to walk back towards the farmstead. ¡°I¡¯ve already told Maelstrom, but I want to keep the announcement for dinner, so try and keep it under your hats!¡±

    Myriad sat back down beneath her tree, staring at some nondescript insect crawling painstakingly slow through the grass. She tightened in on herself. It¡¯ll happen while we¡¯re gone, she thought to herself. There¡¯ll be nowhere to come back to.

    ?

    Elsewhere lay in the dark, listening to the night-sounds. The crickets were quiet this time of year, leaving only the steady, out-of-synch breathing of his schoolmates and the space heater rumbling away like a friendly dragon. Winter had well and truly set in, with the long pyjamas and the thickest blankets brought out of storage. The days were getting intolerably short, though at least the children could still play by the light of ¨¥¨­s and Snapdragon¡¯s powers. It seemed the height of extravagance to Elsewhere that Lawrence could afford to constantly heat the dormitories as he did. Sometimes at home he¡¯d been forced to sleep in his parents¡¯ bed for warmth.

    By then most of the other children had settled into sleep, after an hour or so of whimpering and whispered conversation. By the standards of posthuman children, Elsewhere was an easy-sleeper. Most of his classmates suffered chronic nightmares. According to ?ywie, it was because of something the Physician called ¡°links¡±, which he didn¡¯t have. It was a silly thing to let make him feel like an outsider, but it did.

    He wasn¡¯t surprised Lawrence was taking Myriad to Canberra. It made sense. If you want people to be impressed with your school, show them your smartest student. He also wasn¡¯t surprised by the poorly concealed jealousy of the other children, especially from the older ones.

    Elsewhere understood, though. He couldn¡¯t help but feel a little angry at his friend, too. Myriad was the one constant note of familiarity in a still strange land¡ªand much more of a sibling to him than either of his brothers ever had time to be¡ªand she was leaving him alone. It was stupid and petty, he knew, but when had that ever stopped anyone?

    He loved her, deeply, but there was nothing revelatory about that. Their friendship was like the corner of the schoolyard they favoured: utterly comfortable and completely taken for granted. And it wasn¡¯t until Roberts that he realised how much he feared losing it. She was spending an awful amount of time with Maelstrom¡­

    It won¡¯t be so bad, he attempted to reassure himself. Mabel will need someone to talk to, and most of the other kids like me alright¡ªthat¡¯s new. And I can always send Miri¡ªOh. Oh. Ooooh.

    Elsewhere sat bolt upright, swearing at himself for not remembering the idea sooner. Allowing a trickle of power to flow through him cast a faint aura over the pencils and paper he had stashed in his drawer. Most children at the Institute didn¡¯t have much in the way of personal property, but Lawrence had given Elsewhere the stationary to help keep track of the play. Gathering them up, he padded as quietly as possible over to Myriad¡¯s hammock.

    ¡°Miri,¡±  he whispered excitedly, shaking her gently. ¡°Miri!¡±

    She woke with a gasp. A few glasses of water on bedside tables rattled, as though there was a small earthquake only they noticed. Thankfully, none of them shattered. She stared at Elsewhere with Maelstrom¡¯s eyes, like stray remnants of day sky in the dark. ¡°What¡¯s happening? Is someone¡ª¡±

    He put a finger to her mouth. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine. I just remembered something we should have done as soon as we got here.¡±

    Myriad¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What are you on about, Elsie?¡±

    He still rued the day that nickname popped into his friend¡¯s head, or whoever¡¯s head she got it from. ¡°Remember back at McClare.¡±

    Her fingers throbbed. ¡°I try not to,¡± she said, annoyed.

    ¡°Remember how I told you I was coming?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°I know, right?¡±

    ¡°I feel stupid.¡±

    ¡°Same. It¡¯d be easy. I got that letter to you, and I didn¡¯t even really know where you were. I could send a letter to the butcher¡¯s, and you could send yours to¡ªI don¡¯t know¡ªyour dad¡¯s office?¡±

    Myriad shook her head. ¡°Mags might see it first.¡±

    ¡°Mags?¡±

    ¡°Dad¡¯s secretary,¡± she explained.

    ¡°Oh¡­ does that matter? Is it illegal or something to teleport letters?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Feels like the sort of thing that might be.¡±

    Elsewhere shrugged. ¡°Well, you¡¯ll think of somewhere to put it. Do you have a torch or something?¡±

    Myriad pointed towards the ceiling.Throat singing Martians. A luminous, translucent red square appeared over the hammock. ¡°Why would you even ask that?¡±

    ¡°Oh shush. And move over.¡± He climbed into Myriad¡¯s hammock beside her. ¡°So, how do we start?¡±

    They lay there for what seemed like hours, agonizing over what to tell their parents. They could both have covered multiple pages solid black, but neither had the composure for more than a couple paragraphs each. Myriad offered to dictate for the both of them, but Elsewhere insisted on writing his own letter. Myriad¡¯s handwriting was certainly impeccable, but it had a tendency of changing styles frequently whenever she wrote something. He also had to correct her on one point.

    ¡°Don¡¯t use my new name, silly. They won¡¯t know who ¡°Elsewhere¡± is.¡±

    The girl laughed, realising she was almost about to sign her¡¯s as ¡°Myriad.¡± ¡°Right, right, boring old names it is.¡±

    Eventually, the two were content with what they had written, or at least as close to it as was possible. ¡°Do we-do we just send them off?¡± Myriad asked.

    Elsewhere thought about it. ¡°...Nah, wait a bit. It¡¯ll wake everyone up if we do it right now. And they¡¯ll all be asleep back home, anyway. ¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Okay.¡± A quick, tight hug. ¡°Thanks for letting me in on this. Now get out of my bed.¡±

    They both slept easier after that.

    ?

    Myriad stretched out in her first class seat, trying to tune out the stewardess''s pre-flight announcements and focus on her book. It was hard work. Tiresias had sold it to her as a story about a princess marrying a god, but it was turning out to mostly consist of her ugly sister being bitter about everything. She ignored the crash instructions. They unnerved her, and besides, if anything happened, she had Maelstrom¡¯s song playing next to her.

    Maelstrom gripped his armrests hard, as though they were already flying through turbulence. Neither child had been looking forward to their first plane ride. They were both ultimately country children, and this was the first time either of them had ever travelled outside Western Australia. It was worse for the boy. Myriad had at least been up and down the state in her time. Maelstrom was lucky if he made one new acquaintance in a year. He¡¯d tried unsuccessfully to convince Lawrence to let him be shipped as an ice sculpture. He would have at least avoided the stench of cigarettes that seemed to permeate everything from the carpets to the very steel of the Boeing 707. He reminded himself to get ?ywie to squeeze out his lungs when he got home.

    It didn¡¯t help that they were dressed to the eights and nines¡ªall stiff-collared shirts, hair clips, and starched, pastel dresses. Myriad had gotten quite accustomed to the simple, unisex clothing the Institute normally provided its students, and was especially put off by Lawrence¡¯s insistence that her hair be trimmed. The shoes were a bother, too: it¡¯d been weeks since she¡¯d worn any kind of footwear.

    And then there was AU, lurking always at the corner of her mind.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    ¡°Do you think it hurts?¡± Maelstrom couldn¡¯t get that Cordwainer Smith story out his head; the one where flying through space hurt worse than anything else.

    Myriad silently thanked her friend for the distraction. ¡°Think what hurts?¡±

    ¡°Flying.¡±

    Myriad looked at him funny. ¡°...No. Not unless you get deep vein thrombosis or something, but that¡¯s not terribly likely. Your ears might pop a bit from the pressure change, though.¡± She broke out laughing. ¡°Be funny if it did, though. Stratogale would be all, ¡®AAAAAAHHHH, I ENVY THE DEAD!¡¯.¡± She twisted and turned in her seat, waving her hands before noticing that Maelstrom wasn¡¯t laughing. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    A couple of rows behind them sat Lawrence and the other two adults he¡¯d chosen to accompany the group. He¡¯d thought it appropriate to bring one of the adult new humans and one of the baseline teachers. ?ywie was immediately ruled out; she rarely ever allowed herself to be away from the Institute for long. Melusine¡­ well, nobody needed to voice aloud why she wasn''t coming along, despite her protestations that Maelstrom would cope better if she did. The idea of Basilisk on a plane was too horrible to contemplate, so that left Tiresias to serve as the ambassador for his generation of posthumanity, an opportunity he seized upon eagerly. Anything to get out for a change.

    As for the human representative, the only real criteria Lawrence had in mind was ¡°not Mary Gillespie¡±, for he trusted no one better to keep things running in his absence. So, pretty much randomly, he had drafted Therese Fletcher, the somewhat drippy science teacher.

    Much as Therese thought it was an honour, she was of much the same mind as Maelstrom when it came to flying. And she had misjudged the dosage of her sedative.

    ¡°Don¡¯t fret, my dear,¡± said Lawrence, patting the teacher on the hand. ¡°Flying really is the safest way to travel. Statistically proven!¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Tiresias from the seat to her left, lighting another cigarette. The general shape of the futures he saw indicated plane travel would sooner or later become much less smoky, and much less comfortable, so he was trying to enjoy it while it lasted. ¡°I think the Flying Man said that when he caught that plane over the Atlantic.¡± He grinned, and turned to look Therese right in the eye. ¡°I hear he¡¯s a dish.¡±

    Therese shuddered a little.

    Lawrence glared at the psychic. ¡°And never mind him.¡±

    Minded or not, Tiresias kept talking. ¡°He was right, though. There aren¡¯t that many crashes a year. Most of the time, when anything happens, the plane just sort of disappears. Maybe the Flying Man takes the people on them and has them dust his undersea palace, or whatever it is he calls a house.¡±

    Lawrence smiled tiredly at the frightened woman. ¡°At least Qantas doesn¡¯t skimp on the drink.¡±

    Finally, the plane took off. Maelstrom clutched Myriad¡¯s hand tight as they felt the wheels part from the ground and the G-force sunk them deeper into their seats. Myriad thought it was like being on an elevator, only inclined, while Maelstrom was uncomfortably reminded of the only time he harangued Stratogale into giving him a ride.

    Their elevation wreaked havoc with their bundle of unusual senses. Beyond the mass of mediocre songs packed tight into the plane, Myriad was greeted by only a vast, resounding emptiness¡ªa candle floating adrift in a lonely sea. As uncanny as it felt, she was glad to find no one lurking in the clouds outside.

    For Maelstrom, it was a little less ominous, though still deeply strange. While they were of course surrounded by water vapour, apart from what was onboard the plane or bound up in living cells, there was very little liquid to be found, creating a strangely dry abundance of water. He couldn¡¯t help but absently prod and stir the clouds. Shaking his head, he opened the book his mother gave for the trip, a well-loved copy of Le Petit Prince. Melusine had insisted he read it in the original French, something Lawrence had not been slow to declare awfully quaint of her.  Maelstrom didn¡¯t mind, though. There was a certain pride to be found in multilingualism.

    ¡°Well, I must endure the presence of a few caterpillars if I wish to become acquainted with the butterflies.¡±

    ¡°Wanna swap?¡± Myriad asked.

    ¡°You finished yours already?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± she said with false enthusiasm.

    ¡°...How was it?¡±

    ¡°Really, really good.¡± She lied. ¡°Especially the elf bits.¡±

    Maelstrom smiled. ¡°Miri, I read that one ages ago. When did you realise the lion wasn¡¯t going to turn up?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°When she started going on about her castle¡¯s tiling. Kinda surprised when she started going on about Jesus at the end, but all this guy writes about is Jesus.¡±

    ¡°...Narnia was about Jesus? And wait, the God of the Mountain was Jesus? Jesus is married?¡±

    Myriad regarded the boy with something almost like awe. In that moment, she wasn¡¯t sure if Maelstrom had read all the wrong books, or all the right ones. Not eager right that second to try and explain the relationship between Christian allegory and Greek fairy tales, Myriad retreated back into her book, to try and figure out exactly what deformity the protagonist possessed.

    Soon after, Maelstrom felt a tap on his shoulder, along with a pleasant voice asking, ¡°Would either of you like some orange juice this morning?¡±

    He looked up at the air hostess, and immediately wished he hadn¡¯t when he saw her startled expression. Lawrence had told him to expect at least some shock at his eyes. He was surprised, though, to see the woman¡¯s initial surprise give way to what he thought was genuine wonder.

    A pretty, open faced young woman, as company policy dictated, the sky-blue clad hostess was examining Maelstrom¡¯s face with more open curiosity than was probably polite. Yet, right then, he found he welcomed it. ¡°Well look at those. How¡¯d you get eyes like them? They contacts?¡±

    Maelstrom shook his head. He¡¯d suggested¡ªmany times, in fact¡ªthat he wear the Physician¡¯s special contacts, at least for the flight, but Lawrence had held firm on him going undisguised. ¡°No, ma¡¯am.¡±

    The hostess smiled warmly. ¡°Well they¡¯re certainly a sight, I can tell you that. Can you tell me your name?¡±

    Maelstrom bit his lip. He was already more than a little surprised that this woman seemed to like his eyes, and he really didn¡¯t want to push it¡­ ¡°David,¡± he answered, pronouncing it French style. ¡°My name¡¯s David.¡±

    Myriad looked back up from her book, wondering where Maelstrom had gotten the pseudonym.

    ¡°Nice, solid name, that. So, orange juice for the both of you?¡±

    Maelstrom watched her go, as Myriad made inquiries as to the origin of the name he gave.

    ¡°Did you just make it up? Or do you use it in town and stuff?¡± She didn¡¯t bother whispering, thanks to the engine noise.

    Maelstrom only answer was continual, vague nodding, which didn¡¯t clear up much. Lawrence had prepared him for a lot on this trip. Fear, revulsion, resentment, gawking horror. Somehow, though, he missed honest fascination.

    They played Bye, Bye, Birdie during the flight. That was nice.

    ?

    When it came time to write a retrospective on the 20th century, many popular historians would cite the destruction of the world¡¯s nuclear arsenals by the Flying Man as the end of the Cold War. A self satisfied Zeus had stolen back Oppenheimer¡¯s fire from mankind: who could possibly give a damn for dueling economic systems and political philosophies after that? With the ascendance of the superhuman, old-style humanity could finally rally together against a common devil.

    Sir Timothy Valour would laugh at such a suggestion. A new player did not do away with the game. A new slight did not erase old grudges. That old war by proxy, that war of ideology, moonshots, chess, and Olympic medals still waged¡ªthere had merely been a slight reordering of things. Before, you had the West Bloc and the Warsaw Pact, and everyone else unfortunate enough to find themselves between the the two giants. Now, you still had the First World and the Second World, but both with one eye turned skywards at the Third Man.

    Cold spray in his greying hair pulled him from his musings, accompanied by shrill laughter. He shouted over the lawn, ¡°Oi! Tone it down a bit!¡±

    Maelstrom poked his head out from one of the twisting tunnels of water that rose out of Valour¡¯s swimming pool, flowing into each other before returning to their source. ¡°Sorry!¡± he yelled back before diving back in after the other shape that flitted through them. Valour was amazed they were able to cope with the frigid water, flecked with the first signs of snowfall, without even the benefit of bathing costumes, but then, he supposed, that was probably the least of what they could do. He wished it wasn¡¯t, to be honest. Then he wouldn¡¯t have had to sit outside minding his young guests in the below freezing weather.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that,¡± said Lawrence from his end of the garden table, all too solemnly. ¡°I¡¯ll have some words with them about this later.¡±

    Timothy sighed. ¡°It¡¯s no matter, Doctor, really.¡± He was glad to hear children playing, honestly. His own sons and daughters had long since grown up and left home, and he hadn¡¯t been present for as much of that process as he would have liked. It was good to see Maelstrom enjoying himself, too. He had feared the boy was composed entirely of nerve tissue till he showed him the pool.

    ¡°It¡¯s the principle of the thing. And thank you again for letting us stay for the duration.¡±

    ¡°To be frank, Lawrence, I was worried you wouldn¡¯t have been able to find a hotel willing to take three supers, two under the age of ten. I swear, Herbert, you¡¯d have an easier time travelling if you just didn¡¯t mention it!¡±

    The look on Lawrence¡¯s face was just short of outraged. ¡°Maelstrom and My¡ª¡± He caught himself. ¡°¡ªAllison are very well behaved.¡±

    Timothy gave his guest a pointed look. He was handsome, even as old age began to seep into his bones, but battered: his face nicked with dozens of small scars, his blue eyes war-weary. Those cartoons they made about him never included the scars. ¡°And if they weren¡¯t?¡±

    Lawrence knew the man had a point, but it was not something anyone halfway attached to a child in their care would ever want to admit about them. ¡°A disturbed baseline child can do unspeakable things with just a pair of craft scissors. Do we bar them from public spaces?¡±

    ¡°No, but we do take the scissors off them. Tell me, how do you manage that when the child has scissors for brains?¡±

    ¡°...That metaphor got away from you there, Tim?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t all have tutors growing up, Lawrence. I¡¯m just saying, the fear is understandable.¡±

    That sent the old Oxfordian into a long tirade on the comparative barbarity of the average rootstock human versus the typical superhuman. A lot of heartwarming anecdotes about the Institute¡¯s students that made Tim feel like he was in danger of developing diabetes. It was like his old divinity teacher had risen from the grave, with new objects of worship.

    The DDHA had been founded in a panic, the result of a government¡¯s fervent need to be seen doing something, even if they had no idea what. The asylums were a decidedly ineffective stopgap, able to contain only the weakest or most easily cowed supers. For a lot of them, it was more a trick of psychology than any real difficulty preventing their escape, like that Barnes boy Lawrence had taken on: there was a reason most of their inmates were children. It was a solution that only allayed the fears of the least informed members of the public, the ones who didn¡¯t know what a superhuman could really do. The situation wasn¡¯t helped by the fact nobody could decide if the administration of superhumans was a matter of military security, public hygiene, or wildlife management.

    Eventually, as people became accustomed to the chaos, parliament of course started arguing about what to replace it with. The first head of the DDHA¡ªa colourless unfortunate whose name Timothy couldn¡¯t even recall¡ªhad been forced to step down in order to recover from his burns and learn to trust suspension bridges again, courtesy of a disgruntled, floating employee calling himself the Hylothesist.

    ¡°Tim Valour will sort this out,¡± some cretin in the parliament chamber had doubtlessly declared. ¡°He knows how to handle these supers! He chews lead and spits bullets that hit their mark from the other side of the globe!¡±

    They were right in part. Not so much about the bullets¡ªhe wasn¡¯t even a terribly good shot. But he did know superhumans. Much of his career as an air pilot had been spent stalking through lairs covered from floor to ceiling in formulae and equations¡ªoften childishly, laughably flawed, yet still capable of producing workable anti-gravity¡ªpursued by clanking horrors, the malformed offspring of equal parts brilliance and mad, dejected bitterness. He had seen men fly long before Kennedy laid eyes on such a thing. The only reason he could still walk was because a little Polish girl had knitted his spine back together with a wish.

    He had also seen two wars. He had lost friends¡ªgood friends¡ªand had born witness to and committed what he would unhesitantly call atrocities. Military targets had a habit of nestling among civilians, and a bomb can exercise no judgement. And so Timothy Valour had accepted a knighthood for services rendered to King and Country, less than half of which were the public even allowed to know about, and entered the civil service: a well worn path for used-up war heroes tired of the smell of blood.

    He had been enjoying a productively obscure working retirement when he was called upon to take the reigns of the DDHA. And because he was a patriot, and because he was sure someone else would do it worse, he did. Now he had to find some way of phasing out the asylums before they produced a new generation of vengeful supervillains, without sending the public into a panic. And without letting loose someone who could cause another Circle¡¯s End.

    To his displeasure, it was looking like this would mean a lot of time spent dealing with Doctor Herbert Lawrence.

    ¡°And I can assure you, I¡¯d rather put my life in the hands of¡ª¡±

    The back sliding door opened. To Timothy¡¯s relief, one of the servants, the improbably named Mr. Thumps, stepped out onto the veranda, a tray carrying coffee and a couple of towels in his arms.

    Lawrence ceased his lecture. If there was one thing you could say about Mr. Thumps, it was that he demanded attention.

    He moved towards where the two men were sitting with a measured, deliberate pace. Seven feet tall, muscles churned beneath his suit like Volkswagens parking. If Lawrence or Timothy were to hazard a guess as to his lineage, both would have suggested he was Scandinavian. His blond hair and chiseled, expressionless features uncomfortably reminded Lawrence of a lot of posters he¡¯d seen during the War. It didn¡¯t help that the other servant he¡¯d seen looked like the same man, just with different hair colours.

    Mr. Thumps set the tray down on the table. ¡°Coffee, and towels for the children, sirs.¡±

    Lawrence knew intellectually that it was impossible for anyone to speak ¡°without an accent¡±, but that was the only way he could describe Mr. Thumps¡¯ mode of speech.  ¡°Thank you¡­ Thumps. If you don¡¯t mind me asking, where are Alberto and Therese?¡±

    ¡°Mrs Valour has taken Miss Fletcher and Mr. Moretti sightseeing, Doctor.¡±

    ¡°Alone?¡± asked Tim, concerned.

    ¡°No, sir. Mr. Jives is escorting them. Your wife wished me to inform you they would return by 5 0¡¯clock at the latest.¡±

    ¡°Ah, thank you, Thumps.¡±

    Mr. Thumps made a guttural sound in his throat as acknowledgement, before standing completely still. Valour knew from experience that he would continue standing there till he was either told to leave, or mold started growing on his suit.

    ¡°How about you go entertain the children?¡± he told the hulking servant.

    When Mr. Thumps had moved to the side of the pool, Lawrence burst out in his great booming laugh. ¡°Mr. Jives! Oh, John does know how to name them, doesn¡¯t he?¡±

    The DDHA chief pursed his lips. ¡°I have no idea what you might mean by that.¡±

    Still smiling, Lawrence asked, ¡°But did the Physician put you in touch with Mr. Thumps and Jives, Tim?¡±

    Timothy looked towards the pool. The children by then had let their tunnels collapse back into the pool, and were now simply drifting with the current they created. If you didn¡¯t look closely at their eyes, they could¡¯ve been mistaken for baseline children simply enjoying a swim. They both seemed bemused at the interloper looming over them.

    ¡°I have been ordered to entertain you,¡± Mr. Thumps said stoically.

    ¡°Yes. Yes he did,¡± Tim admitted.

    ¡°They do look rather similar,¡± Lawrence pointed out cheerfully.

    ¡°Must be related.¡±

    ¡°Different surnames.¡±

    ¡°Cousins, then.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Timothy, why do you play along? All it accomplishes is making him think people fall for it.¡± He glanced at his students, who were busy splashing Mr. Thumps to no response. He was like a guard in front of Buckingham Palace, except he never started screaming at the children to stop or cursed Lucille Ball¡¯s name. ¡°He once offered me the services of one of those¡­ let¡¯s call them men. I had to decline.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Lawrence smiled as he watched Mr. Thumps summersault for the children, his face still betraying no emotion or even exertion. He was surprisingly nimble for such a bulky creature. ¡°I worried the students might wear them out.¡± He slapped his lap, his expression becoming serious. ¡°Right, down to business. Is everything in place for the demonstration tommorow? That American super arrived?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s Vietnamese, actually,¡± Tim corrected him. ¡°Kh¨ª C?. Does some magic with plants. The Americans were using her as a defoliant to root out guerillas. Arrived a few nights before your lot. I¡¯m told she¡¯s very insistent on seeing a kangaroo while she¡¯s down here.¡±

    Lawrence frowned. ¡°Please, Tim, don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re letting the Americans have the last word on powers! Writing it all off as ¡®magic¡¯.¡± He pronounced the last word like it was four letters long.

    ¡°There¡¯s Pendergast. I¡¯ve seen his work in person. If anyone¡¯s ever done magic, it¡¯s him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Mr. Pendergast is a very powerful esper, and I¡¯m charitable enough to assume he believes he¡¯s some kind of magician, but magic is a word people use when they¡¯ve thrown up their hands and decided they can¡¯t be bothered trying to figure out how the world works.¡±

    Valour tried to resist rolling his eyes. ¡°Whatever the nature of Pendergast¡¯s powers, or any power for that matter, the Americans say this girl makes trees strangle Vietcong. They weren¡¯t eager to tell me anything more specific. Do you think Allison will be able to handle it? It¡¯s not as if she¡¯ll have an opportunity to practise.¡±

    ¡°If this Kh¨ª C? is competent in her powers, so will Allison.¡± Lawrence shook his head, tutting. ¡°Such a shame to see such wonders wasted on something as futile as war.¡±

    For a long time, Timothy Valour just looked at Lawrence. Then he laughed, more out of pity than anything like humour. ¡°Oh, Herbert, what do you think will happen if you impress people tomorrow? If Menzies decides to build a hundred New Human Institutes? That they¡¯ll just send all the super-tots to run around on a farm?¡± He looked sideways, grinning. ¡°Christ alive, am I talking about children or the family dog?¡±

    ¡°What are you saying, Tim?¡±

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is that the only way the taxpayer is putting up supers in some bucolic retreat is if they think they¡¯re getting something out of it. That¡¯s half the problem with the asylums: we¡¯re paying to keep the inmates fed and sheltered without getting any use out of them.  And when thousands of their boys are fighting and dying in some country they hadn¡¯t even heard of three years ago, I¡¯m sure you can guess what folks will be clamouring for.¡±

    Lawrence crossed his arms. ¡°Is that why you¡¯re doing this? So you can convince the powers that be to turn those two children into weapons.¡±

    ¡°No. I want to give them a chance to grow up into respected, well compensated public servants. I want a class of soldier that can claim any strategic resource without one more drop of blood spilled than is absolutely required. Most importantly, I want to make sure they have something more productive to do than knocking over gold mines!¡±

    The other man stiffened. ¡°That¡¯s not fair, Tim. I called your lot as soon as I had any idea what Chen was getting himself into.¡±

    ¡°Yes, and you were kind enough to lend us Fran?oise for the operation. Only cost us thousands of pounds in property damage.¡±

    ¡°That was not her fault.¡±

    ¡°So which of your students was it, then?¡±

    Lawrence sighed deeply. ¡°So this is the future of posthumanity: to be tools in the squabbles of their predecessors.¡±

    Timothy Valour looked back at the children. They were arguing about whether they should command Mr. Thumps to walk on his hands or throw them into the pool. Much as Timothy appreciated the children¡¯s presence, he preferred them to keep their distance. He was awkward with children, mostly from lack of practice, and he could barely bring himself to look these two in the eye. And it had nothing to do with their colour. ¡°You never had kids of your own, did you, Lawrence?¡±

    Lawrence had not. He had in fact actively avoided marriage or children, better to focus his energies on his students¡¯ well being. ¡°Not in the sense you mean, I¡¯m sure. Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°Just a thought,¡± Timothy replied. ¡°Just a thought.¡±

    ?

    Maelstrom and Myriad laid down wooden tracks across the floor of the guest bedroom, preparing to run an express railway through the shag carpeting. There were still enough pieces left in the cardboard box that they could imagine them eventually bridging the gap between the door and the closet, with enough leftover to turn the bed into an overhanging bridge. They would be sorely disappointed, but it was fun getting there.

    The children had been gently but firmly ordered to the room about half an hour earlier, after dinner and baths. They¡¯d thankfully been able to prove that personal transmutation meant that Mr. Thumps didn¡¯t need to wash the salt and chlorine out their hair. They didn¡¯t mind too much: while Timothy Valour didn¡¯t go out of his way to antagonise the children, he didn¡¯t make much effort to make himself approachable, and his wife looked at them like she expected the glorious new human revolution to start right there in her sitting room. The room had belonged to one of their daughters, and seemed to have been left untouched since she moved out. The pair had felt awkward in there at first, like they were playing in someone else¡¯s memory. Their rapidly approaching bedtime, however, and what awaited them in the morning, made them eager to squeeze in as much enjoyment as possible.

    And much to Myriad¡¯s joy, she had finally found another child who liked toy trains as much as she did.

    ¡°What¡¯d you think of Valour?¡± asked Maelstrom as he put together a track switch. ¡°He wasn¡¯t as¡­ hatey as I thought he¡¯d be.¡±

    Myriad frowned, trying to decide if it was better to put a curve along the bed leg or another straight piece. ¡°He¡¯s still the boss of the asylums. And he¡¯s more boring than his comics made him out to be. You ever read those?¡±

    Elsewhere had been quite fond of Tim Valour, the comic. His father had approved of them mostly on the basis that they were about an armyman of sorts. Myriad of course thought they were completely brainless, and only read them over her friend¡¯s shoulder so she knew what to tease him for.

    ¡°Nah. Lawrence says most comics are fascist. Though, Batman and Superman and all them never really seemed much like the people from Mels and Tiresias and ?ywie¡¯s stories.¡± Myriad looked frustrated at something, grabbing railroad pieces only to immediately discard them. ¡°Is something the matter, Miri?¡±

    She dropped the track piece in her hand, scowling. ¡°I can¡¯t stop thinking about all the things I could do with the others¡¯ songs. If Automata was here, I could make the train move on its own! And I don¡¯t know why we¡¯re being all polite with the bloke who had me, and Elsewhere, and hundreds and hundreds of other kids locked up, and why we need to put on a big show just to make the humans leave us alone, and the smokestack on the train is weird and-and¡­¡± She stopped herself before she blurted out what was really eating away at her.

    All Maelstrom could do in the face of outburst was nod slowly. ¡°I just don¡¯t want to embarrass Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°Is he the one who has to get up and dance for the prime minister tomorrow?¡±

    Maelstrom looked terrified. ¡°There¡¯s a dance? Lawrence didn¡¯t say I had to dance.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t. I was joking.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t sound like you were joking.¡±

    ¡°Angry joking.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not at you.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± He clambered on top of the bed, bouncing lightly. ¡°Floor is made of lava!¡±

    Myriad yelped like her feet were catching fire and flung herself onto the bed after him. For a few minutes they leapt between the few pieces of bedroom furniture Cassandra Valour had owned, giggling not very quietly. Part of the thrill of furniture hopping in any new environment is seeing how long you can get away with it before a grownup tells you to knock it off, or the old study-desk gives way. Maelstrom was better at it, having a more instinctive grasp that his body was ultimately replaceable.

    He was about to make a jump onto the armchair when he was blinded by a burst of green light. Shocked by the flash and the loud crack that filled the room, he tumbled onto the floor, badly twisting his ankle. He breathed sharply through his teeth, managing to hold back tears long enough for his features to fade into translucence and back.

    ¡°Mealy!¡± Myriad hopped down from the desk to her friend¡¯s side, the same time as she heard hurried footsteps.

    Tim Valour burst through the door. ¡°What¡¯s happening? I heard thunder.¡± He had his hand in his jacket.

    The children both looked at the man. ¡°Sorry, Sir Valour. Me and Miri got kind of excited. Don¡¯t know about the thunder.¡±

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s going to rain tonight?¡± suggested Myriad.

    Valour visibly relaxed, loosening his grip on the cold metal he had concealed. It was an ugly precaution, but there had already been one attempt on his life that year by some Perthite supervillain. If his experience with empowered humans had taught him one thing, it was that you trusted a few, and feared the rest. ¡°I hope not. It would put a damper on the show tomorrow.¡±

    He saw the apprehension in the children¡¯s eyes. ¡°Look, kids, don¡¯t get too worked up about tomorrow. The people who¡¯ll be watching, not a man Jack of them has ever seen a super in person, and most of what they¡¯ve heard is cops and robbers nonsense. Just do something pretty, don¡¯t boil their blood in their veins, and they¡¯ll be telling their grandkids about it till they die.¡± He made to leave. ¡°Lawrence wanted me to tell you bedtime in five minutes. And it¡¯s Mr. Valour, Maelstrom. Good night.¡±

    Once Mr. Valour was well and truly gone, Maelstrom rolled off the small, string bound bundle he had fallen on. There was a note tucked on top.

    ¡°What¡¯s Elsewhere say?¡± asked Maelstrom.

    Myriad read it out. ¡°Myriad, Maelstrom, got this to you in only two¡ªno three¡ªFOUR tries. Things are dead boring around here. We¡¯re thinking about letting Haunt be Stephano, but we¡¯re waiting for you two to get back to decide. Melusine cried at dinner last night. You¡¯d think she¡¯d be able to make that not happen if she really wanted. Basilisk¡¯s still in a state.¡± Myriad tried not to meet Maelstrom¡¯s eyes. She hadn¡¯t told him about her fight with his father. ¡°Anyways, we didn¡¯t know if you¡¯d have tele or anything over there, so me and Mabel got some old comics together. One of them¡¯s pretty terrible, but Mabel said she likes it because it¡¯s bad. No, I don¡¯t know how that works.¡± Myriad looked up from the note. ¡°She means she likes it ¡®ironically¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Sounds ghastly.¡±

    ¡°It is.¡± She finished up, ¡°Signed Elsewhere, production manager of the Watercolours, sans their Orchestra.¡± Myriad smiled. So AU hasn¡¯t turned up and killed everyone¡­ unless he made Elsewhere send this so Lawrence would come back. But why would he send comics?

    Undeterred and unaware of his friend¡¯s paranoia, Maelstrom severed the string with an icy, sharpened finger. There were three comics. One was an old Marvelman annual, another something called G-Men that he didn¡¯t recognise at all. Oddest of all was the Superman title. Well, Superman adjacent:

    ¡°Superman¡¯s girlfriend had her own comic?¡±

    ¡°Why not? She¡¯s a reporter, sure she gets up to stuff, give us a look.¡±

    Maelstrom held the comic up for inspection. The cover was dated to July of 1959: a relic of a time when the antics of superhumans were looked upon as a diversion for children, instead of good enough reason to found an entire new governmental department. Though whether the DDHA or its foreign counterparts ever had to deal with the groupies of superheroes being turned into babies and adopted by their romantic rivals was something Myriad and Maelstrom did not know.

    ¡°Okay, I need to see what this looks like.¡± Myriad flopped onto the bed, gesturing for Maelstrom to join her.

    As was typical of comics of the time, Superman¡¯s Girlfriend Lois Lane #10 actually contained three stories. The first was the one depicted on the cover,  an almost disappointingly straightforward tale about Lois Lane gradually regressing through childhood, followed by a bizarre romantic farce in Italy, and finally a story where Lois posed as a fortuneteller. They skimmed that one quickly. By the end of the issue, neither child had any idea what Superman saw in Lois Lane. On the other hand, they couldn¡¯t understand what she saw in him, either.

    ¡°Why¡¯s it called Superman¡¯s Girlfriend?¡± asked Maelstrom.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s what she is, silly.¡±

    ¡°Really? Because it seems like he hates this lady more than anyone has ever hated anyone.¡±

    ¡°Guess she can¡¯t take the hint¡­ do you think the Flying Man has a girlfriend?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Do you think he pulls tricks on her like this?¡±

    Myriad tried imagining the Flying Man blowing clouds away like birthday candles, or convincing mobsters that his woman could command spirits. She giggled. ¡®Nah. She¡¯d have killed him by now.¡±

    ¡°...He¡¯s the Flying Man.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯d find a way.¡±

    From their combined observation of teenage boys, they both concluded that if Marvelman actually existed, his ability to become a grown man would exclusively be used to get into pubs.

    ¡°You ever heard of G-Men?¡±

    Myriad searched her patchwork memory. ¡°No, but¡ªOh, Lawrence hates it. A lot.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Just read it and you¡¯ll find out.¡±

    As it turned out, the issue in question had only been released a couple of months prior. The cover was quite simple in composition: the silhouette of a little girl, surrounded by a profusion of black circles like poorly rendered sunspots. Cowering from her as bravely as possible were four dashing men in jumpsuits and one in a costume just dissimilar enough to the Crimson Comet that nobody had to pay him any royalties. A yellow caption box proclaimed someone to be ¡°THE MOST STARTLING SUPERVILLAIN OF ALL!¡±.

    Maelstrom regarded the book dubiously. ¡°Should we? I don¡¯t think it likes us very much.¡±

    ¡°What, you¡¯re worried we¡¯ll start hating us because the stupid comic said to?¡±

    He pouted. ¡°Fine, we¡¯ll read the dumb comic.¡±

    The art was okay. Flatter than the Lois Lane comic, and lacking the faint storybook charm of the Marvelman annual, but it did the job well enough. It opened with a single large panel dominating the top half of the page, which more or less replicated the cover image from a different angle. The main difference was the addition of dialogue. One barrel shaped man was shouting at the Crimson Comet lookalike¡ªtheir token new human, Myriad surmised¡ªto ¡°Take the shot, now!¡±

    ¡°Oh, they¡¯re gonna shoot a little girl,¡± said Maelstrom. ¡°This is a nice story.¡±

    Myriad thought it might¡¯ve been the first time she had ever heard the boy be sarcastic. ¡°You really need to read more of Mabel¡¯s stuff. They don¡¯t have the guts to kill a little kid.¡±

    The story proper opened with said little kid bounding into the kitchen to find her family all slumped face down on the table, unable to be roused, the narrator trying and failing to be enigmatic as to the cause of their predicament.

    ¡°She¡¯s radioactive, isn¡¯t she?¡± asked Maelstrom.

    ¡°Bet my life.¡±

    ¡°But does radiation work that way?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Got it.¡±

    It then cut to a nondescript, official looking set of rectangles, a sign out front proclaiming it the headquarters of the National Demi-Human Response Team. It could have been in any large city in Australia, America, or Great Britain. One of the quirks of Australian comic books at the time was their dogged refusal to admit they took place in their country of origin, even if they were never intended for foreign markets.

    Within, the National Demi-Human Response Team¡ªMyriad was sure no such thing existed¡ªmade weak banter with each other. A lot of it was aimed at their pet superhuman, the Red Raven. He seemed to possess a very watered down version of the Flying Man¡¯s most obvious powers: flight, enhanced strength, the general durability of an old boot. Myriad was amazed they dared joke about such a man right to his face, but he just smiled and took their jokes, till a klaxon blared and the team were summoned to what looked like nothing more than an enormous TV screen.

    ¡°Do you think they watch movies on that thing?¡±

    Myriad snorted. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    What followed was a long string of truly mad technobabble. Something about a genetic mutation of all things causing radioactive materials to build up in the bones and baby teeth of the girl from the prologue¡ªbecause of course a single twenty-six page story needed to be divided into discrete sections. It bore a slight resemblance to some actual science Myriad knew off, but substantially more demented. They then piled into their cutting edge spycraft and headed for the nameless hometown of Isabel ¡°Izzy¡± Thope.

    Myriad groaned.

    ¡°Did the DDHA have a plane like that?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Myriad answered, bitterly. ¡°Just a truck and a needle.¡±

    Despite Izzy¡¯s radiation evidently being invisible up to this point, it was a veritable light show by the time the G-Men arrived on the scene, as she wandered delirious down the mainstreet. There was a lot of false tension about whether or not they might have to execute the poor girl, though Myriad wasn¡¯t sure how they would make her any less radioactive fast enough to matter.

    The debate was rendered moot when one of the G-Men managed to slam some kind of contraption over Izzy¡¯s head. It looked like a colander covered in radio parts. There was a onomatopoeic crackle of electricity, and in defiance of all known laws of physics, the radiation vanished. And it must have been a very unique frequency, powerful enough to cause immediate harm at close range, but leaving no lasting effects once its source was cut off.

    Maelstrom frowned in confusion. ¡°Uh, what¡¯d he do?¡±

    As the next page revealed, the Red Raven had used their ¡°Cerebral Reorganizer¡± to burn out the ¡°anomalous brain element¡± that caused Isabel¡¯s radioactivity. Myriad didn¡¯t even know where to start with that one.

    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± asked Maelstrom.

    Myriad¡¯s fists were balled up. ¡°It means they gave her brain damage so she couldn¡¯t use her powers anymore,¡± she answered, flatly.

    ¡°Oh¡­ isn¡¯t that called a lobotomy?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    The wrap-up was insultingly brief. Everyone in town was none the worse the wear from hours of hard radiation exposure. Izzy was reunited with her parents, and she thanked the G-Men for making her like all the other boys and girls.

    The children stared at each other. Maelstrom spoke first, ¡°You don¡¯t think there¡¯s something that can do that, right?¡±

    Myriad shook her head. It was a nonsensical idea. If the DDHA could strip a new human¡¯s powers so casually, her stint in McClare¡¯s would have been much shorter. They would have simply held her down, attached electrodes or whatever they used, and burned out part of her brain. It¡¯d be like if they cut out her eardrums, though she would¡¯ve chosen that over losing the songs. Otherwise, it would be like if one day she could no longer see faces. It would be awful for Maelstrom, too, she knew. A world as dry and barren as hers would be quiet.

    They¡¯d be human. No, crippled posthumans. Neither of them had ever been human to start with.

    Finally, Myriad answered. ¡°No.¡± She wished Snapdragon was here, so she could burn the damn comic, or failing that, Elsewhere, so she could send it back to the writer with an itemised list of all the ways he was an idiot. She settled for throwing it under the bed where the sight of it could no longer offend her. ¡°If it did Elsewhere would be sending this stupid thing by post.¡±

    ¡°Then why¡¯d they have it happen?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re lazy and jealous. They don¡¯t want to admit we¡¯re better than them, so they tell themselves it¡¯s awful being like us, and that we¡¯d thank them if they took it away.¡±

    She was angry. Angry at Lawrence for dragging them all the way across the country to impress some old, crumbly baselines. Angry at AU for hanging a sword over their heads, and not having the decency to give her a date for when it would all fall down. Angry at herself for letting a cheap comic¡¯s dumb contrivances get to her. Angry at Mabel for sending it to her instead of another Lois Lane. Angry at Superman for not telling the stupid bint to leave him alone and go work for another paper. She reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep, night.¡±

    They both lay there in darkness, keenly aware that neither of them seemed quite at the point of sleep yet.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t make that name up.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°David. Mummy calls me that sometimes. Mabel, too, when nobody¡¯s around.¡±

    ¡°...Why?¡±

    His outline shrugged. ¡°Mum says it¡¯s good to have something that isn¡¯t all about the powers.¡±

    ¡°But what¡¯s it mean?¡±

    David considered the question. ¡°Whatever I want it to.¡±

    ¡°Why are you telling me this now?¡±

    ¡°Because we¡¯re friends¡­ I think.¡± He forced a giggle. ¡°And you¡¯ll know what to call me if they get the Cerebral Reorganizer on me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d blow their heads up before they did that.¡±

    Myriad¡¯s eyes hadn¡¯t acclimated to the dark enough to make out details, but she felt a smile coming from the boy. ¡°I know you would.¡±

    ¡°Night, David. Pleased to meet ya.¡±

    Given the context, David wasn¡¯t sure what name would be appropriate. It didn¡¯t really matter. She knew who she was. ¡°Night.¡±

    When the two of them awoke the next morning, they were slightly relieved to find the world was still wet, and people still had songs.

 Chapter Fourteen: The Miracle at Parliament House

    Before Parliament House, the great and the good had gathered in the snow to witness a miracle. It was scheduled for a quarter past one, with refreshments to be served immediately following. Politicians, captains of industry, their wives, journalists, a smattering of academics, and a couple of individuals with real power sat expectantly in white wooden chairs. Officially, they were there to take in a speech by an advocate for demi-human rights, followed by a demonstration of two of his students¡¯ abilities.

    Unofficially, they were there to watch children do magic.

    Kh¨ª C? was not what either Maelstrom or Myriad had been expecting. Lawrence and Timothy Valour had both described her as a young woman, but Myriad and Maelstrom had pictured her as just that: a woman. Instead, they were greeted by a teenage girl¡ªprobably no older than Ex-Nihilo or Stratogale, maybe a little younger¡ªsipping a champagne flute beneath the pole marquee that had been set up for the guests. The warm, red glow thrown off by the coals of an outdoor heater bathed her face and that of the strong featured, dark-suited man shadowing her. At first glance, Maelstrom thought he might be a relative of Thumps and Jives, but the suspicious look he shot the party as they filed inside put paid to that notion. There was a gun holstered at his side.

    ¡°Are you the group from the New Human Institute?¡±

    It was the first American accent Maelstrom and Myriad had ever heard in person. He sounded like television. Elsewhere would simply die of envy.

    Tiresias smirked. ¡°That we are. And you must be the man from U.N.C.L.E?¡±

    Therese waved, smiling nervously. ¡°Hello.¡±

    He ignored the sarcasm, and the woman. ¡°Agent Preston, Department of Psychonautics and Occultism, on attachment with¡ª¡±

    ¡°I think I can introduce myself, Harold,¡± cut in Kh¨ª C?. The South Vietnamese super got up from her chair and walked over to the children. Smartly dressed in a long belted coat the colour of burnt umber, the collar of a brightly coloured undershirt just barely visible beneath a thick woolen scarf, the young lady somehow gave the impression of being both overgrown and half-finished. Gerberas were scattered through her raven dark hair. Nobody¡ªbarring maybe Agent Preston¡ªcould picture her in a war zone. Her song was oddly organic, as though instead of being played with actual instruments, it was the work of an orchestra of piping, chittering insects.

    She shook Maelstrom and Myriad¡¯s hands in turn. ¡°Kh¨ª C?. Sorry for using the codename, Harold here insisted.¡± Her English was quite passable, although something odd happened whenever she spoke. It was like she said something, then half an instant later the universe decided she actually said something else.

    ¡°Security, ma¡¯am,¡± the spook said, a touch apologetically.

    ¡°Can¡¯t imagine what difference it makes.¡± Without prompting, she pulled a necklace from under her blouse: an amulet hung from the chain, consisting of a splinter of stone entwined in bronze. ¡°If you¡¯re wondering about the¡­ playback, blame it on this. Gift from Pendergast. Translation pendant, he called it. Told me it was hewn from the Tower of Babel or something. Works both ways, too.¡± She smiled wryly. ¡°From my end, you¡¯re all speaking Vietnamese.¡±

    In Vietnamese, Myriad asked, ¡°Can you tell I¡¯m really speaking it right now?¡±

    Kh¨ª C? tilted her head. ¡°...I can. Did I just teach you a language?¡±

    The girl nodded, not a little proudly. ¡°Yup! Got it from your song. First Asian language I¡¯ve learned, I think, aside from a little Chinese.¡± Oh, that was AU...

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered? And what song?¡±

    Lawrence beamed. ¡°Myriad¡ªforgive me if we use ¡®codenames¡¯ ourselves¡ªperceives people¡¯s skills and knowledge as music. I¡¯m told us baselines sound much the same, but supers are a mite more interesting.¡±

    ¡°...A person can be summed up with a song?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard some of them myself,¡± said Tiresias. ¡°I just take comfort that at least one child will hit legal drinking age with a healthy understanding of wine vintages.¡±

    Myriad went very still on hearing that the esper had read her mind at some point. Luckily for her, no one noticed.

    ¡°And it took her less than a minute to¡­ become everything I am?¡±

    ¡°Spectacular, isn¡¯t it?¡± said Lawrence, grinning.

    Kh¨ª C? downed the rest of her drink. It suddenly felt very necessary to be at least slightly tipsy.

    Therese looked on with some concern. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a little young for that?¡±

    ¡°Lady, I¡¯m on leave from being shot at by communists. I think I¡¯m entitled to a little drink.¡± She hiccuped slightly. ¡°And kangaroos!¡±

    Tiresias picked up a flute from the refreshments table. ¡°I¡¯ll drink to that!¡±

    ¡°Before, you do,¡± said Tim Valour as he passed through the tent flaps. ¡°I think we should talk shop.¡±

    ¡°Ah, Timothy,¡± said Lawrence jovially. ¡°Is everything set?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed, frowning. ¡°I still wish I could¡¯ve told them more precisely what you were planning.¡±

    Lawrence patted Maelstrom on the back. ¡°I trust my students to come up with something edifying. So long as they¡¯re provided with the adequate resources.¡±

    ¡°Water tanks have been placed in suitably discrete locations on the grounds. Not that the boy should need them in this weather.¡±

    Maelstrom hoped dearly that his teacher hadn¡¯t been talking him up.

    ¡°And me?¡± asked Myriad.

    ¡°Various seeds have been planted for your use,¡± explained Agent Preston. ¡°Rest assured, this winter of yours shouldn¡¯t impede you.¡±

    ¡°You should be able to tell what they¡¯ll grow up into, if you really can take on my power,¡± added Kh¨ª C?, with what Myriad thought might be a trace of distaste in her voice. Like she was hoping it couldn¡¯t be done. Nodding, a patch of dandelions sprouted at the child¡¯s feet.

    Therese cocked an eyebrow. ¡°How¡¯d you ever get that approved? I mean, no offense, Maelstrom, but water dries up. Plants seem a bit more¡­ permanent.¡±

    Maelstrom honesty wondered how he could be offended by that.

    Tiresias grinned, his index and pointer fingers pressing on his temples in the universally recognised psionic gesture. ¡°He convinced the maintenance people that it was cheaper than hiring a landscaper!¡±

    Timothy glared at the esper. ¡°Have you been reading my mind, Moretti? There¡¯s classified information in here!¡± he almost growled.

    ¡°Because that¡¯s going to make me less inclined to poke around there.¡±

    Lawrence made to chastise Tiresias, but Valour threw a hand up. ¡°It¡¯s for your own good, lad,¡± he warned. ¡°There¡¯s things in my head that you don¡¯t want to let the light fall on.¡±

    ¡°My hometown was run by blackshirts, old man. I¡¯ve seen plenty.¡±

    Timothy folded his arms. ¡°Then go ahead, my boy.¡±

    Tiresias smirked. Then he suddenly looked acutely queasy. ¡°Oh, God.¡± He stumbled backwards into the table behind him, almost knocking it over. ¡°How are you still alive?¡±

    Tim Valour allowed himself the ghost of a smile. ¡°Who says I am? Miss Fletcher, will you do me the favour of helping Mr. Moretti find his seat?¡±

    The DDHA head and the young teacher hoisted up the woozy psychic between them, leading him outside.

    Over his shoulder, Tim said, ¡°We¡¯re on in five, Lawrence. Me and  Kh¨ª C? soften them up, you give your spiel, and you two¡±¡ªHe pointed at the children¡ª¡°come out and do your thing, so keep an ear out for your cue. Oh, and good luck.¡±

    Agent Preston and Kh¨ª C? both made to follow them, the former gently supporting the latter by the arm. It amazed Preston that an almost deific power could be such a lightweight with her booze. But then, she was young. ¡°We¡¯ll leave you to it. Hope we can speak more later.¡±

    The other adults gone, the children both looked up at Lawrence. He had wished to avoid dressing them up like circus performers, but it was hard to resist a little symbolism in their outfits. Maelstrom had been clothed in the shades of Aegean blue and electric lime his mother was partial towards, and Therese had found him a set of pearl cufflinks out in the city. And as fond as Mary Gillespie was of communion white for the namings, the head teacher thought it far too severe a colour for a little girl¡ªand black was simply out of the question. Instead, Myriad was wearing a cotton floral dress for the occasion, all pinks and reds and bright purples. She had to admit, it did make her feel pretty.

    ¡°What are we supposed to do out there?¡± she asked plaintively.

    ¡°And is there stuff we¡¯re not supposed to do?¡±

    Lawrence chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m sure you two have enough common sense not to try anything potentially catastrophic. And there¡¯s little you could do that wouldn¡¯t impress.¡± He started for the outside. ¡°Just pretend you¡¯re playing, you¡¯ll be fine,¡± he finished, not looking back.

    Maelstrom and Myriad looked at each other. That advice put them at ease about as as much as an alien anthropologist telling a grown up he only wishes to observe human mating practises.  Alone at last, they got down to panicking in earnest.

    ¡°Seriously, what¡¯s the plan?¡± cried Maelstrom, raking his fingernails over the backs of his hands.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Myriad spat back. The most experience the girl had performing for an audience was her brief turn as the Virgin Mary in Harvey Primary¡¯s 1964 nativity play, and the less said about that debacle the better. ¡°You and Mabel do this sorta thing all the time! Don¡¯t you have any ideas?¡±

    There was the sharpening whine of a microphone being adjusted. Preambles and platitudes from a man who, while confident and convicted, did not expect his career to involve many speeches.

    ¡°We never did anything in front of strangers!¡± And we usually knew they weren¡¯t gonna like us to start with¡­ Maelstrom¡¯s voice was quavering, barely holding back sobs. ¡°And Mabel was the one who came up with stuff! We¡¯re gonna ruin everything!¡±

    Myriad grabbed her friend¡¯s shoulders. Much as she liked the water-sprite, Maelstrom was wobbly even at the best of times, and this was not the time for a breakdown. Holding his gaze, she said, ¡°It¡¯ll be okay, David. We¡¯re new humans.¡± She tried to think of what Lawrence might say. ¡°The worst we can do is still better than the best thing they¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    ¡°¡ªhostile footing with our demi-human population not only needlessly ties up funds and manpower, it also puts our regulatory forces at unprecedented risk¡ª¡±

    It wasn¡¯t working, and no matter what Myriad tried, David was looking paler and paler by the second. She wondered if using his¡­ old human name, she supposed, was such a good idea after all.

    ¡°How are we doing in here?¡± Came the kind, unfamiliar voice of some staffer from the exit. ¡°You two are on in about two minutes, okay?¡±

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Yeah, okay,¡± Myriad replied absently, her focus still on Maelstrom, who had begun to look distinctly ill. ¡°Hey, David, you¡¯re just gonna be playing with me, okay? Just playing in the water, like we did back home, alright?¡±

    ¡°¡ªthey not Australian children, also?¡±

    The boy gave her a feverish little nod, but the look of panic on his face remained unchanged. Myriad sighed, and moved away from him for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of the Vietnamese girl¡¯s performance. She allowed herself to peek out, just for a moment, before pulling her head back inside. It looked like the show was already over, the stage surrounded by a thick bracket of apple trees. Trees that had most definitely not been there a few minutes ago.

    ¡°¡ªHope this demonstrates to you all with some degree of finality, the many and sundry practical applications for such powers, in war, construction, and even simple agriculture. With these demi-humans¡ªappropriately trained and controlled, of course¡ªon our side, the potential is enormous. Don¡¯t hesitate to sample some apples, by the way. I¡¯m told they¡¯re quite delicious. But first, our next demonstration, sourced from a facility in Western Australia, the New Hu-¡±

    She pulled back away, thoughts tumbling around in her head in a disorganized heap, and looked back to David. He was crying, mumbling quietly to himself as he did.

    ¡°David!¡± Myriad groaned, looking around wildly for something she could use to calm the boy. A small table caught her eye, littered with a smattering of preshow refreshments for the stage workers and other such performers. She darted over to it, wrapping Maelstrom¡¯s song around herself and working intensely for a few moments, before returning to the boy. Quite unceremoniously, she shoved her freshly made snowball, a slurry of frozen water and orange juice, into his face, forcing a good dollop into his mouth. David yelped, eyes darting to her face in confusion and surprise. She didn¡¯t stop, and instead started working bits of her makeshift snow cone up into her friend¡¯s nose. He shuddered with discomfort, his whole body seeming to tense for a second, before he sneezed, loud and undignified, spraying the grass with citrus scented sludge.

    ¡°David,¡± Myriad hissed, grabbing the boy by the shoulders. ¡°Nothing¡¯s changed, okay? It¡¯s you and me, and we are gonna go out there and play in the water, just like we always do. And if we mess it up, if it all goes wrong, then I guess it just means the world wasn¡¯t ready to see us yet, okay?¡±

    ¡°B-buh,¡± David tried to respond, staring at her, ¡°but what about Lawrence and M-mum and everyone who needs this!?¡±

    ¡°They aren¡¯t real right now, David,¡± she ordered, trying to force it to be true by sheer force of will. ¡°Right now it¡¯s just you and me playing with the water and nothing else matters, okay? Nothing else.¡±

    Maelstrom shuddered, absently licking a lump of orange snow from his lip. He looked up at her, took a deep breath, swallowed, and nodded.

    ¡°Good,¡± Myriad sighed, relieved. ¡°Let¡¯s think. What do we have to work with?¡± As she spoke, she moved back over to the refreshments table, tossing Maelstrom a glass of water, with which he began to wash the juice from himself.

    ¡°Well,¡± he pondered, ¡°We have my powers, and Khi Cu¡¯s, and Tiresias¡¯, I guess.¡±

    Myriad thought about it, then shook her head. While she knew from unfortunate experience that Tiresias could project images onto the mind¡¯s eye, she had yet to sample his powers, and hoped she wouldn¡¯t need to. She didn¡¯t expect performing would be any less daunting with their audience¡¯s every thought slamming against her skull. Not only that, she suspected a lot of the telepath¡¯s demeanor was a direct result of his abilities; and she was far too young for wine and clove cigarettes.

    ¡°Not Tiresias,¡± she muttered. ¡°There¡¯s cameras out there. I don¡¯t think anything I made them see would show up in photos.¡±

    ¡°R-right,¡±

    Lawrence had taken over from Timothy Valour by then, but the children hadn¡¯t been paying attention. They had mostly heard it all before over many a breakfast. At least until they heard their names called:

    ¡°And now, Maelstrom and Myriad.¡±

    David went as still as he could while still being flesh and blood. He was well beyond panic.

    Myriad took his hand, smiling through her own fear. ¡°Watercolours on tour?¡±

    He nodded uneasily.

    The two children walked out into the cold, empty air, the thick carpet of snow going from the consistency of flour to crushed ice beneath their feet. Neither of them had ever seen snow in person before, and while the adults had mentioned the possibility, they hadn¡¯t imagined such a complete powdering of the capitol. It was as if the Americans had brought their winter with them, three or four months early.

    The snow simultaneously comforted and intimidated David. The abundance of water, even in a somewhat unfamiliar form was reassuring, yes, but here was nature replicating one of Melusine¡¯s parlour tricks without permission. The boy tried to mimic his mother¡¯s usual confidence and self-possession as they walked towards the stage. When the crowd caught sight of the children, they were met with with polite, anticipatory applause, which was of little comfort to Maelstrom. It made him feel like he now owed them something.

    Myriad kept ahold of her friend¡¯s hand; partly in an attempt to keep him calm, partly in case he tried pulling a runner. ¡°Me first, okay?¡±

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t argue.

    The chill was hitting Myriad far harder than her friend. As it turned out, Kh¨ª C? had no more resistance to the cold than any baseline. What she did have was a whole new complex of exotic senses for Myriad to adjust to. She could feel every plant for over a fifth of a mile clinging to the skin of the world. She felt like an ant inching its way across the body of a somnolent giant as it slept away the winter, conserving all it could while dreaming of spring. She could sense the warmth of seeds buried beneath the earth, waiting for either the weather to turn or for her to rouse them. When she looked at the apple trees Kh¨ª C? had brought forth, she knew they would always be verdant, until there was no sun at all to shine down on them, and maybe even beyond that.

    Timothy, Mr. Thumps and Lawrence were waiting on stage, Lawrence with an arm held out to the two as if presenting a new car. ¡°Are you two ready to show us what you can do?¡±

    Myriad looked out over the audience. Robert Menzies and his wife Pattie sat in the middle of the front row, between Valerie ¡°Val¡± Valour (¡°Now where¡¯s my comic?¡± she¡¯d always say at parties) and Khi Cu¡¯s official host during her sojourn in the country: the bespeckled US ambassador Edward A. Clark. For the first time in her short life, Myriad honestly envied Fred Barnes. He would know just what to do faced with these men of influence who had so thoughtlessly strayed from the newspapers in which they belonged. It would¡¯ve involved a lot of shouting and impeccably aimed spittle, but he would have done it without hesitation or regret.

    The audience looked out and saw a little girl and boy, each dressed in what would appear to have been their Sunday best¡ªif they were Swiss Guards at the Vatican. The little girl paused, glanced back at her companion, and turned to face the crowd. She stepped up to the microphone, standing on her toes trying to reach the receiver. Without instruction, Mr. Thumps lowered it to her height, which elicited some chuckles from the audience.

    The girl tapped the microphone, as you do, eliciting a small crackle of static. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯m gonna need you all to follow me and Maelstrom.¡± Offering no further explanation, she strode across the stage, descended the stairs on the left side, and strolled through the snow down towards Lake Burley Griffin, as though the company of her audience was more a pleasant possibility than a strict requirement. Maelstrom followed, trying his best to look like he knew what his friend was doing.

    Timothy and Lawrence glanced at one another. The Oxfordian shrugged, which for him was a particularly seismic movement. They both hurried after the children, Tim Valour taking a moment to bend down and speak into the microphone, ¡°Well, you heard the girl.¡±

    With trepidation, the crowd rose from their seats, following the children down to the chopping, slate waters of the artificial lake. Some did so with difficulty, being at an age where any walking is preferably scheduled far in advance. They muttered amongst themselves about the presumption of it all, wondering darkly if the rural headteacher needed to exercise a stronger hand on his students.

    The Prime Minister, for his part, spurred his peers across the smothered grass. ¡°Keep apace, fellas! Surely we¡¯re not averse to a touch of exercise?¡±

    Mrs Valour caught up to her husband, holding the hem of her dress so it didn¡¯t drag in the snow. ¡°Tim, was this planned?¡±

    Timothy looked at his wife. One of the few advantages of his new vocation was that he was practically mandated to drag Valerie to all kinds of functions and events. He¡¯d had quite his fill of time away from his wife during the wars. Still, she had never been comfortable with the stranger details of his life. She rarely even abided stories from the old days. ¡°Well, the ¡®plan¡¯ was for those two to do something impressive. I¡¯d say a pair of eight year olds ordering the political elite around qualifies. Anything more is just a bonus.¡±

    Valerie gave him a sharp glance. ¡°I doubt our elected representatives will see it that way. Do you have any idea what those children are going to do?¡±

    Timothy looked out at Maelstrom and Myriad. The two of them were well ahead of their audience, nobody daring to close the distance between them. They were walking with the casual, loping grace of children at ease, cutting through the snow as if it were fog, conversing too low for any of the adults to hear. You might have thought they had forgotten the cohort of politic-men, reporters, business moguls and professional wives trudging behind them.

    Tim thought he saw Myriad look back at the crowd. It took him a moment to puzzle out the expression that graced her face. Fear? Anger? Disdain?

    No¡ªindifference. Just checking to see if the humans were still following them.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure whatever game they decide to play will be interesting to watch.¡±

    The children stopped at the edge of the water. After all, it would have been impolite to go where the crowd behind them could not follow. Myriad raised a hand, and there was no question of anyone coming any closer. Maelstrom regarded the lake with something that might have been longing. The girl was digging into the frozen dirt with her foot.

    A newsman standing close to Lawrence said, ¡°Well, either you¡¯ve taught these kids the value of suspense, or we¡¯ve caught them flat footed.¡±

    Wordlessly, the two children turned to face the watching crowd. It was hard to make out, but some of the keener eyed among their audience thought that perhaps their eyes shone with a faint Cherenkov blue. All was silence as the two groups gazed at one another. The snow continued to fall gently all around them, first a little harder, then a lot harder, growing and growing until they could barely see more than a foot in front of their own faces. For a few moments, all that anyone could see were four tiny points of blue light, glowing softly in the distance. Then, all at once, the snowfall stopped. In mid air. The snow remained exactly where it was, hanging in the air like time itself had succumbed to winter.

    Far ahead of the gathered crowd of the most powerful, influential men Australia had to offer, the two children had reemerged. Despite the biting cold and their small frames, both children looked utterly comfortable.

    Maelstrom (most of the crowded guessed he was an Aborigine, but none of them thought it was an exact fit) stepped forward, shrugged off his jacket, and deposited it, neatly folded, on the snow covered ground. With that, he stepped out onto the perfect, unblemished patch of snow that separated them from their audience, but his steps left no mark and his feet failed to sink even an inch into the fine powder.

    The boy gave his audience a polite bow, raised his arms to either side, and began to dance, his body shifting gently over the snow like a skater. He moved like water. He pushed off from the floor in the tiniest of leaps, and executed a gentle pirouette through the air. In the sudden clarity of the air, many caught the strange serenity of his face, others, more attentive, saw that his eyes were closed. Then Myriad began to move and in an instant all eyes were drawn to her.

    She, like her partner, took a small step forwards, and gave a small bow¡ªnot a curtsey, but a bow¡ªbefore raising her arms to her sides as Maelstorm had. All around the crowd the snow began to shift and clear, eventually compacting itself into a formation of chairs, each made from solid ice. The gathered men and women took their seats reluctantly, and most of them gave the seats a cautionary poke before sitting down.

    ¡°Wonderful,¡± said Tiresias, still recovering from his glimpse inside the DDHA chief¡¯s head. ¡°She makes us get up out of our chairs and drags us through the snow, so she can make us sit on ice. Real improvement there.¡±

    Though clearly audible in the utter silence, Tiresias¡¯ words were largely ignored by those assembled, as the children before them held all of their focus. Myriad gave the tiniest flick of her outstretched wrist, and the patch of snow upon which Maelstrom was dancing began to shift and shimmer, before erupting upwards in a plume of motion, disturbing the otherwise utter stillness of the scene beyond the dancing boy. In the center of the plume, a figure slowly began to form, about the height of the two children, but composed of pure, crystalline ice. It was a girl, but oddly for a sculpture, not an idealized one. Her features were not slight or refined, and they were just a little on the side of chubby. Perched on her nose were a pair of frost-formed horn rimmed glasses.

    Maelstrom came to a halt as he saw the statue form, slowly drifting towards her, his feet barely even seeming to touch the snow below. His partner gave another little flick of her wrist, and the chubby little statue raised a hand to the boy, offering a dance. Surprisingly enough, the boy gave a start, his serenity breaking in favour of a newfound awkwardness.

    Boy and statue began to dance together, slowly at first, Maelstrom stumbling oddly with every few steps, for which the sculpture covered expertly. Slowly he grew used to the steps, and the two began to speed up ever so slightly, their steps taking them easily to the boundaries of the snow to either side until, with a look of pure joy upon his face, the boy came to a stop. The statue pulled him in for a hug, before slowly sinking once more into the snow.

    The boy returned to Myriad¡¯s side, retrieving his jacket from where it lay folded on the ground and, as one, the two turned away from the audience, each extending a hand into the thick fog that separated the scene from the rest of the world. At their will, the shroud began to clear. In its place, suffice to say, stood a miracle.

    It was obvious that the children had led them to the banks of the lake with the intent of using the muddy water for some display or another. What was surprising was that the water was no longer muddy. It was now clear, so clear in fact, that the eye could see to the very bottom of it with ease. The two children stepped easily out onto the water¡¯s surface, much to the surprise of anyone who had, for some damn fool reason, been expecting them to sink. The moment the first foot struck the water¡¯s surface, a ripple began to spread across the lake, and the small waves that perpetually rocked their way across the lake were stilled upon contact with it.

    The two young demigods turned their attention back to the gathered humans, and, in an eerie synchrony, raised their hands to beckon them forwards. The snow upon which Maelstrom had been dancing parted, like the red sea itself, and the first of the politicians, practically mesmerized by what he had seen, rose from his chair and stepped forwards.

    Once the entirety of the crowd had gathered around them, leaving perhaps a metre of space as an unspoken gesture of either respect or fear, Myriad slipped a hand in her pocket, letting out a mumbled little curse as she fumbled inside it, then checked her other pocket and gave a little grunt of satisfaction. For a moment, her eyes lost their strange blue luminescence, returning to their usual hazel, and she put her hand to the ground, placing whatever she had pulled from her dress on the icy soil. The child then beckoned the ground with her hands, and, strangely enough, the ground complied. Roots began to grow with startling speed through the frozen earth, a tiny smattering of saplings sprouting from it. These roots twisted upwards from the ground, shifting and winding together until they began to take on a form some of the watching crowd recognized. Soon enough, the first of the dinghies was completed, and the bravest of the humans took their seats upon it. Then the second, and the third.

    The children stepped calmly out onto the surface of the lake proper, the fifteen boats pulling their audience along behind them at a respectful distance that was entirely not of their choosing. When they reached the centre of the lake, Myriad leaned in to whisper something into Maelstrom¡¯s ear, and he nodded. They stopped walking, the boats surging forwards and spacing themselves out evenly around them. Maelstrom stooped down, his hand dropping below the surface of the water for a few moments, and the audience let out a muffled gasp as his form became that of solid, implacable ice. It didn¡¯t seem to impede him in the slightest, and he withdrew his hand, now clutching a long, slender wand, hewn from ice like glass. With a degree of nervousness, the boy strode across the water to the third boat, upon which, among others, sat the perplexed form of Robert Menzies. The little boy extended a hand, holding out the wand to the confused Prime Minister who, after a moment of uncertainty, took it from him.

    For several moments, nothing happened. All eyes staring towards the boy statue and the most powerful man in Australia. The boy gave an awkward little gesture towards the water with a hand and, in a voice like a thousand wind chimes ringing all at once, distorted perhaps by the ice that was his form, asked:

    ¡°Well, wanna try it out?¡±

    Menzies glanced down at the wand, then, with a shrug, gave it a little flick. About twenty feet away, the water responded with a little splash. Of all the reactions he could have given, the Prime Minister laughed, a surprised sound, growing into a full, chortling guffaw. He gave the wand another, slightly more confident flick, and the water flowed smoothly in response, one or two of the nearby boats rocking slightly on the disturbed surface. Menzies stood, grinning foolishly in spite of himself, and pointed the wand at the surface of the lake, before directing it up towards the sky. A great pillar of ice rose up from the water¡¯s surface, looming ten, twenty, thirty feet up into the air, before coming to a halt.

    Menzies cackled, bringing the wand up to his shoulder and swiping it wildly to the side. The great monolith of ice shattered at its midsection, massive chunks of it showering down into the still water with, one had to assume, a very intentional set of satisfying splashes. The ice boy giggled. Or rather, the water around him vibrated in a way reminiscent of giggling, while his features remained completely fixed.

    ¡°It¡¯s fun, huh?¡± Maelstrom asked in that same, utterly alien voice. The Prime Minister nodded, his face split by a wide grin.

    With another faint laugh, the boy knelt back down towards the water, producing another wand, and offering it to Menzies¡¯ wife. On the boat opposite, Doctor Lawrence was receiving his wand from the girl. Within a few minutes, all present were similarly armed¡ªeach wand personalised according to Maelstrom¡¯s whims¡ªand the two small gods once more stood in the centre of the ring. Myriad, a sharp grin on her face, turned towards the good doctor and flicked her wrist at him. A small spout of water leapt up from the surface of the lake and impacted against Lawrence¡¯s face. It was surprisingly warm.

    ¡°Water fight!¡± she said with a smile.

    Lawrence let out a laugh that sounded more like a foghorn, and flicked his wand back at her. A great plume of water erupted from the lake beside her, covering the little girl from head to toe.

    ¡°Eep!¡± She yelped, before prodding her frozen partner in the side. ¡°Maelstrom, too hard!¡±

    His only response came in the form of another splash, dousing her yet again.

    It was Khi Cu who set the real fight going, directing her own wand towards Valerie Valour, and causing a wave powerful enough to rock the boat on which her whole party sat. From there, it wasn¡¯t long at all before the majority of the Australian parliament was fighting amongst themselves like children with the wands.

    Menzies scored one or two very satisfying hits on a few of the more irritating backbenchers. Almost as frequent as the sounds of splashing were the flashes of cameras, as journos tried desperately to capture the action.

    Eventually, Myriad cleared her throat. ¡°If we¡¯re ready to head back to land, we can show you all what it feels like to walk on water.¡±

    It took a little while for anyone to try. Eventually, though, Therese Fletcher swung her legs over the side of her dinghy, and after an agonizing moment of hesitation, lowered herself¡ªeyes screwed shut¡ªdown onto the water. When it registered that she hadn¡¯t in fact fallen through the surface, she laughed, almost hysterically. She leaned down, tapping the surface of the water with a finger. A single ripple shifted through the water all around her in a perfect circle. She began to walk forward, cautiously at first, then at a great stride, head held high. She wondered, privately, if this was how Melusine felt.

    Soon, the two children were leading a parade back to the shore. As they drew nearer, trees started to erupt from the soil near the lakeside, like great, bark covered fingers straining to reach the grey sky. Lebanese cedar and cork pine hurried through childhood, weaving together as Myriad¡ªmuch to Khi Cu¡¯s dismay¡ªdemanded they contort themselves to her design. The result was a living imitation of a gothic cathedral in miniature, like some strange Christian tribute to a forgotten nature god. A number of unnaturally bent tree trunks split from the cathedral''s entrance like great wooden tongues, meeting to form a jetty on the lake.

    There was little question as to where the rest of the function was to be held.

 Chapter Fifteen: Waters Clear and Dark

    The workmen were quick to move the coal heaters, drinks, and refreshments down to what people quickly started calling the boathouse. Nobody wanted to tell their grandchildren that after riding in watercraft spawned from the earth itself and commanding the elements with borrowed divinity, they chose to sip champagne under a tent instead of the living cathedral created through sheer force of will. And of course, everyone was eager to congratulate its architect.

    Myriad had basked in the attention at first. It was like her birthday, first holy communion, and confirmation had all come at once. For one halcyon moment, she and Maelstrom had bridged the gap between human and superhuman, and shown some of the most influential men in the country that their kind weren¡¯t all fiends like Redcap or victims of their own powers like Isabelle Thope. Timothy Valour had even congratulated them, in the first unabashed display of enthusiasm the children had witnessed from the man, which was like a match in a blizzard compared to Lawrence¡¯s reaction.

    Her patience had started to thin when she realised, with mounting horror, that a grown up party was hitting full swing in her wooden playground. She felt much like a museum curator watching children climb all over the sculptures. And unlike the parties her parents had occasionally thrown back home, there was little chance of Myriad being able to steal away over to Elsewhere¡¯s place. At least it would be a hell of a walk.

    There was Maelstrom, but he was enjoying the party a great deal more than his friend. He was being approved of, something he always hungered for. To prolong this state of affairs, he had set up in a corner taking requests for ice sculptures. Myriad had thought about joining him, but she didn¡¯t want to spoil his mood. That, and it reminded her too much of a clown making balloon animals.

    ¡°Make the Crimson Comet!¡± demanded the Governor-General.

    Maelstrom grinned. That was one was easy; his mother had shown him pictures. ¡°One wing or both?¡±

    Richard Casey had only been appointed Governor-General that August, but this day had confirmed the excellence of the timing for him. ¡°Are you mad, boy? One wing, clearly!¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes shone. A silent flurry of snowflakes blew in through the entrance, carried by no perceptible breeze, like a blizzard holding its breath. They coalesced next to the Governor-General in the shape of a costumed, extravagantly muscled figure, a single angelic wing protruding from his left shoulder blade. His expression was solemn, maybe even morose, mostly because that¡¯s how he looked in most of the photos Maelstrom had seen.

    ¡°My word,¡± said Casey, squinting at the statue¡¯s wing, the corner of his moustache twitching in thought. ¡°You can make out every feather.¡±

    ¡°Our Maelstrom¡¯s an artist, Your Excellency,¡± boomed Lawrence, watching approvingly from the sidelines. ¡°He¡¯s not going to skimp on any details.¡±

    Maelstrom beamed. Any other time, the praise might have caused him performance anxiety, but he was still riding high on a sense of accomplishment. ¡°It¡¯s not like carving. I just imagine what I want the the ice to look like, and... it does.¡±

    ¡°And how did you know what we wanted with the wands?¡±

    ¡°Just guessing, mainly. I did it for a friend once, a long time ago. She¡¯d just come to the school and was kinda scared of her powers. So I let her use mine instead.¡±

    If Maelstrom was talking about who Myriad thought he was, she found it very difficult to imagine. Mabel feared neither man, nor God, nor Lawrence, so why would she be scared of her own powers?

    Maybe he was projecting, she mused, frowning as the psychological concept suddenly popped into her thoughts. That was the problem with her power. Sometimes, she didn¡¯t know what she knew until the knowledge was suddenly relevant.

    While Myriad¡¯s creation outwardly resembled a church, its interior was substantially wilder. Dying winter sunlight filtered in through the great, thin leaves that covered the largest gaps in the trunks and branches that formed the walls of the place, supplementing the comforting glow of the heaters. The whole space was broken up by outgrowths that suspiciously resembled playground equipment. She had even managed to work in a decent staircase and loft, with a slide winding down from it. Myriad wasn¡¯t sure if it was frictionless enough, and she hadn¡¯t had the opportunity to test it. A couple of men were discussing the possibility of renovating the structure into a conference room.

    ¡°Missing the point,¡± she grumbled under her breath. How would you even wire the place up?

    She passed Tiresias, who had been cornered by Agent Preston. His strong Midwestern accent was filled with the doubtless confidence Americans are so often blessed with. ¡°You know, Mr. Moretti, the intelligence community could use a man like you. The applications of your talents in the Vietnamese conflict alone¡­¡± The spook smiled. ¡°Well, I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you that.¡±

    The psychic swirled his champagne in its delicate glass. ¡°Don¡¯t you have Pendergast for interrogations?¡±

    ¡°We do,¡± Preston admitted. ¡°But Colonel Pendergast¡¯s methods are best employed on¡­¡± He searched for a tactful way of putting it.

    ¡°The predeceased?¡± offered Tiresias.

    ¡°Well, yes. An operative with the power to read living minds would be invaluable. And then there¡¯s your precognitive abilities¡ª¡±

    Tiresias sighed. He had hoped Lawrence would have the sense to not go telling people about that.

    ¡°¡ªAs hard as I¡¯m sure it would be leaving your students behind, I think it¡¯s fair to say the US richly compensates its paranormal operatives.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡± The prospect of not having to deal with children all day for the rest of his life appealed, and he could see clearly that Agent Preston was being truthful. And maybe it would be better than the last time a government had made use of him. He managed to convince himself for a moment that he was about to take the American up on his offer: an old trick of his for exploring the possible outcomes of a decision. He saw futures rich with wine, women and song; power and prestige¡­ along with bamboo shoots under his fingernails. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± Best stay the course, he decided.

    Leaving the telepath to his deliberations and Agent Preston¡¯s continued pushing, Myriad weaved around the many examples of Maelstrom¡¯s sculptory. He¡¯d first demonstrated that aspect of his power using subjects he knew well. Basilisk and ?ywie sat over one of their games of chess. With the absolute clarity of the ice, the only way you could determine who was winning was which way the pieces faced¡ªor maybe the finely crafted look of exasperation on ?ywie¡¯s face. Off to the side of them was a likeness of Melusine so exact, you could be forgiven for thinking she was gatecrashing.

    Moving on, one could find recreations of MPs¡¯ grandchildren, alongside decidedly non-super heroes like Captain Cook and Don Bradman; interspersed by rogues such as Pemulwuy and Ned Kelly¡ªAustralia¡¯s first and still most infamous supervillain.

    Myriad was admiring the texture of Blinky Bill¡¯s frost wrought fur when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up to find a sandy haired, hungry looking, grey suited young man with a press badge pinned to his front pocket, a No.2 pencil as sharp as anything that cuts hovering anxiously over his notepad. Myriad smiled immediately when she saw the other young man bringing up the rear, camera poised at the ready. She was representing her race, after all. And, if it ever came down to that, she had learned several new ways of living on a criminally small amount of money, like how to work virtually anything into an omelette.

    ¡°Comment for The Australian, young lady?¡±

    No matter what they might tell you in journalism school, it is never advisable to open an interview by addressing a child as ¡°young lady¡±. Still, Myriad couldn¡¯t hold it against the reporter. He was so nervous his song was skipping beats. He had probably only gotten the assignment because everyone comfortable with the heightened risk of exploding was already reporting from Vietnam, dodging bullets and searching for Walkleys.

    ¡°Sure,¡± she answered amiably. ¡°You got questions for me?¡±

    The reporter had them in great abundance. Lawrence had taken care to coach both his students in the event of such a barrage of questioning. He may not have been much help in devising a display of extranormal abilities, but journalism was well within his comprehension.

    ¡°What¡¯s it like having powers?¡±

    Myriad was tempted to ask the reporter what it was like being a human being, or a man, but instead stuck with Lawrence¡¯s stock answer. ¡°A real blessing. Wouldn¡¯t trade it for anything.¡±

    For his part, the reporter wasn¡¯t sure he had ever heard a child that small call anything besides a sneeze a blessing. Still, he pressed on. ¡°And what¡¯s it like at this school of yours? Do you prefer being with your own kind? Do you miss being with regular children?¡±

    Myriad bit her lip thoughtfully. She didn¡¯t have to think about the answer, not really, but she thought it might soften the blow. ¡°Not much,¡± she said, quite truthfully. Myriad had gotten along well enough with other children. Most of her classmates had liked her and she had nothing against them, but aside from her parents, the only person she¡¯d really missed at McClare was Elsewhere. ¡°It¡¯s nice being with kids who¡¯re the same kind of different as me.¡±

    The reporter nodded carefully, scratching away at his pad. ¡°Your teacher called you ¡®Myriad¡¯,¡± he said, smiling in a poor substitute for wryness. Or maybe it was supposed to be warmth. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine that¡¯s your Christian name.¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t. Lawrence likes to give us new names. Says the ones your parents give you don¡¯t tell people much about you, except where your family might be from, I guess.¡±

    The reporter laughed. After a few seconds spent trying to figure out if that was the right move or not, he spoke, ¡°I guess Bob Jenkins doesn¡¯t tell you much about me, does it? Not sure if it would work as well for us mere mortals, if I¡¯m being honest. I mean, you¡¯re not likely to stop being a super, are ya? Me, if this reporting thing doesn¡¯t work out, would I have to stop calling myself¡­¡± He tried to think of a suitable moniker.

    ¡°Veritas?¡± Myriad offered. ¡°It means truth.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m flattered.¡±

    Bob had many more questions, ranging from the meaningful to the frivolous. Daily life at the Institute, the specifics of Myriad¡¯s power, the inevitable tests of her knowledge, whether she envied any of her peers¡¯ abilities (¡°They¡¯re mine, too,¡± she told him), all peppered with some ill-considered jokes about her and Maelstrom making a cute couple which she charitably ignored.

    Then he threw her a hardball. ¡°How did you get to be at the Institute, anyway?¡±

    As if you don¡¯t already know. She answered anyway, ¡°Lawrence took me from one of the asylums. McClare. It¡¯s in Western Australia.¡±

    Bob gave her a look of professional sympathy. ¡°And do you ever feel angry at normal people for putting you there?¡± He then winced, as though he thought he might be reduced to a pillar of salt where he stood. He was in no such danger, of course. Even back at the Institute, Myriad could¡¯ve at best smothered him in the stuff.

    Myriad¡¯s fingers hurt. She wanted to tell him, ¡°Yes, all the time, forever,¡± but she knew how bad of an idea that was. Lawrence had been very clear: ¡°You can¡¯t ever¡ªnot even for a moment¡ªlet them think you bear a grudge.¡±

    Very carefully, she recited, ¡°I understand why they thought they had to.¡±

    With some solemnity, Bob made one final note, before saying, ¡°Thank you, Myriad. Do you think your little friend would mind speaking to us?¡±

    Myriad looked back towards Maelstrom. The boy was working on a sculpture of Timothy Valour in his glory days, complete with iconic aviator jacket, bomber hat, and goggles, while his current self looked on bashfully. She thought she understood why Basilisk had reacted so badly to her contradiction. ¡°I think he¡¯d like that,¡± she said.

    Bob and his silent photographer were about to reassimilated into the crowd when Myriad remembered something. She rushed forwards and grabbed the reporter by the arm. ¡°Are you going to use my picture in the article?¡±

    Bob looked down at her, a little nonplussed. ¡°...I can¡¯t see why we wouldn¡¯t. Not really up to me, though, or Sam.¡± He quirked his head towards the photographer, who nodded in confirmation.

    ¡°Well, if you do¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll make sure to use the one of your good side, got it.¡±

    Myriad frowned like Death. ¡°If you do have a picture of me, I want you to write that I love my mum and dad very much. I¡¯d tell you their names, but I¡¯m not sure they would like that. They might not want more people knowing their daughter¡¯s a¡ª¡±

    Bob¡¯s marginal experience with children was more than enough to tell him that the girl was on the brink of tears. He put his hand on hers. ¡°Me and Sam will make sure of it, don¡¯t worry. Good of you to be thinking of them. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll be very proud of you when they see the paper.¡±

    Their reassurances made, the newsmen left Myriad alone in the crowd. Blinking her eyes shut very hard a few times, she continued her way towards the exit, hoping to get some fresh air.

    A man stepped in front of her path. He was finely suited, his honey-blond hair slicked back with more brylcreem than even Elsewhere would have considered wise. ¡°Myriad, wasn¡¯t it?¡± He sounded British. Actually British¡ªnot Lawrence¡¯s odd boarding school bred accent.

    Another grownup wants to make me recite their favourite poet or something. ¡°Yes?¡±

    He flashed her a How to Win Friends and Influence People smile. ¡°Bryant St. George,¡± he extended a hand for her, ¡°Was watching your show earlier, you handed me one of those wands. Loved the design of those, by the way. Shame they don¡¯t last.¡±

    Myriad thought she might have heard the name before. She shook the proffered hand dutifully. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°If it isn¡¯t too much of an imposition, would you mind introducing me to your teacher. I think we have a lot to discuss.¡±

    Myriad shrugged. Not a bad idea, really. Get all the adults together in one conversation and they might leave her alone.

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t plan their routine for them,¡± Lawrence was explaining to a rapt Prime Minister between bites of prawn. ¡°I find that children growing up with abilities beyond the bounds of normal possibility can come up with ideas you and I wouldn¡¯t even consider.¡±

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Menzies nodded. ¡°I have to say, Doctor, I was surprised you chose that foreign boy for the display¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s never been outside the country, Prime Minister,¡± Lawrence cut in flatly.

    The Prime Minister frowned. ¡°Oh.¡± He laughed. ¡°Well, you wouldn¡¯t think it hearing him talk. Still, I¡¯ll give him this: there¡¯s something very British in his bearing.¡±

    Lawrence grinned. ¡°His mother¡¯s French.¡±

    ¡°Ah, well, I¡¯m sure she¡¯s a fine woman.¡±

    There was a tug on Lawrence¡¯s sleeve. He looked down to find Myriad staring up at him. ¡°Lawrence, this man wants to talk to you. Says his name is Bryant St. George.¡±

    Bryant St. George held up a hand. ¡°Guilty as charged.¡± He smiled in Menzies¡¯ direction. ¡°Enjoying the evening, Prime Minister? So glad for the invitation.¡±

    Menzies chortled. ¡°You¡¯ll have to thank Valour for that,¡± he said, pointing towards Timothy, who was patiently critiquing the accuracy of the sidearm Maelstrom had furnished his frozen counterpart with.

    ¡°Of course,¡± replied Bryant. He gave Lawrence and inquiring look. ¡°Are you from the Cottesloe Lawrences by any chance?¡±

    ¡°That I am,¡± confirmed Lawrence. ¡°And which of the St. Georges did you spring from? The Burmese? The Raj? Johannesburg?¡±

    ¡°Liverpool. We may be losing the Empire, but the sun still doesn¡¯t set on the St. Georges. Me and the wife came down here to keep an eye on the mines after my uncle passed on. Found the climate agreed with us. Sorry she couldn¡¯t be here, by the way. She gets nervous just reading about this sort of thing.¡± He beamed down at Myriad. ¡°You can go now, dear. Thanks for the introduction.¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t approve of his students being ordered about, or being summarily banished from adult conversations like that, but it wasn¡¯t as though Myriad seemed eager to participate.

    She continued towards the outside, catching snippets of conversations almost as banal as the songs of those holding them:

    ¡°Clearly, the Flying Man is a wizard¡­¡±

    ¡°...Daughter¡¯s reflection keeps winking at her¡­¡±

    ¡°...Oven¡¯s still on.¡±

    Finally, she escaped out into the cool dusk air; out of the herd of chatting adults and roving reporters and the cloudbank of cigarette smoke. Who smokes inside a giant treehouse?

    Kh¨ª C?¡¯s song was as welcome as the blast of fresh air. She was sitting at the edge of the jetty, looking out over the water, the hem of her gown spilling out from her coat like a mermaid¡¯s tail. She looks too young for war, Myriad thought once more. It did not occur to her that many of the fighters in her war were no older; albeit usually male.

    What Myriad did grasp, however, was the commonality between them. Kh¨ª C? was a new human, and still young enough she fuzzily registered as another child to the little girl. She sat down beside her.

    ¡°Enjoying the party?¡± Myriad asked in Vietnamese.

    Without looking at the girl, the botanical super snapped at her, ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡± She seemed to decide her tone was too hostile, and caught herself. ¡°Don¡¯t-don¡¯t do that,¡± she said, a little more kindly.

    Taken aback, Myriad switched languages ¡°Why not?¡± she asked in English. ¡°Just trying to be nice.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to be catered to like that. And-and I don¡¯t like you using my words at me.¡±

    Myriad frowned. ¡°Oh, nobody told me you invented Vietnamese. You and Tolkien should have coffee.¡±

    Kh¨ª C? looked at the girl quizzically. ¡°...I don¡¯t know who that is.¡±

    Myriad pulled her shoes and socks off, dipping her feet into the lake. With how cold the water was, Kh¨ª C? wondered if the child felt she had a surplus of toes and could afford to lose a few. Myriad jolted, before her eyes turned the shade of blue they had been for most of the demonstration. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± she said, kicking the water. ¡°But still, what did you mean?¡±

    For some reason, Kh¨ª C? couldn¡¯t help but think that the younger superhuman had everything she needed to recreate Noah¡¯s Ark if it struck her fancy. ¡°You couldn¡¯t speak Vietnamese before you met me, right?¡±

    Myriad nodded. ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Say something in it¡ªa full sentence.¡±

    ¡°She sells seashells by the seashore.¡± The tongue-twister was of course ruined in the translation, but it was still the first thing that came to mind.

    ¡°You speak it exactly like I do,¡± the young woman commented, sounding troubled.

    ¡°So?¡± she asked. ¡°Do you speak a dialect? Or have speech problems?¡±

    She¡¯s not trying to be rude, she¡¯s just eight,  Kh¨ª C? reminded herself while taking a deep breath. ¡°Look, everybody talks a little differently. Doesn¡¯t matter if they¡¯re speaking the same language. You, though, you sound just like me. That¡¯s not right.¡±

    ¡°Seems like a silly thing to be upset by,¡± Myriad remarked sourly.

    Kh¨ª C? shrugged. ¡°Maybe it is. How long have you been like this?¡±

    ¡°Had powers, you mean? Since forever.¡±

    ¡°...And you can learn whole languages and trades just by standing next to people?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Did you come out of the womb walking and talking?¡±

    ¡°No. Well, at least my parents never said anything about it. Seems like the kind of thing they¡¯d notice.¡±

    ¡°Why do you think that was?¡±

    Myriad tried to remember as far back as she could, before the start of her coherent memory, past the haze of home and school and Elsewhere, all the way to the earliest, fragmentary moments and feelings; vague and hyper-clear all at once. The gentle motion of the family sedan on some long forgotten bank holiday. Her father holding her in the ocean. The time she slashed her foot open on a broken beer bottle at a neighbourhood barbecue. That incident had left temporal evidence, a jagged white line on the ball of her heel, faded with time and growth. It was gone now, along with every other nick and scar on her body, probably ever since the first time she¡¯d used Maelstrom¡¯s power.

    Playing through all of them, though, was the music.

    The songs had always been there, but she could dimly recall a time where she had yet to figure out how to incorporate them into her own. It was likely the last thing she¡¯d ever had to learn. The thought stung at her for some reason. ¡°I guess I wasn¡¯t always all like this.¡± She decided she had earned a question of her own. ¡°How old were you when you got powers?¡±

    She was vaguely expecting a trancelike recitation of ¡°There was a man,¡± but instead the girl answered, ¡°Since birth. Just like you. They tell me the village produced enough rice that year to soak up the sea, but who knows. Only thing old men get better at with age is bullshitting.¡±

    The only other born new humans Myriad knew were Maelstrom and maybe Elsewhere. Well, probably Ophelia and the other babies, too, but they were hardly up to talk about it. And neither of the boys worked like she did; at least if the Physician were to be believed. That was a big ¡°if¡±, but it was all Myriad had to go on.

    ¡°Kh¨ª C??¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Are you scared of the dark?¡±

    Myriad wasn¡¯t sure if she should expect an answer. Teenagers could be such prideful creatures. She was almost surprised when Kh¨ª C? spoke:

    ¡°It¡¯s like water, isn¡¯t it? Thick and warm and pressing down on you from all sides?¡±

    ¡°I know, right?¡± said Myriad, elated to find someone who finally understood. ¡°Why is it like that?¡±

    The older girl shrugged. ¡°My mother used to say I remember the womb. I always told her it was a stupid idea¡±¡ªshe smiled sadly¡ª¡°but then she¡¯d remind of whatever, dumb, impossible thing I¡¯d done that morning.¡± Her smile flattened. ¡°This wasn¡¯t meant to be a working holiday,¡± she said, looking up at the moon, already drifting into sight from behind a curtain of clouds. ¡°Your country is strange.¡±

    That last statement was puzzling. ¡°Is it because it¡¯s summer in Vietnam?¡± Myriad asked. ¡°Well, that¡¯s because¡ª¡±

    Kh¨ª C? cut off the impromptu geography lecture. ¡°The way it treats us, I mean.¡± She hoped the child thought she needed it because she was eight and not because she was white. ¡°Your government can¡¯t decide what to do with your lot. They lock you up, then they make you dance for them. Like letting tigers into your house. ¡±

    ¡°Is it different where you¡¯re from?¡±

    Kh¨ª C? laughed. ¡°Might be, but it¡¯s the Americans who decide what happens to me at the moment. They¡¯re simple. They take what they love, and turn it into a weapon. It¡¯s also what they do with what they hate, but the result¡¯s the same. I think they¡¯re even proud of the Flying Man.¡±

    ¡°...That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°Think about it. If the Flying Man was ever a little boy, what do you think he grew up reading? Who invented the word ¡®superhero¡¯? What would he have looked up to if he had come up in my village, or here, or in Russia?¡± She laughed, saluting mockingly. ¡°The Flying Man is a menace, but he¡¯s an American menace, goddamnit!¡±

    Myriad was considering her argument when she heard Maelstrom¡¯s song approaching. She made space for him to sit down. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡±

    ¡°Not much. Talking to Kh¨ª C?.¡±

    Maelstrom waved at her, who reciprocated the gesture without looking at the boy.

    ¡°Done with the statues?¡± his friend asked.

    Maelstrom quirked his shoulders. ¡°I needed a break. I was starting to feel a bit like a clown doing balloon animals.¡±

    Myriad giggled. ¡°You¡¯ve seen one of those?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence hired a clown for a February party once.¡±

    ¡°How was it?¡±

    ¡°The others¡­ didn¡¯t think he was very funny.¡±

    Myriad would¡¯ve laughed if she couldn¡¯t see the expression of pained recollection on her friend¡¯s face. ¡°Oh. Did you?¡±

    Maelstrom relaxed a touch. ¡°He tried.¡±

    They looked down into the lake, still clear as diamond from their display. The execution had been Myriad¡¯s idea. Some of the grown ups had asked Maelstrom how they did it, but he had kept mum. It would only spoil the magic.

    The water looked very inviting.

    ¡°Do you think¡­¡± Maelstrom began, then cast Kh¨ª C? a glance. ¡°Nah. We¡¯d get in trouble.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. And we probably don¡¯t want the Prime Minister seeing... those parts.¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you two talking about?¡±

    Neither child deigned to explain themselves.

    ¡°They don¡¯t have to,¡± said Maelstrom. ¡°We can always steam our clothes after.¡±

    ¡°Please keep your clothes on,¡± Kh¨ª C? said in a voice of increasing panic.

    ¡°You can see all the way to the bottom,¡± Myriad sighed, gazing at the water, then glancing back at the treehouse, the party still going full swing inside. ¡°It can¡¯t hurt, can it? As long as we aren¡¯t too¡­ over the top? I could really use a swim right now. It wouldn¡¯t even be swimming, really. Just wading, except, all over.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t see a reason why it would,¡± Mael answered evenly, ¡°It¡¯s not as if they don¡¯t know we have powers. We haven¡¯t exactly been told not to use them¡­ Maybe we should ask Lawrence.¡±

    That alone was enough to sway Myriad on the matter. She took a step forwards, the water splashing slightly around her foot. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of it between her toes, before turning back towards David, swinging her arms and, along with them, sending a splash of water up into his face.

    ¡°That was for earlier,¡± she grinned. ¡°I told you it was too hard!¡±

    For once in the boy¡¯s life, enthusiasm seemed to overtake the need to look reserved, and he giggled, running forwards into the water to join her, the pristine leather of his dress shoes squeaking slightly on the snow that lined the bank, before hitting the water in a manner that would likely give most cordwainers a heart attack.

    ¡°What in the world¡­?¡± Kh¨ª C? muttered, watching the two children cackle by the water¡¯s edge, wrestling in the shallows, before one of them got water on her dress. She growled, raising a root from the nearby shore to momentarily dunk both kids¡¯ heads beneath the surface, not that either of them seemed to care. She eventually gave a little shrug, and raised a short wooden chair from the earth to sit on, nursing her champagne. She found watching the pair oddly relaxing. They reminded her of how her powers had seemed to her at first, when she was younger¡ªbefore she became a gun. Back when the French were someone else¡¯s problem. It was only now that she was beginning to recognize how much she missed that feeling. She sighed, and glanced down at her drink. She was going to need more champagne.

    ¡°Young miss?¡± called a man¡¯s voice from behind her. ¡°Do you¡­ Do you have any idea what they¡¯re doing?¡±

    Kh¨ª C? glanced around at the man. It was one of the politicians from before. She graced him with one of her best scoffs. ¡°I believe it is called ¡®playing,¡¯ sir, but I can understand how one could be forgiven for not recognizing it.¡±

    If the man found the attempt at rudeness offensive, he paid it no mind. Perhaps deciding against starting an argument with a half drunk demigod. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ a little odd, seeing them do that so casually, don¡¯t you think?¡± he asked, taking a few steps closer and gazing at the pair. ¡°God, I wish I was able to enjoy myself like that these days.¡±

    Kh¨ª C? snorted. ¡°Me too, old timer, me too.¡±

    After a few minutes, she rose the man a chair, and they sat together, watching the children be children for however long they could.

    ?

    Herbert Lawrence and Bryant St. George laughed together in a corner of what the former was finally willing to admit was a treehouse. Robert Menzies was still outside watching Maelstrom and Myriad frolic, and it would be ten minutes before Tiresias would unwisely seek shelter in it after tipsily making a pass at Kh¨ª C?.

    Lawrence was honestly glad to be free of the Prime Minister¡¯s company. He had known the man to be a parochial sort, but there was only so much ranting about the role of posthumanity in the fight against the ¡°socialist panacea¡± he could take. Bryant, on the other hand, knew how to keep politics out of the conversation, and had somehow managed to procure them some decent beer.

    ¡°...And then she tried telling us the cow got on top of the house by herself!¡±

    Bryant slapped the table in front of him with apparent amusement. Much as that story always cheered Lawrence himself, he thought that was a little excessive. He hadn¡¯t even told the one about the time Stratogale had to go after Ophelia with a net.

    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know how you manage it, Lawrence,¡± he said, wiping his eyes. ¡°All those kids! My whole life would be spent under a desk with a bottle of wine. And that¡¯s just if they were naturals! How do you keep your head about it?¡±

    Lawrence smiled. ¡°It¡¯s not what you would think. Think about it for a moment. Is the majority of juvenile crime committed by children with extranormal abilities? No¡ªlike all other human sins, it¡¯s our kind that bears the lion¡¯s share. A new human may have taken the bomb from us, but I doubt he was the one who dropped it on Hiroshima.¡±

    Bryant nodded solemnly. ¡°I¡¯ve read a fair bit about your Institute¡ªat least¡ªwhat reading there is available. The Northam Advertiser could have been kinder in its coverage of your work, I think.¡±

    Lurid headlines on cheap, recycled paper made an unwanted return to Lawrence¡¯s thoughts:

    ¡°DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOUR NEIGHBOUR IS?¡±

    ¡°FLYING GIRL SPOTTED OVER BAKER¡¯S HILL¡±

    ¡°LOCAL WEATHER WITCH WELCOMES SON INTO THE WORLD¡±

    The recollection made him set his teeth grimly. He had told ?ywie that putting in a birth notice for Maelstrom was a bad idea. Especially under that cradle-name his mother sometimes used. ¡°That they could have, Mr. St. George, that they could have.¡±

    ¡°I did read your book, though. The New Child.¡±

    Lawrence was genuinely surprised. He had written The New Child only a little after Maelstrom was born, and with the¡ªfor better or worse¡ªlesser visibility of posthumans at the time, it had received little attention upon publication. Honestly, Lawrence wasn¡¯t all that proud of a lot of what he had said in that book. He had only personally known a handful of posthumans at that point in his life, and had yet to even meet the Physician. Even the Namings back then were more of a lark than the tradition they would grow into. Still, it was nice to know he wasn¡¯t writing for the void. ¡°Did you now? What¡¯d you think of it?¡±

    St. George gave Lawrence an impassioned look. ¡°I think you were dead to rights on how we should be handling these children, Lawrence. As things are now, well, best case scenario: we waste something truly wonderful. Worst case: we¡¯re all dead before the year 2000.¡± He shook his head gravely. ¡°It¡¯s something of a personal concern, you see.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°How so?¡±

    Bryant graced the older man with a half smile. ¡°My son is¡­ well, he¡¯s more like those two children playing out there in the lake than you and me.¡±

    Lawrence needed no further prompting to start interrogating the man. ¡°What can he do exactly? Was he born with his abilities or did they come in later? How old is he?¡±

    St. George threw his hands up. ¡°Slow down, old boy. Billy¡¯s turning eight in March, and he¡¯s always been¡­ that way. His first cries broke all the windows.¡±

    Sonic manipulation, thought Lawrence. Sounds a little cruder than Reverb, but you can¡¯t expect her to set the standard.

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing, though. All the supers I¡¯ve ever heard of¡ªnot that¡¯s many, mind you¡ªhave either only been able to do one extra thing, or they¡¯re all¡­ themed, I suppose is how you you might put it? But what does breaking glass with your voice have to do with turning invisible.¡±

    That¡¯s a bit of a cheap trick. Wonder if he does it by bending light or meddling with perceptions directly.

    ¡°¡ªAnd I don¡¯t even know what to make of that mercury trick of his.¡±

    ¡­That I¡¯ll have to see.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a hard life for him, Doctor. Even before the Flying Man, he never really got to be like the other kids. We¡¯re lucky to have even kept him this long, but, well, we have an arrangement with the DDHA, you understand.¡±

    Lawrence nodded. He had no doubt that someone with the St. Georges¡¯ kind of wealth could ¡°persuade¡± the DDHA to leave their child be. That was, essentially, how he had kept the Institute from being dismantled when the panic first started. Probably cost the government less than housing the children themselves, after all. ¡°I can imagine the pressure it¡¯s put on you and your wife, Mr. St. George.¡±

    ¡°I appreciate the thought. Well, me and Cecilia have talked it over, and we¡¯ve decided that our boy might be happier at your school, with his own kind.¡±

    Lawrence tried not to make his pleasure at the news obvious. ¡°That¡¯s a commendable decision, Mr. St. George. It takes a big man to be able put their child¡¯s welfare over their proximity to them. I can swear on my life, though, that Billy will be accepted into our family with open arms.¡±

    Bryant suddenly looked uncomfortable. ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you to say¡­¡± He seemed to hesitate before belatedly adding, ¡°There is one other thing I should mention, Doctor. About Billy.¡±

    Lawrence did not fail to notice the man¡¯s disquiet. Leaning in slightly, he asked, ¡°And that is?¡±

    St. George pointed towards the treehouse¡¯s entrance. ¡°Those two out there, you would say they were handsome enough specimens, right?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s smile returned. ¡°That¡¯s our ?ywie¡¯s doing. She regularly checks to make sure the children are growing up into their best selves. Trims away negative recessives, fixes environmental damage, that sort of thing. She¡¯s a refiner of living things.¡±

    Bryant tapped his fingers on the table, his lips pursed, before fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. ¡°Then I send her my admiration. But more to point, whatever difference there may be between supers and regular people, it¡¯s usually invisible, yes?¡± He opened the leather wallet, passing it to Lawrence. ¡°Well, not so much with our Billy.¡±

    Aside from far too much cash and a few club cards, the wallet also contained a photo. Lawrence¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of it. He decided that Bryant St. George was probably being honest when he said his son was more like Maelstrom and Myriad than either of them. The way mammals resemble each other more so than reptiles.

    He looked back up at Bryant, his face pale. ¡°Is-is this purely physical?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s no retard, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡± With a trace of guilt, he admitted, ¡°At least, that¡¯s what his nanny tells us.¡±

    Averting his eyes, Lawrence slid the wallet back towards its owner. ¡°Mr. St. George, I¡¯m not sure you grasp what you¡¯re asking me to do. I don''t know how my students will respond to¡­ I don''t need to say it, do I?¡±

    Bryant slumped in his chair, looking exhausted. ¡°Billy has never been to school, Lawrence. He¡¯s never even played with another child. Those two out there play on the bottom of lakes like they were parkland. When you come down to it, is there any real difference between them and my son?¡±

    ¡°I think you know the answer to that, Bryant.¡± Lawrence stood up from the table. ¡°I do not enjoy parting children from their parents in the best of circumstances. You and your wife seem to have young Billy¡¯s care in good stead. I wish him the best.¡±

    The feeling that Bryant St. George experienced in that moment surprised him. After over seven years, he thought he had grown numb to shame. ¡°I¡¯m willing to write a cheque.¡±

 Chapter Sixteen: The Glass Forest

    The three days between the demonstration and the NHI party¡¯s flight home were not unlike a dream for Myriad. A long, meandering dream, with even less structure or meaning than is typical for that species. The kind where you remember the waking world enough to dearly wish to return there, but not quite enough for it to do so under your power. Canberra had little to offer children, being almost a child itself; birthed from the mind of Walter Burley Griffin and groomed for the business of government.

    There were museums; and libraries; as well an endless procession of scholars, scientists, and other learned people¡ªalmost all men, to be honest¡ªdropping by the Valour household to impart their wisdom to Herbert Lawrence¡¯s wunderkind. One thing Myriad noticed, apart from each man¡¯s utter resolution that their chosen field was the one on which all life and human civilization hinged upon, was how old most of her visitors were. Hardly one of them seemed less than fifty¡ª and most were much older. She might have written it off as simply the natural outcome of all the time and effort it took human beings to become truly good at anything, if it weren¡¯t for the faint look of desperation in many of their eyes. She wondered if they saw her as something of an immortality project: a fresh, sturdy vessel to carry some part of themselves a few more yards down time¡¯s river. She was tactful enough not to inform the men about how much of their precious, hard won knowledge her power was discarding as simply incorrect.

    She took their songs into herself with feigned enthusiasm. Once, the suite of new knowledge  and skills might have excited her, but now, after McClare and the Institute, it was like returning to a diet of bread and water after tasting meat and fruit for the first time.

    Lawrence wasn¡¯t having the best time of it, either, preoccupied as he was by the question of William St. George. Through a couple of furtive phone conversations and a tense lunch at the   Hotel Kurrajong had gleaned him some small trivia about the boy, though less than he had expected, given its source was the child¡¯s father. As Bryant had admitted, unable to meet Lawrence¡¯s eyes, they mostly left their son in the care of his nanny. For a man of Lawrence¡¯s age and breeding, that seemed like the most normal aspect of the whole affair.

    Lawrence found William¡¯s predicament almost philosophically terrifying. He had learned to accept the odd physical abnormality among his students. Sometimes, he even found the odd dash of inhumanity aesthetically pleasing. But the hearth inside Snapdragon¡¯s eyes, or the odd blue lowlights in Britomart¡¯s hair couldn¡¯t prepare him for the kind of atavism he had seen in that photo.

    He had discussed the matter with Tiresias, to little good. In lieu of advice, the psychic had only his usual low humour to offer.

    ¡°Look,¡± he had said, ¡°you¡¯ve been worried about the other children picking on Maelstrom. If we take on this boy¡±¡ªhe tossed the photo back at Lawrence¡ª¡°I doubt they¡¯ll have any energy left over for him.¡±

    Not for the first time on that trip, Lawrence wished he had brought ?ywie instead. She was, in a sense, the reason he was even considering Bryant¡¯s offer. Much as William did not fit his usual criteria for new students, there was no reason to think their resident healer couldn¡¯t change that.

    There was also the matter of money. The Lawrences were an extremely well-to-do branch of what passed for the petty aristocracy in Australia, and Herbert had been the sole heir of their wealth. Coupled with the generally reliable prognosticative talents of Tiresias (the esper could always be counted for anything that maintained his own comfort) the New Human Institute was in no danger of running low on funds. Still, its headmaster was not so rich that the sum St. George was willing to pay wasn¡¯t tempting. Lawrence was sure they would need to accommodate many more students in the near future, and the nursery would need expanding. All that, in exchange for what was ultimately a small kindness¡­

    And so, Lawrence accepted Bryant St. George¡¯s offer, and his cheque, watching the other man collapse into a pile of guilt-tainted relief from the other side of the table. He could almost see the albatross around his neck stir and take flight.

    That had been decided on the morning before the NHI party¡¯s departure from Canberra. Lawrence had chosen to save the news that Maelstrom and Myriad would gaining a new brother till after dinner that evening, with their whole group plus the Valours gathered in their blue damask wallpapered living room, scrims of snow melting sullenly as they clung to the window frames.

    Lawrence had expected the children to have questions, or to maybe even react with fear to William¡¯s photograph. What Myriad homed in on, though, surprised him.

    ¡°I just wanna go home!¡±

    Myriad sat trembling with childish rage and resentment, sandwiched awkwardly between Maelstrom and Therese Fletcher on the Valours¡¯ burnt orange sofa. The Valours themselves had fled the room as soon as they recognised the signs of an oncoming superpowered tantrum. Valerie was in a mad dash for the fallout shelter, and Timothy left apologetically in an attempt to dig his wife back out again. Maelstrom had attempted to pry open his friend¡¯s clenched fist and thread his fingers through hers, only to be met by a grip that threatened to crush his knuckles.

    Lawrence stood with his back to what passed for the Valour family¡¯s library. The single bookcase may never have seen the works of Chaucer, Stapledon or Wells grace its shelves, but nonetheless, he found the presence of books comforting. His arms were crossed almost defensively. ¡°And we will be, child. We¡¯re just picking up a new student on the way.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s boring here!¡± Myriad shouted, her face flushed with an almost directionless anger. ¡°Again and again, just nothing but tired, grumpy old men who are just CONVINCED that their songs should be saved and it¡¯s so DULL! And with every one of them that turns up, I get reminded just a little bit more of how beautiful everyone was back home!¡±

    Lawrence tried to take the insult to his friends and colleagues on the chin. ¡°I don''t see how that pertains to what we¡¯re talking about, Myriad. Our new student lives in Albany; we won''t be spending any more time here in Canberra than we already were. Just means we¡¯ll be taking a slightly longer route to get back to the Institute.¡±

    Myriad wrenched herself from the sofa, standing to look Lawrence dead in the eyes, her cheeks now traced by the wet paths of tears. ¡°Don''t lie! The train to Albany is overnight, there and back! And it¡¯s even slower in a car! And we¡¯ll be taking the truck so people don¡¯t freak about the weird kid, won¡¯t we?¡± She spat the last two words like she was capping off a murder accusation.

    Lawrence sighed. ¡°That is true, Myriad.¡±

    Myriad brushed her fist across her eyes, trying to wipe away her tears with little success. With surprising quietness, she asked, ¡°Could you maybe drop me off at home before you go get this boy?¡± She glanced at her friend, trying to avoid having his ribs broken by the armrest, before adding, ¡°Maelstrom, too, if he wants.¡±

    Tiresias¡¯ hand shot up. A cloud of clove laden cigarette smoke exploded from his mouth. ¡°And me!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, children,¡± he looked straight at Tiresias on the last word, ¡°but that would entail a two hour detour in the other direction.¡± He attempted a smile. ¡°Besides, I think it would do young William some good to meet a couple of his future schoolmates.¡±

    The anger reared up in Myriad again, hot and bright, like it had been bathed in molten gold. ¡°You lied to me! You said I only had to do that stupid show, then you made me talk to all your boring, dumb, old friends, and now you¡¯re dragging me to some dumb whaling town to pick up some new boy¡ªand you lie and grownups always act like I won¡¯t know when they tell me things that aren¡¯t true¡ª¡±

    Therese Fletcher wondered if she should say something. She always felt like she was in danger of tripping over some unspoken boundary with the children. Her training had relentlessly hammered in the importance of maintaining a professional distance from her students, but that had been before she got caught up in the closed off, strangely intimate little world of the New Human Institute. She had always envied Mary Gillespie¡¯s ability to simultaneously occupy both the role of school teacher and universal grandmother, without compromising either. However, for her, it was difficult to discern whether she was meant to be a primary school teacher or a sister at an orphanage.

    Erring on the side of maternalism, she placed a hand on Myriad¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Miri. You¡¯re going to have a new friend in just two sleeps!¡±

    The sudden physical contact and her tone of voice somehow all at once reminded the girl of her mother, the nurses at McClare, and ?ywie¡¯s wires. Myriad slapped the hand away, her eyes burning blue with fury. The woman flinched from her. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me¡ª¡±

    She felt a sharp clip across her ear. After a second of stunned, almost Heisenbergian uncertainty, Myriad broke down in choked, high pitched sobs.

    Lawrence stood resolutely over the girl, expression sombre, his arms folded once more. ¡°I¡¯m disappointed in you, Myriad. I might have expected this kind of childishness from some of the other students, but I thought better of you.¡± His brow wrinkled with anger. ¡°When we pick up William, you will be pleasant, open, and a good example of what a posthuman child is meant to be. Are we following?¡±

    Myriad nodded, trying to blink back tears.

    ¡°And we never, ever threaten baseline humans with our powers.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Now apologise for that display.¡±

    There was a slightly ritualistic offering of apologies to each member of the group in term, answered with mumbled acceptances. Or, in Tiresias¡¯ case, a magnanimous, slow spoken proclamation of forgiveness; like a king handing down a pardon.

    ¡°Now, off to bed with you.¡± The old man threw a glance Maelstrom¡¯s way. ¡°You can follow her in ten minutes.¡±

    Myriad tried to stifle her weeping as she made her way back to the room she and Maelstrom were just shy of accustomed to, though, nobody would have seen or heard her, barring God or maybe the Flying Man, from whatever perch he surveyed the world from. She managed to hold it together till she passed the staircase down to the cellar:

    ¡°¡ªPlease come out, darling. Even if she was going to start something, there¡¯s water in the shelter!¡±

    She collapsed on top of the duvet, surrounded by some other child¡¯s things. She felt shaken, numb with loneliness, and the last few useless dregs of anger, clinging to her like droplets at the bottom of a glass. She started trying to hum some of her schoolmates¡¯ songs¡ªeven some of the ones without names or faces attached that she had heard at the asylum.

    Eventually, David lay down beside her. He did not turn out the light as he entered the room. The Valours had been kind enough to allow Myriad to keep it on to ward off her night thoughts, and her friend hadn¡¯t complained. If she had the presence of mind in that moment, she would have loved him for it.

    It hailed sideways outside.

    ?

    ¡°So, what¡¯s it like at your school?¡±

    There was very little to separate William ¡°Billy¡± St. George from any ordinary boy his age, apart from his marked resemblance to a humanoid tiger. At a distance, the short, black and orange fur that covered most of his skin might have been mistaken for body paint, or an all-covering tattoo; and the slightly elongated canines were only really evident when he grinned¡ªwhich, granted, was often. The architecture of his face, though, was human enough, and his eyes were  a typical mud brown.

    It was all a bit of an anticlimax.

    Really, the most remarkable thing about the child was the striped tail that protruded from the base of his spine. Myriad found herself tracking its path as it twitched and swished through the air behind its owner.

    She had been surprised by Billy¡¯s song, too. She¡¯d worried all throughout their trip down south that the boy would not be musically unlike the Physician: alien and inimical. As it turned out, though, his song was no more strange than that of any other posthuman. Unsurprisingly, given the diversity of powers Lawrence had spoken of, Billy¡¯s song was something of a medley, making heavy use of what Myriad thought sounded like an electric guitar being played in a realm where the distinction between colour and sound was looser. If his song were to somehow be played in the physical world, the best venue for it would be a vast plain of powdered glass.

    ¡°...Fun,¡± she answered, a little late. ¡°It¡¯s not at all what I thought boarding school would be like. I think you¡¯ll like it there.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± Billy replied, flopping back onto his bed, grey, wintry sunlight pouring on his back from the window above. ¡°How many other kids live there?¡±

    ¡°About thirty,¡± said Maelstrom, idly spinning the antique globe that rested on the tiger-child¡¯s dresser with one finger, its fawn seas lapping at the coastlines of slightly inaccurate continents while great serpents and leviathans swam through their depths. He was mostly trying to keep his hands busy, lest he start kneading them in front of the new boy. He was already mildly embarrassed by his open envy at Billy owning his own bed. Plus, it was his first time in another child¡¯s bedroom, and he found the concept of a truly personal space mildly exotic.

    A look of almost dreamlike delight spread across Billy¡¯s face. ¡°Must be great.¡±

    Maelstrom plucked a book off one of the shelves; some hardback children¡¯s novel Lawrence had probably read when he was their age, almost falling apart with age and use. It opened¡ªthe binding almost audibly straining¡ªonto a black engraving of a horde of schoolchildren at play. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, frowning. ¡°It is.¡±

    ¡°Are you two cousins or something?¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d you think that?¡± said Myriad, before realising she was still attuned to Maelstrom¡¯s song. Reluctantly, she blinked away the blue. ¡°Nah, that¡¯s all him,¡± she pointed at the other boy. ¡°I don¡¯t really have my own powers, so I borrow other people¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s being modest,¡± cut in Maelstrom, looking up from the region of the globe its makers doubtlessly called ¡°Darkest Africa¡±, ready to defend Myriad¡¯s honour, even from herself. ¡°Seriously, we live with dozens of other new humans, and Miri can use all their powers whenever she wants. She¡¯s like, a post-posthuman.¡±

    Myriad blushed.

    Billy frowned with curiosity. ¡°I heard your teacher¡ªthe big bloke with the beard¡ªusing that word? What¡¯s it mean?¡±

    ¡°Another word for super,¡± Myriad said.

    The corner of Maelstrom¡¯s lip curled in thought. ¡°I guess it is, but it¡¯s more than that¡­ hmm¡­¡± He tried to remember how Lawrence once put it. The old man had countless poetic turns of phrase for describing the evolutionary process, and sometimes they ran together in Maelstrom¡¯s head. ¡°It¡¯s like, humans invented¡ªhe knows what I mean, Miri¡ªfire, and then they became the fire.¡± He clapped, as though remembering some vital detail. He pointed at Myriad. ¡°She doesn''t have to learn things!¡±

    Myriad smiled bashfully, suddenly very interested in her shoes. ¡°I do, really. I just learn from other people¡­ automatically.¡±

    ¡°I think she knows everything already; she just needs to meet people who know something before she remembers it.¡±

    Billy looked totally bewildered by the concept, which was not helped when Maelstrom pointed sharply at him and asked ¡°What are you really good at? Is there anything you know a lot about?¡±

    Billy had to think about that. His short, circumscribed existence hadn''t offered many opportunities to acquire any special wisdom or rare skills¡ªapart, of course, from the ones that had brought these strange children to his home. But he hadn''t needed to cultivate any of those. He could sing a little over a dozen of his nanny¡¯s favourite Irish folk songs, off key; he¡¯d recently managed to change his bedroom lightbulb all on his own, without his nanny even knowing it had blown to begin with; and he was fairly certain he could identify every beetle, spider and other crawling thing within a mile of his house. Eventually, after some umming and ahhing, he went with ¡°...I¡¯m a good swimmer.¡±

    Not exactly the definable and unique skill Maelstrom had been hoping for, but it would have to do. ¡°Well now so is Myriad.¡±

    Said good swimmer suppressed a giggle. She had of course already been an excellent swimmer for sometime, thanks to Maelstrom. He¡¯d been able to swim before he could walk.

    Billy decided to take Maelstrom¡¯s word for it.

    They were mostly silent for a little while, the Institute children not quite past being surprised every time their eyes fell on Billy, and Billy still not accustomed to other children, period.

    Somewhere between mortified and elated by Maelstrom¡¯s adulation, Myriad explored Billy¡¯s room: her manner unfortunately reminiscent of an anthropologist pawing over a native hut as though its occupants weren''t even there. It seemed the boy read a lot, although judging by the amount of half-pound adventure novels and comic books, this was less a result of natural bookishness and more often having little else to do else to do. To her quiet horror, The G-Men was well represented on his shelves, along with a few issues of a short lived series about the Flying Man¡ªnot that it was brave enough to be upfront about it. The comic and its eponymous hero were both titled Captain Diamond, and his chest insignia was solid red instead of half-purple, but the inspiration was clear. Myriad assumed it was meant to be furtively read by young boys with the same kind of taboo breaking excitement as stolen gentlemen¡¯s magazines. Regardless, she couldn¡¯t see the real Flying Man being majorly inconvenienced by a grown man who voluntarily styled himself ¡°Baron Betrayal¡±.

    There were also a fair few framed pictures adorning his walls. Most were of the elder St. Georges, only twice with their son. In both preserved moments, their smiles were brittle, not quite reaching their eyes, while their son wore an expression of pained joy: the sort that is close kin to¡ªand in many ways worse than¡ªdespair. It reminded Myriad of the constructed, confectioned families that she saw in advertising catalogues, if the child had somehow been convinced he and the other models were actually family.

    Turning away from the photos, Myriad asked ¡°So, what exactly are your powers. Lawrence mentioned something about you turning invisible?¡±

    Billy grinned. ¡°Yup!¡±

    And with no fuss or fanfare, Billy vanished, like a spectre winking out of a scene in some piece of early fantastic cinema.

    Maelstrom¡¯s reaction was mild, to say the least. In his experience, children disappearing from a room was almost more normal than them using the door. Besides, he could still feel the water that made up most of Billy¡¯s being. Myriad, on the other hand, peered closely at the space she intellectually knew the tiger-boy still occupied. When she strained her eyes, she could see that dust motes weren¡¯t drifting through the pocket of air quite as they should. It was the sort of thing you would only notice or pay any mind if you already had reason to suspect there was some unseen presence there in the room with you, and even then it was only discernible in a certain light.

    Lawrence was vherment that some guiding intelligence was responsible for the manifestation of superpowers in the human race. He often waxed poetic about this hypothetical entity casting a sideways glance, from somewhere outside of linear time, at all the possibilities of an unborn new human¡¯s life: carefully considering which gifts to bestow. If he was right, then Myriad couldn¡¯t decide whether that being was uncommonly kind or bitterly sarcastic. ¡°Can you see when you¡¯re like this?¡±

    Billy reappeared. ¡°Yes. Shouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Myriad shook her head. ¡°I think the way you turn invisible works by bending light away from you. None of it should hit you in the eyes.¡±

    Billy¡¯s tail undulated slowly, as he turned the girl¡¯s words over in his mind. ¡°...Isn¡¯t that a good thing? Getting the sun in my eyes hurts.¡±

    Myriad had to keep her eyes from rolling at that. ¡°I¡¯ll try and explain it better later.¡±

    William¡¯s experience with other children outside of his personal fantasies was nil, but he had interacted enough with the odd tradesman and the gardener to tell when someone thought he was being slow. Hoping to dispel that notion, he tried to think of something insightful to say. ¡°I can speak when I¡¯m see-through, but for some reason nobody can hear me.¡±

    ¡°You probably muffle the sound waves before they get very far.¡±

    Billy shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re the genius.¡±

    Myriad wasn¡¯t sure how to take that compliment.

    ¡°So what else do you do?¡± asked Maelstrom. ¡°Lawrence said you had a few powers.¡±

    Billy twisted his foot demurely in the off-cream carpet. ¡°I do, but they¡¯re not really inside things.¡± He made a doomed attempt not to let his thoughts stray back to the incident with the cat.

    ¡°Then show us outside.¡±

    The three of them rushed out the room and down the stairs with the casual impatience of children, past the two leather sofas and the mahogany coffee table at which their elders were taking afternoon tea.

    In accordance with some unconscious yet universal social etiquette, the NHI staff had all piled onto one of the couches while Billy¡¯s nanny sat alone across from them.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see your tykes getting along with Billy.¡±

    Beatrice Sullivan was a dark haired, round faced young woman with a loud smile, whose casual demeanor Lawrence thought would have better suited the mistress of the household than staff. Not that he blamed her for it; he highly suspected Mrs St. George had never called the small, out of the way grey brick house she and her husband had stashed her son in home. ¡°That it is.¡± He brought his delicate, blue china cup to his lips, making a contented sound. ¡°The tea is excellent, Miss Sullivan.¡±

    There were fervent nods of agreement, even from Tiresias, who usually couldn¡¯t be bothered extending compliments to non-fermented beverages.

    Betty laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t give me any of the credit, Doctor. All I did was boil the water. Doesn¡¯t even say anything about my taste: Mr. St. George was the one who ordered it.¡±

    A brief hush fell over Lawrence and the others: the usual response whenever Betty sung her employers¡¯ praise, which was once or twice more than seemed appropriate. Therese suspected it was a habit she had cultivated for her charge¡¯s sake; rose tinted glasses were preferable to the alternative. ¡°So,¡± Therese said, searching for a safe subject in the primordial brown of her tea, ¡°you¡¯ve been looking after Billy how long?¡±

    Betty¡¯s expression grew nostalgic. ¡°All his life. I¡¯ll tell you what, when his parents told me he had some special needs¡ª¡± She laughed guiltily. ¡°I was half-afraid of him at him at first, if I¡¯m being honest. But then I realised he needed the same things as any other child. As for the things he can do, well, everyone¡¯s heard stories. I just figured he was going to grow up to be the next Crimson Comet.¡±

    Lawrence refrained from informing Miss Sullivan of what actually became of Ralph Rivers.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think I was going to stay on as long as I have, but every day made leaving feel like more of a crime. He knew me, you know? And they had already gone through four nannies¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an impressive commitment, Miss Sullivan,¡± Lawrence said admiringly.

    ¡°Please, don¡¯t flatter me. I¡¯ve had free room and board for nearly eight years, and Billy¡¯s as sweet a boy as you could find.¡±

    Tiresias cocked an eyebrow. ¡°It certainly is an interesting arrangement. I¡¯d have expected a parent to want their boy closer to home.¡± His tone indicated he expected no such thing.

    ¡°The St. Georges moved us out here when Billy got old enough to start getting underfoot¡­ try not to judge them too harshly, Mr. Moretti. They¡¯re handling this a lot better than I suspect most people of their stature would. It¡¯s a minor miracle they didn¡¯t drown him at birth.¡±

    Tiresias restrained himself from adding ¡°like kittens?¡±

    ¡°When was the last time you had a holiday?¡± Therese asked.

    Betty smile dimmed a little in intensity. ¡°Children don¡¯t pack themselves away into a corner for two weeks every year. Still, I¡¯m thrilled this opportunity''s come along for Billy. He tries not to show it¡ªI think he¡¯s worried I¡¯ll be offended¡ªbut it¡¯s been a lonely life for him. You could start a whole new school with all the imaginary friends he¡¯s dreamed up. Once told me he met a witch in the woods, who let him wish for friends in exchange for a single hair. ¡± She shook her head fondly. ¡°I blame C.S Lewis.¡±

    Tiresias finished his tea, setting down the cup emphatically. ¡°And what do you plan on doing with yourself once William is in our care? I imagine you¡¯ll have a lot of spare time. Maybe pop off over to the Gold Coast. You must have some pretty serious back pay accumulated.¡±

    ¡°I prefer to keep busy. The St. Georges were nice enough to set me up with a secretarial job at some mine of theirs or another.¡± She laughed again, a little hoarsely. ¡°This was supposed to be something to tide me over till I could find typist work!¡±

    And then Betty started weeping.

    ¡°Oh, God, I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s like trying to imagine a day when the sun doesn¡¯t come up! It throws everything off-kilter. And I don¡¯t know how Billy will cope with so many other people, and then I just wonder if I¡¯m just not letting go¡­¡± She buried her face in her hands, no longer able to put her dread and anxiety into words.

    Lawrence felt a stab of pity for the poor women. By the look of her, she had spent most of her adult life cooped up in the countryside, with neither friend nor lover nor any other kind of adult companionship, devoting herself to the deformed child of parents too vain or cowardly to love him themselves. He couldn¡¯t imagine a more lonely life for a human being. He was almost tempted to offer her a job just so he knew she¡¯d have someone to talk to.

    To everyone¡¯s surprise, it was Tiresias who made the first concerted effort to comfort Miss Sullivan, over Therese¡¯s vague assurances that everything would turn out alright. Stepping around the coffee table with his long, lanky legs, he sat down beside the nanny, gently brushing aside her hands to look her in the eye. ¡°Look, lady, I can¡¯t promise you that Billy isn¡¯t going to be sad another day in his life. I don''t know what his toff parents pay you, but I¡¯m sure that honesty isn''t above your salary. And I¡¯m definitely not going to tell you people will never give him shit about how he looks.¡±

    There was something off about Tiresias¡¯ voice, Lawrence thought. It was like the ever audible sneer was missing from it¡ªor he had acquiesced to let Betty Sullivan in on the private joke he always seemed to be enjoying at the world¡¯s expense. Except he seemed to be keeping one eye fixed on the Oxfordian.

    ¡°What I will tell you is that everyone at the Institute knows what it¡¯s like to be different. Maybe not exactly the same kind of different, I¡¯ll grant you, but at the end of the day, people out there don¡¯t care about that. People out there are arseholes, and the thing about arseholes is that they have a way of barging into the bubbles of decency we carve out for ourselves; wouldn¡¯t it be better if Billy had some backup when his pops?¡± He flashed her a rakish grin. ¡°I know we would appreciate the extra hands.¡±

    Slowly, Betty nodded. Wiping away tears with one shaky finger, she almost looked surprised by the wave of relief crashing over her. ¡°Has anyone ever told you have an odd way with words?¡±

    ¡°When God was casting the silver tongues, he cut corners and gave me a pyrite one.¡± The esper stood up, still grinning. ¡°Shall we go check on the kids?¡±

    Lawrence looked uneasy. ¡°Yes. That might be a good idea.¡±

    Betty smiled. ¡°I imagine Billy¡¯s showing them his trees by now. He¡¯s very artistic, in his way.¡±

    A little beyond the boundaries of the back garden proper¡ªa veritable refugee camp for English flora and landscaping¡ªthe children stood in the shadow of a copse of wattle trees. At least, they had been trees in life. In death, however, they were something altogether stranger. Each was warped in entirely different ways. One bent at the trunk, a section seeming to have collapsed upon itself, plunging the lush green canopy down towards the ground like a prostrate worshiper. On the opposite edge of the clearing, a tree was simply missing a chunk of its core, a hole seeming to have been bored straight into it. Unusually, though, the wood lacked any drag marks, burns or splinters where the wood should have bent or warped. It was smooth, shiny, almost polished, the edges bevelling away into an alcove resembling a throne. One tree, oddly, had a section that seemed to be made from molded gold, marred slightly by a set of long, deep claw marks in the soft metal. Another was perfectly formed and intact, but its substance had been replaced with clear glass; which nonetheless still preserved the whorls and grain of the wood. Its transformed, diffractionated blossoms shattered the bleak winter sun where it struck them, throwing out rainbows. They chimed whenever the breeze blew through them.

    The vast majority of the trees, barring one or two, were dead.

    Maelstrom looked around the grove with unguarded wonder. ¡°It¡¯s like fairyland¡­¡± He ran over to the throne-tree, parking himself regally in it like he was prince of the elves. ¡°I am Oberon!¡± he crowed. ¡°Hear me, my fairy subjects!¡±

    Myriad was grateful that the boys at Harvey Primary couldn¡¯t hear her friend. Cocking her head curiously at the clear tree, she shifted to ice. She could have passed for a native of the world the tree ought to have grown in. She willed flecks of her index finger to fall away till it was sharp enough to cut flesh, and then ran it down the tree¡¯s trunk. All that accomplished was grinding the digit down to a nub.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Billy said, wide-eyed. ¡°You can turn into glass?¡±

    Myriad giggled, the sound echoing out from every frozen molecule of her body like a ghost fiddle, reverberating off the leaves of the crystal tree like bells in the wind. The colour flowed back into her features, like food dye diffusing through water. Her finger reformed quite nicely. Idly, she pondered how the mass she shed was replaced. Fat deposits? It would certainly explain a lot about Melusine¡¯s figure. ¡°Ice,¡± she corrected Billy. ¡°And I think this might be diamond.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± the boy asked, tail waving excitedly. ¡°I thought it was just glass. Shouldn¡¯t the edges be all sharp and sparkly?¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t come out of the ground like that,¡± Myriad explained patiently, junior geologist on top of everything else.

    ¡°How do you do all this?¡± Maelstrom inquired from his seat of arboreal power.

    Billy beckoned the other two to him. ¡°I¡¯ll show you!¡±

    He cupped his hands like he was begging for water. In them, a small globe of what looked like mercury bloomed into existence. Its surface was so perfectly reflective, Myriad almost felt less real than the slightly curved version of herself looking up at her. She hoped they weren¡¯t breathing in actual mercury fumes.

    ¡°You ever dipped your hand in sand?¡± Billy asked aloud. Not waiting for an answer, he continued, ¡°You can sort feel it all between your fingers. That¡¯s kind of what it feels like when I¡¯ve got something in this. And if I remember what something else felt like¡­¡± The mercury evaporated, revealing a perfect sphere of cloudy quartz, contaminated by faint purple and green veins of what Myriad thought might have been alexandrite, like trapped wisps of coloured smoke. ¡°It changes into that stuff! Mostly. Or it melts.¡± He swallowed. ¡°Like Mummy¡¯s wedding ring.¡± He handed the orb to Maelstrom. ¡°Here, keep it.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Maelstrom, admiring his present. ¡°So, what did this used to be? I didn¡¯t see anything in your hands.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°Air, I guess.¡±

    Maelstrom whistled, impressed. ¡°Ex Nihilo is not gonna like this.¡±

    Billy looked at Myriad. ¡°I can make you one too, if you like.¡±

    ¡°Maybe later. So, you have one more power?¡±

    Billy scratched the back of neck apprehensively. ¡°Uh, yeah. Is it okay if I don¡¯t show you near the trees? It¡¯s kinda¡­ breaky.¡± He gestured to a side of the clearing where, sure enough, one of the wattle corpses lay. It had once been formed of some sort of crystal, but now it lay, shattered along the ground. Just enough remained of the trunk, however, to make it clear what it had once been.

    The Institute children followed their new acquaintance to a more disposable copse. ¡°Are you two tougher when you¡¯re made of ice?¡±

    They both nodded.

    ¡°Then be ice.¡±

    The two nodded, wordlessy shifting into their ice forms, eyes fixed on Billy; their utter stillness making him suddenly feel both watched and strangely alone. For his part, he turned to one side, facing just a little away from them, and opened his mouth. What followed could have been called a sound, but doing so failed to truly express the scope of it. An immense front of sonic force burst from his mouth, ripping grass from the ground by the root. The shockwave met a twisted, stunted jarrah tree, and it exploded, sending wooden shrapnel hurtling in all directions. Much to Billy¡¯s momentary alarm, Myriad¡¯s frozen shell teetered like it had been caught in the wake of a cannonball, before falling to the floor and cracking in two at the midsection. He raised a hand to her, his eyes going wide in shock, before she reformed, grinning.

    ¡°That was amazing!¡± she squealed, human once more.

    Billy heard a sound like two very small glaciers slamming into each other. When he looked in its direction, he saw Maelstrom was applauding him. A sizable splinter was lodged in his right eye like a cocktail stick, which he removed perfunctorily before reassuming his flesh and blood, his lips curling into a broad smile as soon as they were able. ¡°I¡¯m glad you made us go icy first,¡± he said playfully. ¡°I bet any naturals would be bleeding out their ears right now.¡±

    ¡°I assure you we¡¯re fine,¡± said Lawrence, the other adults in tow behind him. ¡°I think it¡¯s time we got you packed and ready, William.¡±

    ?

    Speaking truthfully, the polite thing to do would have been for William and Betty to have packed his bags long before Lawrence and the others arrived to pick him up, but nobody could blame them for trying to postpone the inevitable separation as long as possible. A pair of brown leather samsonite train cases were loaded with so many clothes, toys, and books, the NHI headmaster almost suspected Beatrice harboured a secret space-folding power. Most of it would have to be shared with the other children, of course, but Lawrence figured that conversation could wait.

    Betty¡¯s delaying tactics were many and varied. Billy¡¯s travelling clothes were fussed over to within an inch of their life, his luggage checked and rechecked. Long speeches were given on the importance of bathing twice a day and wearing a hat; all interspersed with admonishments that Lawrence feed her boy right.

    Eventually, though, after a protracted afternoon tea and some last minute visits to the smallest room, Beatrice Sullivan found herself on the lawn of the little house, watching a massive, lost Englishman load the rented Volkswagen van that would carry away the child she had more or less raised single handedly.

    Betty turned to her charge, standing beside her as they watched the old man handle the trunks with surprising grace for his age and size, and placed her hands on each of his shoulders. The boy looked away from the van, his eyes meeting hers. He managed to suppress a sniffle with some effort.

    ¡°You take good care of yourself, okay?¡± Betty murmured, the words coming out somewhere between a terse command and a mumbled request.

    The boy didn¡¯t trust himself to answer, and so merely nodded, blinking his eyes a few times to clear them. After a few tries, he managed a single word without letting his voice crack. ¡°Hug?¡±

    Wordlessly, the young woman pulled the boy in close, her cheek pressed gently against the back of his head.

    ¡°Mummy and Daddy always said my fur felt weird to touch,¡± Billy mumbled, his words coming out just a little oddly with his body pressed against his carer. ¡°But you always pretended not to care. Thank you for that.¡±

    ¡°Shush, you,¡± she replied taking a quick breath with a sound like a vacuum cleaner jamming. ¡°I like the fur. It makes it feel like I¡¯m hugging a teddy bear.¡±

    ¡°... Love you.¡± The boy managed, saying the words out loud for the first time.

    ¡°Yeah, me too.¡±

    ¡°...And we¡¯re done,¡± grunted Lawrence, tightening a strap around the last of Billy¡¯s luggage. He turned to face Miss Sullivan, his brow flushed with exertion. ¡°We should be ready to head out once Alberto is finished with whatever it is he¡¯s doing.¡±

    ¡°I meant to mention, Doctor, Billy doesn¡¯t agree with bee stings.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Betty, they hardly ever get past my fur anyway.¡±

    ¡°And he sometimes gets hay fever during the¡ª¡±

    Lawrence held a hand up reassuringly, trying to ward off further warnings. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Miss Sullivan, allergies don¡¯t tend to last too long against our medic.¡± A lot of things don¡¯t, Lawrence reflected. Maybe I should send Miss Sullivan a photo once ?ywie¡¯s finished up with him. ¡°Now where has that boy gotten to?¡±

    ¡°Hold your horses, Bertie, I¡¯m coming,¡± Tiresias called as he strode across the lawn, waving a bottle of wine in one hand. ¡°Say, Miss Sullivan, do you mind if I take this with me? I haven¡¯t tasted a good Amarone since I was ten.¡±

    Miss Sullivan giggled. ¡°Call me Betty, please.¡±

    ¡°Only if you call me Alberto,¡± Tiresias responded with a grin. .

    Lawrence made an almost imperceptible noise of exasperation. He found that his student had two modes to him: schoolboy mopiness, or drifting through the world aloft an updraft of undispellable irony and snide bemusement. He wasn¡¯t sure which he found more trying.

    ¡°Granted, gladly. And sure, take it. The St. Georges send me a couple of bottles every Christmas.¡±

    Tiresias bowed slightly. ¡°Grazie.¡± He exaggerated the accent, just a touch.

    ¡°Shame we don¡¯t have the time to enjoy a glass of it together¡­ will we?¡± For some reason, Betty felt the need to conceal her smile behind her hand.  Yet, she was blushing, and felt no need to hide that.

    Seeing this, the psychic took a quick peek at the nanny¡¯s underlying mental machinery. Her flirtations were born mostly from the fear of loneliness¡ªa stalling tactic she wasn¡¯t even aware she was employing¡ªbut there was some genuine attraction underlying it all, and he couldn¡¯t help but be flattered. He also couldn¡¯t help but notice the irritation rising inside Lawrence like acrid smoke. The old man always overestimated his mental privacy.

    If those monks charged anything, they¡¯d be liable under the Trade Descriptions Act. He held his thumb and index finger to his temples in the standard esper gesture, his mouth set in grim line, his eyes still twinkling. ¡°The future is a storm of change, Betty. But it looks very nice.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll hold you to that.¡±

    Before Lawrence could try and hurry things along, or at least beg the two of them to be a little less secondary school about it, Allison poked her head out from one of the van¡¯s windows, the very picture of righteous indignation. ¡°Let¡¯s go already!¡±

    Betty Sullivan followed the van as it trundled down the driveway, still waving as it rounded the first bend in the country road, only making her way back to the house she had thought of as ¡°hers¡± (or maybe ¡°ours¡±) for years once the dust and sound it had kicked up subsided. She would need to call her employers to inform them their son had been picked up without issue, but that could surely wait an hour or two. She suddenly felt a pressing need to dispose of more of that wine. Or maybe head out to the Regent Theatre and catch a showing of The Sandpiper. Or Saint Mary¡¯s Church, to confess some sin she wasn¡¯t sure she commited, or even what its name was.

    She was walking to the kitchen when she noticed the farewell gift William left for her on the table. He made trinkets for her constantly, and she kept all of them. She would have even if they were balled dirt clods¡ªwhich, in a sense, many of them were. This one was a rose bulb, woven from silver and gold thread. Beneath it lay a note in his tight, laboriously neat hand:

    Thanks for everything.

    Betty Sullivan smiled to herself. ¡°We really did have too much time on our hands.¡±

    ?

    They arrived back at the New Human Institute late the next day. For Billy, passing through Perth was like showing a landlocked child the sea. WA¡¯s capital may not have made anyone¡¯s list of great metropoli, but to William it could have been Rome, Paris, and New York all at once. More than a few children in passing cars would have difficulty convincing their parents of what they saw peering at them from the window of a VW.

    Myriad¡¯s schoolmates¡¯ songs reached her long before they were in sight of the New Human Institute, instantly rousing her from a bout of travel sickness brought on from riding in the tray of the truck, and the soggy, petrol station chips she had devoured while Lawrence reacquired the Institute¡¯s ute. They were the chimes of ¡°Greensleeves¡± playing on an ice-cream van¡¯s speakers in the distance: a promise of infinite joy. They existed parallel of each other, somehow not devolving into cacophony as they approached the way that many songs made of sound would when being played at once. She felt like a child raised by wolves¡ªor maybe paintings¡ªhearing speech for the first time, or someone who had went their whole lives without some desperately vital vitamin finally being allowed to eat her fill.

    As soon as it was close enough, she grabbed hold of Snapdragon¡¯s song, thrusting her hand out over the side and unleashing a stream of phosphorescent red and yellow sparks that drifted in their wake like the Milky Way set ablaze, eliciting a lot of oohing and aahing from Billy, who crawled over to her side to get a better look.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried about starting a bushfire or something?¡± Despite the cautiousness his words implied, his tone was one of utter delight.

    Myriad smiled, primly. ¡°It only burns when I want it to.¡± In demonstration, she allowed a fountain of fireworks to flow from her fingertip over the three of them, sadly without the characteristic whine of the real thing, but with plenty of popping and crackling.

    Billy instinctively went to pat out the embers that settled on his jacket, earning him some laughter from Maelstrom and Myriad. Soon enough, he was laughing, too.

    If AU had invaded and burned, or possibly gilded, the New Human Institute since Lawrence last checked in on it, everyone was being very civil about it. The students and staff were all assembled around the chewed up patch of dried mud the truck usually summered in, Mary Gillespie and Linus enthusiastically waving a ¡°welcome back¡± banner. Also waiting to greet the party was a contingent of what were doubtlessly Mabel¡¯s creatures. A giant, vaguely reminiscent of Abraham Lincoln and dressed in suspenders and stovepipe trousers loomed over the crowd, flanked by centaurs, who, at a deafening trumpet blow from the giant, fired a volley of arrows in salute. Overhead, rather more fireworks than Myriad had produced exploded cheerfully.

    When the truck came to a stop, Myriad heard someone shout ¡°They¡¯re in position!¡±

    There was a crack, and a shower of confetti rained down over the truck.

    ¡°And who¡¯s going to clean that up?¡± Tiresias snapped as he gratefully clambered out of the Ute¡¯s cabin, before slinking off to a less glaringly festive corner of the campus.

    Myriad jumped off the truck, slowing her descent with a well timed gust of wind. Maelstrom bothered with no such precaution. Both children were soon fallen upon, Maelstrom being enveloped by Melusine and Mabel¡¯s arms, while Elsewhere ran up beaming, a broadsheet under his arm.

    ¡°You were in the paper!¡± he shouted, holding up the five day copy of The Australian. ¡°Not even just this one! The West Australian did a story about you guys as well!¡±

    ¡°And The Northam Advertiser,¡± added Mabel proudly, breaking away from the hug.

    ¡°Called you both ¡®local children¡¯. Never going to see them admit that again,¡± Melusine said, still embracing her son, pride, bitterness, and absolute relief warring in her voice.

    Myriad took the paper from Elsewhere¡¯s hands. The front page was dominated by a photograph of what Bob Jenkins had dubbed her cathedral , grainily rendered in light and shadow. She had seen it the day of publication, of course. Lawrence had trooped out to the nearest newsagent first thing in the morning to purchase up a copy. She had no doubt that another had already been framed and hung up somewhere in the big house. Still, after the days of stress and longing, and all the business with Billy, it felt odd being reminded that the Parliament House demo wasn¡¯t even a fortnight behind them.

    Out of some irrational urge to check if Jenkins hadn¡¯t somehow retroactively broken his promise, she turned the page to the main body of the article. She soon found what she was looking for, printed in bolded italics on the rough paper:

    The little girl sends her love to her mother and father, in hope they might read this.

    Myriad looked up. Most of the other children were starting to cluster around the triumphant returnees, eager for tales of the outside world, while a few were trailing Tiresias as if he were a beloved, if grumpy, housecat. The air was thick with their songs, and Myriad found herself rapidly cycling through them, not holding onto any one for more than a second or two, just to assure herself they were there if she needed them. Then she started laughing. And crying.

    ¡°Ah, Miri,¡± said Elsewhere, sounding worried. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°I-I think I am.¡±

    ¡°Something wrong, Allie?¡± Billy asked, leaning over the side of the truck tray.

    Almost as one organism, everyone looked at the boy. Somehow, he¡¯d gotten lost in the general excitement. Or he¡¯d been too busy staring at the giant to make himself known.

    ¡°...Hi! Could someone help me down?¡±

 Chapter Seventeen: The Naming of Cats

    Billy¡¯s first fortnight at the New Human Institute was everything he had ever longed for and more. Even amidst the frankly dismal winter he had arrived in, colours seemed brighter and more vivid than he¡¯d ever known. He was a Pevensie, or a Darling, or some other tourist in a secondary world. Slivers of blue pouring through cracks in the leaden sky and the rainy-green grass that stabbed up through the mist that blanketed the grounds ever morning hit his senses harder than a thousand years of autumn. He found music in the most innocuous of sounds, from the interminable hiss of rain against the corrugated dormitory roof, to the silences broken by the fall of small, hurried footsteps a story above him in the farmhouse. Everything at the Institute had an extra lacquer of significance. Bare, runtish trees barely taller than Billy himself were the gnarled, grasping hands of vanquished, buried witches, blindly trying to pull unwary children down into their earthen tombs to devour. The cold, silent depths of the River Avon concealed drowned empires, treasure galleons sunk by the weight of their gold and silver cargo, and little villages grown of coral, where merfolk went about their dark, wet business.

    It helped that the river did on occasion play home to a fair maiden; or at least, a woman. One morning, when Billy had awoken a full two hours earlier than most of his new schoolmates out of sheer excitement, and had decided to go exploring along the riverbank, he stumbled upon a periwinkle shift dress folded neatly on top of the frigid mud. Picking it up, he was about to go in search of its owner, when a vast, warbly voice radiated out over the water:

    ¡°Oh, Billy, don¡¯t go anywhere with that, I¡¯m getting out in a sec.¡± Somehow, even when it was just the vibration of the river¡¯s surface, the voice still managed to sound French.

    Billy started, the fur standing up on the back of his neck. ¡°M-Miss Mels?¡±

    The river fretted and roiled as Melusine¡¯s elegant frozen form walked out onto the shore like some tundral nymph, water dripping down her and glinting in the cold morning light. A hapless minnow was suspended within her abdomen. ¡°Please, William, you can drop the ¡®Miss¡¯.¡± She would have been smiling, if she were flesh, but as she was¡ªher features fixed in a look of thoughtful early morning ennui, her voice verillion¡ªit was more than a little disquieting. It didn¡¯t help that the sorry business with Edward Taylor had already entered the whispered mythology of the school.

    ¡°Sorry, Mi- Mels,¡± Billy said, holding out the dress, eyes averted slightly.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± For a moment, she was as still and silent as a real ice sculpture. Billy wasn¡¯t completely certain her consciousness hadn¡¯t headed down river. ¡°Actually,¡± she said, making Billy jump, ¡°would you be up for a little experiment?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a surprising question. Aside from physical education, Melusine was also chiefly responsible for power development class.

    Power development class was one of the cornerstones of the New Human Institute¡¯s mission. Put simply, it consisted of individual sessions where students explored the mechanics, limitations, and potential applications of their particular abilities¡ªas well as how they interacted with other powers. Melusine, as it turned out, had a gift for coming up with edifying test uses for superhuman powers, something Lawrence credited to the versatility of her own extranormal talents. It was a well liked class amongst the students, largely owing to Melusine¡¯s aptitude at dressing her tests up as games.

    Not every student had these sessions with equal frequency. While Ex Nihilo¡ªwhose matter generation abilities were similar enough to Billy¡¯s own that he worried the older girl saw him as a potential usurper¡ªstill attended at least twice a week, Stratogale hadn¡¯t been the main subject of the class in over five years. As it turned out, the things you could do with the strength of fifty stout men were much the same as what you could do with just the one¡ªonly more so.

    ¡°Sure,¡± answered Billy. ¡°What were you thinking?¡±

    He was Melusine¡¯s new favourite when it came to power development, which fortunately he was rather fond of, no matter how Lawrence spoiled it by trying to puzzle out a unifying theme for his abilities. Melusine had suggested they were all rooted in some kind of energy manipulation. Sound, light, atomic bonds, etcetera. Lawrence had brushed off the idea, retorting that ¡°some kind of energy manipulation¡± described every deliberate action ever taken in the history of the universe.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you try turning my body into something else? Like a statue.¡±

    Billy looked at her dubiously. The idea of using his power on something that was, at least at the moment, a person was uncomfortable. It reminded him of the less than willing lady astronaut Mabel had conjured for him to test his power on, though at that least then he had felt nothing but air and dust in his mercury grip. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am, but wouldn¡¯t that make you¡­ um, dead?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯d have to be no water at all for at least a mile.¡± She turned to face the river, jerking back a little, as though mildly surprised. ¡°Oh, look, there¡¯s some,¡± she said, deadpan.

    Billy giggled.

    Melusine turned back to look at the boy. ¡°That includes the water you¡¯re made of, just so you know. Do you know how to make lapis lazuli?¡±

    Billy nodded. Some of the most common birthday and Christmas presents Betty had gotten him were semi-precious tumbled stones: new patterns for his alchemical gift. Lawrence hadn¡¯t let up either, ordering in everything short of enriched uranium for the boy.

    Melusine examined her reflection in the back of her hand. ¡°Alright then, just let me fix my hair.¡± She had frozen herself while her hair was fanned out above her in the water, creating an unfortunate resemblance to the Bride of Frankenstein. ¡°Turn around if it bothers you.¡±

    Billy took the offer, allowing Melusine to revert back to human form (expelling the poor, dead fish first) and work her slick, water-darkened hair into a do more worthy of preservation. When she was done, she posed in what she hoped was an artistic but tasteful manner, and became ice once more. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡±

    Over the course of about four minutes, Billy worked up a cloud of mercury a little larger than his model and medium, before allowing it to waft over and envelop her like a Man O¡¯ War pulling in prey.

    ¡°Christ, it¡¯s pitch black in here.¡± Seeing Billy¡¯s distress at that from all possible angles, her ethereal proxy voice quickly added ¡°No, don¡¯t worry, it¡¯s only dark in here. If it makes you feel better, try changing one layer at a time. I¡¯ll warn you if anything seems amiss.¡±

    And so William got to it. As he exerted his will over the molecular pattern of Melusine¡¯s body, he mumbled tuneless little songs under his breath, unconsciously kneading the air like he was working a potter¡¯s wheel¡ªmassaging atoms, scraping off electrons and gently inserting neutrons as needed. Not that he conceptualised it that way. As far as Billy knew, he was just remembering something really hard.

    Melusine chatted all through the process, just in case the boy thought he was killing her for art. ¡°It¡¯s like bits of me keep falling away or going numb. Imagine if your hand fell asleep so deeply, you couldn¡¯t even feel the tickle.¡±

    It took half an hour for the mercury to permeate and transform the ice. When it evaporated, he was left standing in front of an intricate forgery, almost disquieting in its detail. It was like her irises had burst, the colour of her eyes spreading to the rest of her body, coloring it a radiant Afgan blue. Tiny specks of gold and pearly crisscrossing lines scattered across its skin gave it the likeness of a three dimensional woman shaped rent into some impressionist¡¯s vision of an evening starfield, strewn with galaxies and clouds of interstellar dust; the sort of thing that might have resulted if Van Gogh had gotten into body paint. A discriminating eye might have deemed it a bit much, a little too overt a display of grandeur. But to Billy¡¯s sensibilities, it was angelic.

    Billy was allowing himself a small smile at his handiwork when he heard Melusine say with her human voice ¡°Oh, oh, Billy, that¡¯s fabulous.¡± As quietly as the river behind them lapped over the rocks, Melusine had reformed and pulled her dress on, and was now admiring her mineralogical twin.

    ¡°You really think so?¡± Billy asked brightly.

    The woman adopted an expression of benign arrogance. ¡°It¡¯s a statue of me entirely made of the most beautiful stone in nature. Of course it¡¯s gorgeous.¡± She stepped forward to examine the statue more closely. Much to her amusement, there was a small, sulfurous green nebula in the corner of its chin, roughly corresponding to a tiny birthmark on her own person. As with any authentic Persian rug, Melusine had been made with one imperfection to avoid offending God.

    Once the glow of accomplishment faded, Billy got down to some self-critique. ¡°The stone isn¡¯t very pure. Too much pyrite and calcite.¡±

    Melusine chuckled. Even fully human, she sounded burbly. ¡°You do have a head for rocks, don¡¯t you, Billy? And I like how it¡¯s turned out. Reminds me of the ocean.¡±

    Billy tilted his head, his tail swaying like a charmed snake. ¡°Really? I thought it looked more like the sky.¡±

    ¡°It can be that, too.¡± She knelt so her and William¡¯s heads were level, pointing to a mottled baby blue patch on her former body¡¯s right cheek. ¡°But I think those paler bits are like when the water is shallower than the sea around it, so the blue isn¡¯t as deep.¡±

    ¡°And the gold?¡±

    ¡°Sandbanks, or rocks just below the surface.¡±

    The child was enjoying this. He felt like he was being taught to read omens. ¡°What about the white lines? Those have to be clouds.¡±

    ¡°Ohhh, no, no, no, they¡¯re the easiest parts of all. You ever been to the beach on a windy day? Seen those choppy little waves that break before they even reach the shore? That¡¯s what those are.¡± She seemed to consider the matter further. ¡°Or maybe it¡¯s a lake that¡¯s frozen over, and those are cracks in the ice.¡±

    Whatever it was, she liked it. As polished as the stone was, the little imperfections and corruptions made the sculpture look a touch saltburned and wave-beaten. It could have been the sea itself, taken mortal form, if not for the fact that she knew what he looked like.

    Melusine frowned. ¡°If I could make one small alteration¡­¡± A stream of ice crystals flowed out of the river, settling on the statue and weaving together into something not dissimilar to a Greek chiton. ¡°Forgive me if it seems prudish, but there are plenty of boys here who¡¯d like to see me in the buff, and if they get to, I¡¯d prefer to be able to look them in the eye. Come, on, let¡¯s go find this girl a toga or something.¡±

    Billy followed his teacher up the gentle slope leading up to the main cluster of buildings, the fur of his legs and the tops of his feet picking up the grass¡¯s morning dew. ¡°So, what did that teach us about my power?¡±

    Melusine shrugged. ¡°Absolutely nothing. Fun, though. So, how¡¯s life at our little school treating you?¡±

    The boy¡¯s face lit up. Of all the strange magics William St. George had read about, the one he had coveted most was companionship. He¡¯d gotten a taste of it in the journey to the Institute, Myriad and Maelstrom having positively lavished him with their attention for reasons he still didn¡¯t quite understand, not seeing himself as a particularly interesting sort of boy compared to either of them. That had been nothing, however, compared to the social cornucopia that was the crowds of other people: living, breathing, talking people, who swarmed throughout every corner of the school itself. He was still amazed by how many timbres and pitches voices came in. Mealtimes had quickly become his favourite parts of the day. Not so much because of the food¡ªthough the fare at the New Human Institute was almost too delicious to deserve the debasement of human teeth¡ªbut for the absolute concentration of company. The laughter and overlap of so many different conversations rising and falling around him made him feel warm and buoyant, floating in a warm, aural bath.

    On the first tuesday of the past week, two days after his arrival at the Institute, Billy had experienced something entirely new: for the first time in his life, he had been invited to play with another child. Specifically, Britomart had knighted him ¡°it¡± with a smack on the shoulder. This was, he discovered, not the same as those solitary idles he had to content himself with¡ªor at least feign contentment in some attempt to reduce his nanny¡¯s perpetual guilt¡ªback in Albany. No, this was something different. Something far, far better.

    After a lifetime of loneliness so complete, he didn¡¯t even truly realise there was any other way of being that wasn¡¯t fictional, William had friends. He had fallen through the looking glass, stepped through the wardrobe, and climbed the world-tree till he found the branches the sun rested in. The rules had changed for him, or at least he had found children who had to live by the same ones.

    Almost.

    Billy had eyes. He knew none of the other students were precisely the same kind of different as himself. And as inexperienced as he was with other children, he¡¯d expected his looks to garner a bit of teasing. Betty had warned him of it over and over in the days leading up to his departure. ¡°Children can be right little bastards,¡± she had told him, spending her annual curse on emphasis. ¡°When they don¡¯t understand something, they joke about it.¡±

    And there had been jokes. Some days he heard ¡°Whiskers¡± or ¡°Kitty-Boy¡± more than his own name. But that was alright; it wasn''t as if he was the only student walking around with a nickname. It meant he was fitting in. Every night, there would inevitably be a crack about Billy eating at the table, or that they had run out of wet food for him, and William would always laugh¡ªwhether or not it was actually funny was beside the point. At least there was someone to be snide at him.

    Sometimes his schoolmates¡¯ jokes strayed more into the practical. Once, a coalition consisting of Windshear, Talos, and Veltha had set a bushel of ?ywie¡¯s radishes loose in the shower block while Billy was trying to wash the mud out his fur, which chased him all the way down to the barn on evil, lashing roots. If the Watercolours had found the sight of the boy running naked from the shower block in any way odd, none of them had deigned to comment on it. Maelstrom had pulled the liquid from his fur, while Myriad assisted Elsewhere in depositing the wayward vegetables back in the garden to await their fate.

    ¡°They really shouldn¡¯t pick on you like this,¡± Maelstrom had said as he wrapped a Mabel sourced towel around the other boy.

    Billy had written it off as an overreaction. He wasn¡¯t being picked on. All the bullies he had ever read of had been single mindedly devoted to the misery of their victims. As much as some, or even most, of the other children having a go at him on occasion, they also ran and laughed with him.

    Maybe things would have been clearer if he had come by train. That always seemed to be where these things got sorted out.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never been more happy,¡± he had answered then. ¡°I¡¯ve never been more happy,¡± he repeated now to his mother, meaning it.

    Melusine smiled. ¡°I suppose I couldn¡¯t hope for a better answer.¡±

    From her office window, ?ywie watched the two of them, glad for something other than reading journals to occupy her attention. Much as she enjoyed exploring language and literature with her students, sometimes the healer cum English teacher struggled to get through their weekly reflections on The Hobbit as much as they did writing them. And she did wish that Myriad would learn to restrain herself to the fifty word maximum, instead of the two and a half pages she had been averaging as of late. She technically wasn¡¯t even supposed to bother with the reading project anyway, but she¡¯d seemed so put out when Lawrence barred her from participating. If Lawrence ever objected, ?ywie would tell him Myriad sitting in a desk helped maintain the classroom¡¯s feng shui.

    ¡°Something caught your eye?¡± Lawrence said from the cracked door. Still in his green silk dressing gown, he looked ready to ambush any child looking for answers about other worlds or familial insanity with Lewis''s trilemma.

    ?ywie, in contrast, was already well and truly up and dressed. In fact, nobody had ever witnessed her in any state between sleep and spruceness. ¡°Just watching William and Melusine.¡± With the smooth, practised calm she usually reserved for tending to injured children, she inconspicuously stowed Myriad¡¯s latest treatise on authorial integrity in the dark, voluminous drawers of her flame mahogany writing desk. ¡°It¡¯s good to see her take an interest in one of the children besides Maelstrom. I think she relates to Billy.¡± She pronounced the boy¡¯s name with a longer ¡°e¡± than strictly warranted. ¡°You¡¯re certainly up early this morning. Sleep troubled?¡±

    Lawrence idly wondered if being a fantastically beautiful blonde with ultramarines for eyes was to be compared with being mistakable for an attraction at London Zoo. ¡°Yes, actually. There is a matter that¡¯s been rather niggling at me these past few days. It concerns our newest student, as it happens. May I take a seat?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I thought that might be the case. And of course.¡±

    They both sat down, ?ywie regarding her mentor with cool, Germanic patience¡ªthe kind of look that keenly reminded the recipient of how many priceless seconds went to ignoble deaths in every needless lull in the discussion.

    Try as he might, Lawrence sometimes found it very hard to treat ?ywie as the grown, learned woman he knew she was. He had known and looked after her since she was a young girl, and he had over thirty years on her besides. Here, though, in her private office, with him about to ask for her wisdom on the field she practically embodied, it was quite the opposite. Her gaze was pushing him further and further back in time, all the way to when he was a boy at Eton, about to be interrogated by the headteacher concerning his mysterious appearance at the Waterman¡¯s Arms. ¡°So, I assume the Physician passed his findings on to you after examining William?¡±

    As was his way, the Physician paid the Institute a visit soon on the heels of Billy¡¯s arrival. In a break from tradition, he had chosen to hold the examination outside, to more safely test the child¡¯s vocal capabilities. Apart from the barrage of unanswerable biographical and genealogical questions he asked of every student, the Physician had challenged William to sing a ballad  from his own world (His ruse already rumbled, the Physician was more upfront with William about such things.) at the top of his magnified voice. It made him sound and feel as if he had strep throat, and his recitation was apparently flat and mangled, but there was some fun in it. Then the Physician had had him engulf a seemingly empty glass tube, stoppered at each end with silver, which he claimed contained a few atoms of ¡°the mirror of hydrogen¡±, suspended in a cradle of electromagnetic force: engulfing it in his mercury was like trying to grab hold of a seizure. He even turned invisible at the alien¡¯s bidding, who had peered at him through an ornate, brass eyepiece with many lenses, held in place by insectile limbs that helpfully adjusted themselves at a thought¡ªeach attuned to a different spectra of light. Silhouetted in ultraviolet and infrared, the boy looked like his own portrait by Andy Warhol.

    ¡°Congratulations,¡± John Smith (for politeness¡¯ sake Billy hadn¡¯t questioned the outrageously fake name) said, ¡°you¡¯ve got yourself a link up in that brain of yours.¡±

    Billy had almost managed to enjoy himself.

    ?ywie folded her arms. ¡°Yes. You know he always does.¡± She scowled. ¡°I think he believes we¡¯re friends.¡±

    ¡°And what did he say about the boy¡¯s health?¡± asked Lawrence.

    ¡°He came to the same conclusion I did, more or less. As odd as Billy looks, there¡¯s nothing either of us could find wrong with him, at least after my usual preliminary improvements. He¡¯s as healthy and hale as any of our other students.¡±

    ¡°Good, good¡­ look, I¡¯ll cut to the chase here. Do you think you think you could make William look... less like an animal?

    The medical woman did not look surprised by the question. She put her hand on the desk, as though probing for a drink that did not present itself for duty. ¡°I think so, given a few hours and a broom. Drastic as they seem, the aberrant elements of his physiology are actually quite minor, and none of them seem tied in with his powers, so we probably wouldn¡¯t run into the same issue as Reverb.¡±

    Lawrence grinned, a man delivered. ¡°Wonderful!¡± he almost bellowed. ?ywie briefly worried that the vibration of his voice might knock over the vase on her windowsill. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be thrilled. Perhaps you could start after breakfast, once has a good meal in him? Or should he fast¡ª¡±

    ¡°I do not think I will be doing that,¡± ?ywie said, her eyes closed.

    ¡°...Pardon?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect I¡¯ll be performing the procedure,¡± she reiterated. ¡°Medically speaking, I don¡¯t see the necessity.¡±

    Lawrence shook his head slowly, flummoxed. ¡°He looks like a bloomin¡¯ tiger!¡± His affected Oxfordian tone had fallen a few rungs down the class ladder.

    ¡°Yes, he does. He also shows no sign of physical impairment or mental retardation. I live in a school with over a dozen young girls, Lawrence. How often do you think I¡¯m asked to make their noses ¡®less Jewish¡¯, or to slim down their figures? If I granted every request for cosmetic alteration, this whole school would be a collage of Woman¡¯s Mirror covers. Me and Mother Nature may have our disagreements, but I don¡¯t pick fights with her out of vanity.¡±

    ¡°...You cure acne.¡±

    ¡°Acne is a skin condition.¡±

    ¡°And fur isn¡¯t?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°I think it helps with temperature regulation. I¡¯ve certainly never seen Billy wear his coat. I can¡¯t imagine what the air on his skin would feel like after a lifetime of insulation. And I¡¯m fairly sure the tail aids his sense of balance.¡±

    ¡°Are you telling me that if a child came to us with a harelip, you wouldn¡¯t do anything to correct it?¡±

    ?ywie sighed. ¡°A harelip is a congenital malformation, Lawrence. Billy¡¯s appearance seems far too¡­ deliberate to be that. Callous as it sounds, I get a strong sense of aesthetics looking at him.¡± She smiled, without much joy. ¡°He might be more proof of your invisible agent theory.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Lawrence felt ill thinking about it, like a vicar confronted with the suggestion that God only made men as a host for smallpox. ¡°?ywie, please, think about the disadvantage you¡¯ll be putting the poor boy at! The way people will look at him!¡±

    ¡°It seems to me that dark skin is also a disadvantage in this country, but I can¡¯t recall you ever asking me to turn Haunt and Maelstrom white.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be obtuse with me, girl!¡± Lawrence snapped. ¡°You can¡¯t tell me you¡¯re disingenuous enough to think that being black and¡­ that are in any way comparable!¡±

    All of a sudden, ?ywie slumped back in her chair, only half-looking at the headmaster. ¡°Maybe they aren¡¯t.¡± Her voice sounded tired, almost despairing. It briefly occured to Lawrence that she might have already had this argument all on her own. ¡°But regardless, it sets a precedent I wish to avoid. And since when have we expected children here to change to placate the outside world? As it stands, I don¡¯t see anything stopping Billy from enjoying as full and good a life as any of the other children. He can still run, can still play with his friends and seems fully on track to living a full and contented adult life. It¡¯d be different if this was causing him pain, or was going to reduce his lifespan, or prevent him from having children¡ª¡±

    ¡°Children?¡± Lawrence shouted. ¡°What girl do you think will be willing to carry such a deformity?¡±

    The office was silent, the sound of the old man¡¯s outburst sinking into the oriental carpeting like dust. ?ywie glared at him, deep shock and hurt in her eyes. In the distance, Tiresias faintly groaned at them to keep the racket down.

    Lawrence knew he had made a grave tactical error. This was Achilles and Telephus all over again, and he was fumbling with Odysseus¡¯ torch. ¡°Have you consulted Tiresias? Gotten the psychological take?¡± Lawrence wasn¡¯t proud of the occasional monitoring of his students¡¯ thoughts, but the possibility of mental illness going undetected in even the least potent of the children was too terrible to contemplate.

    ?ywie nodded. It seemed she had chosen to strike Lawrence¡¯s lapse in tact from the mnemonic record. He wasn¡¯t sure if this was mercy or punishment. ¡°Yes, actually.¡±

    Lawrence was surprised. Neither the healer nor the telepath regarded each other very highly, something their teacher tried to convince himself was rooted in the six year age gap between them.

    ¡°He said that while Billy is understandably self conscious about his looks, he hasn¡¯t let it turn into self loathing. On top of everything else, I worry thrusting such a drastic change of appearance on him might provoke a dysphoric reaction in him, especially since we would essentially be amputating a limb. I¡¯m sure Elsewhere could tell you some family stories about phantom pains.¡± She stood from her chair, circling the desk till she was at Lawrence¡¯s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°He still likes what he sees in the mirror, Laurie. Can¡¯t we let him hold onto that?¡± Moment of sentiment over with, ?ywie composed herself again. ¡°I¡¯ll see you at breakfast?¡± She asked the question like they had just got done discussing lesson plans.

    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Lawrence replied, rising to leave. ¡°Thank you, ?ywie.¡±

    As he wandered¡ªalmost dazed¡ªback out into the hallway, he wondered if Myriad could do what her teacher wouldn¡¯t.

    ?

    ¡°She¡¯s got the ball!¡±

    A horde of children pursued Myriad through the tall grass like hunters in the Savanna, crying out in rage and ecstasy after their quarry, fighting the wind as they went. She, on the other hand, faced no such impediment. It swept her up every time she leapt, the way a child at sea lets the waves push her back to shore. Alongside her bobbed a football. Touching the ball with your hands was of course strictly verboten, but what could be done about the wind being amenable to your every whim?

    ¡°Calcio fiorentino,¡± Tiresias had explained, long ago, ¡°was a special kind of football¡ªand anyone caught calling it ¡®soccer¡¯ will be drawn and quartered¡ªthey played in my country some time between when Jesus Christ roamed the Earth and the dinosaurs died out. Imagine regular football, except with twice as many guys on each team, and brawling is the whole point of the game, instead of being saved for afterwards like in jolly old England. I mean, it was a bloodbath, and everyone played it! Aristos, popes, everyone. No, really! A whole bunch of popes played it! Can you imagine Pope John tearing off some poor bastard¡¯s nipple to win a footy match? They stopped playing it in the 17th century or thereabouts, probably because they were running out of Italians to play it, but good old Mussolini brought it back. Had to make up some new rules, though; mostly because anyone who knew how to write wasn¡¯t hard enough to play calcio fiorentino.¡± He had taken a long sip of his wine. ¡°What I think the game really lacked till now was superpowered brats like you all.¡±

    Much to Tiresias¡¯ remarkably unselfconscious delight, the game had caught on amongst the students. They, too, had been forced to alter the rules themselves. The restriction of female players was obviously right out. Even with that no longer a factor, there were hardly enough students for one calcio fiorentino team, let alone two. To address this, a system had been developed where students were ranked by how many players their powers made them worth. The epidemic of wounded egos that resulted practically ensured there was always a warm-up riot before the game could even begin. Furthermore, instead of the victors receiving a flawless, Chianina calf, the students had managed to harang the staff into agreeing to double dessert for the winning team.

    Her feet briefly on the ground, Myriad ran through one of the pools of shadow that dotted the pitch, before allowing the unnatural wind to release the ball and kicking it savagely towards her opponents¡¯ goal. She overshot it, instead sending the ball into the vast, curved wall of water. It was raining hard that afternoon, and rather than let it ruin their game the way baseline children would have, Maelstrom had ordered the shower to stop a fair distance above their heads. In obeisance, the water had formed a great dome, rain smearing against it like it was a car windshield. The whole field was now bathed in dappled light, as though they were playing beneath a sky of stained glass, accentuated by uneven breaks in the clouds above.

    It was not¡ªMyriad insisted¡ªthe same as playing underwater, no matter what everyone else said. And she would know, having actually played some ball games with Maelstrom on the bottom of the river.

    The ball floated in the firmament for a moment, a puffer fish caught in an ice drift, before shooting out of it like a pistol-shot¡ªeven leaving behind a vaporous trail as it sailed through the air. It hurtled all the way to the other end of the dome, which sent it flying right back, the entire field transformed into a gigantic pinball machine.

    The ball shot towards the goal with such force that children standing too close staggered in its wake, but it was intercepted by Brit at the last second. She took the ball in the stomach, a blow that likely would have torn any natural in half, but which bounced harmlessly off of her. Brit did not hesitate to give all the stolen force right back, and took a step back, raising a leg behind her to strike it with all her might. The children between her and the goal scrambled for cover, before the girl struck the ball with the sound of mountains embracing and sent it towards the opposing team¡¯s goal, guarded by an unfortunate Billy who, for his part, did not flinch. Most of the other students had vaguely expected him to possess superior physical capabilities, but as it turned out, goalie was the only position where he wasn¡¯t a liability. They really shouldn¡¯t have been surprised: it wasn¡¯t as if the boy had ever spent much time running around with other children. As such he wasn¡¯t particularly athletic, no matter whatever his feline appearance might have suggested.

    The boy opened his mouth, and let out something that could charitably be called a sound. The shockwave struck the ball and for a moment it seemed to simply hang in midair, the warring forces of the two strikes battling for supremacy, before it dropped to the ground, where Windshear scooped it up in a tiny dervish of wind.

    Elsewhere soon saw to that, teleporting not the ball (that had been declared cheating), but the girl, sending Windshear far off to the other side of the dome, before taking the ball via the significantly more mundane medium of his feet, giggling all the way. Maelstrom, here manifested as an eight foot Goliath of solid ice, moved to intercept the boy, until suddenly, a drought stricken village in North Africa was blessed with enough water to last them until the rains. Some may have considered Elsewhere the least of the players on the field, but his inability to accelerate the ball paled in comparison to his capacity to remove his opponents from play.

    His triumphant break for the end-line was soon cut short, the ball kicked out from in front of him. The interceptor was much taller than Elsewhere, a grown man, in fact. His physique and features were cartoonishly masculine, but his blond hair was styled in an incongruously feminine Prince Valiant cut. Clad in a red footballer¡¯s kit interrupted by a stripe of yellow down the side, the out of place Roy Race grimaced with exaggerated determination, giving his all in a world of  muddled and unfamiliar colours for the honour of the Melchester Rovers¡ªwherever they were.

    His stint on the Far Out Thunder Kings was short lived, however, as the ground itself swallowed both the strip character and the ball, as though he had stumbled over the lair of some subterranean shark. The last thing anyone heard from him was a strangled cry about ¡°the team¡± being relegated to Second Division.

    Myriad knew who the culprit was immediately. She could hear the steady bass drumbeat of her song even through ten feet of sod. Not that she needed to once Veltha burst from the earth, with so much dirt in her hair you couldn''t begin to even guess what colour it might have been. Then again, the child always had a layer of grime that clung to her even fresh from a bath. A little girl of ten, Veltha rounded out the Institute¡¯s elemental quartet¡ªspecifically filling the role of the gnome. She could manipulate soil and rock with a degree precision that would put any earthmoving machine to shame, and move through it like water, navigating through the lightless underworld by some kind of sonar.

    Taking advantage of the slight slope, Veltha created a shallow trench in front of her as she ran, unerringly corralling the ball towards Billy and the goal with the speed of a very low flying meteorite. Myriad tried to divert the ball herself, but the soil refused to yield to her demands. Similarly, she found the air around her sluggish to respond, as though the atmosphere had become as thick as honey. When she tried to send some of the water crashing down on top of the earth shaker, it too failed to answer her. Generally, when she emulated a power that involved exerting control over some aspect of nature, it tended to give priority to the actual owner of said power and said aspect. Only fair, she supposed, but not now.

    Billy stood at the ready, his legs spread out and his arms at his side. In Maelstrom¡¯s arena, goals were simply partings in the water, like drawn curtains. It was an elegant solution, much preferable to having to lug out and assemble the Institute¡¯s ancient football nets. Even ball retrieval wasn''t a problem; with how hard it was raining just outside the canopy, the difference between David and the much vaunted, hypothetical, telekinetic generalist was mostly academic.

    Billy was ready for this. Sure, he had let more shots past than he had caught. And yes, his first attempt at deflection the ball with his shout had managed to score an own goal via ricochet, but this time would be different. He was going to do the Far Out Thunder Kings proud, even if he had to reach into a whole other dimension to catch the damn ball.

    Knowing it was only a matter of time till the ball was taken from her or someone made an attempt on her person, Veltha took the shot.

    The ball crossed the distance between the girl and Billy at what seemed to him a leisurely pace. The moment stretched so thin, it was in danger of splitting in half, forever dividing the universe into two continuities. He wasn¡¯t watching a football hurtling towards him at speed, but rather Pluto¡¯s bicentennial journey around the sun. For a moment, he thought he must have manifested a new power, but never mind that. Without thinking, he leapt to the side, only barely managing to snatch the the ball out of the air, clutching it to his chest like a newborn.

    I did it, Billy thought as he skidded across the grass. I actually did it. It was far from a deciding goal, but it was good enough for him¡­ at least until he heard the high whine of trapped air escaping from around his curved, black claws. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Nice going!¡± Talos yelled in his synthesised, staccato voice, his glass eyes glowing dangerously yellow.

    Still drunk from his successful catch and a little dazed from the impact, Billy missed the sarcasm. ¡°I know, right?¡±

    Talos let out a great trumpet blast. Behind him, Veltha said, ¡°That was our only ball!¡±

    Cardea emerged from one of her blurrings of space, the advance scout of the other children converging on the scene. ¡°Guess this means the game¡¯s over.¡± She grinned smugly. ¡°Far Out Thunder Kings win six to four points.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a load of bull!¡± shouted Elsewhere. ¡°You don¡¯t get to win a match because someone on your team blew up the ball!¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Myriad retorted. ¡°Our game, our rules.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a stupid rule!¡±

    ¡°Guys,¡± said Maelstrom, stepping out from the water as though he had been waiting outside the dome, ready to play referee, ¡°the match doesn¡¯t have to be over. We could just get Ex Nihilo to make us something round to kick. Or Phantasmagoria could get us one of Roy¡¯s balls. Metonymy could probably whip up something, too.¡±

    ¡°I could make you a ball,¡± Billy chimed in as he dusted himself off. There was a pleading tone to his voice.

    Everyone looked at their newest classmate.

    ¡°Can you?¡± asked Windshear, curious.

    Billy shrugged, smiling nervously under the other children¡¯s gaze. ¡°Well, I think I can. It¡¯s just some air covered in¡ª¡±

    ¡°Leather, mostly,¡± Myriad supplied helpfully.

    ¡°Yeah, that.¡±

    ¡°Let him try,¡± insisted Elsewhere. ¡°Not like he¡¯s gonna run out of silver cloud.¡±

    The remark earned earned him some nasty looks from the more senior students. It was in very poor taste at the Institute to even joke about powers being being finite.

    Heedless, Billy set to work, first casting his mercury over the rapidly deflating football to refresh his sense memory. After less than a minute of work, he had a perfectly round mass of air clothed in a thin layer of leather. Once it was done, he tried catching the ball with his foot, badly thumbling the move.

    Plucking the ball out from in front of Billy, Talos weighed it in his bronze hands, studying it with a cold, appraising eye. Unlike most footballs made by human hands, this one lacked any panels, but it responded just fine to a good, sharp kick. The fact it didn¡¯t explode from the piston-like force of Talos¡¯ metal foot spoke well for its craftsmanship. ¡°Yeah, we can use this.¡±

    Billy smiled his friendly vampire grin. ¡°Great! Should I keep being the goalie?¡±

    Talos looked at the other child with equal parts confusion and disdain. ¡°What? You think you¡¯re still in the game? You¡¯re out, kitty-boy.¡±

    Billy¡¯s tail drooped, his lip wobbling. ¡°But-but I fixed the ball.¡±

    ¡°And I don''t want to have to stop the game every five seconds for you to keep fixing it. Buzz off.¡±

    The proclamation instantly kindled dissent among the children.

    ¡°You can''t do that!¡± cried Cardea. ¡°He¡¯s not on your team!¡±

    ¡°There aren''t penalties in calico fiorentino!¡± asserted Britomart, mangling the Italian words with panache.

    ¡°Oh, quit whinging,¡± said Windshear. ¡°You should be happy he¡¯s being kicked out, he was a rubbish goalie anyway.¡±

    David walked up to Talos, his expression very serious. There was something of his mother in his countenance. ¡°It was an accident, he fixed it, now drop it.¡±

    Unlike the Barthes, Talos could visibly emote in his transformed state. It was, the most insecure part of himself sometimes reminded him, the one advantage his power had over Maelstrom¡¯s. He sneered, revealing black iron teeth. ¡°You don''t have to be all teacher¡¯s pet, Mealy. We all know Lawrence only let the monster in because his dad paid him.¡±

    Everyone went silent. Even the roar of the rain stopped.

    Billy looked from student to student, desperately searching for some sign of disbelief. Then he began sobbing.

    A dam inside Maelstrom burst, ice water flowing freely through his veins. It was a sensation he¡¯d always feared and secretly longed for taking hold of him. In that moment, for maybe the first time in his young life, he truly felt like his mother¡¯s son.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bloody stupid liar, Talos.¡± It wasn¡¯t an insult so much as a bare declaration of fact. ¡°Now tell Billy you¡¯re sorry so we can get on with the game.¡±

    All the way back on the farmhouse¡¯s veranda, Mabel applauded.

    Talos momentarily looked at the water sprite like he was a gorgon¡¯s son instead of a nereid¡¯s. Then he remembered who he was talking to. This was Mealy: a boy so lukewarm, you couldn''t even use him to make tea. Still, no harm in letting him think he was scary for a moment. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Let¡¯s get it over with.¡±

    Maelstrom allowed Talos past him, Billy offering his hand to shake. ¡°Mates?¡±

    The bronze boy was about to take the proffered hand and make some grunt of agreement, when he realised that people might think Mealy actually intimidated him. Instead, he grabbed Billy¡¯s tail and yanked it in an unnatural direction, harder than he really intended.

    There was a crack. Billy screamed.

    A few things happened in very quick succession. First, Myriad¡¯s eyes went blue. Veltha retreated beneath the Earth. In the same moment, Abalone enclosed himself and those students lucky enough to be standing within a few feet of him under one of his forcefields. Heralded by a small thunderclap, Jumpcut and Cardea both joined Mabel under the veranda. Brit and Elsewhere each lit up their auras. Talos, surprised by his own act of violence, reverted to his organic form.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    And then all the water hanging above them fell: forty days and forty nights worth of rainfall in one concentrated burst. Everyone who hadn''t fled or taken steps to protect themselves was knocked off their feet. All except Billy. Aside from being already sprawled on the grass, his patch of ground remained miraculously dry: Noah, spared by an altogether more practical deity.

    When the waters receded, the children were at war. Roughly divided into Pro and Anti Williamites, they fought each other, slipping and struggling to even see their foes amidst the rain and the mud. Maelstrom¡ªnow ice¡ªwas on top of Talos, landing blow after blow on his face hard enough to draw either blood or mineral lubricant, all in utter silence. This outbreak of posthuman-on-posthuman aggression might have earned them all another round of flogging, if it weren''t almost identical to how every other game of calcio fiorentino turned out.

    Shellshocked, Elsewhere picked his way through the battlefield, trying to avoid being drawn into any of the smaller fights. Occasionally, one of his classmates would lunge at him, only to find themselves landing face first in the swollen River Avon. He figured someone should deliver Billy to ?ywie: she didn''t ask questions when it came to calcio fiorentino. He might have left that up to Myriad, but she had been skittish with the healer lately, and was also presently occupied swatting at Automata¡¯s air forces with flaming fists that burned bright in the cold, wet air.

    The rain didn''t bother him. The raindrops disappeared before they even hit his skin, as though he were radiating heat intense enough to evaporate them. Billy, too, was preserved from the rain, which swerved away from him in the air, as though he were lying under an invisible umbrella.

    Elsewhere knelt next to Billy, who was face down in the grass. His mangled tail twitched spasmodically. ¡°You okay, buddy?¡± he asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as the words left his mouth.

    Billy hardly stirred. ¡°...I have friends.¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°I have friends,¡± Billy repeated, a little louder.

    He really did. He had friends who cared enough to beat up their other friends for him. He didn''t think anyone in the world besides his nanny could care that much about him.

    ¡°I have friends.¡±

    ?

    ¡°So, do you know what my name¡¯s going to be?¡± Billy asked as Mrs Gillespie led him by the hand to the front door of the house. She had done an excellent job freshening the boy up for his Naming, and had assured him repeatedly that the pair of good trousers and short pants she¡¯d sacrificed for it were no great loss.

    ¡°I¡¯ve no idea, love. Dr. Lawrence likes to keep this sort of thing under his hat till the big announcement.¡± She chuckled. ¡°I will tell you this, he¡¯s been pulling his hair out trying to think of something that encompasses all your powers.¡± She stopped walking, raising a finger in the air. ¡°Swiss-Army-Boy.¡± She closed her hand, smiling slyly. ¡°No, nobody¡¯s that cruel.¡±

    Billy giggled.

    ¡°In all seriousness, I imagine it¡¯ll be something along the lines of ¡®Alchemist¡¯¡ªnot sure how I feel about giving a child a professional title for a name, but there you go. Personally, I¡¯m rather fond of Jericho, for your shout, you see, but Dr. Lawrence has never gone in for scriptural references. I think ¡®Soundbite¡¯ is what most of the money¡¯s on in Windshear¡¯s little betting pool.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know about that?¡±

    Mrs Gillespie gave the child a bemused look. ¡°Oh, William, you children don¡¯t get away with nearly as much as you think.¡±

    When they reached the threshold, Mary asked if Billy wanted escorting down to the staging ground.

    The boy nodded, and Mrs Gillespie, noting the fear in his eyes, took his hand, setting forth in a stride that he was half helped, half forced to match. The sun had set hours ago on that dreary, mayfly day, and while the Institute¡¯s remoteness usually blessed it with an enviable view of the night sky, that night no starlight pierced the rolling plains of clouds. The darkness¡¯ only blemish was the faint haze of the moon; a lighthouse for airships.

    The path to the bonfire was lit by some of Snapdragon¡¯s constructs, immolated will o¡¯ wisps and stoic, dignified djinn. Under his fur, Billy paled on catching sight of the multitude of other children watching him on either side of the bonfire, the flame casting their faces in disturbing, almost inhuman patches of shadow. His breathing began to increase in speed, his hands starting to shake, when four bright pools of cobalt caught his eye in the crowd. Maelstrom and Myriad stood, hand in hand, flanked on either side by Mabel and Elsewhere, all four of them smiling gently at him. His first real friends. He felt the cold in his chest begin to melt away, a tentative smile playing on his lips. He took his first truly voluntary step forwards, drawing a glance from Mrs Gillespie, then a chuckle, as she let him continue on alone. The entire Institute population was present, including Basilisk, who had managed to regain a fragile equilibrium while Lawrence and his chosen companions were away. And they were all smiling across at him, even, surprisingly, Talos.

    Lawrence stood right next to the fire, a small space separating him from the rest of the crowd. Billy duly took his place beside the man, trying to simultaneously look past the crowd without appearing to be avoiding their gaze.

    By his standards, Lawrence¡¯s Naming speech was as brief and perfunctory as a pauper¡¯s bank statement. ¡°While I hadn¡¯t expected to return from Canberra with a new student, I have no regrets about this particular surprise. In a way, children like young William are the whole reason our community exists. I can only imagine the kind of treatment his appearance would have garnered him in a school full of baseline children. Needless to say, I¡¯ve been very impressed by how readily you children have all accepted him, and in William¡¯s indomitable pride in his nature.¡± He looked right at ?ywie. ¡°And in recognition of this pride, I would like to introduce you all to¡­ Growltiger!¡±

    There was the expected applause. Except from Lawrence¡¯s eldest students, who shared looks ranging from mild surprise to outright dismay.

    Billy grinned. ¡°Pleased to meet you!¡± It was a good name, he thought. At least he would have one thing less to agonize over when they played superhero.

    Lawrence smiled, still not taking his eyes off ?ywie. ¡°Before we let this party take its natural course, I believe our Watercolours have a welcoming present for you.¡±

    The Watercolours approached Billy with the conscious haste of children being called to stage. He looked at the blue-eyed ones. After saving him from a life of complete isolation, and in Maelstrom¡¯s case, earnestly trying to drown his enemies, he wasn¡¯t sure what more they could possibly give him.

    Myriad started. ¡°So, remember that one lunchtime when Elsewhere was complaining about the weather, ¡®cause he¡¯s a wimp?¡±

    Elsewhere looked at her indignantly. ¡°I was complaining because I don''t have magic not-getting-cold-powers!¡± He frowned playfully at William. ¡°Or fur.¡±

    Mabel picked up from the other girl. It seemed rehearsed. ¡°And you said you liked it because it reminded you of Narnia?¡±

    It appeared to be Billy¡¯s cue. ¡°Yeah? But it wasn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    He hadn¡¯t even finished his sentence before the first flakes began to fall. Before they even reached the ground, a host of nymphs, fauns, dwarves, and more mundane yet still deeply out of place English fauna appeared all over the grounds, a great lion lying at the centre of it all. It was really the kind of spectacle the Watercolours had been trying to move away from with their Tempest production, but it had seemed a worthy occasion for a little backsliding.

    Billy still wasn¡¯t sure what had come first, the tears of joy or the excited squealing. It was a close run thing.

    The entire student body and even the human teachers dispersed into the miniature Narnia. Mabel conjured a fine rendition of Jadis, Empress of Charn for some harmless menace. About five loose quartets of Pevensie children formed out of the chaos, one of whom appointed William as their Peter. It was the first game of pretend where he hadn''t been cast as the monster.

    He¡¯d done it. He had found his secret country, claimed his throne, and would steer clear of any white stags that happened to pass through.

    ?

    Back in what still passed for reality, the original four new humans were pulling their old teacher aside.

    ¡°That was low and childish of you, Lawrence,¡± ?ywie hissed.

    Lawrence raised his eyebrows in mock confusion. ¡°I have no clue what you¡¯re talking about, my girl. I simply¡ª¡±

    Tact can sometimes be a disease, one which Melusine had been thoroughly immunized against. ¡°Cut the crap, Bertie, we all know about your little cosmetic surgery discussion with ?ywie.¡±

    ¡°Mostly because the echo still hasn''t died down,¡± added Tiresias. He began walking slowly backwards, waving his hands. ¡°What girl will want him? What girl will want him¡­¡±

    They ignored him.

    ¡°So that¡¯s how we play things now?¡± ?ywie said, glaring. ¡°When we can''t satisfy our vanity, we use the children to snipe at each other? Even if it means making their very names insults?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with Zy on this one, Laurie,¡± said Basilisk. ¡°I don''t quite know if you meant it the way she thinks you did, but the name feels a little¡­ on the nose.¡±

    Lawrence raised an eyebrow. ¡°And ¡®Elsewhere¡¯ wasn''t? I was just following our ?ywie¡¯s advice. Why shouldn''t we celebrate Growltiger¡¯s appearance? He seems to like the name.¡±

    Basilisk glanced at his friend. ¡°He has a point, Zy. Maybe we should ask Billy¡ªdon''t give me that look, Lawrence, it hasn''t even been ten minutes¡ªwhat he thinks?¡±

    Melusine rolled her eyes. ¡°As though he¡¯s going to risk upsetting us? The poor thing probably has nightmares about waking up back in his own room. He¡¯d have taken being called ¡®Old Deuteronomy¡¯ with a smile.¡± She looked sharply at Lawrence. ¡°And that still would have been a better name!¡±

    The headmaster put a hand on ?ywie¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I still don''t see why you¡¯re so upset. This is what you wanted, isn''t it? Growltiger now knows exactly how we feel about his appearance. And I¡¯m sure if he has any objections to the name, he¡¯ll make them known to us, just as I¡¯m sure you would do everything in your power to address them.¡± He pronounced the word ¡°power¡± very deliberately, removing his hand. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I am going to watch the children play, and have a drink. I suggest you all do the same.¡±

    He walked off towards Narnia, leaving his students to awkwardly disperse, except Tiresias¡ªwho departed with the air of a man leaving the theatre after a show, ready to get just drunk enough to forget Jadis wasn''t a real woman in either sense of the word¡ªand ?ywie, who just stood there, fuming.

    As Melusine passed Lawrence on her way to congratulate her son on the authenticity of his snow, she whispered a single word in his ear:

    ¡°Coward.¡±

 Chapter Eighteen: Full Fathom Five Thy Father Dwells

    It was a rare night when children¡¯s screams did not break the silence of the NHI dormitories. For so many young posthumans, nightmares were the price they paid for working dreams. Some cried out for their mothers¡ªeven if they knew in their bones that they didn¡¯t want them. In their sleep, they clung to their memories, holding tight to pillows, stuffed animals, and even each other in hope of comfort. At any other school, such unhidden need would likely have been a cause for teasing or outright bullying, but every child at the Institute knew that longing. And so, when a student woke to find another clinging to them, common courtesy was to simply hug them back, and never speak of it when morning came. Some nights, especially in deep winter, when you could feel the chill pressing against the windows and seeping in beneath the door, half the hammocks in the dorms went unoccupied.

    Myriad in particular found company helpful in warding off her night terrors. Elsewhere usually didn''t mind cuddling, but sometimes his self consciousness would rear up from the depths like the Devil Whale, and suddenly they were both too old for it. Growltiger was always amenable, and had the advantage of basically being living, humanoid plush¡ªbut that also meant that half the time someone had already called him for the night. Windshear and Elsewhere were both trying to convince him to charge for it.

    Fortunately for Myriad, she always had Maelstrom. Apart, perhaps, from Elsewhere, she had never been so effortlessly comfortable with another child. Maybe it was because they both knew what it was like to be water: shapeless and mercurial, lacking any permanence or definition beyond the wordless, intuitive collaboration they shared as they passed particles and concepts between themselves, shaping the world both inside and around them, masters of one narrow yet vast element of creation. Twin minds sharing one utterly singular experience.

    It also might have been because Maelstrom was nice.

    The night held foes for him, too; poisonous fish circling the boy in the dark, waiting for blood. And tonight, they got it. He wept and shook, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Myriad tried to comfort him, much as his terror threatened to overwhelm her in turn:

    ¡°It-it¡¯s okay, David. I¡¯m here.¡±

    He looked right past her¡ªhis eyes wild and gleaming¡ªat a man with a cold, pale smile. He was always there, watching and listening. There was no escaping him, for David. He was inside him, threaded through his entire being. He let out a long, ragged scream. A few glasses of water fell and shattered.

    Even by the generous standards of the Institute, this was getting a bit much. Each dorm was left to one of the older teenagers to police, who, in compensation for having to share a room with around a dozen small children, wielded almost dictatorial power within. That evening, the den-mother of David and Myriad¡¯s dorm was Reverb, who had the advantage of not even needing to get out of bed to complain to someone.

    A few minutes later, ?ywie slipped into the dorm, a blanket wrapped protectively around her like her much missed cloak, along with a hard lash of wind that struck the children nearest to the door right in the face. Britomart and Reverb both irritably pointed towards Myriad¡¯s hammock.

    Standing over the two children in her purple brocade nightgown and cap, Myriad thought the healer looked even more sorcerous than usual. She placed her hands gently on Maelstrom¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Shh, shh, everything is alright, David.¡±

    It was the first time Myriad had ever heard an adult use her friend¡¯s human name, and whether by its own power or with the help of some biological witchery from ?ywie (a sudden surge of cortisol, perhaps?), it seemed to rouse the boy from his haze.

    ¡°Ah-yeah-ahh,¡± he whimpered.

    With surprising ease, ?ywie lifted David out of the hammock and set him lightly on his feet, wrapping her blanket around him and pulling him close. Giving up your blanket to a Barthe is a pointless gesture to be sure, but that wouldn¡¯t stop her from feeling like a monster if she didn¡¯t. She smiled, wearily but kindly. ¡°There¡¯s a good boy. How about we go see your mother, hmm?¡±

    She felt him nod against her side.

    Before leaving, ?ywie looked back down at Myriad. ¡°You are very good to him.¡± She reached a hand down towards the girl¡¯s face. For a terrible moment, she thought the woman was going to force sleep onto her, but all she did was brush her hair aside. ¡°Very good.¡±

    The moment teacher and student shut the door behind them as they ventured out into the cold night and howling wind, some of the still-awake students started grumbling.

    ¡°Suck up.¡±

    ¡°Teacher¡¯s pet.¡±

    ¡°Mummy¡¯s boy.¡±

    Beneath the contempt, there was a clear note of envy. Myriad mused that perhaps that was the real reason Lawrence insisted David call his mother by name. If she were the only child in the world with a mother to comfort her, she doubted she would be very popular with her peers either.

    The thought brought with it uninvited memories of every little kindness her mother ever did for her. All the small, unremarked on gestures of love that Allison hardly even noticed at the time, repeating over and over in her head. And with them came everything else she had lost. Clutching Miss Fluffers, her Institute provided teddy bear, she cried herself to sleep.

    ?

    ¡°You know I don¡¯t approve of this sort of coddling.¡±

    ¡°He was upsetting the other children. I cannot see the harm in letting her see him.¡±

    ¡°A boy his age shouldn¡¯t need his mother to coddle him asleep.¡±

    A sigh. ¡°He is eight years old, Laurie.¡±

    It was never a good idea to argue too hard with ?ywie when she was in one of her crusading carer moods. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, waving her off. ¡°But this stops come New Year¡¯s.¡±

    Fran?oise sat in bed reading Heroes of the Outback¡ªthe mildly disappointing result of one journalist¡¯s dogged but unfruitful survey of Australia¡¯s superheroic community¡ªwhen she heard the knock at her door. Frowning to herself at the interruption, she got up and opened the door to find Eliza standing on the other side, her son clinging to the other woman like a limpet, his face vacant.

    ¡°He was having trouble sleeping, and I thought you might, if it wasn''t any trouble¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, no, of course not.¡± Fran?oise managed to swallow the instinctual swell of spite and resentment that always rose within her when she saw someone else comforting her child. She knew it was an ugly and useless emotion, and that David¡¯s life would have been poorer without the healer. She opened her arms. ¡°Come here, darling.¡±

    The boy detached from Eliza, burying his face in his mother¡¯s stomach. So hidden, his tears flowed anew.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the least I can do.¡± She bent down. ¡°Good night, David.¡±

    The boy gave no response save his continued weeping, not that Eliza needed one anyway. She left the mother to console her son.

    Fran?oise had always been of two minds about the healer. She had a certain high-minded busybodyness about her. She was the spiritual descendant of the sort of Victorian moralist who preached the beginnings of women¡¯s lib while warning the young about the evils of billiards and yellow-back novels. Fran?oise suspected the undeniable humanitarian potential of Eliza¡¯s gift had deeply ingrained a sense of righteous burden in the woman, which she hid poorly.

    Still, it made her kind.

    Fran?oise drew David deeper into her room. When she first moved in, still very much a child herself, she had decorated her personal space with contrarian stubbornness. Fran?oise had tolerated no trace of the nautical in her room: painting the walls in deep forest greens and browns, trying to play to her tan rather than her oceanic aesthetic. Back then, she had kept a corner of the room perpetually covered in a laminate liner, for when she and Hugo would play board games. This had ceased to be an issue in her teen years, her control over her element maturing to the point that she had been able to simply scoop up her friend¡¯s secretions as they were formed. It had never been relevant in adulthood. By then they had realized how irreconcilable their differences really were.

    In her calmer moments with her son, Mel enjoyed the way he blended with the earthy color scheme of the room. While to her, it was an affectation, some way of distancing herself from the gravity her power held in the minds of others, David, for his part, actually seemed to fit the forest. If she was the ocean, then perhaps David was a brook, or a babbling forest stream. Her musings were cut short when the boy pulled himself tighter against her chest, the wet trails of his tears leaving slight imprints on her nightgown.

    She fell backwards onto her bed, still holding her son. ¡°Oh, David, sweetheart,¡± she sighed, switching to Occitan. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? You can tell me¡± she pleaded.

    David looked up at her like a rabbit poking its head out of the warren, before weakly shaking his head. ¡°I-I don¡¯t remember. I-it feels like it¡¯s there, but every time I look for it, it moves away again.¡± He said in broken, strangely accented Meridional French. He screwed his eyes shut. ¡°It hurts. My eyes. Every time, my eyes.¡±

    Fran?oise stroked his hair resignedly. This was the most information than she had ever gotten out of her son during these fits. She was sure he was covering for those little bastards Lawrence made him call his brothers and sisters. He was too good for that pack of monsters. Some day, so help her God, she¡¯d make them cry every tear they had wrung out of her David, pour them down their throats and¡ª

    No, that wouldn¡¯t help. It never helped. But it was so easy to ride that rage. It was an unbroken stallion, so confident and ceaseless in its charge that you could almost pretend you were the one driving it forward. It was, she thought, her father¡¯s other legacy to her.

    Mourning her own helplessness, the nereid¡¯s eyes fell on Heroes of the Outback, left open on top of the duvet like a resting moth. Embossed on its sherbert orange cover was the silhouette of a powerfully built, winged man, standing arms akimbo. It was a figure every Australian, even one terminally disinterested in the affairs of superheroes, would recognise.

    The Americans may have Superman, Fran?oise thought. But at least the Aussies¡¯ fella is real.

    ¡°Have I ever told you about the Crimson Comet, David?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± The question was pure ritual, as was David¡¯s answer. Fran?oise had told her son about that faded hero so many times, the story had paved a garden path in his mind; a safe and well trodden journey through an imagined past, in some ways more vivid and real than his present.

    ¡°Well, no harm telling you again. It must have been 44¡¯, during the Liberation. And those wings he always had strapped to his back?¡± She smiled. ¡°He wasn¡¯t quite sure where one of them had gotten to when we met.¡±

    ?

    The Crimson Comet stumbled through the bushes, his one functioning hand clenched against the wound in his side. Flecks of shrapnel were scattered throughout his shredded flesh and shattered ribs. He had a sinking feeling that if he saw just how badly he was injured, the sight would undo him. So he kept his eyes levelled at the ground in front of him, away from the hot, wet mess of pain that was his chest. He took a step, and felt something detach from his torso, only to smack into his knee. Shrapnel? A shard of rib?

    ¡°Don¡¯t look. Don¡¯t look.¡±

    The Comet¡¯s lurid red bodysuit had mostly been burned away above the waist, revealing the sturdy leather harness that held in place his intricately wrought, burnished gold pair of wings. The right one had been blown nearly completely off, its broken skeleton of wires and circuitry sparking uselessly next to its twin. Now and then, the relatively intact wing would glow as though freshly lifted from the forge, and the Comet would lurch forward wildly with all the speed and force of his namesake, only for his newfound momentum to die as quickly as it came, the wing¡¯s light flickering and dying, sending him sprawling into the dirt more often than not.

    His vision greyed and blurred with every breath, like he was wandering in and out of a film reel. Ralph Rivers wasn¡¯t used to pain by any means. The last time he truly experienced it, he¡¯d been just shy of ten years old, weedy and asthmatic¡ªcowering before a cohort of bigger, meaner boys while wondering how they weren¡¯t noticing the giant with stars in its eyes looming over them. That had been such a long time ago. Before the war, before the Crimson Comet, before even his first boyfriend (if that was even the right word for the two of them). Now, suddenly and viciously reminded of the human condition, he had no idea how the rest of them coped.

    This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to go. Rivers was meant to help the Yanks clear the Germans out of Ayoutre: an obscure Provencal village, if not just an extended family distributed amongst a few thatched medieval farmhouses, which Alexander Patch had explained was logistically priceless for reasons he did not and would never understand.

    The job was straightforward enough. Inspire hope in the people of Provence, strike the fear of God into some Nazis, draw fire away from the less puncture-proof members of the U.S infantry unit he was attached to; all that Jack Churchill stuff, if with sadly less longbows and bagpipes.

    And at first, that was how things played out. The Crimson Comet had led the charge into the village, letting the Krauts empty a lead mine¡¯s worth of ammo into his chest. The Axis, as he had discovered, were not too dissimilar in their habits to bank robbers, racketeers, and fifth columnists: they all never seemed to get it through their heads that, if their first, fifth, or seventy-third shots failed to accomplish anything, their seventy-fourth wasn¡¯t likely to do much better. It was almost depressing, though at least nobody had tried throwing their empty sidearms at him. He had been beating back a mob of soldiers with one of their own comrades, when someone landed a glancing shot. With a tank.

    Without effective anchoring, the force of the high explosive had blown Ralph Rivers something like five miles out of the village. Some layer of his mind¡ªdeeper than the sunlit regions where his thoughts took the form of words, but still broadly rational¡ªsuspected the shock of the impact had triggered his flight reflex. Well, he called it flight. Without the aid of his ruined wing harness, it was more like exploding in a particular direction. It was what had made him pick the name ¡°Comet¡± to begin with. He had appended ¡°Crimson¡± to it after someone had told him about an American with disintegrator eyes who went by the Comet, too. Rivers always privately hoped that someday he¡¯d share a pint with his namesake, but never more so than now.

    He was getting slower and slower with every step. He wasn¡¯t sure where he was trying to get to anymore. Dazed, he had mostly forgotten about the village, and even the war altogether. For a moment, he had no past, or future, only the settled agony in his chest and the wet blood on his palm urging him forward. He hardly noticed when he fell down the hill. What he did notice was something being pushed up into his stomach.

    He came to rest facing up at the night sky. This far from any light pollution, the Milky Way shone boldy, spread out above him like sand blown across a tar road. The waning moon had drifted behind some clouds, somehow darker for the white haze that hemmed them.

    Ralph took in every detail of the sky he could, being fairly sure that it would be the last thing he ever saw. Given the circumstances, he could have done far worse. He prayed silently, though he only truly believed in God every other week. Back home, he¡¯d gone to confession regularly, even telling his priest about the blunders he made as the Crimson Comet. He hadn¡¯t, however, mentioned anything about his love life. As he lay there, he wondered if his¡­ inversion really did qualify as a sin. It didn¡¯t seem to hurt anyone. Certainly didn¡¯t hurt Albert. Or Finch.

    Oh, God, Finch.

    He didn¡¯t want to die in the middle of a war. Maybe that went without saying, but it just wasn¡¯t the proper place for a superhero. He should have gone over the falls with one of his arch-nemeses, like Holmes. No, that didn''t quite fit, either. He should have gone out helping someone. That was what men like him were built for. Anything else was a waste.

    There was a movement in the corner of his eye, accompanied by a muffled splash. Turning his head weakly, Ralph glanced in its direction. There was a pond with designs towards lake-hood a few yards from him. A little girl was walking out of it, dripping water as she went. She was five or six years old near as Ralph could tell, and mother-naked, yet to all appearances unphased by the chill of the night air. Rivers shivered for her, or maybe just from blood loss. She looked like an illustration from the The Water-Babies.

    As the child grew closer, what stood out to the Comet were her eyes. They were like nothing else he¡¯d ever seen: two splinters of ice reflecting the moonlight. Wait, no, that glow was coming from within.

    The girl was soon standing over Ralph, her eyes fading to a royal blue.

    Was she Death? In some pictures angels took on the form of small children, which Ralph supposed had some advantages on the skull-and-scythe approach when it came to ensuring client cooperation. The girl regarded him with blank curiosity.

    Faced with this apparition, the Crimson Comet only had one question. ¡°...Shouldn¡¯t you be in bed?¡±

    ?

    ¡°How did he keep going when he was hurting so bad?¡±

    Fran?oise cocked her head to the side slightly, surprised at the question from her son. He usually remained silent during her stories, allowing her words to lull him into a state of calm. This time, however, he was gazing up at her from his position on her knee, eyes shining with intent.

    ¡°How did he keep putting one foot in front of the other like that? How did he ignore the pain?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Fran hesitated. With very few exceptions, physical pain was something she and her son could escape with a thought. ¡°I never asked, really. Why? Do you think he should have stopped?¡±

    ¡°I think I would have,¡± David muttered, shifting on her knee until his cheek was pressed against her shoulder. ¡°I think most people would have frozen up, you know? How do you deal with something so big like that?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I think you try and focus on other things,¡± she replied, a little concerned. ¡°You try and remember why you risked being hurt in the first place, and remind yourself that being hurt is worth it as long as you can do what you wanted to. Don¡¯t you think so, David?¡±

    It sounded hollow and she knew it.

    ¡°Is this because of your eyes? Have you tried going icy?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Makes it worse.¡±

    Part of Fran?oise wasn¡¯t surprised. Whatever assailed her son, she doubted it was anything so physical. Picking up the story again, she tried to remember where she was up to.

    ¡°So the Comet was just lying there¡ªI tried slowing down the bleeding, but I don¡¯t think he noticed¡ªbabbling something about either sleep or death. It¡¯s hard to remember specifics, didn¡¯t speak any English back then.¡±

    ¡°And then what did you do?¡±

    David knew the answer, of course. It wasn¡¯t a nice one, but it was all a part of the Story.

    ¡°I took him to see my father.¡±

    ?

    Ralph Rivers could only ever recall fragments of the next few hours. Grainy stills and disconnected scenes from a film whose negatives nobody had bothered to archive. He remembered something being slid under his back. At the time, he assumed it was a metal stretcher, so cold it felt to touch.

    Then, motion, the moon above him drifting to the edge of his vision, like a child running to keep up with a train. After that, the girl had pushed him out onto the pond. It reminded the Comet of stories he had heard about Eskimos sending their sick and enfeebled adrift on the ice flows. If that was the little girl¡¯s intention, he was rather offended. Surely she could tell he wasn¡¯t going to be a burden for long?

    Something was waiting for him in the middle of the water. To his regret, it was the one part of the whole ordeal that Ralph could always readily grasp in his memory.

    The man was handsome, or at least he would have been, if hadn¡¯t looked like he¡¯d sat at the bottom of a lake for a week. His skin was marble-pale, the unhealthy, pallid tone accentuated by patches of what looked like algae spider webbing out across his flesh. There was seaweed strewn through his hair, tangling the long, sleek strands in bundles and knots of dank, solid rot. His cold, waxen lips were set in a smile. He was quite naked and, unlike the girl, it was not a wholesome thing. What they did have in common was the gleam of their eyes; but while hers glowed a pure, powerful blue, his were of a more sickly kind. They didn¡¯t shine their light so much as seep it, the milky, ocean green of their glow roiling out from his face like moonlight caught in a nighttime mist.

    He smelled of salt and decay, even at a distance. Had Ralph had the energy, he might have gagged.

    ¡°Have you brought me a present, child?¡± The man¡¯s voice was the soft swoosh of waves washing rock, and while he understood him clearly, Ralph wasn¡¯t sure he was speaking English, or even if he was speaking at all.

    The girl said something back that Ralph didn¡¯t understand, but he at least was certain were words. Provence was in some ways the Wales of France: a country within a country, complete with its own particular dialect. He was surprised to see that she was standing beside him, her feet seemingly on top of the water. Was he floating on a puddle?

    ¡°Really?¡± the man said with feigned concern. ¡°He won¡¯t like it.¡±

    The girl pouted, folding her arms. If not for the circumstances, Ralph might have found it cute. Now that he could see the man and the child together, he thought he might have been her father, or at least his corpse.

    The man sighed. A whirlpool formed nearby. ¡°Very well, he¡¯s your catch.¡± He kneeled down, examining Ralph as though he were a fish with its innards spread out on the dock, before turning his head up at the girl. ¡°You really should learn to do this yourself.¡±

    The girl beamed, giggling like Ralph¡¯s own niece whenever she managed to con a piggyback ride out of him.

    Then he was plunged beneath the water. The cold burned, knocking the air from his lungs. As he choked and sputtered, he saw that the man and his child had joined him below. The girl floated on her belly, watching him, her feet churning the water behind her. There was nothing in her face to indicate she was holding her breath.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    The pseudo-corpse raised a hand, and Ralph felt the water press against his body, the cold stinging sharply against the wounds in his chest, arm, and legs. He opened his mouth to scream, and found not only that the lack of air made it impossible, but that the water took advantage of the move, a liquid tendril forcing his jaw further apart. When the tank shell had struck him, the blast had forced his lower jaw hard up into his skull, striking his teeth together in a violent hammer blow that had made him occasionally stop in his staggering to spit out blood and chunks of his own teeth. The water surged now around the shattered remnants of his mouth, pressing violently against raw, exposed nerve endings. It would be charitable to say that this only redoubled the pain.

    For the first time in his life, Ralph Rivers wanted to die. The pain was too great, the damage too severe, and he found that, even forced into consciousness as he was, he was unable to muster his power enough to defend his shattered body against the constant, continual rush of water. He squeezed his eyes shut, reached into the depths of his agonized mind for something of comfort¡ªhis sister, Albert¡¯s embrace, his old border collie¡ªand took a deep, full lungful of the water.

    Nothing happened. Ralph Rivers was still conscious, still in pain. The water man was laughing. Not a hearty laugh, just a slight, wispy chuckle, almost casual.

    ¡°Ah, see? The man hates it so much he tried to die. I told you he might not like it, little one.¡±

    The girl scowled, turning her head away from the man and back towards their captive, resting her chin on her arms and puffing out her cheeks in irritation, sending a plume of tiny bubbles rising to the surface. In another frame of mind, he might have laughed.

    Was this Hell? If it was, then he had been greatly misinformed about the climate. Burning would have been a pleasure, compared to this. His priest always said that he who lays with men would see their repentance, but Ralph had been hopeful, or perhaps childish enough to believe that his God was a less wrathful soul than that. If he was wrong, then God had a sick sense of irony. His mouth forced apart, tortured by things moving inside him. Ha ha. Very funny.

    Ralph wasn¡¯t sure if he had cried by the end of it. He was quite certain that he had screamed, or at least, made the best attempt his drowned lungs would allow, before the pain, ever so slowly, began to recede. It faded from his mouth first, the shattered stumps of his teeth going slowly quiet. It wasn¡¯t numbness. He knew that much, because he could still feel the water pushing and prodding and forcing his jaw painfully wide. He felt around with his tongue, tentatively touched one of the splintered teeth, only to find a smooth, solid surface, near exactly the shape he remembered it being in just the day before. Even a tooth Ralph had knocked out when was eight had been restored. It was slimy, the surface covered in a film somewhere between mucus and mold. The taste was foul, and he retched, but somewhere in his mind, he understood. Whatever this creature was doing, it was healing him, in some broken manner. He stopped fighting, let his body hang limp where he could, and, finally, the blackness took him.

    ?

    David¡¯s usual passivity during storytime was well and truly absent that night. Sitting up, he asked his mother ¡°Did you ever learn how to fix people like that?¡±

    Fran?oise wasn¡¯t expecting that. Half the time, David made her skip the part with her father altogether. ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°Didn¡¯t see the need once I met your aunt. And to be honest, I was never all that interested to begin with.¡±

    Fran¡¯s father had a lot of tricks she never picked up herself. Separating salt from seawater, peering out from pools half a world away, blasphemously changing water into wine; yet it was easy to rest on your laurels when you were a goddess among mortals. Sometimes, she regretted not being able to pass down those secrets to her son.

    ¡°Oh. That¡¯s okay.¡±

    Fran?oise thought David sounded put out. Maybe he wanted to be more like his aunt.

    ¡°What was it like?¡±

    ¡°What was what like?¡±

    ¡°Being able to do what you wanted. No one making you be better. Being able to love your dad.¡±

    Fran?oise was quiet for some time. ¡°Oh, oh, droplet. Basil loves you.¡±

    David fell back onto the bed. ¡°I know he does!¡± he moaned. ¡°But I don¡¯t think I do! I mean, I like him, and he¡¯s nice, but he¡¯s not my dad.¡± He broke down into sobs once more. ¡°Bad, bad bad.¡±

    Fran?oise sighed, the boy letting out a small yelp as his body rose from the bed, reorienting in the air, before being deposited on her knee. She could have used her power to wipe the tears from his eyes as well, but chose to do it with her finger, using the other arm to pull the boy close, holding him about the shoulders.

    ¡°You¡¯re not bad, little drop.¡± She murmured, trying desperately to keep herself from joining her son in tears. ¡°You¡¯re sad, and you¡¯re lonely. But you¡¯re loved. You know that right? I love you with everything I have, and so does your father. It¡¯s okay if you don¡¯t love him back. Kids aren¡¯t supposed to love their parents as much as they love them. We¡¯re meant to care more. It¡¯s our job. You know, I think, if you really did care more about your dad than you do, I think that¡¯d hurt him, in a way. I don¡¯t think your dad likes himself very much, and knowing you loved him might make that hurt a little more, you know? He¡¯d be asking himself why you cared so much, when he knows he¡¯s worth so little. I think not loving him is kind of you, droplet, I really do.¡±

    David looked up at her, his wet eyes filled with complete and total bafflement.

    She had done it again, hadn¡¯t she? Her son had always been better at being a person than her. She brought a hand to her eyes, frustrated.

    ¡°What was it like, being with Grandfather?¡±

    Fran?oise glanced down at her son. He was staring at her with an odd look in his eyes, eager, shining, but at the same time, it almost struck her as angry. ¡°...Like moving from dream to dream,¡± she answered. ¡°All of them were beautiful, but¡­ It just didn¡¯t feel real. Like¡­ remember when you told me about Cinderella?¡±

    The boy nodded. He had been taken to see it as a reward, following his and Myriad¡¯s performances at the parliament, the tickets provided at the Valour residence by a surprisingly affable Robert Menzies. By David¡¯s own account, he had been mesmerized by it. It was as though the humans had managed to imprint whatever magic Mabel commanded onto reels of film.

    ¡°Well,¡± she continued. ¡°It was like watching Cinderella, in a way. Like, everything was perfect, but none of it felt real after a while.¡±

    David considered this, then shook his head, scowling at her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a baby, Mummy,¡± he muttered. ¡°I don¡¯t just want you to tell me something that sounds pretty. I want to know what it was really like.¡±

    Fran considered the boy thoughtfully, then sighed.

    ¡°You have to promise me you¡¯ll never tell your friends or Lawrence I said any of this. My childhood was¡­ not for children.¡±

    For just a moment, the boy hesitated, loyalty to Lawrence warring with loyalty to his mother and curiosity to know more. Eventually, he nodded.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said. ¡°Where to begin? My first memory is of a ship burning overhead while my father and I watched. It was a strange ship, not like anything we¡¯d seen before, all grey tones and hard lines. We¡¯d been playing tag in the water behind it, trying to see who could move about better in its wake without stilling the water. The first explosion was a shock. I screamed, forgetting all about the race. It was scary, but Father was there. In an instant, he was around me, keeping me safe. We went deep and watched this new ship, a smaller ship, approaching the first one from underneath the water. The Germans called them U-boats. The sailors on the bigger one didn¡¯t stand a chance. The thing sank, and that was the first time I saw what humans could do. For all the miracles my father had ever shown me, this was the first time I had ever seen fire touching water. He¡¯d told me that was impossible.¡±

    She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, making an effort to exclude the more upsetting details of it all. David was staring up at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. She leaned down, and gave him a small peck on the forehead, before she continued.

    ¡°My father didn¡¯t care for this new human miracle. He thought it was some chemical trick, which, to be fair, it was. These humans, though, they entranced me. I started trying to seek them out, watching the lights and feeling the sounds echo through the waters. My father let me watch, long as I always stayed close to the water so that he could keep an eye on me. My second outing, I watched the men, and, strangely enough, they were all men, sinking beneath the water. Some looked scared, some, pained. I tried approaching one. He wasn¡¯t at his best. The ship¡¯s propeller had taken half his leg on the way down, and he was struggling. He didn¡¯t seem to mind the pain. Too busy being terrified, I suppose. I wanted a closer look, so I made myself real in front of him. I can only imagine how it must have looked. This tiny little girl emerging out of the darkness in front of him. Maybe he thought I was an angel. He died not long after, but what I do know is that seeing me made him smile. He reached out to touch my hand and, curious, I let him. Then, he closed his eyes, smiled, and died. It was the first time a human being ever made me feel something.¡±

    It had been an odd sensation. In retrospect, she knew it was best summed up as ¡®melancholy,¡¯ but at the time, she had had no such word for it. In truth, she had yet to find words for anything back then. It was only after watching the humans, particularly those engaged in a long, hard fought campaign along the outskirts of a city, that she would begin trying to understand their words. She would later come to identify the language they spoke as Occitan.

    The men, and again, they had almost all been men, who had seen her while fighting on land, had been far less calmed by her presence. Their responses were raw, untamed, fueled by adrenaline and fear. Some had tried to chase her away, some had tried to shield her, guide her somewhere safe. One man¡ªwhich side he had fought for she didn¡¯t know¡ªhad taken her behind the wall of a house, and began to touch her. It had made her uncomfortable, but she did not stop him immediately. It was only when his hands reached too far, and she smelled his hot, desperate breath against her cheek that she had ended it. It was the first man she had killed for anything other than amusement, and unlike the other victims of her youth, she had felt the urge to hide this one, a pit of what she had later come to call shame forming in her gut at the thought of him. She had buried him in pieces, his head in a bomb crater, some distance from his legs. She wasn¡¯t sure how much her father had seen, and if he had, why he hadn¡¯t chosen to intervene. Perhaps he had intended that human to be a lesson. She still wasn¡¯t sure.

    It had been some months later that she finally came back to watch the men of war again. In the meantime, she pursued the company of other children, swimming and playing off of beaches half a world away from the flashes and the noise. Sometimes, she didn¡¯t even seem out of place among them. Eventually, however, curiosity had once more gotten the best of her, and she had returned. She watched from a distance this time, more cautious, almost afraid.

    The iron ships had given way to metal carts now. Perhaps they had always been there, perhaps not, but this was the first she saw of them. The metal carts with their long, pointed horns that swiveled and pelted the land with fire and rock. She didn¡¯t like those carts. They scared her.

    Then, one night, she had come across two men. She wouldn¡¯t have payed them even the barest of thoughts, but their actions, they were familiar. At first, she had mistaken it for grappling, a fight to the death of some kind. But both of these men wore the colors of the same side. She recognized the look in their eyes, the heavy panting of their breath. Watching had not been a pleasant thing for her, but, oddly, she found it gave her closure. There was less shame, she thought, to killing the desperate man if that had been what he intended to do to her. These men were discovered, not by friends, but opponents, and had been virtually drowned in a deluge of fire. The girl had expected that to be the end of it. But one man stood, covered in the blood of his companion, and, without a single tear, had laid waste to the opponents at his back, tearing them to pieces with his bare hands. The girl was in awe. Was this a man she watched? The same frail and feeble things that she had seen drowning by the dozens?

    She watched as the man collected the remnants of his foes into a pile, and then set them all ablaze with a stick and some alien fluid she couldn¡¯t touch. She watched as he gently, almost fearfully picked up his companion¡¯s cadaver, and carried it away from the scene. Watching that made her feel something unsettling. It reminded her a little too closely of how her father held her. She did not see it, but she could feel the tears begin to flow gently from his eyes. He didn¡¯t have to dig the man a grave alone. She helped him from the dark, parting damp soil and snow for him to ease his efforts. Looking back, perhaps that had been unkind. Perhaps the extra effort would have been a solace to him.

    In the weeks that followed, she had watched the man from afar, as long and often as she could. By day, he wore a different uniform to those around him, all color and lights and power. Much later, she had realized that he had only worn the more common uniform so he could be with a man he called Finch. She watched this man day and night, desperate to learn more about what made him special, like her father. No matter how often she watched, however, she had never seen him hold another man as gently as he had Finch. Never seen that desperation, either.

    She continued to aid the man, when she felt like it. None of the great, metal dragons that infested her father¡¯s kingdom could touch any ship which carried her pet. On the rare occasions that his foes fielded their own godling against him, the girl tilted the odds in his favour. Not that the man really needed it. Even among the semi-divine, he appeared to be exceptional.

    The only things the man seemed to truly fear were the metal carts and discovery. Once, one of the little men who hid behind her titan in battle spied him lying with another man, and had marched off in clear disgust. The child didn¡¯t know much about human beings, but she had observed them enough to tell when someone was planning something, so she burst a blood vessel in his brain, and that was the end of that.

    Eventually, the man found his way to the part of the world where her memories began, and where her father still haunted. It didn¡¯t matter much¡ªher father was omnipresent wherever there was water, his currents cradling her in her sleep and bringing her fish when she was hungry¡ªbut there was a joy to watching her favourite exercise his might in such familiar surroundings.

    But then a metal cart had managed to break her man. Broke him bad enough that she needed her father to fix him.

    ?

    The Crimson Comet did not regain consciousness so much as find himself forcibly pulled back into it. His first action was to gag violently. His mouth felt slimy, the sharp taste of rot and long dead fish still lingering. Then, he became aware of a pressure on top of his chest, something cold and wet and slimy. Opening his eyes, he almost yelped as his gaze met two cobalt specks less than half a foot from his face. It was the little girl, legs to one side like the Little Mermaid in miniature, leaning forwards on her slender arms to stare at him. Well, that explained the pressure against his ribs. Ralph took a moment to find his composure, before carefully lifting his hands to the girl¡¯s shoulders. She flinched ever so slightly at his touch, leaning back from him.

    ¡°I-it¡¯s alright, kid,¡± he said, as gently as he could. ¡°I just need you to hop off me for a second so I can stand up, there¡¯s a good girl.¡±

    The child cocked her head, uncomprehending. Ah, yes, French. Or Provencal. Or something else he didn''t want to know. Well, at least the softness of his intonation seemed to have helped. Otherwise, Ralph could only hope that pantomime was their lingua franca. Slowly, he pushed himself up from the ground, coming about a third of the way to a sitting position when the girl lost her balance with a squeak. He steadied her with an arm about the shoulders, and allowed himself a small laugh, trying not to sound cruel. Surprisingly, she laughed as well, and awkwardly clambered off of him, sitting herself on the dirt floor a few feet away. He pushed himself upright, and took a quick stock of the situation.

    Dawn had broken through the night, leaving a pleasant spring morning in its wake. It annoyed Ralph a touch that those were still allowed to happen in wartime. Mother Nature, Father Time, or whoever was in charge of setting up days ought to be indicted for harming troop morale by means of inappropriate backdrops.

    Looking down at himself, Rivers saw that his chest was streaked with mottled grey algae, roughly corresponding to where he had been so traumatically healed the night before. He winced at the memory, before tentatively feeling his ribs with his fingers. He worried for a second that his ruined flesh had been replaced by bilge and silt, but he was able to wipe it away, revealing normal, if a sight paler skin underneath. He picked up a rock from the ground, and struck it against the flesh. No pain. He tried again, harder, this time shattering the stone into powder. No pain. Good. He didn¡¯t know what he would have done if his new skin was merely human.

    He really couldn¡¯t abide the taste in his mouth. Looking towards the pond (it seemed so much smaller in the daylight) his chest tightened as he remembered what he¡¯d found there the night before. Blessedly, it appeared vacant. He glanced at the girl, who was watching him intently with her legs bent against her chest. ¡°Just going to wash my mouth out, honey. Won¡¯t be a second.¡±

    He was about to lower his cupped hands into the water, when it exploded upwards at him, sending him¡ªa man who had once jumped onto a grenade with only a deep bruise to show for it¡ªsprawling backwards, completely drenched. Behind him, the little girl was on her back with laughter.

    Ralph Rivers was no fool, and he¡¯d been in the superhero business long enough to put two-and-two (and three-and-four) together. He stood back up, shaking some of the excess from his comic-book black hair. ¡°Very funny,¡± he said flatly. He decided to try and extract some benefit from the situation. He scraped some of the foul mould from his teeth and showed it to the child. ¡°Mind playing dentist?¡± he asked, miming a path from his mouth to the girl.

    She seemed to mull the request over a little, before Ralph suddenly felt the slime being pulled from his mouth with a sensation like putting his lips over the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner. Of the many, many possible reactions, Ralph Rivers chose to sneeze, spraying the ground in front of him with a porridge of snot, and dark, subaquatic sludge. If the girl had been laughing before, she was positively choking on it now, a few tears running down her cheeks as she clutched at her sides. He stuck out his tongue at her, and she replied in kind. Scowling, he dipped his hand once more into the water, before swiping his arm forward to splash her. The child let out an outraged little shriek, glaring up at him, but Ralph was too busy assesing the condition of his teeth to notice. Everything seemed just as it should be, the teeth still sat in the neat little row his government appointed dentist had put them in to make him nice and pretty for his photo ops, and if he wasn¡¯t wrong¡ªyup, the fillings were gone, too. He¡¯d had a few crowns and coverings placed over chips in the past, but now they were gone. His teeth were anatomical model perfect. That sort of explained why his tongue still felt odd in his head. The map no longer matched the territory. ¡°Thanks, ki-¡±

    Another wave of water knocked him off his feet.

    ¡°...Pushing your luck.¡±

    He sat down next to the child, looking her over. She looked healthy enough. Surprisingly so, in fact, lacking any signs of the trademark malnourishment that afflicted so many this close to the frontlines. In contrast to the thing in the pond, she was tan, her flaxen hair tangled and riddled with bits of water-plants. Somehow, they almost made her look regal, like a wreath. She turned her head slightly to look at him, smiling.

    ¡°You speak any French?¡± Ralph asked in said language. A dear lady friend of his who had kindly helped deflect suspicion from him all during high school had painstakingly tutored him to the point that he could pass for a French half-wit in casual conversation. If his father only knew the number of times he had allowed said friend up to his son¡¯s room with a knowing wink for ¡°French lessons,¡± only for her to actually be teaching the boy French. The idea made him smile.

    In answer, the girl only giggled.

    Scratch that, then.

    ¡°Ralph.¡± He pointed at himself as he spoke, then at her¡­ Nope, no response. He tried again. ¡°I AM RALPH.¡± He said, enunciating each syllable loudly and clearly in the full understanding that this would indeed assist the dialogue. In a sense, it did. The girl grinned, gestured grandly at her breast, and positively bellowed:

    ¡°I AM RALPH!!¡±

    He put his head in his hands with a groan, which the girl copied.

    His lamentation was interrupted by a distant, yet all too familiar pop. The girl yowled in horror as her kneecap exploded, falling from her perch beside him and instinctively huddling her arms around the wound. Ralph wasted no time, and knelt around the girl, covering her as best he could with the breadth of his shoulders. As a boy, his size had been something of a knock to his self confidence, having always been a small, wiry sort as a young child. As the Comet, as a soldier, he was eternally glad of his newfound bulk, for now he could be a larger shield. More bullets pinged off his shoulder blades.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, girl,¡± he cooed, trying to reassure her as best he could. ¡°You just need to trust me, okay?¡±

    No answer. The girl was too busy sobbing, her left leg crumpled beneath her, hanging by a few strands of skin and muscle ligaments. Running on some mad instinct, he picked her up, still shielding her with his frame, and, lacking anywhere better to hide her, he tossed her into the pond. ¡°Go down low!¡± he shouted, before turning towards the source of the shots.

    Invulnerability opens the door to certain tricks. Some of these are obvious, others less so. Most soldiers, for example, never get the chance to use muzzle flares to track the placement of their enemies, because by the time they¡¯ve registered the shot, they¡¯re usually already dead. For the Crimson Comet, on the other hand, it was like tracking the whine of a blood fattened mosquito after a bite.

    Five German soldiers stood on the crest of the hill, the forest green of their uniforms making them stand out against the luminous aqua of the sky behind them. They had probably been out looking for him all night, Ralph guessed. If the tank hadn¡¯t finished them off, no doubt they were meant to deliver the coup de grace. Probably planning on stripping the flesh from his skull and putting it on display in Berlin as phrenological evidence of race-mixing among Allied supers or something. Four of them had rifles trained on the Comet, while one tried and failed to surreptitiously ready a panzerschreck.

    Cocky cunts should have led with the rocket. Ralph Rivers let out a scream as he ran towards the infantryman trying to prepare his ordinance, the air around around him blurring and becoming singed. Half a second later, the soldier exploded against Ralph¡¯s shoulder, painting his skin red. The Crimson Comet, it would seem, was back.

    None of his comrades had time to react. It was more of a scourge than an engagement, really. The Comet ripped the gun¡ªalong with both arms¡ªfrom one of the soldiers, before slamming the butt of it into another¡¯s face, sending fragments of skull and nasal bridge into his brain. The fourth man, he lifted up by the chin, before bringing him down on top of the barrel, running him through.

    The Comet advanced on the last soldier. In all the commotion, he had fallen onto the grass, and was now scrambling backwards in fear of the herculean figure. As he did, Rivers stepped over the soldier whose arms he had torn off, seizing and sputtering from the shock. There was a crunch, and that was the end of that.

    The remaining soldier was in hysterics now, frantically repeating something under his breath, leaving no spaces between the words. Was he begging for his life? Praying? Reaffirming his loyalty to something or other in the face of death? Ralph couldn¡¯t bring himself to care.

    Some part of him, the superheroic part, perhaps, was begging Rivers to stop. This man could do him no harm, and if he wasn¡¯t technically surrendering, he might as well have been. But, whenever he tried giving that notion quarter, he remembered his own wounds, and Finch (oh, God, Finch) and that little girl screaming and screaming at the ruins of her blasted leg. He raised his fist to strike, when the man convulsed, a spot of blood blooming on his chest like a rose. Then another. And another, again and again. It was like a drawn out execution by a phantom firing squad. Before the Crimson Comet could make any move to end it, the man was dead.

    There was a smug ¡°hmph¡± from behind him.

    The little girl was standing there, her features set in a triumphant grin, on two perfectly intact legs. She was completely soaked, her hair now slick and free of detritus. The colour had gone from her skin. Most tellingly, her finger and thumb were extended, her hand pointing toward the corpse like a pistol.

    Being a career superhero, miraculous healing was well within Ralph¡¯s realm of experience. What was new to him was the utter lack of concern, either for herself or the suffering she inflicted. He understood the little girl lashing out so viciously, he really could. Except there was no hint of trauma on the girl¡¯s face. She had had her leg nearly blown off, killed a man for it, and if anything, she had chosen to make a game out of it. She toed the ruined face of the soldier Ralph had felled with the rifle, before looking back at him with a smile. She looked impressed.

    Ralph shuddered. The Crimson Comet hadn¡¯t been a killer, before the war. A brawler, sure, and maybe he hadn¡¯t been all too concerned about the long term effects of the concussions he handed out like pennycandy, but he never went into a fight looking to kill anyone. But since the war¡­ since Finch, it had gotten so easy. And the worst thing was, it barely even bothered him much of the time. Even then, his thoughts kept drifting to more pragmatic concerns. How far he was from his unit, how long it would take him to reach them on foot, the girl¡­

    Oh, yes, the girl.

    She would slow him down, that was certain. Even ignoring that she was a child, he could barely communicate even the simplest of concepts to her. Far as he could tell, she was totally feral, a waterborne Mowgli. Shamefully, he considered the possibility of simply leaving her by the pond. She had some power behind her, that he knew for sure, and the monster that had so tortuously spared him appeared to be fond of her. Maybe he would come back for the child, eventually.

    The mere fact that was the best case settled it for Ralph. He gestured to her repaired leg, arching his eyebrow in exaggerated curiosity, and she glanced down at it, kicking the ground once or twice, before looking up at him with a grin. Nothing, no memory of pain.

    Best not to look that particular gift horse too hard in the mouth. He shrugged and looked around at his fallen foes. The armless man¡¯s jacket was, for obvious reasons, a little the worse for wear. It wouldn¡¯t do to cover him, same for the impaled one. The man the girl had riddled with invisible bullets, on the other hand, his jacket was largely intact, apart from a few holes. And stains. Ralph stripped the article from the corpse, and pulled it on, pausing to tear away the insignia and empty out the pockets. He scavenged the panzerschreck (a very adolescent part of him hoped none of the heroes he knew found out that he had started using firearms), then returned his attention to the armless man. The jacket wouldn¡¯t serve him, but the lack of sleeves might suit the girl¡¯s shorter arms. He pried it free of the corpse, and tossed it to the girl. It landed at her feet, and she glanced down at it, confused, prodding the fabric with a toe, before turning her face to him, an eyebrow raised, seemingly in imitation of Ralph¡¯s earlier expression.

    ¡°Put it on,¡± he grunted, waving a hand in an ¡°on you go¡± sort of gesture. Again, she prodded at it, before returning her attention to him. Ralph sighed, then, very slowly, very deliberately, put both hands in front of his eyes for a few moments, before pulling them away, and gesturing for her to do the same. Still utterly mystified, the child raised her hands to her eyes, covering them. Ralph strode forward, businesslike, picked the makeshift dress up off the ground, spread the waistline of it between his hands, and pulled it down over the girl¡¯s head. She squeaked in surprise, pulling her hands from her eyes and giving him a reproachful sort of look, her bottom lip sticking out slightly, before realizing what he¡¯d done. She gazed down at her first garment in wonder, slipping her arms out through the holes in either side, and running her palms along the fabric. She looked up at him, grinned, and spoke.

    ¡°Ralph,¡± she said, pointing at her chest.

    He snorted, shaking his head. At least the girl was trying.

    ?

    ¡°...And that was the start of my little human experiment.¡± Fran?oise smiled. ¡°And you already know my eye for fashion remains as clear as it ever was.¡±

    It was a tried and true punchline, and normally David would have giggled, but this time he just stared up at his mother. ¡°So Grandfather just let you go away and live with land people?¡±

    Fran?oise shrugged. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have called it ¡®going away¡¯. My father is everywhere there¡¯s water. He might be watching us right now.¡± She only realized how that sounded once she said it out loud.

    ¡°But it¡¯s so long! You were a little girl, and now you¡¯re grown up!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re thinking about your grandfather like he¡¯s a person. Something that only lives a few years, so every year feels like this great big chunk of time. But he¡¯s not a person, David. My father was old when the first fish hatched. Probably hardly anything older than him, besides maybe rocks. Twenty-one years for him is like the time it takes you to take a breath.¡±

    ¡°But Lawrence said Grandfather is just¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lawrence doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s talking about!¡± Fran?oise snapped. She never took to the old man¡¯s attempts to fit her father into his little boxes.

    David flinched.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry.¡± His mother let her apology hang in the air for a moment, before adding, ¡°He used to visit me, sometimes. Even after we came to Australia. So did Ralph. He saw you once, you know.¡± David was about to question this, but Fran stopped him. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t remember, droplet¡ªyou were very small.¡±

    David pondered this. ¡°...Why doesn¡¯t Ralph visit anymore?¡± He hesitated, before asking, ¡°Why haven¡¯t I ever seen Grandfather?¡±

    Fran?oise spent a full minute trying to give him an answer, even making to speak once or twice, the words dying on her lips, before she gave up. ¡°Not tonight, David. Please?¡±

    Her son nodded.

    ¡°...Mummy, are we bad people?¡±

    ¡°Bad people? No, I don¡¯t think we are. Bad at being people? Sometimes, I think so.¡± She ruffled her son¡¯s hair. ¡°You¡¯re much better at it than me, though.¡±

    The conversation wound down after that. David sometimes mentioned something about the other children, or the Watercolours, or The Tempest. He brought up Myriad at lot, which Fran didn¡¯t know how to feel about. Eventually, sleep managed to find him.

    Fran?oise lay there for a while, feeling the rise and fall of her son¡¯s chest against her side, content for a moment. One arm still around David, she picked her book back up, flicking past the section covering the Raven to the account of the Crimson Comet¡¯s last known case.

    Apart from it being the last one, there wasn¡¯t much to distinguish that caper from any of the Comet¡¯s post-war adventures¡ªthose last few bursts of glory before the winter of Australia¡¯s superheroes. Some teenage mad scientist with the disappointingly mundane name of Maude Simmons had threatened to transmute the world¡¯s supply of silver into calcium. What possible benefit this could have held for the young woman the book didn¡¯t explain. The first page of the chapter was topped by a black and white news photo of the Crimson Comet gently but sternly escorting a grim faced nineteen year old in a lead apron down the steps of a police station. She looked like she was running out the clock till she could be a crotchety old crone. With a name like ¡°Maude¡±, what else could you do?

    Fran?oise smiled to herself as her eyes passed over the Comet¡¯s wings. What the author of the book couldn¡¯t know was that they were foam mock ups of the originals. Ralph had never been able to find functional replacements, and so had simply spent the rest of his career without the ability to change direction in flight.

    There was no real reason Maude Simmons had been Rivers¡¯ last case, except for the fact that he wasn¡¯t seen in costume again after that. No hostages died, he hadn¡¯t been forced to betray some deep seated moral principle in order to save the day, and he hadn¡¯t been injured as far as anyone could tell. He had bowed out of the game with grace, the author speculated.

    She wished he was right.

    There was a knock at the door, answered with a ¡°shhhh¡± loud enough to wake the dead.

    Lawrence opened the door. ¡°Ah, I see Maelstrom¡¯s asleep. I¡¯ll just pop him back down to the dormitory.¡±

    ¡°Please, Laurie,¡± said Fran?oise. ¡°Can¡¯t we just leave him in here tonight? What harm will it do?¡±

    The headmaster shook his head. ¡°We can¡¯t be seen showing favoritism, Melusine. It would only upset the other children.¡± He grinned with ill-timed humour. ¡°Unless you want them all in here for the night.¡±

    Fran set her book down again, gently sliding her arm off her son. ¡°Fine,¡± she hissed. ¡°But don¡¯t wake him up!¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± replied Lawrence, moving over to beside the boy. He caught a glance at the cover of Heroes of the Outback and smiled knowingly. ¡°You tell him one of your Rivers stories again?¡± he said as he hoisted up Maelstrom. The child looked even younger in his arms. ¡°Impressive fellow in his time, he really was. Shame about his¡­ predilections. Awful the way people hounded him about it, don¡¯t get me wrong, but it¡¯s hardly a productive lifestyle, is it?¡±

    Fran?oise¡¯s long nails dug into the doona cover. ¡°Good night, Lawrence.¡±

    Alone once more, Fran somehow felt even more like a counterfeit woman than she usually did. Everything about her was a pretense. The French cooking, the Occitan, the affected Provencal patriotism, all of it. She didn¡¯t even know if her poor, poor mother had been from France at all. Her father might have snatched her from the watermen¡¯s steps along the Thames, for all she knew. Even her original name was a fiction. Fran?oise Barthe, bah! She had only called herself that so Lawrence and Mary would stop badgering her about it. Not that it mattered, anyway, they wasted no time in making her discard it. Her father had never needed a name for her, apart from maybe the sound of sea-foam drying on the shore.

    She didn¡¯t know why she stayed, sometimes. Being human was a game that had dragged on long past the point of being any fun, at least in this venue. But there was David to think about¡­

    Except, she didn¡¯t even know why that was an issue. She knew her son wasn¡¯t happy¡ªand he¡¯d even just told her he didn¡¯t love his father. What was there for him at the Institute? A prescribed, regimented life, held to the impossible standard of the flawless prototype; the perfect first draft of a new human race designed by someone who read too much Stapledon. A life of being the odd one out even among nature¡¯s misfits. Well, whether old or new, neither she, nor her son were human.

    She could take him away from all that. Nobody could stop her. She doubted even the Flying Man himself would last long up against her. She closed her eyes, imagining it. Her son¡¯s hand in hers, as they crossed the sea, on foot if need be. Great jade mountains rising and falling around them, the dark shapes of whales beneath their feet. Oh, how she had dreamed of showing the boy whales.

    They could go to France¡ªor anywhere, really, but it would be nice to salvage some truth out of the lie. She¡¯d find a village, invent a story about a drowned husband, and her David would know how she felt on those American beaches long ago: commonplace.

    Or maybe they would dive deep beneath the waves, past the point where even light gave up, all the way to the bottom of the world. And then, perhaps, David would know his grandfather.

    She rose from her bed, her fingers clenched, a smile forming on her lips. The kind of smile she hadn¡¯t worn since she was a little girl. She was going to do it. She and David were going far away from this place. She would take him somewhere he could be happy, and if one could not be found, then she would carve a place out for him. A sliver of her conscience hoped Basil would¡ª

    She sat back down on her bed. She was being stupid and selfish. David wouldn¡¯t want this. It would be taking him away from everything he knew: from Mabel, from Myriad ,and (much as she struggled to admit that she was a concern) from Eliza, and who knows what else she had missed. As for showing him to her father, she had her doubts about that. While her father loved her unconditionally, he had not always necessarily cared for others just because she did; Ralph was a case in point. He might even find the boy offensive. David might not have been human, but whatever he was, it was a kinder creature than either of them.

    She reached over to her bedside and shut off her lamp. Then she went to sleep, and dreamed of watching whales crashing down into the sea, a small boy¡¯s hand clutched tight in her own.

 Chapter Nineteen: Wake in Fright

    There was a woman.

    But first, there was pain, and hot, heavy darkness. Or did the woman come before that? Memories are never remembered the same way twice. Details are lost, or exaggerated, or sometimes even completely invented. Sometimes, they lack even a sense of priority. Frederick Barnes couldn¡¯t recall the precise words with which he proposed to his wife, but he could recite verbatim the argument they had that night about the merits of beef over pork sausages. Thermopylae was a blur, but the army rations he had been forced to subsist on as a private were never far from his tongue.

    He never remembered the blast, but the dream he had afterwards followed him to his grave.

    It was one of those dreams that cross-pollinated with memory, only a faint seam separating waking reality and unmoored imagination.

    He was fairly sure he was still awake when he heard the poor bugger moaning two bunks down from him. Corporal Barnes¡¯ first guess was that one of his men was suffering through the aftereffects of a bad ration pack, or something they picked up from a poorly chosen local prostitute. He listened for a moment¡ªuntil he was sure it wasn¡¯t the kind of moaning that meant said hypothetical woman was in the tent with them¡ªbefore hissing at whoever was making that noise to take it to the med-tent. Except, he then realized, they were already in the med-tent. And there was a tube in his arm.

    It was clean. At least, Fred hoped to God it was clean. You had to hand it to the medics: they knew how to extend their supplies. The needle in his arm had likely already been in at least a dozen men, hopefully with a couple dunks in alcohol in between. Maybe it was an odd thing to fixate on, but it was his vein, goddamnit. And it was better than just laying there doing nothing.

    No, wrong problem. He was in the med-tent. Why was he in the med-tent? He needed to check himself over, assess the damage.

    He couldn¡¯t find any frostbite, and all his fingers were present and accounted for. He couldn¡¯t feel anything foreign in his body besides the IV. It and some bandages on his arms and legs were the only sign that he even needed to be there.

    But then he looked at his legs. They were half as long as they should have been.

    Corporal Barnes¡¯ breathing grew fast and heavy. No, that couldn¡¯t be right. He could still feel his feet. He could even wiggle his toes. Then he remembered something a mate from Greece once told him:

    ¡°They stay with you, you know,¡± the former Lieutenant Benson had said, a pint of bitter in his left hand. He had favoured his right hand before Thermopylae. ¡°My knuckles still itch, sometimes.¡±

    Barnes tried to rip away the sheets and see what had been done to him, but he couldn''t even raise his arms. Whatever foul stuff that tube was pumping into him, it felt as though God had His finger pressed down on him. He called out for a doctor, his wife, someone¡ªanyone¡ªwhose legs he could get better use out of. No answer.

    Then, for the first time since the War¡ªeven then still the definitive article¡ªFrederick Barnes wept. This was a nightmare, like the ones where word got to him of Angela falling ill, or the boys being knocked down by a car. It had to be.

    ¡°Nobody will hear you, Corporal.¡±

    The voice came from the foot of Fred¡¯s bed. Its owner was a young woman, or at least Fred guessed as much. She was child-slight, but her eyes, he thought, contained the depth of years. With her coal black hair and round cheeks, along with the maroon hanbok she wore, she looked like she spent most of her time living inside a Nork propaganda poster; the kind that made Barnes grateful he never learned Korean. There was something else strange about her, too. No, with everything behind her. It was as if the tent and the pallets and the wounded who occupied them had all been replaced by a photo or painted backdrop of themselves. The scent of peaches replaced blood and disinfectant.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± she said, her voice as clean and pure as a mountain lake. Though she looked like a local (and an out of date one at that), her English would have put the King¡¯s own to shame. ¡°I took us off the spokes so we could speak without interruption.¡±

    A woman, standing in the snow, watching men killing each other like a stranger watching children at play.  A moment¡¯s confusion, then a return to the sounds of gunfire and panic. Tackling the woman to the ground, shielding her from the bullets, the world exploding...

    Frederick Barnes glanced down. This woman still had her knees. Lucky bitch.

    ¡°You shoved me into the dirt,¡± the lady said, concealing her umbrage poorly. ¡°Why?¡±

    Fred looked at her, wondering if this strange woman was simple as well as inexplicable. ¡°...You were standing in the middle of an active firezone. What else was I supposed to do?¡±

    The lady looked at him for a moment, obviously puzzled, until an understanding seemed to dawn on her. ¡°You thought you were protecting me?¡± she asked, a strange sort of smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, before breaking out in laughter. ¡°That is adorable, it really is. This probably isn¡¯t what you want to hear right now, but... I am quite certain none of your weapons could do me harm. Nonetheless, I do appreciate the attempt.¡±

    ¡°Are you fucked in the head, woman?¡± Fred asked, bitterness edging into his words. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re a child, a soldier, or some bint who¡¯s never seen a gun in her life, a bullet to the head kills everyone all the same.¡± The tears were threatening to return. ¡°I lost a part of myself saving you from that, and you had better fucking understand it.¡±

    The woman¡¯s smile faded, she glanced down towards one of her hands, resting a few inches away from one of the bandage wrapped stumps of his legs.

    ¡°You people are so fragile,¡± she murmured. ¡°Why do you toss yourselves at one another like that? What could possibly be worth all that pain?¡±

    For a moment, Fred was stumped. It wasn¡¯t that he couldn¡¯t have formed an answer, more that this clueless bitch had just utterly sidestepped the issue of her own blame for his present state.

    ¡°... Bunch of reasons,¡± he replied eventually. ¡°Sometimes because we want to make the world better. Sometimes because we want more of it. Sometimes to protect people, like I did for you¡­ I¡¯m starting to regret that.¡±

    ¡°I would,¡± she said. ¡°I would definitely regret trying to save me. You lost something important, and I would have come to no harm either way.¡±

    ¡°Woman, do you know what a rifle¡ª¡± She interrupted before he could finish.

    ¡°A projectile weapon. A compressed kinetic reaction is used to force a metal slug towards a target, usually fatally¡­. One of those might have caused me harm¡­. I see¡­. You really were saving me... Thank you.¡±

    Again, Fred didn¡¯t know how to react to that. After a moment, he groaned, and decided to let whatever this woman was rest for the moment.

    ¡°What in the blazes were you even doing there in the first place, hmm? What kind of fool wanders out into the middle of a goddamned firing line?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± she answered shortly, almost terse. ¡°Your firing line wandered into me. I was watching you people fight on the doorstep of my home. Can you blame me for taking a look? Or for staying put? I was as threatened by you as I am by the squirrels who rut and fight for dominance in the branches of my trees. Did you really expect me to flee from mere men when I could have ended the fight with a mere thought?¡±

    Fred¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°If you could have helped, what didn¡¯t you do something?¡±

    ¡°In whose favour?¡± the woman asked. ¡°Should I have let you and your people claim victory over mine?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re fighting for your people, lady¡ª¡±

    ¡°It is a travesty when brothers take up arms against each other.¡± Her tone became very sour. ¡°Especially when cowards too afraid to fight their own battles set them against one another.¡±

    Fred¡¯s confusion gave way to rage. ¡°You think I wanted to be here?¡± he shouted. ¡°Or wherever the fuck they¡¯ve put my legs! I sure as hell didn¡¯t ask for another tour!¡± The tears took hold of him once more. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen my wife in ten years! My boys don¡¯t know me!  And now I¡¯m coming home to them half the man I was, and I¡¯m going to be nothing but a burden! I don¡¯t know why we¡¯re here! I don¡¯t know why we were fighting in your meadow, and I sure as shit don¡¯t know why I bothered to try and save a stupid bint like you!¡±

    It went on like that for a while, the corporal cursing out the Crown, the Japanese, the reds, and himself with equal ferocity, the apparition watching him all the while, not uttering a word.

    When his despaired ravings subsided to a prolonged, inarticulate moan, the woman asked mildly, ¡°Can I speak again?¡±

    ¡°Do whatever you like, lady. Not like I can walk away.¡±

    She scowled. ¡°You¡¯re fortunate¡ª¡±

    ¡°If you even think of saying that again. I don¡¯t care if you¡¯re a woman, or a super or what, I¡¯ll put your teeth out.¡±

    ¡°...That I don¡¯t flay the skin from your bones.¡±

    Fred let out a dry, quiet chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s better.¡±

    The lady continued. ¡°Today, however, I will grant you a reprieve.¡± She smiled. Fred wasn¡¯t sure if that was a good thing. ¡°Moreover, since it would seem that I was in some small level of danger when you tried to save me, I believe I shall offer you a boon.¡±

    Fred¡¯s response was as immediate as it was predictable. ¡°Give me back my legs.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that is beyond my powers.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off, you¡¯re clearly magic.¡±

    ¡°But not that kind of magic. And over a dozen people have seen you like this. What do you think they¡¯ll think if they come back to find your legs have grown back? They would probably shove you into a silly costume and airdrop you in the middle of P''y?ngyang. Also, please, mind your tongue in my presence. You don¡¯t want to go through the rest of your life only able to say ¡®gosh¡¯ when you¡¯re upset, do you? Actually, don¡¯t answer that.¡±

    ¡°Then I want my family to be comfortable. Not like I¡¯m going to be of much use to them like this. Give my Ange the winning lotto numbers from now to the year 2000.¡± Actually, when Fred thought about it, that probably wouldn¡¯t work. Angela abhorred gambling. Made him wonder why she married a soldier sometimes. ¡°Or have her find a heap of gold under the sink, whatever you need to do.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t be so quick to write yourself off like that, Corporal.¡± The lady tilted her head, then nodded slowly. ¡°I do think you¡¯re on the right track with that idea, although I think you¡¯re thinking too materially. So many men build up a fortune only to see it squandered by their children. Your wife is raising more prudent sons than that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Is she?¡± Fred cut in morosely. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know.¡±

    The woman continued, a touch tersely, ¡°...But then what about your grandchildren, and their children after that?¡± She grinned. ¡°I¡¯m not going to make the Barnes rich today, Frederick Barnes, I¡¯m going to make you and your kin rich as long as there are Barnes. And if I do this right, that might be as long as there are men.¡±

    Fred found the woman¡¯s tone of voice worrying. There was kindness¡ªor something like it¡ªin there, but also a certain, excitable lilt. He could have sworn he¡¯d heard something like it in the double-bill of Frankenstein and Dracula he had taken Angela to right before he shipped out. ¡°Wh-what do you mean?¡±

    ¡°What did one of you white devils call it?¡± Fred flinched when the ghost, or super, or witch, or whatever she was snapped her fingers, expecting something to appear, or disappear, or change, but it seemed she really was just trying to jog her memory. ¡°Oh, yes, natural selection.¡±

    She stood up from the bed. She was much taller than Barnes had initially thought, almost titanic in stature. She pulled a black feather quill from¡­ somewhere, already wet. ¡°I am sorry about this, but this will hurt more than what put you here.¡±

    Before Fred could inquire or protest, the lady leaned forward and started writing something on his brow. It felt like being dabbed with flaming kerosene. He screamed with all he was, thrashing and trying to jerk his head out from under the creature¡¯s awful pen, but she had him pinned impossibly fast with her free hand. She wasn¡¯t cutting his skin, so much as gouging something into his very being.

    ¡°Oh, hold still, will you?¡±

    After what could¡¯ve been anywhere between half a minute and all the moments the universe had left to its name, the woman lifted her quill and straightened herself, appearing to admire her work. ¡°There, that should do just fine.¡±

    The pain had ceased as quickly as it had started, but the shock and mere memory of it had Corporal Barnes shaking and gasping. ¡°What did you do to me?¡±

    The lady slowly began to walk away from the bed. ¡°I have assured that your descendants will always have what they need at hand, and what might harm them at bay¡ªif they know what¡¯s good for them.¡±

    ¡°Is that a threat?¡± Fred called after her.

    ¡°No, just the plain facts of it. Oh, and I¡¯m afraid my blessing isn¡¯t quite retroactive. If you want immediate results, you¡¯d better¡­ make some descendants when you get home.¡±

    ¡°You really think Angela would still want me like this?¡±

    The woman¡¯s words lingered in the air after she departed. ¡°Oh, Frederick Barnes, surely you picked a better wife than that.¡±

    ?

    Frederick Barnes was wearing deep tracks in the threadbare carpet outside the master bedroom. He was also ensuring that his house would not need fumigating for the next thousand years. Inside the bedroom, his wife was screaming over the midwife¡¯s somewhat unnecessary exhortations to push.

    The Barnes¡¯ third child had not been expected, to say the least. It had been just about sixteen years since their last pregnancy¡ªand while that had been more a matter of geography than anything else, Angela was inching into her forties. However, they didn¡¯t own a television, and certain kinds of entertainment were far cheaper than replacing the wireless would have been.

    ¡°They¡¯re gonna be fine, Dad,¡± Fred¡¯s youngest son Frank reassured him, as he attempted to keep up with his father¡¯s wheeled pacing. With his elder brother Drew already off at university, it had fallen to him to keep his father supplied with beer and Longbeach cigarettes through the whole ordeal of his mother¡¯s labour. ¡°You heard what the doctor said, they couldn¡¯t find anything wrong on the x-ray.¡±

    ¡°Oh, that makes me feel a lot better,¡± snapped Fred. ¡°They blasted my wife with radiation, and they think everything¡¯s alright!¡±

    Frank forced a grin. Even after seven years, he still found it difficult at times dealing with his father, especially when he got into one of his moods. ¡°What, you¡¯re worried the baby will come out flying or something?¡±

    ¡°Bloody comics!¡± Fred roared. ¡°Don¡¯t joke about that!¡±

    Frank threw his hands up like he was warding off an angry spirit. ¡°Sorry, sorry, forget I said anything. But Mum will be fine, Dad.¡±

    Fred grumbled some borderline obscenities. He probably wouldn¡¯t be sure things were going to be fine until the baby had at least graduated high school. The doctor had explained the risks of having a child at Angela¡¯s age. Sure, he had prefaced every warning with repeated assurances that the baby would most likely be fine, but they stuck in Fred¡¯s head much less than the possibility that it might come out a mongoloid. Fucking laugh if it doesn¡¯t have any legs, he thought to himself ruefully, lighting his tenth Longbeach of the afternoon.

    Even if their newest child came into the world without issue, what then? Until their boys were nine and eleven, Angela had raised them entirely on her own, a widow in practise if not in name. Fred had missed their tenderest years, and his homecoming had shattered the life and routine their mother had worked so hard to carve out for them. He was a dream that had strayed into the light of day. The tales she had raised them on, of their father fighting for King and Country, his boys never far from his thoughts, had given way to a sad, unwelcome epilogue. Even after seven years, he wasn¡¯t sure they wouldn¡¯t rather have the story back.

    But this baby, he was in it for the long haul. No one would be calling Fred Barnes away to fight for freedom and democracy or God knew what else. For the first time in his life, there would be nothing keeping him from his child. He almost wished there was.

    And there was also that¡­ woman¡¯s promise to consider. Fred had mostly convinced herself that she was a nothing more dream¡ªcertainly the seven years since had shown no sign of supernatural luck¡ªbut she had said something about descendants...

    It was a quick labour, as those went. Fred and his son heard one last sharp tapered cry of pain and exertion, and then a new, thin voice, making its first shrill cry into the heavy summer air. The attending midwife¡¯s proclamation of the newborn¡¯s sex could be clearly heard through the door.

    Fred had missed out on both his prior children¡¯s births. The second he¡¯d been on a whole other continent. But he had seen enough battles to know which direction a high risk operation was taking. As far as he could hear, the atmosphere in the bedroom was one of relieved celebration. The midwife was making jokes about how many digits the child owned, while Angela told her to knock it off and just give her the bloody baby. That was practically sailor-talk coming from her.

    Fred breathed a little easier.

    The door opened. ¡°Mr. Barnes, you have a¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes I heard, a son!¡± barked Fred. ¡°Just let me by!¡±

    He gestured madly at her, his chair in danger of toppling from the sheer violence of the motion. She backed to the side, and he wasted no time in making his way to his wife¡¯s side, half wheeling, half being pushed by his son. Her hair was plastered to her face with sweat, the child already in her arms. ¡°Looks like you managed three for three.¡±

    Fred chuckled abashedly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have minded, you know that.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Angela looked down into her new son¡¯s face. Like most infants who¡¯d just vented their outrage at their change in circumstances, he was looking up at his mother with complete, uncomprehending curiosity. She allowed herself a small, weary smile. ¡°It¡¯s funny, I can¡¯t help feeling a little ticked off after all that, but I can¡¯t stop looking at him.¡±

    ¡°Was it like that with me and Drew?¡± asked Frank.

    Angela nodded. ¡°Maybe worse. Wasn¡¯t as used to it.¡± She looked at her husband. ¡°Not that I¡¯ll ever get used to it, even if I have a thousand more of these.¡±

    Fred grinned, a rare and treasured occurrence these days. ¡°Well, there¡¯s steps I can take so you don¡¯t have to.¡±

    ¡°Not in front of the midwife!¡± Angela rebuked Fred in the tone of voice that only made it funnier for him.

    ¡°What? You think she doesn¡¯t know how he got here?¡± It was then Fred seemed to fully notice his new son for the first time. ¡°...Do ya mind if I hold him?¡±

    Angela handed the baby to him without hesitation, before allowing herself to slip off into hard won sleep.

    It was the first time Fred had ever held a baby. The absurdity of it almost made him laugh. He, a forty-four year old father of three, and only now was he able to hold his own son like that.

    He jiggled the boy slightly in his arms, and felt a surprising surge of joy at the light coo of sound that followed. Not joy, yet, nothing so complex; but acknowledgement, engagement with him. He felt a shock of something, a force that racked through him like a physical thing, jolting his very bones and leaving him feeling stronger, like iron. He had a purpose again.

    ¡°No matter what happens, boy,¡± he murmured, gazing into the newborn¡¯s eyes. ¡°I will always be there for you. You get that, little soldier? Always. That¡¯s a promise.¡±

    The baby tried to bite Fred¡¯s finger, the gums of his tiny mouth pressing against the tip of the digit as some buried instinct drove him to chew without any of the tools required.

    Fred laughed. ¡°You little shit.¡±

    ?

    Angela Barnes stood at her kitchen counter, assembling cornbeef sandwiches with almost frenzied efficiency. Out front of the house, her husband was hard at work fixing up the Kombi bus their eldest son and his young wife had driven halfway across the country. It needed to be in top condition by tomorrow morning. They were heading up to see their Arnold, and Hell would freeze over before they frittered away any money on servo station food.

    She shot a glance out of the kitchen window to see how the boys were getting along, then shook her head with a barely audible snort. Fred had taken charge, as he always did, and was putting their boy through his paces, a full grown man running from end to end of the vehicle at his father¡¯s shouted commands from beneath the chassis. Of course, Fred¡¯s bellowing rarely had anything to do with anger: it was simply how he chose to relay information to most other males. Well, besides Arnold; he hardly even raised his voice with the boy. She allowed herself a smile. Her husband was almost too sweet with that child.

    ¡°So much for radicalism,¡± Sophia Barnes said from the chipped green enamel dining table. A book lay open in front of her. ¡°Don¡¯t make things easy on the Man¡­ unless the Man is his dad.¡±

    ¡°Damn straight,¡± replied Angela, neither pausing nor looking up from her task. ¡°How¡¯s the book so far?¡±

    Busy nursing his wife through a bout of rheumatic fever, Frank hadn¡¯t been able to make the journey back to Harvey for the great Barnes expedition to the New Human Institute. However, dutiful son that he was, he had managed to scrounge up a copy of The New Child: a treatise written by the man he was fairly certain was Arnold¡¯s new head teacher.

    Sophia Barnes hummed thoughtfully. Angela and Fred had both been surprised, perhaps more than they should have been, when their eldest son went full counterculture after university; hitting the road and tooling around the country with a rotating cast of other dissatisfied young adults. Fred had taken it somewhat personally¡ªand loudly¡ªbut Angela figured they had raised Drew well enough that he wasn¡¯t likely to get himself into any great trouble. Aside from marriage, as it turned out. That had taken her by surprise, she would admit. But Drew and the new Mrs Barnes had assured her they were actually, legally married, inside a Catholic church, which Angela figured was all she could really ask for. She¡¯d probably preferred her son got married at a witch¡¯s sabbath than an Anglican church.

    ¡°Well, I know one thing for certain: this Dr. Lawrence bloke really loves new humans.¡±

    ¡°New humans?¡±

    ¡°His word for demi¡ªsorry, supers.¡± She cleared her throat, readying herself to channel the author. ¡° ¡®It is my view, after many years of exploration, research, and my decades spent within their company, that these new humans could, if given the chance, ameliorate the scars left upon our cultures by their more mundane ancestors. Many among our race fear giving them this chance, and that is understandable. They are, by definition, a change, and change can be intimidating; but it must, as is the way of evolution, be embraced, where it can.¡¯ ¡±

    ¡°...I see.¡±

    ¡°At least you know he¡¯s treating Arnold well?¡±

    ¡°True, true.¡±

    There was a wail from the other end of the house.

    Sophie stood up from her chair. ¡°Sounds like Julie¡¯s up,¡± she declared, with the desperate jauntiness of a new mother yet to figure out which pitches meant her child was hungry, tired, or dying.

    ¡°Do you want me to see to her?¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mrs. Barnes, but I can handle it,¡± Sophie replied as she hurried down the hall past her mother-in-law.

    ¡°...You can call me Angela, you know.¡±

    She went back to her sandwiches. If there was one blessing in Angela¡¯s life, it was that there was always plenty of work to distract her.

    God, that poor girl. Was she ever so on edge when her boys were small?

    Probably. Almost definitely. But at least Sophia wouldn¡¯t have to go it alone. Whatever Angela thought about the path Drew had taken, she trusted him to take care of his family.

    For a moment, she tried wrapping her head around the idea of a grandchild. It was an odd fit in her mind, a nagging sense that she was still a tad young for anyone to be calling her ¡°grandma¡±, especially when she still had a little boy of her own, somewhere out there.

    She was glad Arnold would at least get to see his niece.

    Despite the winter cold, and the unfortunate lack of heating in the kitchen, Angela began to feel oppressively hot. Feverish, even. Another hot flash. As was her way, she tried pushing through it, even as the sensation spread from her face to the rest of body. Eventually, though, pragmatism reminded her she would likely get more work done if she just swallowed her pride and had a rest.

    Rather than head for the couch or her bed, Angela made her way to the tiny bedroom next to the laundry. Separated from the washer and dryer only by thin drywall, it was often the warmest spot in the whole house; and so, Fred and Angela had given it to Arnold.

    Aside from dust, nothing had been removed from the room since Arnold himself. Still the same battered shelves holding his brother¡¯s hand-me-downs, as well as what Angela suspected was pillage gained from his powers. A children¡¯s treasury containing a simplified rendition of The Odyssey Angela had been reading to him lay closed on his bedside table. She had left school to work at fourteen after her father¡¯s stroke, but she had made an effort to at least instill a respect for the written word in her sons.

    As she had done an honestly embarrassing number of times that year, she lay on her son¡¯s bed, folding her long legs close to her chest. It had been of more comfort in the summer, when the sunlight pouring through the bedroom window had made the bed almost feel slept in.

    She wished she hadn¡¯t made his bed that morning.

    Angela had never thought the Change would bother her as much as it was. She had been expecting it for years. When she had gotten in the family way with Arnold, she had initially assumed that was it. She certainly had no desire to provide Julie with a younger uncle or aunt. She had had her season, and she was very content with the harvest¡ªdespite what she may have occasionally implied to Drew or Arnold.

    There was the problem. If she still had Arnold where she could see him, if her family was still together¡ªif only in spirit rather than geography¡ªmenopause wouldn¡¯t even have been a blip on Angela¡¯s radar. As things were, it was as if nature felt the need to hammer it in that her baby was gone.

    As Julia¡¯s cries gave way to contented gurgles, the sickly heat within Angela gave way to chill. She really should have let Drew and Sophie put the baby in Arnold¡¯s room, instead of the bloody linen closet. It just felt too much like replacing him¡­

    ¡°You alright, Ange?¡± asked Fred from the doorway.

    ¡°What do you think?¡±

    ¡°Sorry, love. I mean, are you hanging in there?¡±

    Angela rolled over to look at her husband. ¡°We¡¯re gonna see our son again, Fred. I should be feeling better.¡±

    Fred wheeled over to beside the bed. ¡°Nerves? I don¡¯t know. Maybe you¡¯re trying to work though all the leftover bullshit so Arnold doesn¡¯t have to deal with it. Wouldn¡¯t want his mum and dad crying over him in front of his new mates, would he?¡±

    Angela just sighed and turned back to face the window. She didn¡¯t even chastise Fred for his language; never a good sign.

    With hard-won ease, he shifted himself onto the bed, wrapping an arm around his wife. With how barrel chested he still was, the only reason there was even enough room for the both of them was that Angela¡¯s genes had yet to realize the Irish Potato Famine was no longer a concern. With his free hand, he reached for the cigar tin resting on top of the treasury.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t know what the hell he¡¯s on about in half of these,¡± he said as he flicked the lid open with his thumb.

    The note that had appeared in the butchers had only been the first in a miraculous, one-sided correspondence by the youngest Barnes, written on seemingly anything he had on hand: finch-stamped office stationery, lined pages clearly ripped from a school workbook; even a few strips of papery bark. Despite all of Angela¡¯s efforts, Arnold had turned out to be something of a gossip. In the corners, she had written the dates they had appeared. You certainly couldn¡¯t date them by any improvement in Arnold¡¯s penmanship.

    ¡°Look at this one: ¡®Maelstrom and Allie back from their trip. Brought home a tiger!¡¯ I mean, is the tiger an actual tiger? Or is it like how he used to call the cat a ¡®tiger¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Still want to know where that thing got to,¡± grumbled Angela, her head resting against Fred¡¯s beard. ¡°And I think the tiger is that Growltiger boy he mentioned.¡±

    ¡°What, you think he¡¯s classmates with a talking tiger?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°What do you think is the deal with the names, anyway? Is he writing in code?¡±

    ¡°I think it¡¯s a game, dear.¡± Angela fished a note out of the tin. ¡°Did I show you this one?¡±

    The Barnes lay there for nearly an hour, going over the out-of-context fragments Arnold had felt like sharing with them of his new life:

    So, turns out Mealy has a secret old human name. Everyone tells me everything last¡­

    ¡­Windshear thinks she gets to collect the Billy-tax!

    ...Some kids got in big trouble for playing Hunt the Hippie¡­

    ...Reverb is getting so fat.

    ...Basil¡¯s a little better. It¡¯s still weird David doesn¡¯t hug him or anything. He¡¯s so nice to everyone else. Maybe he just doesn¡¯t like it? David¡¯s hugs can make you feel weird sometimes¡­

    ¡°He mentions that Mealy-David boy a lot,¡± commented Fred.

    ¡°Long as he has a friend,¡± Angela said as she clambered over her husband¡¯s form. The little reminder of her son¡¯s present happiness had buoyed her spirits considerably, but with that came the determination to attend to matters she had been putting off. ¡°I¡¯m going to pop over to the Kinseys¡¯ place.¡±

    ¡°Still doing that are ya?¡± Fred replied, squinting at a exceptionally illegible note, trying to decide if this Tiresias person was one of the old guard of new humans Arnold sometimes mentioned, or an exceptionally large student who kept getting into the liquor cabinet.

    ¡°Have to.¡± Just to niggle her husband, she added, ¡°It¡¯s my Christian duty.¡±

    ?

    Drina lay half-curled on her living room¡¯s turquoise sofa, ¡°Waltzing Matilda¡± blaring from the turntable in the corner. She wondered how many more times she could play that record before the needle wore it down to nothing, its substance reduced to pure sound.

    When Allison had first been taken from her, Drina had felt like a parent bereaved, burdened further with the horrific certainty that her child was in no better place. Now, everything felt reversed. She was a shade in some gloomy underworld, trying to guess at what her daughter was up to in the sunlit country.

    Drina was dimly aware of Angela Barnes bustling around her house, and could neither remember nor bring herself to care whether or not she had invited her in. Some small, unimportant part of herself was telling the other woman where they kept the broom and the coffee grounds.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mrs Barnes,¡± Drina finally asked as a cup of Moccona dark as interstellar space was placed in front of her, ¡°but why exactly are you here?¡±

    ¡°Because your house is in desperate need of a tidy-up, Mrs Kinsey,¡± Angela said as she got back to wiping down the other woman¡¯s kitchen counter. She was trying very hard to keep her tone gentle, and so merely came across as brusque. ¡°And there¡¯s something I need to speak with you and your husband about. Any idea when he¡¯ll be home?¡±

    Drina shrugged. ¡°Not really. Jack¡¯s been working late a lot.¡± Or drowning our daughter at the Harvey Hotel, she silently added, not altogether bitterly. God knows she wished she was allowed inside the pub right then. ¡°What is it you want to say? If it¡¯s worth coming over and doing my dishes, surely it¡¯s worth repeating yourself.¡±

    Angela looked at the newspaper clipping affixed to the Kinsey''s startlingly sleek refrigerator, Allison and the boy called Maelstrom grinning photogenically from the rough, grainy paper. Above their pictures was what Parliament had officially dubbed the Green Palace, and what everyone else was calling the Treehouse; alien yet familiar all at once. ¡°Drina, did Allison send you a note?¡±

    Before she could answer, two dull thumps echoed in quick succession from the front room.

    ¡°They told me I had to go¡­¡± Jack Kinsey froze when he saw Angela.

    She, for her part, just folded her arms. ¡°Evening, Mr. Kinsey.¡±

    ¡°Hello-Angela.¡±

    Drina gave her husband an odd look. Meanwhile, Jack started to¡­ tremor. Angela thought he was having some kind of episode, until she realized he was shaking his head.

    She blinked. Oh, he thinks I¡¯m here to¡ª

    Angela Barnes had not told her husband what Jack Kinsey had done, mostly because she was fairly sure Fred would kill him for it, and she wasn¡¯t certain she would try very hard to stop him. She herself had put off speaking to the Kinseys for very similar reasons.

    It had its temptations, just telling Drina, right there and then. Lord knew she must have hungered for someone to blame. Maybe Jack hadn¡¯t reported their daughter, but he had brought the DDHA down on her head all the same. Angela could leave him alone¡ªalone and hated¡ªwith just a few words.

    But that would leave Drina alone, too. Angela at least had Fred and Drew and Frank; even that baby sleeping in her son¡¯s crib. Who did Drina have, apart from ashes and unmarked graves half a world away? Surely a half man like Kinsey was better than no one?

    Barely managing to swallow her hate, Angela looked back down at Drina. ¡°You were saying, Mrs Kinsey?¡±

    ¡°...Yes, we got a note.¡±

    ¡°Drina¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, why lie, Jack? It¡¯s not like Allie can get reported twice.¡±

    ¡°Could I see it?¡± This time, Angela did manage to sound gentle.

    Drina fetched the note from some hiding place Angela was not privy to, handing it to her like she was trusting the butcher with the relic of a saint.

    Dear Mum and Dad. I¡¯m okay. I have powers, but I¡¯m okay. This scientist (I guess) took me and Arnold to live with a lot of other kids like us, and it¡¯s really nice. We¡¯re making a lot of friends and doing a play and there¡¯s songs.

    So many songs.

    My  ¡ªAllison.

    ¡°She used to mention songs a fair whack, when she was small,¡± Jack said. ¡°Never was sure what she meant. Stopped when she was five, I think.¡±

    ¡°The Flying Man,¡± Angela said. ¡°Smart girl you have, Kinsey.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here, Mrs Barnes?¡±

    Angela took a deep breath. ¡°We know where the kids are.¡±

    As she expected, she was assaulted by an overlapping barrage of wheres and hows before she could get another word out. ¡°Alright, alright! Let me finish!¡± she snapped. It was enough to quiet the Kinseys for a moment. ¡°Anyway, our son sent sent us a note, too. I¡¯d wager he sent your daughter¡¯s note for her, if she couldn¡¯t do it herself.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a good boy,¡± Jack interjected. Once again, Drina looked at him funny.

    Angela gritted her teeth. ¡°I know he is, Jack. He was also a little more firm on the geography than your Allison. Said the school¡ªI think that¡¯s the right word for it¡ªwas in the hills up near Northam. Frank¡ªyou remember Frank?¡ªturned out to have a friend working for the DDHA, God forgive him, and he told us about the fella who runs this school, Doctor Lawrence Herbert. Calls it the ¡®New Human Institute¡¯. It¡¯s been there since the War, thereabouts.¡±

    ¡°Which war?¡± asked Drina.

    Angela sighed. Sometimes Korea and World War Two blurred together for her. ¡°Korea, I think. So after the Flying Man went and bungled everything up, Doctor Lawrence managed to get this deal with the DDHA. He kept all the children he had at the Institute, and they let him take in some of the children they sent to those awful asylums: ours included.¡± She lowered her head. ¡°God bless him for it.¡±

    That out of the way, she proceeded to explain everything she had read or heard regarding Herbert Lawrence, his extremely optimistic view of superhumanity included.

    ¡°Thank you for telling us all this, Angela,¡± Drina said eventually, smiling, faintly, for the first time in weeks. ¡°Just knowing where Allison is makes it easier to get on.¡±

    ¡°Bare minimum of decency, Drina,¡± the butcher said, cooly. ¡°Also not the only reason I came over. Me and the family are heading up to see Arnold tomorrow, and we think you should come along.¡± Her inner budgeter compelled her to add, ¡°We¡¯d both save on petrol money.¡±

    Jack and Drina looked at one another, before the former glanced back at Angela and said, ¡°That¡­ might not be wise.¡±

    ¡°...Why not? Is it a work thing? Because if it is: really, Jack? If you need to sort out time off¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s-it¡¯s not that.¡±

    ¡°Then what is it?¡± Angela asked dubiously.

    ¡°If this Lawrence bloke is right¡ªeven about half the stuff you say he says¡ªmaybe we¡¯re not¡­ I guess worthy is the only word for it?¡±

    Angela¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Children are supposed to be better than their parents, Jack. That¡¯s how you know you¡¯re doing your job!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ Allison¡¯s was never much of a happy kid. I mean, she smiled and played well enough with other children, but aside from Arnold¡±¡ªhe cringed slightly¡ª¡°she never seemed to connect with anything. And you know Arnold didn''t have all that many friends, either.¡± He shook his head slowly. ¡°Maybe this wasn''t the right place for children like them. And even if it was, they¡¯re at that school because the government wants them there. You think they¡¯re just going to let you take Arnold home?¡±

    Angela tilted her head. ¡°When did I say I was going to try taking him out of that school?¡±

    Drina said, ¡°But, you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Look, I know Fred and I might not be able to teach Arnold everything a boy like him needs to know. I never gave much thought to boarding school¡ªalways thought it was for people with too much money who didn''t like their children much¡ªbut it sounds like both our kids are happy enough there. But if I have to let another person look after my boy, I¡¯m not gonna rest till I¡¯ve looked them in the eye myself!¡±

    Drina looked down at her hands. ¡°...I don''t think I could bare leaving that place without my Allie. Not yet.¡±

    Jack straightened slightly. When he spoke, his tone was less quavering. ¡°Thank you for offering, Mrs. Barnes, but I don''t think either of us are ready for that yet. If you see her, send her our love.¡±

    Angela Barnes usually appeared to be at least slightly irritated with something or other at any given moment. Now, she just seemed sad. Almost like she had been in the butcher¡¯s, that stupid, awful day. ¡°Your daughter¡¯s a good girl, Kinseys,¡± she said. ¡°Don''t think she hasn''t been in my prayers, too. I just worry what she might think if we turn up one day, and you don''t.¡± She turned to leave. ¡°I hope you find your way back to her, eventually.¡±

    She heard the weeping start before the door closed behind her.

    ?

    When the Barnes had arrived in Northam, it had quickly dawned on them that¡ªfor all their recently expanded knowledge of the place¡ªthey were still fairly vague as to where exactly the New Human Institute was. The New Child hadn''t been very specific¡ªlest it attract gawkers, claimed the author. Drew had suggested simply driving along the dirt roads that led out into the surrounding countryside until they found the school, but that had been shot down for reasons of wanting to see Arnold before he graduated.

    Eventually, it was decided that the men and the women would split up into two parties, to better infiltrate their respective spheres of society. Drew and Fred had headed off to interrogate the patrons of Duke¡¯s Inn, while Sophia and Angela¡ªbaby in tow¡ªhad gotten their hair done.

    The latter approach proved much more productive.

    ¡°They kept asking me and dad if we were doctors or lawyers or something,¡± Drew said as the family took lunch in a corner booth at the Camel Stop Diner. ¡°Apparently they¡¯ve been getting some real high-rollers coming through here lately: all heading to the Institute.¡±

    ¡°Scientists, politicians, even a few gold medalists, they say,¡± Fred continued.

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re going there to teach?¡± suggested Sophia, wincing a little as Julia tugged on a stray strand of sandy hair.

    Drew shook his head. ¡°Don''t think so. They always turn back up at the pub a day or two later. Could be lecturers, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°If they are,¡± mused Fred, ¡°this Lawrence must have serious amounts of dosh.¡±

    ¡°That he does,¡± a voice coming from behind Mr. Barnes said, laconically. The grinning face of a thirty-something Asian man in an Akubra hat. ¡°Would I be wrong in thinking you¡¯re heading for the New Human Institute?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Our son¡¯s a student,¡± Angela said with no trace of hesitation or shame. ¡°Why do you ask?¡±

    The man¡¯s grin dimmed. ¡°You promise not to go wild if I tell you something?¡±

    ¡°Boy, I was an Anzac for twelve years and two shooting wars, and my son has superpowers, nothing you could say will make me ¡®go wild¡¯.¡±

    Oh, if only, old fella, the man thought to himself. ¡°Well, in that case, I was actually a student at the Institute. Graduated, I suppose you could say, about nine years back.¡±

    The Barnes looked back and forth at one another, clearly surprised, but little more than that. ¡°What do you do?¡± asked Sophie.

    ¡°If that isn''t like asking a woman her age,¡± added her husband.

    The man shrugged. ¡°I move things with my mind. Nothing special, really. I¡¯d show you, but not with all these straights around.¡± He stood up from his seat, moving next to the Barnes¡¯ table. ¡°Chen Li,¡± he said, extending his hand for anyone who wished to take it, which as it turned out meant Angela. ¡°Pleased to meet you all.¡±

    The Barnes quickly introduced themselves, making room on one of the seats for Chen.

    ¡°You lot know the way to the Institute?¡± he asked, jovially.

    ¡°Almost,¡± answered Fred. ¡°One young bloke tried giving us directions, but it was like the words kept falling back down his throat.¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± said Drew, ¡°that kid sounded like he¡¯d smoked a whole forest of¡­ something.¡±

    Chen clapped his hands together. ¡°Tell ya what, I¡¯m itching to visit the old alma mater, but getting a ride to the Institute around here is like hitching a ride to Castle Dracula. If you take me along, I¡¯ll make sure you get to the school in time for tea.¡±

    The Barnes deliberated for a moment. ¡°Seems fair,¡± Fred declared, nodding his head slightly.

    Chen Li beamed. ¡°Thanks a ton mates, real good of you all. Mind swinging by my room when you¡¯ve finished your meal? Ah, good.¡± He stood back up. ¡°I¡¯m just heading outside for a fag. I prefer to spoil the fresh air while I smoke. Don''t rush your lunch on my account.

    In truth, Chen had put things off as long as he could. The Coven had come through with that student list four days ago¡ªhopefully that was the last thing he¡¯d ever need from that crew¡ªand he had been slowly moving his gold reserves under the Institute¡¯s grounds for weeks. Either he did this now, or he¡¯d sit above Duke¡¯s Inn twiddling his thumbs and agonising over the morality of it forever.

    Lighting up a Dunhill, he looked through the diner window at the Barnes. God help those poor bastards, he thought. God help me, too.

 Chapter Twenty: Now My Charms Are All Oerthrown

    It was September of 1965. To the great displeasure of Aleister Johnson, the Beatles¡¯ reign at the top of the charts was entering its fifth week, with ¡°Help¡± and ¡°I¡¯m Down¡± continuing to sit at number one, a stranglehold that would not be broken until the next month by Normie Rowe and his covers of ¡°Que, Sera, Sera¡± and ¡°Shakin¡¯ All Over¡±. Across the sea, in what many Australians still called ¡°the mother country¡±, King George VI once more lies on the brink of death, and soon children all throughout the Commonwealth will stumble over the lyrics of ¡°God Save the Queen.¡±

    Earlier that month, an attack on the city of Jammu by the 12th Infantry Division of the Pakistan Army was cut short by the Flying Man calmly and orderly depositing the over four-thousand strong invasion force in the city of Islamabad. As he usually did when he intervened in military engagements, he seemed more disappointed than anything else.

    Perhaps he would have been more pleased by the small cultural milestone being made at the New Human Institute. After months of preparation, the first all-posthuman production of William Shakespeare¡¯s The Tempest was being staged in the barn.

    It had taken Mabel (director) and Elsewhere (executive and regular producer) longer than they had expected to line up all the pieces. They had a shallow, mostly disinterested talent pool, a play with frankly not nearly as many juicy parts as, say, Macbeth, and the teachers and staff had adopted a very hands-off approach towards the whole business. As great as that was for things like creative freedom, it didn¡¯t leave either child much recourse for maintaining order.

    In spite of all this, the two of them had eventually managed to cajole, bribe, or threaten enough of their schoolmates to form a cast and crew, and now, every member of the Institute, young and old, had gathered to bear witness to the fruits of their labours.

    Ariel wafted around Ferdinand as he led him through pastel sands and delicately brushworked palms swaying in an imperceptible wind, the vaporous edges of his person stirred and troubled by the young prince¡¯s tail.

    ¡°Full fathom five thy father lies,¡± the spirit sang in a voice like a thousand fingers rubbing crystal. The fog that made up its form gave the suggestion of a young child, its gender impossible to determine. ¡°Of his bones are coral made.Those are pearls that were his eyes¡­¡±

    Every ebb and flow of the air threatened to scatter the spectre, but somehow it kept itself together, shifting and swirling around a pale blue glow, rainbows hanging in the mist it left in its wake.

    ¡°I think Mels is crying,¡± Mabel whispered to Elsewhere, her tone caught between sympathy and pride.

    A few rows down, tears were, indeed trailing their way down Melusine¡¯s face as she watched her son, her attention rapt. A couple seats down from her, Basilisk leant forward in his special chair, almost unblinking, shoving popcorn into his mouth with a spoon, his face bathed in the light of ¨¥¨­s¡¯ free floating stage-lamps. Despite Mabel¡¯s prompting, Elsewhere did not seem to notice. He was too busy staring at their Ariel. He only took any notice of the girl when she stuck her fingers between his ribs, harder than was perhaps fair. He let out a quiet squeak, then looked at her, hurt. In response, she merely tutted at him.

    The one advantage the The Tempest¡¯s relatively milquetoast cast of characters offered the Watercolours and their Orchestra was that it barely mattered who they got to play them. Talos (over Maelstrom¡¯s muttered complaints) had landed the role of Alonso purely on the strength of his mechanical mode¡¯s perfect memory. Elsewhere had been very particular about the casting of Ariel. Mabel, though, was more concerned with the main lead.

    ¡°The ditty does remember my drowned father. This is no mortal business, nor no sound. That the earth owes. I hear it now above me.¡± His line completed, Prince Ferdinand smiled his friendly vampire grin, rocking slightly on his heels with his hands behind his back.

    When Growltiger had expressed an interest in the production, Mabel had strongly considered recasting Caliban, but the boy¡¯s lip had wobbled every time she brought it up, and Linus had threatened the children with musical numbers if he wasn¡¯t allowed to play the monster. She had struggled for some time trying to come up for a use for the newest student, until Elsewhere had realized the subversive potential of casting him as the lead. As it turned out, Billy was an atrocious actor, but in a manner that only seemed natural and proper for a seven year old. Even Lawrence seemed charmed by his sheer joy at managing to remember his dialogue.

    Mabel noticed. ¡°I think Lawrence likes it!¡± she hissed excitedly to her producer. ¡°Christmas matinee, Macbeth, for sure.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that more a Halloween story? Witches and all?¡±

    Mabel grinned wickedly. ¡°Christmas, Halloween, they both have vampires.¡±

    It took Elsewhere a moment to catch on. ¡°...Wouldn¡¯t that be Easter?¡±

    ¡°Spoilsport.¡±

    Mum would have smacked us for that.

    Prince Ferdinand emerged from the darkness behind the stage, a log over his back. ¡°There be some sports are painful, and their labor, elight in them sets off. Some kinds of bases are nobly underground.¡±

    Mabel put her face in her palms, praying no one noticed.

    ¡°And most poor matters point to rich ends,¡± he finished, as though he didn¡¯t understand half of what he was saying. He set the log down on a stack of its fellows, wiping his furred brow with pantomime exhaustion¡­ then kept wiping for a few extra seconds while he struggled to remember his next line. Then he went on, stumbling through an interminable celebration of his ladylove until she finally made her appearance:

    ¡°Alas now, pray you, work not so hard,¡± Miranda said with the passion and conviction of every wannabe dramatist between Harvey and Avon Valley. She moved towards the prince, ready to comfort her love.

    Myriad was honestly wasted on Miranda. Perhaps unsurprisingly, she performed with much more poise and self possession than any of her young castmates, her every half sung phrase and subtle gesture completely on point¡­ until she actually reached her costar. Then whatever preternatural maturity gripped her evaporated, leaving two eight year olds in costumes knocked together out of spare curtains and bedsheets, trying not to giggle as they attempted to ape adolsecent affection, his fur tickling her cheek as his tail swished behind him.

    You could only hope they enjoyed the moment, for the prince¡¯s courtiers were even then conspiring against their liege with the dread Caliban: a conspicuously short, dark skinned Neapolitan butler and an ember-eyed jester trying not to laugh as a teenager slathered in homemade troll makeup leapt and pranced around them, hissing Elizabethan dialogue at them in a voice his director had described as being ¡°like black jellybeans.¡± Every one of his grand, exuberant gesticulations was accompanied by a musical sting.

    ¡°That boy is having far too much fun,¡± Mrs. Gillespie opined, trying to hide a smile.

    Lawrence grinned at her in the gloom. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t fret, Mary. Everyone loves being the villain once in a while.¡±

    Mary¡¯s smile sharpened. ¡°Know this from experience, Doctor?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually. Eton. A few of us got our hands on a bottle of the divinity master¡¯s sherry, and we decided to do The Merchant of Venice. I was Shylock.¡± His expression glazed over with nostalgia. ¡°We made a couple of third-formers be Portia and Jessica. Poor lads couldn¡¯t say no.¡±

    Mary chuckled, as much at Snapdragon silently begging Linus to tone down the mugging long enough for him to get a line out as the anecdote. ¡°I think we were right not to recreate fagging here.¡±

    The play proceeded in much the same vein as it had begun, more the unrestrained cavorting of children than a serious production¡ªa marginally more formalized game of pretend¡ªbroken up by occasional the special effect and attempts by some of the more actorly among them to do the piece justice. Through it all, Lawrence watched with grandfatherly contentment, marred only by the occasional niggle when the children did particularly severe insult to the bard¡¯s work.

    Not that Lawrence¡¯s opinion of their efforts entered much into Mabel and Elsewhere¡¯s thinking. It was theirs¡ªthat was all that mattered.

    And sometimes, it really did all come together. Ariel manifesting himself to the king and his men: a living storm, all noise and fury; proving folly any human pretense of power.

    And then there was their Prospero.

    ¡°Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling, of their afflictions,¡± the spindly old wizard with the young face demanded of the mist that pooled around the hem of his far too voluminous dressing gown, cotton ball beard shaking violently from his chin. ¡°And shall not myself, one of their kind, that relish all as sharply passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?¡±

    The real fun of Shakespeare is seeing how much you can change without altering a word. Here, Prospero came across less as a grand, magical tyrant, and more of a gone to seed company founder whose business had grown quite beyond anything he had ever imagined while he wasn¡¯t looking¡ªkept on by his cannier subordinates out of sentimentality and branding consideration. The sort of man whose grinning face would adorn the labels of mustard bottles for generations after his death. That¡¯s not to say there wasn¡¯t any danger to him. Sometimes, in between rounds of golf and shuttlecock, even the most irrelevant corporate figurehead might feel the need to remind themselves that they still had some power¡­

    The casting of Prospero ended up being Mabel and Elsewhere''s most difficult creative decision. Both children agreed that the wizard needed to be something special. At the very least, he ought to be taller than his castmates. With Gwydion proving militantly uninterested in the production, and Linus already thoroughly committed to the role of Caliban, the Watercolours had once again found themselves short of options. Myriad had suggested one of the older girls be Prospera, but that was quickly dismissed as the kind of smart that was likely to get them slapped. Maelstrom had also tentatively floated the idea of asking Lawrence to play the Duke of Milan, but that seemed like the preteen amatuer theatrics equivelent of having your father be your date for the school formal.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Then, only a fortnight before their self-imposed opening date, salvation staggered into the barn.

    ¡°Really?¡± Elsewhere had asked, warily. ¡°You want to be in the play?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what I want to do!¡± Tiresias had slurred at the boy, almost losing his footing from the distraction. His cheeks were flushed with an odd hexagonal pattern. According to the Physician via Myriad, it was a throwback to whatever Enlilian tourist had introduced esper genes into his bloodline.

    ¡°...I wasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Whatever. Not like there¡¯s anything else to do around here.¡± He pointed with drooping menace at the casting table. ¡°Let me be the wizard-man, or I¡¯ll¡­¡± He tried to find an appropriate threat in the wine fumes. ¡°...Bite you.¡±

    None of the Watercolours saw the harm in saying yes to the psychic. Truthfully, they hadn¡¯t even expected him to remember he had wanted in on the production by dinnertime. But, much to everyone¡¯s frankly ambivalent surprise, Tiresias not only persisted with his theatrical ambitions, he threw himself into the role. There had been some fretting over whether this constituted a breach of their pledge not to involve any grownups, but they decided that the difference between them and Tiresias was merely one of chronology.

    They had no luck with convincing him he didn¡¯t need to put on the pommy accent.

    ¡°Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel,¡± Prospero ordered, the child-spirit already coiling away into the darkness as he spoke. The sorcerer sat hunched in his throne now, only one of the orbiting stage-lamps still shining down him, its brothers glowing dimly like dying suns. ¡°¡ªI¡¯ll break my staff, bury it certain fathoms fathoms beneath the earth.¡± His smile was manic, his eyes darting all around him, as though checking if God or Lucifer or any power between them were watching. ¡°And deeper than did ever plummet sound, I¡¯ll drown my book.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s so lying,¡± Mabel commented in hushed tones.

    ¡°What? Why?¡± Elsewhere asked.

    ¡°Who¡¯s going to give up magic powers? Especially someone who did the kinda stuff Prospero did¡­¡± An ugly memory crawled out from its crevice. ¡°Would Elsa?¡±

    ¡°Ugh, don¡¯t remind me.¡±

    ¡°Still, would you?¡±

    ¡°...I don¡¯t know.¡±

    If there was one thing about The Tempest that disappointed Mabel and Elsewhere, it was that the one witch in the story didn¡¯t even appear onstage. If there was another thing, it was that there wasn¡¯t really a big liberation scene for Ariel. Prospero merely promises to release the spirit after just one more favour or two. Definitely a big mistake on Shakespeare¡¯s part, the eight and the nine year old both thought.

    Still, they had worked out a bit of staging they were both proud of. At the end, when the wizard sent Ariel ahead to calm the seas and stiffen the winds for Miranda and Ferdinand''s journey back to Italy, Prospero once again gave his assurance that¡ªwith the completion of this final task¡ªthe spirit would finally has his freedom.

    The words thrummed through Ariel¡¯s aqueous form like ripples or musical notes. With a rafter-rattling blast of thunder, the fog forgot his shape, spilling over the stage before sinking into the dirt floor, revealing a mahogany skinned little boy in a shift woven from ice crystals. He looked like he could have been one of the island¡¯s long-gone natives. The boy wiggled his toes a little, clearly relieved to have them back, before shooting a worried look over at Prospero, as though fearful that the wizard might change his mind. The old warlock nodded back at him with an air of self-satisfied magnanimity. Returning the gesture with some hesitation, the former spirit took the prince and his love by the hand, and lead them out of the story. Miranda looked afraid, almost queasy. Understandable, for a girl leaving behind everything all she knew¡ª

    ¡°AU!¡± Myriad screamed, wrenching her hand from David¡¯s. ¡°AU¡¯s here!¡±

    The collective hush of the audience was pure enough that the creak of the barn door was clearly audible when Mrs. Barnes stepped inside.

    The entirety of the Institute turned in their seats to get a look at the interloper. The almost too-thin woman looked like she had dressed for church. Her hair looked like it was for a funeral. Examining the crowd, and then the children still onstage in their homespun finery, Myriad looking pale and panicked, Angela¡¯s brow furrowed with genuine disappointment. ¡°Did we miss the play?¡±

    Elsewhere slowly rose from his chair, uncertain whether or not he was even allowed to. ¡°M-Mummy?¡±

    ¡°Arnold!¡± The name escaped Angela like a cry of pain.

    Arnold. It took the better part of a second for the name to register with the boy, like he was being called by a half-forgotten nickname. Then he was running down the aisles, wondering how he had managed to keep a straight face being called ¡°Elsewhere¡± for so long. It was silly. Like a game of pirates that had managed to last for months.

    Angela Barnes barely managed to stay on her feet when her son collided with her.

    ¡°I-I-did-you got my¡ª¡± Arnold gave up on coherent speech, burying his face in his mother¡¯s dress.

    ¡°Shhhhh. That can all wait.¡±

    It was only then that Arnold remembered everyone else in the barn, the warring murmurs and loud, questioning shouting of his schoolmates suddenly audible to him. He wondered how the other students would cope with him of all people getting his mum back, with how they treated David. Then he remembered those poor, human boys from Northam. What the other children did to them. What he had done to them. Lightning flashed beneath the skin of his knuckles.

    Except, nobody sounded upset. In fact, if any one sound dominated the din of the barn, it was cheering. Children crowded around the mother and son, trying to make their questions heard over everyone else¡¯s, or just bask like sun-starved flowers in the presence of a flesh and blood mother. It didn''t matter whose they were. Parents coming to the New Human Institute was like finding fairies in the middle of Perth: who gave a damn who they were for?

    Arnold didn¡¯t appreciate the attention. Everyone crowding him and his mum, asking stupid questions about how she got there, or even if she was just part of the play. Worse were the endless congratulations. Did they think he might¡¯ve missed how great this was.

    Windshear and a couple of the other smaller children tried going for a hug, before finding themselves teleported to the back of the crowd.

    Angela gazed reproachfully down at her son. ¡°Arnold¡­¡±

    The boy suddenly felt very childish. What was he worried about? That his mum might decide to trade him in? Gently, he stepped out of his mother¡¯s embrace, turning to face the throng of other children. ¡°Guys,¡± he said, ¡°this is my mum.¡±

    Mrs Barnes had steeled herself for a lot of things on her journey to the Institute. A horde of tiny, love-hungry superhumans was not one of them. They fell upon her like locusts. She just barely managed to resist hitting any of them.

    Arnold was laughing at the sight when he felt something ram into the back of his legs. He didn¡¯t know why his father¡¯s rib-crushing hug surprised him as much as it did. How likely was it that he would pass on the trip?

    He felt his father¡¯s rough, day old stubble against his cheek.¡°Jesus, boy, you¡¯ve grown¡­¡±

    Arnold had heard the tone in his father¡¯s voice before, when his mother had just managed to drag him screaming out of some reawoken wartime horror. It was a kind of gasping, raw relief that stung almost as much as the despair. It made the boy shake.

    A young man in a collared shirt and olive and brown striped trousers wandered into the area of Arnold¡¯s view that wasn¡¯t taken up by his father¡¯s shirt, a dishwater blonde holding a pudgy baby in a sunbonnet in tow. He beamed when he caught sight of the boy. ¡°Oi, Arnie!¡±

    ¡°...Drew?¡±

    He hadn¡¯t recognized his eldest brother at first. Drew had already left home when Arnold was born, and one way or another had always kept himself too busy to visit much. He and Frank had always seemed felt like beloved cousins than true brothers¡ªsemi-mythical figures whose life and adventures were only attestable in ancient oral tradition. He clambered off his father¡¯s chair. ¡°Who¡¯s the lady?¡±

    Drew¡¯s grin widened, pulling the woman and baby in close. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s my wife you¡¯re talking about!¡±

    Somehow, that made Arnold feel old by proxy.

    The woman waved awkwardly at him. ¡°Hi! It¡¯s Sophie. Drew¡¯s told me so much about you.¡± Under the circumstances, the junior Mrs Barnes couldn¡¯t help but think the introduction was a little inadequate. She held out the baby, cooing, ¡°Say g¡¯day to your uncle, Jules.¡±

    That hit Arnold like a dozen birthdays.

    Drew pointed towards the back of the barn. ¡°Christ almighty, that¡¯s some good makeup. How do you get the tail to move? Fishing wire?¡± He smiled waggishly at Arnold. ¡°That your little girlfriend up there?¡±

    Arnold¡¯s gaze darted around in the direction his brother had pointed, his eyes landing on Maelstrom, before shifting to Allison beside him, still trying to make herself heard over the racket. He went a bright, deep red, and did not respond.

    Maelstrom¡ªsuspecting that this intermission might last the rest of the play¡ªstepped off the stage, made his way sheepishly over to Arnold and his father, occasionally reducing himself to mist to slip through gaps in the crowd. He passed Mrs Barnes, who, having extricated herself from the mob of boys and girls vying for her attention, had struck up a one sided conversation with a still halfway bewildered ?ywie:

    ¡°¡ªIs there a Bible in your library? I know I can¡¯t expect you to make him read it, but I would be a lot more comfortable if I knew there was one on hand¡­¡±

    Maelstrom approached the two Barnes like a rabbit sniffing at a dead fox. Thanks to ?ywie, David was used to a degree of photogenic refinement in the people around him. Even Lawrence and Mrs Gillespie shared in some of the benefit. Mr. Barnes had none of that. He was like a large, half finished sandstone sculpture, all chipped and windworn. He reminded the boy a little of Timothy Valour, albeit much more unreconstructed. He struggled to find any evidence of this man in Arnold¡ªunless the tied off stumps were why the boy¡¯s legs were so skinny.

    Fred beamed when he spotted the child, revealing many slightly crooked teeth. ¡°You must be David!¡± he shouted at a Lawrence-like decibel. He clasped the boy¡¯s arm in both hands, shaking it vigorously. ¡°You weren¡¯t joking about the eyes, were you Arnold? Did you end up playing the ghost?¡±

    The blush returned to Arnold¡¯s cheeks. ¡°It was a spirit, Dad¡­¡±

    David was stunned. It was the first time a stranger had ever addressed him by the name his mother gave him. It was like the man had seen his secret self. He cautioned an uneasy smile. ¡°It¡¯s good to meet you, Fred.¡±

    David remembered too late the attitude most outsider grownups held about first names, but Fred Barnes didn¡¯t appear offended by the lapse in manners. He chuckled, quirking his head towards his son and said ¡°I didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be so casual.¡± In fact, the general impression Fred had gleaned from his son¡¯s notes was of a boy terrified of adults. ¡°I like it.¡±

    A shriek rang out from the stage, loud and distorted enough to kill and devour all other sound in the barn, making everyone in earshot feel like their bones were aging inside them; a thousand angry ghosts, all shrieking just out of sync with each other:

    AUISHEREAUISHERELISTENTOMEAUIS¡ª

    ¡°CALM DOWN, CHILD!¡± Somehow, Lawrence managed to make himself heard over Allison¡¯s cacophony.

    The howling died down.

    ¡°Allison Kinsey,¡± Mrs Barnes said, rubbing her temples. ¡°Never do that again while I¡¯m alive.¡±

    All of the babies, and even a few older students (and Therese Fletcher) had burst into tears from the shock. Allison¡¯s eyes were wet, too, her breaths short and shallow.

    ¡°Now tell us, Myriad,¡± Lawrence said, slowly, ¡°what do you mean ¡®AU is here¡¯?¡±

    Fred Barnes looked at the headmaster, surprised he would use that silly nickname when the girl was so obviously distressed.

    Indignation mixed with the fear in Allison¡¯s face. ¡°What I just said. AU. Is. Here. I can hear him, just barely.¡±

    Angela glanced around the crowd. ¡°Has anyone seen where Chen got to?¡±

    The erstwhile wizard Prospero blanched. ¡°Chen?¡±

    Drew tried to process the realization dawning in him. ¡°...He broke off from us when he got here. Said he wanted to look around the old place.¡±

    ¡°Oh, God,¡± said ?ywie, flatly. ¡°Oh, God.¡±

    Lawrence roared, ¡°You brought AU to my school?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t know!¡± Mr. Barnes shouted back.

    Lawrence stormed over towards the other man, leaning down to eye level. ¡°I sent out pictures! They ran in every newspaper in the country for weeks!¡±

    ¡°Pardon us for having better things to do with our lives than memorize the faces of your supervillain students!¡±

    Lawrence raised a closed hand, drawing it back for a strike. Fred saw, and didn¡¯t even flinch.  Before he had a chance to do anything, however, Angela stepped between them.

    ¡°We¡¯re sorry, we should have realized. He just told us he was a student coming back for a visit.¡±

    ¡°If he was a student, why wouldn¡¯t he be here?¡±

    Angela blinked. ¡°He was a grown man.¡±

    ¡°Why are we standing around talking?¡± Allison whined. ¡°AU¡¯s out there and he¡¯s going to do something. We need to go get him!¡±

    ¡°No, we don¡¯t,¡± said Basilisk. ¡°That¡¯s for the grownups to handle. All you kids need to stay safe and together till this is resolved.¡±

    ¡°But-but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mr. Basil¡¯s right, Allie,¡± Angela said.

    Basilisk nodded, then paused. ¡°...How¡¯d you know my name?¡±

    ¡°Lucky guess.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Mrs Barnes reflexively started laying a plan of action. ¡°The most responsible, most killable adults should stay here and look after the children. Sorry, love, but I wouldn¡¯t want you going out there even if you had four legs.¡± She looked around at the oldest new humans. ¡°Have any of you ever heard of Chen ever killing anyone?¡±

    ¡°...No,¡± admitted Melusine. As far as she knew, Chen was the only one of the original students, besides Basil, who hadn¡¯t taken a human life.

    ¡°Then one of you might be able to talk him down. I¡¯m sure everyone here would rather avoid a fight.¡±

    A few children tried to voice their objections to that, but those evaporated quickly under the combined sternness of ?ywie and Angela. The older students seemed to be to keeping their distance from the Barnes. Arnold wondered if they were out of practise dealing with regular grownups.

    Allison watched the adults discuss the situation, calmly, for the most part¡ªlike someone had just spotted a rabid dog on the property and not the country¡¯s most infamous posthuman criminal. Angela and the teachers were weighing the pros and cons of marching the children back up to the farmhouse. Lawrence and Tiresias had retreated into their own hushed argument in a shadowed corner of the barn.

    She felt Billy hugging her from behind, his chin unwelcomely tickling her neck. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Miri,¡± he tried assuring her, only to find himself a few feet back from her in a burst of greenish light. Myriad ignored him, even as his lip began to wobble. Arnold, glaring at her behind her back, moved to comfort him.

    The girl walked over to one of the wooden walls, glaring at it determinedly.

    Xylophones.

    And the wall became a door.

 Chapter Twenty-One: The Battle of Avon Valley

    Once outside, Myriad traded Haunt¡¯s song for Britomart¡¯s. Cardea¡¯s portals would have been faster¡ªinstantaneous, even¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t conducive to scouting, as she kept telling herself.

    She started to run, leaving a faint comet-trail of chilled, glinting air and frozen grass.

    AU¡¯s song was distant, echoing from somewhere across the river like a parade a few streets away. A smart move, Myriad thought. If you were going to attack the Institute, you definitely wanted to keep as far away from Melusine as possible.

    Or her.

    She raced past the teachers¡¯ cottages and the obstacle course, preparing to make a running leap over the water, when she caught sight of something shiny by the nursery.

    She came to a stop near instantly, her movements completely silent.

    Something was peering through one of the windows of the tiny demountable: an eight-foot tall sh¨­gun, resplendent in was she hoped was purely ceremonial gold armour.

    Myriad hated herself for whining about the babies being brought to the play. Her eyes went cerulian, as she called up Maelstrom''s song. The sh¨­gun was solid, without a drop of water to its name.  ¡°AU!¡± the girl called. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±

    The sh¨­gun turned slowly to look at her, its sculpted face fixed in a predatory grin like the Devil¡¯s funeral mask. There was a sword at his side, the blade nothing more than plain steel. Myriad wondered how AU expected to do anything with it. Then again, the thing did have hands. It started to walk towards Myriad, and she flared with Elsewhere¡¯s borrowed light.

    This seemed to stop the golem in its tracks. Neat, ¡°Times New Roman¡± etchings formed on its chestplate:

    MY NAME IS CHEN, ALLISON

    ¡°Oh. Sorry.¡± Myriad¡¯s aura extinguished, only to reignite as she remembered who she was apologising to. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    The etchings smoothed out, before being replaced by a new message:

    IT¡¯S YOUR NAME

    Myriad glared up into the sh¨­gun¡¯s dark, empty eye sockets. ¡°Not for you.¡±

    The etchings faded again. The automaton just stood there, with only the dusk noises and the gentle, far off flow of the river disturbing the silence. Now that it was up close, Myriad could see that the sh¨­gun¡¯s armour was not a uniform gold. The great horned helmet looked more like Corinthian bronze, while the facemask might have been something like electrum. Some of the plates were tinged russet or lime.

    Curious, Myriad took on his song. Almost immediately, she gasped. She could feel it, all of it. Chen must have been here for weeks, months, even. Since the carnival, she realized. Far beneath her, stretching out for dozens, if not hundreds of feet in every direction, was a vast pool of warmth. She recognized it instinctively as gold, a veritable dragon¡¯s hoard, like fresh candle wax beneath her fingers, filling a rough, ovoid disc under the entire Institute. She tried prodding a section of the substance, and she felt it move under her will. Had she been able to see through solid matter at the time, she would have seen a clear indentation in the mass, some twenty-five feet deep in the ground below. Somehow she could see herself standing in the tall spring grass, and pitch darkness, and tree branches silhouetted against the sky¡ª

    Myriad shook her head, trying to shove the reflected images to the back of her mind.

    The sh¨­gun was lukewarm compared the reservoir: less yielding, almost chalky to the touch. The sword was¡ªas she¡¯d first guessed¡ªcold and inert, with only a thin vein of white heat running through its base, imperfect substance.

    He¡¯s using alloys, Myriad realized. Toughening up the gold with other metals. How long did it take him to not to rip it all apart?

    ¡°You do know that samurai aren¡¯t Chinese, right?¡± she said, if only to distract herself from how thoroughly AU had claimed the territory.

    Somewhere not too far away, the sh¨­gun¡¯s master shrugged:

    I¡¯M AUSTRALIAN, ALLISON

    Again, the words dissolved and reformed:

    I TOLD YOU TO RUN

    Myriad remembered Canberra, her entire life before the Institute or even McClare: small and limited, breathing empty, songless air. ¡°This is my home,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t leave.¡± She prayed he didn¡¯t ask if she told anyone about him.

    IT WAS MY HOME TOO, ONCE

    Needlessly, the sh¨­gun looked back at the nursery.

    THERE ARE BABIES HERE?

    ¡°Yes. Why do you care?¡±

    WHERE DO YOU THINK THEY CAME FROM?

    ¡°MYRIAD!¡± bellowed Lawrence. ¡°GET AWAY FROM HIM!¡±

    The old headmaster was barreling down the slope, Mrs Barnes, Melusine, and Tiresias (still in Lawrence¡¯s hastily bespeckled and dyed dressing gown) hurrying alongside him.

    ¡°What are you doing out here?¡± cried Angela. ¡°What would your mother think if anything happened to you?¡± She glared right at the sh¨­gun. ¡°And you!¡± she hissed. ¡°You lied to us!¡±

    The living statue actually shrunk back slightly:

    NOTHING PERSONAL, MRS BARNES. GLAD YOU GOT TO SEE YOUR SON

    ¡°It¡¯s not him,¡± Allison said. ¡°AU¡¯s doing¡±¡ªconcepts like astral projection, scrying, and the laws of similarity and contagion presented themselves from her dusty collection of second hand knowledge¡ª¡°Mels stuff.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Melusine confirmed. ¡°That thing¡¯s a golem.¡± Evenly, she added ¡°Hello, Chen.¡±

    G¡¯DAY, FRAN

    The sh¨­gun leaned to its left, to better see Tiresias trying to find shelter from its gaze behind Lawrence¡¯s back.

    DON¡¯T THINK I¡¯VE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU, YOU PUTRID LITTLE MONGREL. AND WHAT THE HELL IS THAT THING ON YOUR CHIN?

    The psychic pulled off his cotton ball wizard beard, whimpering.

    Lawrence sniffed. The discovery that AU was not in fact standing less than a foot away from his newest favourite had¡ªwithout much good cause¡ªrestored a measure of his self-possession. ¡°I can¡¯t say I¡¯m impressed with your ethnography, AU,¡± he said with the air of a lecturer about to demolish a bad thesis defense.

    ¡°I already told him about that,¡± Myriad said, her voice shaking with nervousness.

    ¡°Good girl. Can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised, either by this pageantry or your very presence here. You¡¯ve been lurking on the edge of Tiresias¡¯ foresight for nearly a year now.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Bertie!¡±

    ¡°Oh, Tiresias, you were pals for years, he must have guessed as much.¡±

    Myriad¡¯s guilt managed to both lessen and intensify at once.

    ¡°I¡¯m just wondering what took you so long to make your move. Couldn¡¯t work up the nerve? I wouldn¡¯t be shocked.¡±

    FUCK YOU, LAWRENCE

    If Allison had been within range, Mrs Barnes would have covered her eyes. ¡°There is a little girl standing right next to you!¡±

    The profanity cleared itself:

    THE LADY IS RIGHT. I¡¯M NOT HERE TO DO ANYTHING TO ALLISON, OR ANY OF THE OTHER KIDS. I¡¯M HERE FOR YOU AND THE PISSANT

    Tiresias shot Lawrence a desperate look. He didn¡¯t notice.

    ¡°Chen, you haven¡¯t done anything yet that can¡¯t be sorted out,¡± Mrs Barnes said. ¡°Come out from wherever you¡¯re hiding, and you and Doctor Lawrence can talk about what on God¡¯s green Earth happened between you two.¡±

    Before Lawrence could object to this strange women making plans on his behalf, a new message appeared on the sh¨­gun¡¯s chest:

    I AM SORRY, MRS BARNES. FOR EVERYTHING.

    AU¡¯s proxy made a grand, sweeping gesture towards the barn. Angela, Lawrence, Melusine and Myriad all looked in that direction, expectant fear written on their faces.

    Tiresias took off in a run.

    Golden poles erupted from the ground around around the remaining three adults, a roof forming membrane-like over their heads, before they were knocked off their feet by a thick, square slab of metallic yellow forcing its way out of the earth beneath them.

    The sh¨­gun threw its arms around Myriad. There was a flash of green, and a second later the Gatehouse had a new statue, but not before the newly formed cage launched itself into the air, its captives slamming into the bars and each other as it lurched and shook.

    Melusine poured through through the bars, evaporating before she splashed down onto the grass. She saw Myriad trying to line her index finger up with the cage, her fingernail glowing green.

    ¡°Don¡¯t!¡± Melusine¡¯s voice vibrated as she wafted over to the girl¡¯s side, condensing into ice. ¡°If you hit the cage, the fall might break their necks.¡±

    Myriad shouted ¡°What do we do then?¡±

    Sprinting madly back towards the pair, Tiresias answered with a scream. ¡°RUUUUUUN!¡±

    Behind the psychic, the earth was churning, grass roots twisting and tearing apart as beasts of shifting gold dug their way out into the open air. Everywhere they looked, there were more of them¡ªdirt and dust tarnished gargoyles, enormous glittering crabs, and what looked like the fossils of gods¡ªhalf tearing, half melting their way through the Institute¡¯s grounds. Briefly reclaiming AU¡¯s song, Myriad gaped at what her new senses were telling her. The gold beneath the Institute was draining, the huge bubble slowly but surely being drawn to the surface.

    Tiresias crouched behind Myriad, clutching her shoulders. ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit¡­¡±

    AU¡¯s shining horde began advancing upon them, soundless but for the soft squelching of ground underfoot.

    Melusine was grateful she presently lacked both internal organs and fear hormones. ¡°I think you might want to play Cardea¡¯s song, Miri.¡±

    The girl nodded sharply.

    Accordions.

    She reached out her arms, probing for catches in the air. Finding purchase, she pulled open a hole in the world.

    The three of them stepped through the rent into the barn. Immediately, they were crowded by a press of relieved students and staff.

    ¡°Allie!¡±

    Before she could process the dissonance of Elsewhere using her old name, Myriad found herself caught in a hug between him and Maelstrom.

    ¡°We thought AU had kidnapped you!¡± the water-sprite wailed, holding his friend tight. She wondered if the concept of her sneaking off had even crossed his mind. ¡°Then we saw those monsters come out of the ground, and I thought¡­ and I thought¡ª¡± He broke down into tears.

    Assured of Myriad¡¯s safety, Arnold retreated from the hug, counting the adults who had followed after Myriad. ¡°Where¡¯s Mum?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, kid,¡± Tiresias said between heavy breaths as he collapsed onto a hay bale. ¡°AU snatched her and Bertie.¡±

    ¡°He-he what?¡± asked Arnold, realizing the esper wasn¡¯t telling some cruel, ill-timed joke.

    Myriad answered for him, her voice quavering. ¡°He put them in this floating cage thing and took them across the river. I can still hear their songs¡ªbarely.¡± She wrapped her arms around herself, a chill rising inside her. ¡°I was going to try and zap them out, but they could have fallen¡­¡±

    Before she could get another word out, Arnold started shouting. ¡°You didn¡¯t even try? You just stood there and let a bloody supervillain take my mummy?¡± His stormcloud eyes were flushed with tears, lightning playing under his skin and clothes.

    As is often the case with young children, Arnold¡¯s tears were contagious. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Myriad mewled. ¡°I didn¡¯t know what to do.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t know what to do?¡± Arnold repeated back scornfully. ¡°You¡¯re Myriad! You¡¯re supposed to be smart!¡±

    Myriad sniffled, beginning to cry in earnest. She had no response to that. There was a little voice in the back of her mind, some little bit of stolen insight, telling her that Arnold wasn¡¯t really angry at her, but she wasn¡¯t listening to it, because here he was, shouting at her. Around them, the others began to follow suit, as children are wont do do when emotion peaks, some of the smaller ones began to cry, then the older.

    ¡°W-what are we supposed to do now?¡± asked Stratogale, a mixture of confusion and shock written across her face. As one, the children looked to ?ywie, but she was silent, seeming no less lost as them.

    ¡°I¡¯ll kill him!¡± Fred was rabid, white with rage and prescient grief. ¡°Spit on that cunt¡¯s heart!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to get in line,¡± Drew growled quietly. Stood next to his father, his anger seemed restrained. At least, once his wife had physically prevented him from storming out the barn doors, ready to fight his way single handedly through the things marching outside. ¡°Lying, bastard chink.¡±

    The children¡¯s panic rose like flood water around their necks. The already grim reality of their situation was filtered and distorted through dozens of frightened mouths. AU had killed Lawrence and Elsewhere¡¯s mother in front of Myriad¡¯s eyes. She, Melusine and Tiresias had traded the two of them to AU in exchange for a paltry few more hours of life. The goldsmith would settle for nothing less than the death of every child, man, and woman at the Institute.

    In the middle of it all, the emeritus sorcerer Prospero¡ªnow clean shaven but still clad in the finery of his former office¡ªsat atop his throne of stale hay, numb from fear.

    Numb was the word. Somehow, even with his once-friend waiting at the edge of the world to do¡­ something to him, all Tiresias could think about was the noise. He felt as if the wailing and shouting had replaced the air itself, until he could take it no longer:

    ¡°SHUT UP!¡±

    The barn went silent but for Fred and Drew¡¯s stream of threats to AU¡¯s life and person. Even those died in their throats when they became aware of the quiet that had settled over the building.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± The psychic strode over to Arnold, cupping the boy¡¯s chin in long, slender fingers. ¡°Look, boy, I¡¯m sorry about your mother, but AU said he was here for me and Bertie.¡± Darkly, he added, ¡°Whatever he¡¯s going to do, your mama¡¯s not going to get the worst of it.¡±

    Back to being flesh, Melusine said, ¡°Easy for you to say.¡± The contempt in her voice was unmistakable. ¡°Anyone with eyes could see you had warning. Not that you deigned to share...¡±

    ¡°I had two seconds. The right now is way harder to get a fix on than the future. Too many decisions being made at once.¡±

    ¡°How convenient.¡±

    ¡°Stop this, now,¡± Mary Gillespie said, her voice low and even, as she tried to comfort Snapdragon and Windshear in her arms. ¡°We have to worry about the children, not place the blame. Just a tip, though; usually the kidnapper is to blame.¡± She looked up towards the hayloft. ¡°Mr. Cormey, can you tell us anything about what¡¯s happening out there?¡±

    The civics teacher had his face pressed against the second story window. ¡°There¡¯s a gang of skeletons waving their swords up at me. They don¡¯t seem to be coming any closer, though.¡±

    Myriad wiped her tears off the back of her arm.¡°He¡¯s trying to keep us cooped up scared in here. Like chickens,¡± she said, her voice hard and steady. ¡°He¡¯s an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Seems like a smart strategy where I¡¯m standing,¡± muttered Tiresias.

    ¡°Maybe if we were human,¡± Myriad retorted, looking around at her fellow students. The secret doom that had been hanging above them all had come crashing down, but like the thrashing that winter past, it had burned up all her fear and dread in one terrible burst. All that was left was anger. ¡°If we were the old kind of human, AU would be a scary supervillain who could squash as all like bugs. But if we were new humans, he¡¯d just be some loser trying to scare us with soft, stupid toys. Which are we?¡±

    There were a few quiet, half-hearted answers: the kind Lawrence¡¯s rhetorical questions received on cold mornings when most of the children were only physically out of bed.

    ¡°She asked you a question!¡± Mabel shouted from the loft.

    Another round of murmured, grudging responses.

    Mabel screamed. ¡°Old or new?¡±

    ¡°New!¡± more of the students called back, with a touch more enthusiasm.

    ¡°Do you know why there are superheroes?¡± Myriad asked the crowd. Without waiting for an answer, she went on. ¡°Because the only thing that can handle one of us is one of us!¡±

    There were cheers of agreement.

    ¡°Do you know why AU waited so long to come here? Why he¡¯s been going after miners and bankers for years?¡± She put her hands on her hips. ¡°He¡¯s afraid of picking on someone his own size.¡±

    One of the children did not laugh.

    ¡°Miri,¡± said Haunt, his tone almost apologetic, ¡°we¡¯re not all like you and Brit and Maelstrom.¡±

    David was surprised and vaguely flattered to hear himself used as an example of whatever Haunt was talking about.

    Myriad tilted her head. ¡°What do mean? We¡¯re all new humans.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯re¡­ newer? Most of us, we¡¯re like twigs compared to you.¡±

    In brazen defiance of the hay that surrounded him, Tiresias lit a cigarette. ¡°My old papa used to have a saying.¡± He was smiling as he exhaled. ¡°A bundle of sticks does not break.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Myriad agreed. ¡°It doesn''t matter if we¡¯re not all indestructible, if we cover¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    The students all looked toward the dissenting voice. It was Basilisk, standing resolute in front of the barn doors, as if any force on Earth could have kept those children inside longer than they wanted to be.

    The children protested, of course, but mostly went quiet when Myriad spoke, letting her carry their collective voice as she did their powers. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®no¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I mean that we¡¯re not going to let you kids get killed fighting our battles for us.¡±

    Myriad wasn¡¯t sure Basil was even looking at her. His gaze seemed fixed on a space just behind the girl. She turned her head slightly, spotting David trying to shelter in the shadow of the loft. She looked back at his father. ¡°We¡¯re not going to get killed,¡± she said.

    The teacher rubbed his temples. ¡°Miri, very few people think they¡¯re gonna get killed in advance.¡±

    ¡°But we can do this,¡± Mabel whined. ¡°Stop treating us like normal little kids!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s my job, Mabel.¡±

    The use of her real name took some of the wind out of Mabel¡¯s sail, but Myriad kept going: ¡°Lawrence is always saying we¡¯re meant to be better than the old kind of person. No other animal needs grownups to protect them for years and years.¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Elsewhere glowed like a bed of burning lime. ¡°I¡¯m going to put AU in the sun,¡± he declared flatly.

    ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± his father cut in, with all the considerable authority he could pour into his voice. ¡°The man¡¯s right, Arnold. A battlezone is no place for kids. I never wanted that for you.¡± He looked at Myriad. ¡°Allie, how did you find AU?¡±

    ¡°I followed his song.¡±

    That told Fred nothing, but it sufficed. ¡°Could you do it again?¡±

    ¡°Yes...¡±

    ¡°That magic or whatever it is you used to get back here, could you use it to open a¡ªI think the word is portal? Yeah, that. Could you open one up behind AU? Or under him, even?¡±

    Myriad nodded.

    ¡°Right. Then it¡¯s obvious what we¡¯re gonna do. Allison will open a portal to Chen, and I¡¯ll break his neck.¡±

    The last five words were said with no special emphasis. It wasn¡¯t so much a threat as a simple declaration of intent. He could have said he and the supervillain were going to play cards in the exact same tone.

    Myriad suddenly found it hard to look directly at the veteran, while both his sons couldn¡¯t help but stare. No more threats from them, Fred noticed. Not now they realized how easy it could be.

    Basilisk rounded on him. ¡°Using the children as murder weapons is not an improvement!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not suggesting that!¡± Fred growled. ¡°I¡¯m suggesting we use me as a murder weapon. I¡¯m not a child. I know exactly what that means. I¡¯m just asking Allie to give me a lift.¡±

    ¡°You mean making her an accomplice!¡±

    ¡°Well what do you think we should do? Sit here and let your mate gild my wife to death!¡±

    Myriad took a deep breath. ¡°We¡¯re not baselines, Mr. Barnes. We won¡¯t have to kill him,¡± she said, with the total conviction only known by fanatics and the young.

    Fred wondered for a moment if superheroes¡ªreal and fictional¡ªrefrained from using lethal force against their enemies less out of any moral principle, and more for bragging rights.

    Basilisk leaned against the doors, running his hands down his face. ¡°This isn¡¯t how things are supposed to go. We¡¯re supposed to be the ones protecting you children.¡±

    Melusine cleaved herself from the crowd. ¡°You think I won¡¯t be out there with them?¡± For the first time in longer than Basilisk dared to remember, she smiled kindly at him. ¡°If Chen harms one hair on our boy, I¡¯ll burst his eyes in their sockets.¡±

    Before Basil could figure out how to respond to that, ?ywie stepped forward as well:

    ¡°I¡¯m going out there too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± said Tiresias.

    ¡°We guessed as much.¡±

    Basilisk shook his head. ¡°Gold doesn¡¯t have biology, Eliza.¡±

    There were some whispers among the children about the teacher¡¯s choice of name.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯m not a fighter, Hugo. I¡¯m a healer.¡±

    Hoarse, joyless laughter. ¡°What? You think Chen is just going to let you wander around fixing scrapes and bruises?¡±

    ¡°Rules of engagement¡ªyou don¡¯t fire on medics.¡±

    ¡°And what if he does?¡±

    ¡°And what if one of the children is hurt, and I¡¯m not there for them?¡±

    Basilisk didn¡¯t have a rebuttal. He did have a question, though. It was a question he¡¯d asked himself every day for nearly twenty years. ¡°And what do I do? What¡¯s my job while my son fights?¡±

    ¡°You look after the girls,¡± Fred said. ¡°I know we¡¯ve lost the war on this, but I¡¯ll be damned before we let them go out there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to let the boys fight but not us?¡± Myriad fumed, along with a great number of the other female students.

    Fred sighed. ¡°Not you. Them.¡± He pointed at the cluster of teenagers, specifically at Stratogale, flanked by Reverb and Ex-Nihilo, all three of them looking none-too-pleased at being the centre of attention. ¡°Not in their condition.¡±

    Myriad tilted her head. ¡°What, because they¡¯re fat?¡±

    An air of discomfort descended over everyone, besides Myriad, Elsewhere, and Growltiger, who were merely confused.

    ¡°No,¡± said Fred. ¡°I mean¡ªnot like that¡­¡±

    Stratogale spared him. ¡°He¡¯s right, Miri. It¡¯s better us three stay in here. We¡¯d just slow the rest of you down.¡±

    Speak for yourself, the air said, in the mostly unadorned voice of a teenage girl. I¡¯m not missing out!

    ¡°Reverb,¡± Ex-Nihilo said. ¡°Everything you could do out there, you can do in here. You can be¡­ I don¡¯t know, sonic artillery?¡±

    Reverb crossed her arms. Fine, the world huffed.

    Under her breath, Myriad muttered ¡°If you¡¯re gonna be cowards, I guess¡­¡±

    Mary Gillespie watched the preparations for battle, observing Myriad move from student to student, confidently dispensing orders and advice:

    ¡°¡ªJust put some holes in the field so the others can get shots out. Wait, you didn¡¯t know you could do that? How long have you had powers?¡± She turned away from the faintly embarrassed Abalone. ¡°Jumpcut, go to the garden and open the vegetable pen. I don¡¯t care that the watermelons bite, just get Phantasma to make you a bodyguard. Automata! Try stealing some of the monsters out there. AU will probably take them back in a few seconds, but it¡¯ll throw him off. Ex-Nihilo, Growltiger, start making her some soldiers. Same for you, Phantasma-¡±

    There was none of the hushed terror Mary remembered from her students in the Blitz¡ªthe sound of held breaths and children being betrayed by their own tears. Here and now, they ran back and forth amongst themselves, discussing strategy and power synergies at an almost giddy pitch, while Myriad stomped around playing the young general. If she didn¡¯t know better, the old woman would have assumed they were getting set to play that bastardization of football Tiresias had got them hooked on. She could feel a little of the same impish, almost wicked excitement that had charged the air like static the day those poor boys paid the Institute a visit.

    Part of the old woman¡ªthe selfish part of herself, she suspected, that cared more about the teaching than the taught¡ªwanted someone to cry, or try to back out of the fight. Anything that might indicate they truly understood what they were getting into. But then, if they did, would they be able to follow through with it?

    Eventually, there were no more preparations to be made. A few last minute protests from Basil and Mr. Barnes had gone unheeded, as both men had expected.

    ?

    A half hour later, they heard what sounded like the pumpkins trying to eat the aureate beasts outside¡ªor whatever could possibly be mistaken for that.

    Jumpcut appeared in front of Myriad, panting. She didn¡¯t flinch at the thunderclap.

    ¡°Had to¡­ let them chase me¡­¡± He inhaled sharply. ¡°The spacewoman got eaten.¡± He sounded more broken up about that than he probably should have been.

    ¡°Great,¡± said Mabel. ¡°She¡¯s not going to let me hear the end of that.¡±

    Myriad nodded curtly. ¡°Go rest with the big girls, Jump, you¡¯ve done your job.¡± She turned to address the mass of students. ¡°Places, everyone! Mabel! Start us off with something shooty!¡±

    ¡°Waaaay ahead of you.¡±

    It began with a garrison of bumpy, garishly chrome red and blue pepper potts. They hovered awkwardly above the manticores and gargoyles prancing menacingly in front of the barn, tipping back and forth as if they had never dreamt of finding themselves anywhere above ground level, and were certain they would soon crash their way back.

    In a reflex inherited from their master, the creatures below looked up at the things.

    ¡°EXTERMINATE!¡±

    Before any of their targets could react, the pepper potts swooped down on them like very clumsy birds of prey, raining down bright, whining death from their egg whisks as they filled the air with their staccato exultations.

    The barn doors exploded open, a platoon of terracotta soldiers surging out into the low evening sunlight¡ªtheir bodies roughly carved from silver and jade. They were reinforced by glossy, photorealistic gladiators, armed with blades forged from something undoubtedly harder than gold.

    And finally, there came the children, crying war. The impervious led the charge: bronze, ice, inertia, and song. They waded into the fray, Talos tearing apart ghouls and goblins like they were made of modeling clay.

    Billy was running full tilt through a pack of boar-headed samurai, a mirrored shield raised in front of him. Whenever the chimeras slammed against it, they exploded into fine white powder.

    Hey, kid, behind you!

    Billy swung around to find a dully glinting, segmented serpent looming over him. The boy leapt at it, managing to knock the thing to the ground and pin it under his reflective disk. A second later, he fell onto the grass as the snake melted into a puddle of pure fresh water.

    Keep your ears open, Tigger!

    The voice in Billy¡¯s head sounded like his own thoughts, if a touch more¡­ Italianate. He went invisible, something Myriad had promised would work on the golems. ¡°Tiresias? Is that you?¡±

    Got it in one. Decided to help coordinate this mess. It¡¯s like commuting, but not. Plus, the cripple might stop giving me those dirty looks. Haunt and Veltha, bless their little hearts, are digging up some of the big gold modules. Would be helpful if they could actually get rid of them. Now mush.

    Billy saluted the air, grinning. ¡°Yes, sir!¡± He started running in what he knew was Veltha and Haunt¡¯s general direction, as instinctively as a bird knows which way south lies. Remaining unobservable, he smiled to himself. As bad and serious as all of this was, Billy couldn¡¯t help but enjoy himself. For the first time, he truly felt like Growltiger.

    Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Abalone¡¯s aqueous dome, ringed with meurtri¨¨res for some of the Institute¡¯s more fragile students to attack out of. A saffron Cerberus was bearing down on them. Billy roared at it, striking it like a bullet through glass.

    Maybe a bit like, Jericho, too.

    Down by the river, a diminutive ice sculpture of a boy stood against the bulk of the oncoming horde. His features were as delicate as any one might find, and yet there was something fearsome there. The golden horrors rushed him en masse, but he did not flinch, his face set and unmoving as he raised a neptunian trident of flowing water above his head. Before he got the chance to use his weapon, however, the ground around him erupted, not with gold, but geysers bearing a fury beyond anything seen before on Earth¡ªat least by people who had never met Fran?oise Barthe. It was like watching a dam break vertically, a trench carving itself seven spears deep into bedrock around the ice-child. What monsters weren¡¯t swallowed whole were shredded by riptides and hails of ice. The boy glared at the typhoon swirling around him. Why could she never let him take care of himself?

    He stood in thought for a moment, before taking up his power once more. His eyes glowed a pure Cherenkov blue as he began drawing down cloudwater into his trident. It swelled to twice his size, before tripling and quadrupling in volume. He didn''t stop until it was the size of a trolley car, before snap freezing it into a solid spike of frosted ice, held above his head with both hands. It was almost comical, a translucent little boy carrying this mass a few hundred times his size as if he were Atlas¡¯ son. Then he threw it, and it wasn''t so cute anymore. It shot through his mother''s barrier and plowed through a contingent of imps and gargoyles with the speed and force of a derailed train, before exploding with a violence to shake the very pillars of God¡¯s throne. For a single moment, all was still, before the shards began to fall as snow.

    An approving round of thunder rolled over the Institute. If the statue could have smiled, he would have.

    The children held no delusion that defeating AU¡¯s army would defeat him. Breaking the villain¡¯s toys did nothing to loosen his grip on their substance. Even as they rended and shattered the things, their fragments nipped and bit at their heels, or melded back together into new, terrible forms. The only ones that did not return in such a fashion were those sent far afield by Elsewhere¡¯s light, or transmuted back to plainer substances by Growltiger. The only way they were going to push back this gold tide was to cut it off at its source.

    The strains of Juditha triumphans rang out across the land. That was Linus¡¯ major contribution to the battle effort: every note and lyric of the strident, ghostly oratorio was warping probability in favour of the defenders and stoking some fires in their guts.

    Not that Myriad needed it. A storm was raging within and without her, light flowing through her veins like rivers of burning magnesium while tendrils of lightning lashed and spat at anything Chen was stupid enough to let get close to her. Every flick of her wrist made someone, somewhere quite rich.

    She wondered why Chen was still bothering sending his creatures at her and Elsewhere. Surely they would have been better deployed against kids who couldn¡¯t just will them away with a glance. David may have been powerful to these things, but her and Elsewhere were indomitable. She quietly wondered if his father was watching.

    The things AU was throwing at Myriad were artless by the standards he¡¯d shown¡ªbarely more than cubes or pyramids floating aggressively in her direction. She hoped this meant he was getting desperate.

    She was dispatching a particularly angry trapezoid when she glimpsed letters on one of its faces:

    YOU DON¡¯T¡ª

    It was in Paraguay before she could read the whole message, but then a rectangle wandered into view:

    FOR YOUR OWN¡ª

    That one got sent to Harvey.

    TIRESIAS IS¡ª

    She worked up enough of a storm to translocate everything within fifty square feet of her. He was still trying to talk to her, after everything he¡¯d done? Like he wasn¡¯t trying to trick everyone into thinking he¡¯d kill them all if they stepped out of line?

    Like he might not still do it?

    Cornets.

    Taking advantage of the breathing room she had won herself, Myriad took on AU¡¯s song. She searched through a world of burnished, yellow reflections, smiling to herself when she most of them were being beaten out of shape by her friends. Once or twice, she thought she saw Veltha swimming through the dark undersoil.

    Soon enough, she found AU. Judging from the angle, she was looking out from a piece of gold stuck to his arm. He was wearing what looked like a Grecian helmet, only made of pure gold, thus offering his skull slightly more protection than his own skin. Much like with the sh¨­gun, he had armoured his whole body with an assortment of gold alloys.

    He hates being called AU, but he dresses like that? Idiot.

    AU pacing back and forth in front of his old teacher, who Myriad could see had been buried up to his neck in the dirt. A thin strip of gold had been plastered over Lawrence mouth, like a chocolate wrapper had been blown into his face by the wind. He was sweating, too, though it was hard to tell if it was due to fear, or the globe of molten metal that hung burning in the air above the old Oxfordian, as though his former student had plucked the evening sun out of the sky.

    In the grand and storied tradition of his kind, AU was ranting. ¡°You know, I¡¯d compare you to old Mr. Hitler, Bertie, but at least he had some follow through.¡±

    That raised some stifled, trapped screams from Lawrence, obviously enraged.

    ¡°My husband fought the Nazis, Mr. Liu,¡± Angela said, evenly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be using them as a cheap insult in front of either us, if I were you.¡±

    Through the backplate of AU¡¯s armour, Myriad could see that Mrs Barnes was being kept in relatively honourable captivity, having been set down at the edge of the bush clearing with no cage or shackles to speak of.

    What she did have, though, were two golden spikes spinning wickedly fast in front of both her eyes like the world''s most expensive, but also most useless drill bits. But only mostly useless¡­

    Myriad let out a frightened yelp, which was more than Angela Barnes did. The only sign from the woman that she was in any predicament was how she blinked just a little too often.

    Chen stopped pacing dead in front of Lawrence, the tips of his leather work boots perilously close to the old man¡¯s nose. He turned his head to look at his hostage. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mrs Barnes.¡±

    Angela sighed despairingly. ¡°You keep saying that, but you still do these things.¡±

    ¡°Your husband¡¯s a soldier, ma¡¯am. I¡¯d have thought you¡¯d know a man sometimes has to do things he regrets. He bent down to look Lawrence in the eye, grinning savagely. ¡°And some things he doesn¡¯t. All those mad ideas of yours, those grand designs, the plans you could barely admit to yourself, and all you¡¯ve ever really wanted to do is play schoolmaster on your bloody farm till the day they stick you under it!¡± His eyes flicked down to where the ground met Lawrence¡¯s neck. He laughed bitterly. ¡°Well, we¡¯re nearly there!¡±

    Myriad let go of AU¡¯s song, but not before flinging away a cluster of shining spiders that were trying to creep up on her. She hoped that gave him a fright.

    Shiiiiiiiiiiit, said her hijacked inner monologue.

    Tiresias¡¯ self-assumed role as mission control had mostly devolved into spectatorship by then. Occasionally, the children could faintly taste stale popcorn on their lips.

    ¡°Tiresias,¡± Myriad said aloud. ¡°Tell everyone to stop mucking around and get down to the river. I¡¯m getting sick of this.¡±

    Will do, General Munchkin. Remember, I¡¯ll be with you all the way. Unless Chen squashes you all like bugs, then I¡¯ll be far away in the barn.

    It was by definition impossible for Myriad to ignore the psychic, but she did her best.

    She started back down the Institute¡¯s gentle slope. All around her, ghouls and beasts cautiously closed in on her, only to wink out of sight before they could raise whatever limbs their maker had granted them against her, like she was a human bug-zapper.

    It really was the most efficient way of dealing with them, Myriad knew. But right then, that wasn¡¯t enough. She needed to break things, to see them shatter and burn and crumble by her own hands.

    She started to dance, swaying to music only she could hear, the beat of it thrumming deep in her mind, each song stretched thin by fear and adrenaline, fraying at her, like a symphony orchestra gone out of sync with itself. She opened her mouth, wanting to express the pain of it somehow. She screamed, but it wasn¡¯t enough, the sound scarcely even relieving the pounding at the inside of her skull.

    For the first time in her short life, Myriad wanted to know what silence sounded like.

    Even Tiresias had gone silent in her thoughts. Where was he? Was he still watching? Had he shut himself off from the clawing behind her eyes? She felt tears beginning to trail slowly down her cheeks, and she dug deep, looking for some way to put the cacophony outside of herself again. The answer came to her from a strange source. In Canberra, when she had been set the task of taking on the repertoire of everyone of note within a hundred leagues, one of the men who had judged himself worthy of preservation had been an opera singer, as close to a soprano as an intact man could be. She started to sing a song she hadn¡¯t known she knew, one that gave voice to the rage and fear and chaos. It helped, a little, but it wasn¡¯t enough. She needed to make it louder, harsher. She searched the songs saturating the air for something that would suffice, and came across Billy. He was scared, he was joyous, and he was powerful. It would do, she decided.

    Power chords.

    She wove his power into her song, and watched through the blur of her own tears as her every note began to tear the enemies at her front asunder, carving chaos into earth and metal and tree. Soon enough, she began to hear other young voices join her. It was discordant, barely vocal. None of her companions knew the words, let alone the tune. Instead, they brought their own turmoil to the song, their own fear and joy. Linus, son of Apollo Musagetes, walked in their midst, tying their music together, keeping them whole just long enough for it to matter. Many of them cried, but none faltered. It was their song, in the end, on which the battle turned. It united them, in a way, as they danced destruction across the landscape, until they finally came to the river.

    She felt Elsewhere¡¯s hand curl around hers, and she gripped back, hard. ¡°Can you still hear Mummy¡¯s song, Allie?¡± he whispered.

    She made herself let go. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    ¡°But it¡¯s your name.¡±

    ¡°I need to be Myriad right now¡­ your mom¡¯s fine.¡±

    Actually, she needed to be Maelstrom. She found his strain of the Institute¡¯s song and plucked at it. The river froze over, trapping gold leviathans and kraken like the remnants of some extinct mineral ecosystem.

    And so the children walked across the petrified wavelets, led by the sum of their parts.

    ?

    He had seemed like such a nice boy, Angela thought.

    Now, with AU¡¯s damnable needles hovering in front of her eyes, she was thinking about reconsidering her initial assessment of the man. The spikes followed even the slightest movement of her head like two eager wasps. She had lost count of how many times she had run through the Lord¡¯s Prayer in her head.

    ¡°Stop that,¡± AU snapped at her, interrupting a fresh round of threats and accusations at Lawrence. ¡°You¡¯ll stab yourself on the things.¡±

    Mrs Barnes was relieved, honestly. For the past fifteen minutes she¡¯d had to sit in the dirt listening to Chen rant and rave about the countless injustices and indignities of the NHI and Herbert Lawrence in particular, and she was frankly getting sick of it. The villain¡¯s tirades had an unsteady quality to them, something Angela partly blamed on the tinnies he had in the van. He seemed to constantly forget whether he was addressing both her and Lawrence, or pretending he was alone with one of them.

    Still, if the nearing sound of children laughing and screaming was any indication, it would be over soon enough. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want that,¡± she said mildly, glaring at the spikes as if she had a choice.

    ¡°No, I wouldn¡¯t¡ª¡± He trailed off, his eyes widening. That had been happening quite a bit. He turned back to the buried headmaster. ¡°One of the worms just got tackled by Roy of the fucking Rovers!¡± He kicked some dirt in the man¡¯s face. ¡°That one wasn¡¯t on my list. See, I thought at first Tiresias was just trying to screw with my head, or maybe the Coven were full of shit, but you¡¯ve been poaching, haven¡¯t you?¡± He nodded at his own deduction, smiling without humour. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be surprised if the Fox has been straight up selling you kids, too. That explains Allison, too, doesn¡¯t it? I thought from the nickname¡ªyes, Bertie, nickname¡ªthat she¡¯d clone herself or something, but no¡±¡ªshrill laughter¡ª¡°A power-mimic!¡± He wiped non-existent tears from his eyes. ¡°Christ, that must¡¯ve been like Christmas, Easter, and one of them Jew holidays all come at once for you!¡±

    Mrs Barnes wasn¡¯t sure whether suggesting Passover would please the man, or provoke him.

    He looked back at her, his expression devoid of any mock joviality or cruel jest. ¡°Do you want to know something, Mrs Barnes? Lawrence here will tell you how much he hates the times we live in, how he wishes the Flying Man hadn¡¯t thrown our kind in front of a judgemental human race. But that¡¯s a crock of shit. You know what he really hated? The days when us demis were obscure curiosities that nobody but him wanted to look too hard at.¡± He rested his boot on the man¡¯s crown. ¡°He was thrilled when the only alternative our parents had to giving us to him became the white vans. Because the only thing he cares about is the park bench he thinks the coming race is going to dedicate to him.¡± He lowered his head, a tremble working its way into his voice. ¡°Not me, or Allison, or your boy.¡±

    Angela studied the supervillain carefully. She noticed that Chen no longer seemed to be applying any force to Lawrence¡¯s head. The children were getting closer, she knew. By now, she could almost make out individual voices, even over the sounds of battle. She fancied she could hear her son.

    ¡°...Why haven''t you killed him yet?¡±

    Lawrence stared at the woman, while AU took his boot off of him, a curiously similar shock to both of their expressions. ¡°What?¡± the goldsmith asked.

    ¡°You¡¯ve gone to all this trouble, and you have him right there, why isn''t he dead yet?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you buried him like that, actually. You can''t get at the fingers or the¡±¡ªshe cleared her throat¡ª¡°family jewels. If torture is all you want out of him, most things you can do to the head will kill a man quick smart. And you haven''t even broken his nose.¡±

    Chen shook his head in bewilderment. ¡°Who thinks like that?¡±

    ¡°Wicked, vengeful supervillains,¡± Angela answered. ¡°Also, anyone who has ever had children, taught children, or been a child.¡± She crossed her arms, grateful for that freedom of movement, at least. ¡°I assume at least one of those things applies to you? Also, have you killed any of the children?¡± She asked that last question like she was inquiring about the weather.

    ¡°No! I don''t kill kids!¡±

    ¡°You don''t kill police, either, so I¡¯ve heard. Or miners. I imagine that must take some effort, given your vocation, and what you think you¡¯re going to do to your teacher.¡±

    Lawrence dearly wished this madwoman would stop giving Chen ideas.

    ¡°That was different,¡± stammered AU. ¡°They hadn''t done nothing to me.¡±

    ¡°And what did Dr. Lawrence do to you? You¡¯ve gone on and on about how vain he is and how he never really loved any of you, but what did he do to deserve all this?¡±

    Lawrence noticed that Mrs Barnes didn''t seem to be looking at Chen, but right at him, as though looking for some invisible mark on his countenance.

    AU stood tall. ¡°Do you know who I was, Mrs Barnes, before I was AU?¡± He gestured at his bespoke armour, before pointing down at Lawrence. ¡°Did the papers with my mugshot tell you what he took from me?¡±

    ¡°Can''t say I remember. I try not to fixate on crime.¡±

    ¡°I had a job I liked,¡± he growled. ¡°I had my mum and dad in a house in Toorak, my brothers and sisters at university.¡± Tears began to pool in the corner of his eyes. ¡°Even a girl whose father cared more that I had money than what colour I was.¡± He started to shout. ¡°But Bertie here had clout with the DDHA, and just couldn''t stand that his first student wasn''t playing along with his little master race fantasy! That I wouldn''t fuck my little sister so he could have another doll to play with.¡±

    If the accusation shocked Angela Barnes, she hid it well. She was still staring at Lawrence. ¡°I can see why that might upset you.¡±

    AU was screaming now. ¡°So he sent her to come bring me back. Told the DDHA I was planning on robbing the fucking National Bank.¡± He grabbed a handful of soil, glorifying it into gold dust. ¡°Nothing gets past the freak-finders!¡± He dumped the gold on top of Lawrence¡¯s head as though it were still dirt. ¡°I guess he got what he wanted. All that work, and I still ended up a freak with a stupid bloody name.¡±

    Angela took it all in. ¡°Chen,¡± she said, gently. ¡°I¡¯m about to get up.¡±

    ¡°No...¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m going to walk over to you, and we¡¯re going to sort this all out.¡±

    ¡°The spikes will¡ª¡±

    ¡°Will do me no harm, because I don''t think you¡¯re a killer. I don''t think you really want to be, either.¡±

    AU tried to pour some rage into his voice. ¡°You stay down, or I¡¯ll skewer your brain!¡± It sounded more plaintive than threatening.

    Lawrence watched the woman get to her feet, with a calmness of movement even he would have thought impossible.

    ¡°Get down!¡±

    She started walking towards him.

    ¡°I¡¯m warning you!¡± he shouted, even as the needles retreated from Mrs Barnes with every step.

    She brushed the spikes from in front of her face, knocking them out of the air. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Chen.¡±

    If any human woman is worthy of mothering a posthuman, Lawrence thought, it¡¯s this one.

    ¡°Stop it¡ªI¡¯ll¡ª¡± His warnings were cut off by Mrs Barnes¡¯ embrace. Then, all he could do was weep.

    ¡°There, there,¡± she said. Comforting haunted men was not something she was a novice at. ¡°It¡¯s over and done with.¡±

    ¡°It wasn''t supposed to be like this.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I¡­ we were going to be better than this.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    The golden gag fell from Lawrence¡¯s mouth. ¡°Good show, old girl,¡± he said. ¡°Good¡ª¡± the blessedly cooled and solidified lump of gold bounced off the top of his head.

    The trees behind the three of them suddenly and explosively exited the solar system.

    ¡°KILL HIM¡ªKILL HIM¡ªKILL HIM!¡± Arnold screamed, his voice crackling with power, leaves and dust motes all around him being scattered across the universe.

    His mother threw a hand up, pulling away from Chen so he could see her face. ¡°No, Arnold,¡± she said in a quiet voice that was somehow louder than the thunder. ¡°It¡¯s okay now. Chen isn''t going to hurt anyone.¡±

    Chen turned to look at the storm-child, throwing his arms up. ¡°Unconditional surrender.¡±

    The glow did not fade, but the anger did. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Figured his mother would sort it all out. She always did.

    Allison emerged from behind him. The school-theatre princess garb was gone, replaced by a shift woven from delicate ice crystals, like she had been dressed in diamonds. Her eyes glowed like blue coals, and her chestnut hair was laden with frost, but her skin showed no sign of cold. A Saturnian ring orbited the girl. An ammo belt, Angela assumed. ¡°What¡¯s happening? All the monsters stopped moving.

    Arnold, she thought, look like an angel. Not the dove winged cherubs or smiling, all-loving mother substitutes that dwelled in the theology of greeting cards, but the angels Ezekiel had born witness to: all burning and fury. He turned to his friend. ¡°Mummy says AU is surrendering¡­ so does he.¡±

    Chen nodded, tiredly.

    It was strange, Angela thought, seeing her son and a girl she had known for the better part of her life altered so. She could almost feel Paul¡¯s breath in her ear as he whispered ¡°We will not all sleep, but we will be changed.¡±

    They will be changed, she silently corrected him. Whatever becomes of us, they have been changed.

    ¡°...That¡¯s good, I guess,¡± said Allison. ¡°Should I make a portal?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Angela, correctly guessing at the mechanics of the child¡¯s powers and the nature of her ¡°dress¡±. ¡°I think Chen could use the walk.¡±

    He made no complaint.

    ?

    An odd mood of funerary festiveness hung over the procession back to the barn. Many of the children had started singing again, over a dozen tired, satisfied songs lazily coexisting in the cool night air.

    Beneath the orange waning moon and the brazen country stars, the grounds of the New Human Institute had been made new. Great, golden beasts littered the landscape, finally allowed to sleep by their father. Tiny lakes and moats dotted the fields. The children stepped over the broken remnants of Automata¡¯s army, ready and waiting for a renewed enemy assault, no matter how many pieces they were in. Mabel¡¯s air-force had been allowed to drift over Northam, their harsh metallic shrieks and calls for genocide wafting down from the skies into the dreams of all the baseline boys and girls, while the Melchester Rovers would persist long enough to challenge the local pick-up footy club to a match the following afternoon.

    Chen felt a little like those vanquished barbarian kings they used to drag before Roman emperors. He knew his old friends probably weren¡¯t going to have him strangled. The situation was much worse. They were probably going to be kind to him.

    He watched Eliza gently shepherding Lawrence while his concussion sorted itself out. Dirt was still pouring from his sleeves and trouser-legs as he staggered forward, the green of his suit hidden completely by a layer of damp soil. It was as though the very concept of Englishness had been reclaimed by nature. The pair of them were being shadowed by Fran?oise¡¯s son, along with pudgy girl Chen didn¡¯t recognize from the Coven¡¯s dossier. He still wondered where Lawrence got these unaccountables¡­

    ¡°To think,¡± Fran said, acting as Chen¡¯s minder, ¡°he could have been your son.¡±

    Chen made a noise that might have been a chuckle. ¡°Honestly, Mels, I think the boy¡¯s better off with Basil for a dad, assuming he didn¡¯t inherit that skin condition of his. Maybe if my temper passed him over...¡±

    Fran seemed to take pause with that, only to find herself nodding. ¡°You have a point,¡± she said. ¡°I can¡¯t see old Hugo pulling a stunt like this.¡± She smiled at the other superhuman. ¡°It is good to see you again, Chen, it really is. I don¡¯t know if that says more about you or me.¡±

    His stomach knotted with guilt. ¡°You too.¡±

    As they walked, many of the children approached Chen and his guard, full of questions and gloating and grandiose displays of their powers, like they were trying to intimidate and earn his favour at the same time. It almost charmed him.

    He wished Linus would speak to him. He couldn¡¯t believe how tall that boy had gotten. He also wondered why the girls weren¡¯t out here with the other students. He couldn¡¯t imagine Mavis wanting to miss out on something like this.

    Mrs Barnes was a little ways ahead of them, Arnold and Allison¡¯s hands in hers. The girl was clearly familiar with the woman, or at least unhesitant in seeking comfort from her. Her aunt, maybe? His luck, Chen, thought, that¡¯d he¡¯d kidnapped someone close to that powerhouse of a little girl.

    Allison slipped away from the other two, running over to Chen¡¯s side. Looking up at him, she asked ¡°What do you think¡¯s going to happen now?¡±

    Chen shrugged. ¡°I suppose Bertie and the others will see their way to handing me over to the freak-finders.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± said Fran.

    ¡°I don¡¯t, but that¡¯s how it¡¯s going to happen. Shouldn¡¯t be too hard for the DDHA to manage me.¡± He tried to smile. ¡°I bet some of the guards will be glad to leave their wedding rings at home.¡±

    ¡°We could keep you,¡± Allison suggested cheerfully. ¡°Fighting your things was kind of fun. Like practise. I almost figured... something out. About how the songs fit together, I think.¡±

    He decided not to ask. ¡°And what if someone from the department swings by?¡±

    The girl considered the problem. ¡°We could hide you in the barn.¡±

    Chen looked down into those jeweled, counterfeit eyes. How easy it was to forget how young they were. ¡°Yeah. Maybe.¡±

    Would that be so bad? What kind of future could he hope for otherwise? Prison, most likely, or a life spent cowering in the margins of society, waiting for the pin to drop. If he was being realistic, that was probably how things would have turned out even if he hadn¡¯t done the things he¡¯d done, or couldn¡¯t do the things he could do. At the very least, looking after these children was the closest thing he¡¯d get to kids of his own, now that Renee was gone.

    The triumph eventually reached the barn, Alberto and some man¡ªa natural going from how he stood¡ªthat Chen didn¡¯t recognize opened the doors for them. The falling night had driven the Institute¡¯s non-combatants to light candles and lanterns from the barn¡¯s storm-kit, their illumination bolstered by phosphorescent stones littered around the floor. Lana¡¯s work, Chen assumed.

    In an act of exquisite cruelty, Mary actually hugged him. In his kindness, Hugo did not.

    Angela¡¯s eldest son and daughter-in-law embraced her in turn, sobbing as she waved the whole ordeal off like she had slipped at the shops, before falling into her husband¡¯s arms and kissing him in a way that made it horribly clear to Arnold that his mother had not produced him through parthenogenesis.

    Hugo was saying kind, regretful things, but Chen couldn¡¯t hear him.

    Even after ten years, and the waves of candlelight and shadow washing over them, he recognized the girls. Mavis, Lana, and Sadie.

    Swollen. Gravid. Pregnant.

    AU felt nothing, except the vambraces of his armour heatlessly remolding to deadly points.

    He lunged at Lawrence.

    ¡°Pimp!¡± he screamed at Lawrence, knocking him onto the floor and pinning him. ¡°Kiddy-fiddler! Nazi piece of shit!¡±

    He tried plunging his left arm-spike into the headmaster¡¯s throat, and was stopped an inch short. Even with age, the old man was still strong, but the gold was spreading over his gloved hand like mold. Somewhere far away, a baby started crying.

    Out the corner of his eye, AU saw Alberto rushing over to their side, only to earn himself a deep, ragged gash across his chest.

    ¡°Kill you next¡ª¡±

    Chen was burned to nothing by cold, green flames, and the darkness became complete. He hit his head on something hard. Crumpling onto the coldly smooth, tacky floor, he tried to figure out where Lawrence and the light had gone.

    Is this Hell, he asked himself as he groped around the darkness. No, Hell doesn¡¯t have soft towels.

    Returning painfully to his feet, he found a lightswitch, the sudden blaring glow burning his eyes like the sun itself.

    He was in a closet, with most of the floor space taken up by a wicker bassinet. He stood stock-still, listening for any of the sounds of a lived-in house. He was met by empty silence. Inching the closet door open with the kind of caution that usually produced more noise than just slamming it open, he crept out into a darkened hallway. Finding a room he guessed hopefully didn¡¯t face any road this house might be located on, he switched the lights on.

    They revealed a slightly dingy child¡¯s bedroom, whose small bed he collapsed gratefully onto.  On a chest of drawers, he spotted a small framed photograph: Angela Barnes, sitting smiling on a picnic blanket, a tiny boy who could have been no one else¡¯s son in her lap.

    See you soon, Arn.

    He couldn¡¯t linger in this house long, not if he didn¡¯t want people noticing the shiny Chinaman squatting in the neighbour¡¯s home. Or worse, to still be here when the Barnes returned. He found the kitchen, made himself a sandwich, and removed his armour. It represented a considerable sacrifice of resources, but it had to be done. Packing it away into the pantry, he pinned a note to the door.

    ¡ªFor all your troubles, Mr. and Mrs B.

 Chapter Twenty-Two: The Quiet Room

    For a few moments, nobody said anything. The only sounds to be heard were Tiresias¡¯ moans of pain, a red line soaking through his wizard robe like he was the wrong answer, and the winding down of Baby Julie¡¯s tears. Quite appropriately, she had already forgotten what had made her so upset. Green match flames danced on the tips of her little fingers.

    Everyone in the barn was looking at the infant in her mother¡¯s arms. Except for Fred Barnes. He was looking at Drew. ¡°Son, why didn¡¯t ya tell us?¡±

    He scratched the back of his neck, before admitting, shamefaced ¡°Me and Sophia didn¡¯t know how you would take us. I think, in the back of my head, I thought you and Mum¡­ yeah.¡±

    The couple expected rage and indignation, but all they got from the elder Barnes was a look of total and complete heartbreak. ¡°I¡¯m sorry you were ever able to get that into your head.¡±

    Arnold had yet to figure what exactly he had watched, but he knew he felt just a little less alone in the world.

    ?ywie was trying to tend to Tiresias¡¯ injury, but he was weakly scrambling away from her. ¡°Keep her away!¡± he almost screamed. ¡°Don''t let her touch me!¡±

    Lawrence was already back on his feet, his face corpse-pale. His hands were shaking, the right still coated in gold. There was something off in his song, too. It sounded rushed.

    ¡°Are you alright, sir?¡± Allison asked, forgetting herself.

    ¡°Myriad, how did he know your old name?¡±

    The current of attention suddenly shifted to the girl. Gravity remembered her ice-ring. ¡°I-I snuck out. After the thing with the big kids. I found AU, and we talked¡ª¡±

    Her world went white, and she was sprawled in the hay. Her first thought was that Ophelia had clapped again. Then she felt herself being pulled to her feet by her hair. She screamed.

    ¡°You ungrateful cow!¡± Another blow across her face with his gold-encrusted hand. ¡°I take you out of that hole! I feed you all the knowledge mankind has to¡ª¡±

    Angela, Basil, and Drew pried Lawrence off the little girl.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Laurie!¡± Basilisk shouted, grappling against the old man¡¯s struggles.

    Angela managed to get off a glare at the South African. ¡°Is this how he treats children?¡±

    Dazed, Allison wandered over to Eliza. ¡°?ywie¡­ my me hurts.¡±

    Before the healer could do anything, Lawrence broke free of his human restraints. Ineffectively brushing of his suit, he said ¡°Fine. If she¡¯s too good for a thrashing, then it¡¯s the Quiet Room for her.¡±

    Allison felt herself being roughly pulled along by the wrist. People were shouting things behind her, but right then she couldn''t fit the words together in her head. Wet, cold grass changed to wood and then to carpet beneath her bare feet.

    Self-awareness only returned when she was shoved into a dark, bare room; one she hadn''t seen the inside of her entire time at the school. The walls looked like black marble, the veins and fissures of grey and white only accentuating the darkness they ran through. She turned to look at Lawrence looming in the doorway. ¡°What¡ª¡±

    ¡°The Quiet Room, Myriad,¡± he said, his voice toneless and businesslike. ¡°The Physician set it up for us. Supposed to cut posthumans off from their powers. A bit hit and miss, but it seems to work well with links.¡± He started sliding door shut. ¡°I think an overnight stay is more than appropriate, don¡¯t you?¡±

    The door closed with a sound like an airlock sealing, a thin line of light around its frame going dark like a path in sand being blown away.

    Pitch-black silence. Complete and utter silence. Unheard of silence: like everyone and everything in the world had died the moment the door shut. Including Allison. She couldn¡¯t even hear her own song.

    Her breathing quickened. Soon she was hammering on the door, shouting after her teacher. ¡°Lawrence! Something¡¯s wrong!¡± She slid down against the door till she was sitting on the floor. ¡°I can¡¯t hear anything.¡±

    No response. It didn¡¯t sound like there was even any place for the sound to go. It was as if the confines of her universe had collapsed to a few square feet. In some ways it had.

    The memory of David¡¯s song was already fading from Allison¡¯s mind, hastened away by fear and the stabbing pain in her left eye and both her hands. Her ice-dress was falling apart, melting into the too-warm stone of the floor. The room was an oven, and the feeling of water on her skin made it worse. The darkness was thickening, weighing down on the little girl like the deepest, hottest ocean, as though the water droplets were contaminating the black. She thought she could hear the sea gurgling in her ears.

    Except it wasn''t. Without the songs, there was nothing to drown out the breath of the world.

    ?

    All the Barnes bar Arnold sat in Lawrence¡¯s study. After their youngest member banished AU¡ªand Lawrence had dragged Allison off to God knows where¡ªher uncle had been hurried to bed with all the other children, and Basil and ?ywie were left the Sisyphean task of settling dozens of scared, confused children down to sleep. Angela hoped the two teachers were braced for nightmares and wet beds. The good doctor had then begged them join him in his office, to discuss what had brought them to his school. The Barnes had hoped Mrs. Gillespie, or even Melusine or Miss Fletcher might join them, but instead they got Tiresias, standing in the corner like a sad wizard¡¯s coat rack.

    Lawrence had poured everyone a tumbler of scotch, but nobody was touching them¡ªexcept Tiresias. Lawrence was tapping his fingers on his desk. ¡°You seem to know a lot about us, Mr. and Mrs Barnes.¡±

    ¡°Is that a problem?¡± Fred asked tersely.

    Lawrence graced them with a sad smile. ¡°I wish it wasn¡¯t, Mr. Barnes, but you and your family should know how much hate there is for children like your son. You¡¯ll understand why we value our privacy.¡±

    Sophia looked long and hard at the old man. She looked down at her daughter, squirming in her arms, then back at him. ¡°Excuse me, Doctor,¡± she said. ¡°I think there¡¯s bigger things we should be talking about.¡±

    Lawrence raised an eyebrow. ¡°Such as?¡±

    ¡°Where you dragged Allison springs to mind,¡± said Angela.

    Lawrence waved his recently freed hand. ¡°I¡¯ve put Myriad in the Quiet Room to think about her actions for the night. She¡¯ll be let out in the morning, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t tell us anything,¡± Sophie retorted. ¡°What is the Quiet Room? You said you were keeping her in it overnight? Does it have a bed¡­ a toilet?¡±

    ¡°Young lady, how I discipline my students is my¡ª¡±

    ¡°Discipline?¡± She looked at her husband and in-laws in disbelief. ¡°You punched a little girl in the side of the head! With a metal fist! Twice! ¡±

    Lawrence nodded with some contrition. ¡°That was regrettable. Children should associate a caretaker¡¯s hand with affection, not punishment.¡±

    Sophia shook her head. ¡°For God¡¯s sake! She could have blood on the brain or something!¡±

    ¡°Our ?ywie will see to her. Now, I have to ask, how did you know my staff¡¯s names?¡±

    ¡°He wrote home to us, like every boy away at school,¡± Angela answered, her tone final. ¡°And I don¡¯t think you understand what that looked like, Doctor.¡±

    ¡°The fact of the matter is, Mrs Barnes, Myriad is one of my students, and how I choose to handle her is my business.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve known that little girl a lot longer than you have,¡± said Fred. ¡°And I bloody well hope we¡¯d be asking these questions even if we didn¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°And then there¡¯s the things Chen said,¡± continued his wife. ¡°You didn¡¯t seem very surprised by them.¡±

    Lawrence narrowed his eyes at the couple. ¡°AU would have said anything to get you on his side.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I was crucial to his plans.¡±

    ¡°The man had clearly lost his mind.¡±

    ¡°A lot of my mates have lost their minds at one point or another,¡± said Fred. ¡°There was usually a reason.¡±

    ¡°And what set him off after he gave up?¡± Drew added.

    ¡°Clearly he wanted to get closer to me.¡±

    Angela scoffed. ¡°You were buried to your neck in the ground, with molten metal ready to pour down onto your head. He was plenty close to you.¡±

    ¡°Baseless accusations.¡±

    Drew scowled. ¡°I think I¡¯d be a mite more worked up if someone accused me of molesting my kids.¡±

    Lawrence just stared at them.

    ¡°And then there¡¯s the girls,¡± Fred said. ¡°I mean, when I first spotted them, I sort of just assumed one of the older lads was a real bounder. But all three of them? At once?¡±

    ¡°We can discuss these questions after we¡¯ve resolved the matter at hand. When did you start receiving¡ª¡±

    Fred slammed his fist down on the desk. ¡°We¡¯re not talking about the notes!¡±

    Lawrence started. ¡°Now look here. I didn¡¯t want to be so blunt, but your presence here has been nothing but disruptive, even forgiving you hitchhiker. You¡¯ve dredged up old emotions in the children, and set Elsewhere¡¯s adjustment back by months at the very least!¡±

    ¡°His name is Arnold!¡± bellowed his father.

    Lawrence leaned back in his chair, sighing. ¡°Listen, I¡¯m usually not in the position to offer it, but it is only fair that parents receive some compensation for letting their children go. I do not extend this offer often, but ?ywie¡¯s regenerative capabilities are second to none. If you promise to leave us in peace, and have Elsewhere swear not to send anymore of these letters, you can return home fully intact.¡±

    Imagination and the English language both failed Frederick Barnes. He spat in Lawrence¡¯s face.

    The headmaster removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and wiped away the sputum. ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no, then.¡±

    Angela headed towards the door, her family following close behind her.

    ¡°Leaving, are we?¡± asked Lawrence.

    Angela stopped briefly. ¡°That we are, Doctor Lawrence. And we¡¯re taking our son.¡±

    ¡°Are you now?¡±

    ¡°And the little girl, too!¡± insisted Sophia.

    ¡°Very well. Do you want any of my other students while you¡¯re at it?¡± He tilted his head towards the esper. ¡°You up for a trip down south, Tiresias?¡±

    The psychic shrugged.

    ¡°We¡¯ll ruddy well take all of them if we have to,¡± said Fred.

    Tiresias stepped around Lawrence¡¯s desk, placing himself between the Barnes and the door.

    Fred wheeled up to the man. ¡°You can stay.¡±

    Tiresias placed two fingers on the veteran¡¯s forehead and pushed him backward a few inches. Immediately, Angela went to slap the man, but he caught her arm, which went limp in his grip. The telepath was stronger than he looked.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not go doing anything stupid,¡± he sighed. He moved closer to Sophie and Julia. ¡°Cute kid you have there.¡± He pulled the ring of keys he used to bait Ophelia from his pocket, jangling them.

    Julia giggled, there was a whoosh, and Tiresias¡¯ hand was empty. He closed his palm. ¡°I really should have thought that through. Mind if I hold her?¡±

    Sophia went stiff. ¡°I-I guess.¡±

    Drew gaped at her, but said nothing as Tiresias took the baby into his arms. Julia didn¡¯t seem to mind, though, gurgling happily up at the man.

    Tiresias grinned. ¡°It¡¯s a shame, really.¡±

    ¡°What is?¡± Sophia asked.

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s the sanctioning laws to think about. And there have to be eyes on your family now. These things run in the blood.¡± He traced a shape with his fingertip on the baby¡¯s forehead.

    ¡°They-they wouldn¡¯t,¡± Sophia stammered. ¡°She isn¡¯t even weaned.¡±

    ¡°They would, I¡¯m sorry to say,¡± said Lawrence. ¡°I¡¯ve seen some of the asylum cr¨¨ches. I wouldn¡¯t say they meet the standards of our nursery. Love and care are things I doubt you can economise, but the DDHA gives it their all.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    There was no room left for surprise in Angela¡¯s family, but Lawrence did blink.

    ¡°I was merely making an observation, Mrs Barnes.¡±

    ¡°You know exactly what you¡¯re doing!¡± she spat. ¡°If you¡¯re going to be a brute, at least be honest with yourself!¡±

    ¡°I assure you, if someone reported your granddaughter, as is their legal duty¡ª¡±

    ¡°If you reported her!¡± Angela screamed. ¡°Stop wheedling about it and say it!¡±

    Lawrence shrugged. ¡°Well, one must render unto Caesar¡­¡±

    Mrs Barnes tried to think of a scriptural rebuttal, then realized the futility of it. Sophia was struggling to hold back tears by now. ¡°You really would, wouldn¡¯t you? Tear a baby out of her mother¡¯s arms?¡±

    ¡°That would be a job for the soldiers, my dear.¡± He slid some Institute stationary across the desk. ¡°Leave. Tonight, before the boy wakes up.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re expecting us to write what?¡± Fred said, looking like he was struggling beneath loop upon loop of chains.

    ¡°That there is to be no more letter-smuggling, to you or anyone else. I shudder to think of the ¡®services¡¯ he might have been providing the other children.¡±

    ¡°And why would we do that?¡± Fred growled.

    ¡°The DDHA?¡± suggested Tiresias, still gently rocking Julia. ¡°You could say they¡¯re keeping tabs on you. It¡¯s probably even true. I can¡¯t imagine them being alright with note-passing.¡±

    Lawrence glanced at his student and nodded. ¡°That works.¡±

    Angela stood there in the middle of the room for a long while, trying to figure out some way out of their situation. She ran the maths of grabbing Arnold¡ªand Allison, if they could manage it¡ªand legging it. There was no way it could turn out well either for them or the children, not when they were running from a rich man with government connections and a small army of supers. Sophia was barely holding back tears. So was Drew.

    Angela walked back to the desk, and picked up the pen. ¡°I should have let Chen get on with it.¡±

    Lawrence watched the Barnes filter out of his office with a touch of regret. Remarkable woman, he thought as Angela slammed the door behind her. He might have tried to hire her on, if there weren¡¯t the attachment issues with Elsewhere to consider, or that husband of hers. Still, he had her genes.

    ¡°Is your conscience ever tested, Tiresias? By the things we must do for your kind?¡±

    The psychic broke out a cold, pale smile. ¡°Mine would, sir, were it human.¡± He headed out the door himself. ¡°Night,¡± he called back.

    Lawrence finally took a hard gulp of his whiskey. The Barnes girl had been almost on point about one thing. He had miscalculated his approach to his newest students.

    It would be rectified.

    ?

    It was impossible for Allison to know when or if she slept in the Quiet Room. There was no light either way, and dreams wandered back and forth as they pleased. Sometimes, she thought she heard snatches of music, but found nothing except her own shallow breathing. Other times, she swore she could hear Elsa laughing at her in the dark.

    Then there were moments when the darkness flickered, revealing a barren, arctic landscape, peopled by faceless men with bloodless hands. She was almost grateful when the dark returned.

    She no longer feared the thing that breathed in the dark. There was a familiarity to it, and it was the closest thing she had to proof that life still existed.

    Please talk to me.

    Allison was beyond tears. They¡¯d all been cried hours before. In all that time, she hadn¡¯t moved from the door. She had this idea that, as soon as she could no longer feel that crease in the wall, she would never be able to find it again.

    There was a click. A tinny, weary voice filled the room. ¡°Allison, we really need to push on here.¡±

    The girl looked up from the slightly more textured darkness of her knees. ¡°...Dr. Carter?¡± She had almost forgotten that colourless tormenter¡¯s name.

    Another click, and a sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t be cheeky, Allison. My voice isn¡¯t that hard to place.¡±

    It really would have been, if not for that unmistakable blend of boredom and repressed fear.

    ¡°Sorry s-sir,¡± she said tentatively. ¡°Um, why are you here?¡±

    ¡°You know full well why both us are here, young girl. You¡¯re being tested.¡±

    Oh. That explained some things. She was still at McClare. The Institute¡ªLawrence, the Watercolours, AU and everything else¡ªmust¡¯ve been a long daydream. She managed to find new tears at the thought of David and the others not being real, but just managed to choke them down.

    There were still a few questions, like the silence, or where her clothes had gone. Was that why the room was so dark? And why did her head hurt so much?

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna make me play a piano I can¡¯t see, aren¡¯t you?¡± she moaned.

    ¡°...No,¡± said Dr. Carter, sounding baffled. ¡°What would be the point?¡±

    There was a point, she wondered to herself. ¡°So what¡¯s the test?¡±

    There was a long time before the next click. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? How do you get out this room?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± she whined.

    ¡°Well, there is a first for everything,¡± the doctor said dryly. ¡°At least try to work it out.¡±

    She gave it a try. What else was there to do?

    Pick the lock?

    There was no lock.

    Start a fire so they have to let me out?

    Chancy, and what did she even have to burn?

    Talk Dr. Carter into letting me go?

    It hadn¡¯t worked the first five times.

    Break my head open on the walls?

    Barring the pain, she could find no flaw in that plan.

    Click. ¡°Look,¡± said Dr. Carter, clearly frustrated. ¡°I¡¯m just going to tell you the answer so I can go home, hmm? You sit there and wait for the grown ups to decide to let you out. Again.¡±

    A blade of light split the darkness. It terrified Allison, driving her to the other end of the room, curling in on herself. ¡°Stop-please-don¡¯t-you¡¯re hurting her!¡±

    ¡°Myriad?¡± ?ywie said, running over to her. She tried to coax the girl from her fetal position. ¡°Shh, it¡¯s all over. Let me get a look at you.¡±

    Allison unfurled slowly, ?ywie wincing when she saw the ugly, purple bruise that dominated the right side of her face. Her knuckles were raw and bloody.

    More importantly, though, the songs were playing again, warming the air and making her feel a real person again. The pain was still there, but the songs offered relief from that, too. She reached out for the nearest one:

    Piano.

    She knew herself, inside and out. Pulses sparked between nerve-endings; blood pumped fast and angry in her veins; cells divided and died off as her body went about the business of living and growing up. And it was all awaiting her orders.

    She quieted the pain in her head and knuckles, ordering the cuts and scrapes to close, without the half measures of scabs and scar tissue. Someone who was watching closely¡ªwhich ?ywie very much was¡ªwould have seen the colour in her bruise begin to visibly fade.

    Myriad locked eyes with the healer. ¡°It works on yourself?¡± she whispered.

    ¡°...Yes,¡± she admitted.

    ¡°But then how are you¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll talk about that later, little one. Let¡¯s not linger in this room.¡± She removed her cloak, wrapping it around the little girl. The healer looked almost indecent in Myriad¡¯s eyes, standing there in her plain blue slacks and white frilled blouse, no different from any mere natural woman.

    She led Myriad through the hallways by the hand, her cape trailing after the child like a bridal train. ¡°Lawrence wants to talk to you, Elsewhere, and Billy¡ª ¡± she sighed, ¡°¡ªGrowltiger, I mean.¡± She felt Myriad¡¯s hand tighten around her fingers. She looked down at the girl. ¡°Last night was¡­ out of line. But I swear to you, child, that isn¡¯t Lawrence. We all were under a lot of stress, and I¡¯ll be right there with you.¡±

    Myriad nodded mutely, wondering why Lawrence wanted to speak to Billy as well. Did he do something she didn¡¯t know about?

    The boys were waiting for them at the threshold in their pyjamas. They made Billy look like a refugee from an especially twee picture book, but that was hard to avoid in the best of circumstances. He had his arm around Elsewhere¡¯s shoulder, trying to comfort without treading on his pride or pricking his skin with his claws. Going by the frosted panes in the front door, the sun hadn¡¯t even risen yet.

    Elsewhere hugged Myriad as soon as she was in range, soon joined by Billy. They clung together for some time.

    ¡°You were in the Quiet Room?¡± Billy asked.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Was it bad?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Where¡¯s your mummy and daddy and all them?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re-they¡¯re gone.¡± Myriad could hear anger diffusing her friend¡¯s sorrow. ¡°Didn¡¯t even say goodbye.¡± The weeping returned in earnest. ¡°They said I¡¯m not allowed to send them notes anymore, and that they won¡¯t read them even if I do!¡± The hug was the only reason he didn¡¯t hit something. ¡°I hate them!¡±

    ?ywie shushed him, pulling the boy into her arms. ¡°No you don¡¯t. This was nothing to do with you. Your family was only thinking about your little niece. We¡¯ll set up a more secure way for you and your parents to talk, I promise.¡±

    She hated lying to the children.

    The four of them ventured out into the morning, still so dark it could have been midnight, all the bleariness banished from their bones by curiosity.

    ¡°You get to wear Zy¡¯s cape?¡± Billy enthused as they trod through the cool grass. ¡°So cool.¡±

    ?ywie smiled, savouring it as long as she could. ¡°You want a cloak, Growly?¡± Much as she still contested the Naming, she couldn¡¯t deny it made the child happy. ¡°I¡¯m more than willing to share.¡±

    That prospect kept Billy well and truly distracted till they reached the nursery.

    Lawrence was waiting for them inside. He was sitting in a wooden chair, gently rocking Chorus¡¯ cradle. He wasn''t alone: Reverb, Stratogale, and Ex-Nihilo were milling about the place¡ªlooking out the windows, or studying their nails, or watching the babies sleep. Anything except look at the three newest students.

    Lawrence saw how Myriad flinched at the sight of him. ¡°It¡¯s alright, child, you¡¯ve had your lashes. That¡¯s not what you''re here for. You too, Elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re-you¡¯re not gonna hit me? Because of the notes?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°I believe, given how that turned out for you, that the crime is its own punishment in this instance.¡±

    Elsewhere was about to break back down, but he felt ?ywie¡¯s steadying hands on his shoulders. ¡°Don''t draw this out, Lawrence. We¡¯re all very tired.¡±¡¯

    ¡°You¡¯re very right, old girl.¡± Lawrence rose from his chair. ¡°I¡¯m afraid, children, that we haven''t been completely open with you three. We¡¯re always careful about the timing of this conversation with new students.¡±

    ¡°The big girls are pregnant, aren''t they?¡± said Myriad.

    The nursery scoffed bitterly.

    Really? You didn''t know? That big magic brain of yours, and you didn''t know?

    ¡°She¡¯s a little girl, Reverb,¡± sighed Stratogale.

    She has eyes! She saw us packing on the pounds for months, and it never occurred to her that we might be expecting? Where did she think the babies came from?

    Myriad¡¯s fingers were sore. ¡°The asylums¡­¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°Maybe someday, if they acquire an infant that needs to be here. But this crop¡±¡ªhe swept an arm over the line of cots¡ª¡°all born here, at the Institute.¡±

    Billy quirked. He was still somewhat unclear on how babies came about, but he knew that this wasn''t how it usually went. ¡°...Were they by accident?¡±

    ¡°Not at all, Growltiger,¡± Lawrence said, smiling.

    Myriad stuttered, eyes darting between the older girls. ¡°But-but they¡¯re kids.¡±

    ¡°Baseline cultures, I find, have interesting ideas about where the borders of childhood and maturity lie.¡± A chuckle. ¡°Oh, we argue back and forth about it: ¡®Is a woman eighteen or twenty-one?¡¯ and all that. But the truth is, a well-fed girl-child in the right conditions may be fertile at eleven, and be able to safely deliver a child not a year later.¡±

    ?ywie shot the older man a look.

    Acknowledging it with a nod, Lawrence clarified, ¡°Of course, we don¡¯t cut it that fine here at the Institute. Your average Australian girl is more than ready to have a baby at fourteen or fifteen. The hardships of underage pregnancy are all matters of social condemnation and a lack of support for the mothers. Obviously, neither of those are problems here. These babies are growing up with the love of dozens of brothers and sisters, and just as many parents. And as for complications in the pregnancies themselves, well, ?ywie¡¯s on the job.¡±

    The healer said nothing, just as she had the night of the caning.

    There was something wrong with the situation that Elsewhere couldn¡¯t find words for. He settled on his mother¡¯s all-purpose objection:

    ¡°Lawrence¡­ this doesn¡¯t sound very Christian.¡±

    Lawrence laughed. ¡°Oh, boy, I very much admire your mother¡ªowe her my life, I¡¯d wager¡ªbut she definitely clings to some very quaint ideas.¡±

    Elsewhere remembered he was supposed to be hating his mother. ¡°Oh.¡±

    There was one thing Myriad didn¡¯t quite understand yet. ¡°Um, who¡¯re the daddies?¡±

    ¡°Chant, Choir, and Spitfire were all fathered by Linus,¡± answered Lawrence. ¡°The advantage of being the first adolescent boy on campus.¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t know how you and Linus got a firework baby,¡± Ex-Nihilo said, addressing Reverb.

    ¡°The mysteries your kind still throw us,¡± Lawrence said wistfully. ¡°All the children our young ladies are carrying at the moment have Gwydion for a father. Should produce interesting results.¡±

    ¡°What about Ophelia?¡± asked Myriad.

    ¡°Tiresias,¡± Stratogale declared flatly. ¡°My daughter¡¯s father was Tiresias.¡±

    Myriad tried to imagine that. She was far too successful. ¡°But he¡¯s¡ª¡±

    Lawrence cut her off. ¡°I know what it must look like on first glance, but I had to talk Tiresias into it. Yes, the age-gap is there, but it¡¯s not as though they¡¯re married. Just making the next generation a little finer. And you¡¯ve seen the boy with Ophelia. Fatherhood¡ªmuch as I wish to avoid such exclusive attachments¡ªbrings out the best in him.¡± Another chuckle. ¡°Make of that what you will.¡±

    ¡°Um, excuse me, sir?¡±

    ¡°Not sir, Growltiger, ¡®Lawrence¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Lawrence, why do we need babies?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s smile faded. With little ceremony, he pulled off both his gloves.

    His hands were as hairless as a child¡¯s, the skin crisscrossed with countless faint, white scars, and ridges where it had split, only to lose its way as it healed.

    Even Billy realized what he was looking at. Myriad was horrified. Couldn¡¯t ?ywie have healed those burns?

    Of course she could have.

    ¡°I have seen men burn a child like you. Ordinary men. Fathers and shopkeepers. Kind men.¡± He laughed at his youthful ignorance. ¡°The human race is a cancerous old miser, who¡¯s only clinging to life to deny his children their inheritance. My kind isn¡¯t going to hand your race what you deserve until they realize how inevitable you truly are. Numbers sure aren¡¯t going to work against that.¡± A mystical cast fell over his features. ¡°And if you children are capable of such wonders spontaneously, imagine what we would gain by breeding for miracles.¡±

    Myriad said, ¡°Does this mean¡­ one day¡­ we''ll¡­¡±

    Lawrence tried not to look at Growltiger. ¡°Yes, one day your own children will sleep in this nursery.¡±

    Eliza clapped her hands. ¡°Well, now that that¡¯s over and done with, I think it¡¯s time for you children to head back to bed. I think we could all use a few more hours sleep.¡±

    She started to usher the younger children out the door, but Myriad ducked out from under her arms. ¡°Ah, ?ywie, could I ask Lawrence one more thing?¡±

    ¡°You never need permission to ask me anything, Myriad,¡± said Lawrence.

    Eliza hoped to God the girl wasn¡¯t going to ask the question she knew she would.

    Myriad took a deep breath. ¡°When I¡¯m big, who do think I¡¯ll¡­ have them with?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s eyes lit up. Finally, a forward thinking young girl. ¡°Well, first of all, I¡¯m not forcing monogmany on your kind, so you can look forward to plenty of interesting combinations.  If we¡¯re talking about first couplings, I¡¯ve been speculating on the possibilities of you and Maelstrom, seeing how well you two get on.¡±

    ¡°...Okay.¡±

    ?

    When Myriad awoke, milky, washed out blue light flooded the dormitory, the kind of early morning gleam that couldn''t decide if it was moonlight or sunlight. For a few happy seconds, she couldn''t recall anything of the last night. She snuggled into Billy¡¯s fur and pulled Elsewhere in closer.

    Then she remembered why they had sought each other¡¯s comfort.

    Someone was singing; quietly, hardly above a whisper. She glanced towards its source, trying to move her head as little as possible.

    ¡°Garibaldi fu ferito, fu ferito ad una gamba...¡± Tiresias was making his way up the row of hammocks. As he passed each one, he briefly touched its occupants. It didn¡¯t seem to matter where¡ªthe forehead, a hand, a foot¡ªso long as there was bare skin. His pace was casual, almost cheerful. Sometimes, he even skipped a pace.

    ¡°Garibaldi che comanda, che comanda il battaglion..."

    Myriad screwed her eyes shut as he drew nearer. She felt the hammock sway lightly, before her fringe was parted by Tiresias dragging his finger across her brow.

    She kept her eyes closed until she heard the clatter of the door shutting. She sat up, looking around the dorm.

    Her lips moved of their own will. ¡°I know you¡¯re awake, Allison.¡±

    End of Part One

 First Intermission: Strange Things on the Side of the Road

    Joe Bell¡¯s weary eighteen-wheeler trundled down a Montana backroad that had yet to be troubled by the New Deal, and so continued its leisurely slide back into nature unimpeded. Every few feet, a pothole would launch him a fraction of an inch off his seat.

    Bell was in two minds about the potholes. On the one hand, they kept him awake like not even the bennies could. On the other, he was pretty sure all this jostling was grinding his spine away at both ends. To think he¡¯d gone into trucking because of what the mines had done to his dad¡­

    He hoped to God his cargo was faring alright. He didn¡¯t want to think about how the trainees at Camp Corthins would react to a trailer full of broken radio parts and busted tires. He was even less eager to find out what the base¡¯s men would do if he presented them with a crate of whiskey soaked glass shards. Not when they¡¯d paid him half up front.

    It wasn¡¯t really smuggling, was it? It wasn¡¯t like he was a fifth columnist, on his way to trade military intelligence to a U-boat captain in exchange for future control of Great Falls. Why shouldn¡¯t the troops be able to enjoy a stiff drink while they guarded America against the Nazi menace? If anything, he was doing his patriotic duty.

    He sipped his coffee, lukewarm and spiced with Marlboro ashes. The road lay long ahead of him, twilight spreading a pale blanket over the grass that lapped hungrily along the edges of the asphalt and the distant, tiny towns whose lights competed with the first stars. Through the radio, a crackly but luckier 1942 spilled into the smoky cabin. A 1942 where the biggest concern facing the people of Wistful Vista was Fibber McGee clearly being a compulsive liar.

    Joe didn¡¯t begrudge them their fun. Someone had to have a good time out there. Otherwise, what was even the point of all this?

    The world shook with a sound like the moon falling out of the sky. Joe slammed the truck¡¯s brakes, the lurch sending the wheel into his solar plexus and knocking all the wind out of him.

    Is it the Japs, he thought as he caught his breath. The Germans? This far inland?

    Once he had recovered, Bell opened the door and jumped down from the cabin. He wasn¡¯t sure whether or not it was wise, or even if he should stay on the road at all. But the idea of being blown up and not even knowing what had done it scared him more than the blowing up itself.

    He found no bombers, zeppelins, or missiles up there in the evening sky. Did people even use zeppelins for that anymore? Joe didn¡¯t know and didn¡¯t care. What he did care about was the plume of smoke rising from under the horizon.

    No, not smoke: a heat mirage, twisting and spiraling up into the air like vapourised glass. The winter stars behind it shone in colours Joe didn¡¯t have names for, distorted and magnified like reflections in raindrops.

    There was one star in particular that drew his eye. It was violet, and far larger than any of its sisters, a diminutive night-sun. It took Joe a few seconds to realize that it was getting bigger. And the ground was starting to vibrate beneath his feet¡­

    The star screamed over his head, sending him ducking as it slammed into the field behind him, sending up earthen wings of dirt and bedrock.

    It had come to rest by the time Bell dared take his face off the road. He could see it, whatever it was, glowing softly at the end of the channel it had cut into the earth: a hot coal spat from the hearth of Heaven.

    His first thought was some new wonder-bomb. After that, he wasn¡¯t so sure. If it was going to explode, it seemed to be taking its sweet time. And why would the Germans or whoever waste a wunderwaffe on an empty stretch of road? It wasn¡¯t even the highway. Were they aiming at him? The absurd notion almost flattered him.

    It then occurred to Joe Bell that, if that thing really was some cutting edge piece of enemy ordinance, it might net him a reward.

    He fished a flashlight out of the truck¡¯s glove box¡ªalong with his revolver. Even if there hadn¡¯t been a war on, it never hurt to be prepared on lonely country roads.

    The first thing Bell noticed as he walked along the trench was the lack of heat coming off it. He didn¡¯t know much about comets or the like, but he would have expected its impact zone to be red hot. For how cool this gash in the landscape was, it could have been made a million years earlier.

    The ground was glassy, waves of multicoloured silica fading from red to purple to blue. Joe found himself recalling that broadcast of War of the Worlds four years past.

    He slowed as he approached the glow. He could almost make out a shape in it¡ªlots of shapes, in fact¡ªbut whenever he tried looking directly at it, his head started throbbing.

    The glow started to fade. Or maybe it started to take shape, resolving itself as it dimmed, taking a form he could almost see, almost recognize.

    He raised his gun.

    The glow died away completely, and he was left looking at a regal-featured young woman, bereft of all clothing, lying prone on the ground. The woman was also very, very pregnant, to the point where it looked like she wouldn¡¯t be for very long.

    Joe dropped the revolver. For the first time in his life, he felt the sense of awe that his Sunday school teachers had tried so earnestly to impart in him when he was a boy.

    Breathing rapidly, the woman dug grooves into the hard, glossy ground with her finger. She stared pleadingly at the trucker with wet, purple eyes. Then she said words which shattered the air between them and sent shards of pain through Joe¡¯s teeth. Words that were never meant to be heard by creatures with ears. They were in no language Joe had ever heard in his life, but that didn''t stop him from knowing exactly what they meant:

    ¡°Help us.¡±

    ?

    The goddess had approached the Milky Way slowly. She wasn¡¯t in any rush¡ªit had only been a few hundred millennia since she had left for the Great Filament. There, she had reacquainted herself with kin she had not spoken with since the universe was less than half its present size, sharing the songs and sorrows of a thousand civilizations both nascent and venerable.

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    She had done other things, too, both more and less comprehensible to lower toposophic beings.

    Centuries of moments passed as she felt the intergalactic void grow thick with hydrogen, dust, and lonely stars.

    She was home, or on the fringes of it at least. She made a beeline for the nearest blue supergiant, lagging only slightly behind the light thrown off by her own titanic form. Even at those speeds, swimming through that layer of Creation, it still took her the better part of an age. She could have used any one of the loopholes in casualty her kind had opened at the beginning of all things, but time didn¡¯t bother her much. She used the years to ponder all she had learned of at the gathering. A rogue star had been recaptured by the gravitational pull of its mother-galaxy. The species that had in the meantime evolved on one of its satellites underwent a centuries long nervous breakdown as the night sky slowly opened a hundred thousand accusing eyes. Another race had harnessed their newfound knowledge of genomics to rid themselves of self-awareness, their entire people slipping into an eternal, preconscious dream.

    She wondered if there was a lesson in either story, but her attention was diverted back to the blue giant. She poured herself into the sun, until her substance was nigh impossible to separate from its plasma.

    A moment later, two hundred light-years away, the goddess streamed from a blitzar like a ribbon of woven light.

    Stars have long memories, stretching all the way back to when the whole cosmos could fit on a pinhead with space to spare. For the privileged few who know how to spark their reminscience, they become a superhighways of swollen, decrepit giants, branching off into the back roads of their younger, more vital siblings.

    On a small, rocky world juggled between two points of light, drought plauged a dwindling, precarious tribe. They were a newly emerged mutant strain of their kind, blessed and cursed with that compound of fragility and hunger that most often gives rise to intelligence. They prayed in their pagan manner to the sky for rain.

    The goddess idly stirred some molecules in their atmosphere, and the rain poured down.

    She cultivated life the way a child throws starfish back into the sea. Crews of asteroid battered starships wondered at how their atmospheres didn¡¯t evaporate out into open space. Scientists on dying planets awoke with strange, mad ideas in their heads. Organic molecules were gently coaxed into forming simple amino acid chains in the oceans of virgin worlds.

    Eventually, she found herself in the domain of a typical enough yellow dwarf. Its one life-bearing world was faintly familiar. There was a name, from a cousin¡¯s borrowed recollection.

    Earth. Yes, that was it. The homeworld of an unremarkable oxygen-nitrogen breathing species known as man. Her relatives (as well as some less discriminating slavers) had spread them all around the Local Group of galaxies. She was mildly surprised that the original population had persisted so long.

    She fell into a casual orbit over the planet. She noted the Gatehouse on its one moon, a green mote in Selene¡¯s eye. Her grandfather had been so keen on that project. As a courtesy, she dumped a few million childhoods worth of data into its quiet, sullen computers. The Gatekeeper signalled his thanks.

    Turning her gaze back to the planet below, the goddess took stock of what the Earthmen had gotten up to since her cousin checked in on them.

    The human race had made a respectable go at civilization, all things considered. Her cousin¡¯s memories spoke to a thinly-peopled race with only rudimentary stonework to their name, decimated by volcanic eruptions and the occasional mass abduction to other worlds. Now they numbered in the billions, and had settled virtually every habitable patch of land on their planet, while building up a material culture fuelled chiefly by the burning of ancient concentrations of life, with some early but determined experiments into the breakdown of matter.

    There were all the usual vices of civilization¡ªthe tribalism, the short-sightedness, the hunger¡ªno more or less than any other species the goddess knew of. She wished them the best, which coming from her had some weight.

    She was about to pull away from the planet when she spotted something that shouldn¡¯t have been there. All across the globe were scattered pockets of miracles. Men becoming comets, women channeling lightning and revenge itself; a young girl healing the sick and the lame.

    This in and of itself was not unexpected. Like all inhabited worlds of a certain age, the Earth had its share of gods and other numinous beings. Except, she could see that many of the miracles were not their handiwork. Not even most of them.

    They were hers.

    It was undeniable. She could see herself in so many of them. Her hopes and nostalgia, her loves and heartbreaks, even passing fancies she¡¯d thought when this sun was still forming in its stellar nursery.

    For the first time since she and everything else was young, the goddess was afraid.

    A spear lanced into her. Sour, unfamiliar notes of pain rang out across her entire being, hot and bright like a kugelblitz. Searching wildly for the source of the attack, she glimpsed the stars parting, a dark disk slipping out from between them. A lattice of spacetime tethered it to the spear.

    Through layers of metal and flesh, she saw its pilot, and its intentions for her.

    The pain infiltrated her past and colonized all her futures. Through the haze of it, she wondered how the vessel could have escaped her perception. How long had it been following her?

    The Gatehouse fired off a relativistic volley, striking the ship and sending it spinning down into the blue expanse spread out below them.

    The spear tore out of the goddess. She saw moments of her life stream out of the wound. Weakly, she thanked the Gatekeeper for his aid, however late it was.

    She made an attempt to escape the Earth¡¯s gravity well, to bathe her wounds and burn away the poison spreading through her. It was no use. She knew that at best she would die in the abyss between worlds.

    Her child would too.

    She did her best to insulate the unborn godling from the blight, and let the Earth embrace her.

    The goddess fell. For the first time in aeons, she felt the whisper of an atmosphere envelop her. She sifted through the history and present of the world rapidly rising to meet her, trying to figure out what visage would least provoke the natives. A native of one of their northerly continents, she decided. Male would have been ideal, but there was the Law of Similarity to consider. It would have been inconvenient in her present circumstances as well.

    She hardly felt it when she smacked into the planet¡ªnot on top of everything else.

    As soon as she had lungs, the goddess gasped. Time. She had never experienced it like this. A river driving her unceasingly downstream. The future¡ªwhat little of it was left¡ªwas cut off completely, and the past existed only in memory. And the pain. Her new nerves felt it so keenly.

    She felt her child move within her, and it brought her focus. The pain didn¡¯t matter. She need only endure it for so long.

    A native creature was towering over her, cloaked in shadow, starlight reflected in his eyes. The horror of it was paralyzing. All that consciousness sunken into one perversely centralized, fragile mass. How did it live, dependant on so many immutable, easily disrupted structures? What kind of life was she leaving her child, shackled to such a form?

    ¡°Help us.¡±

    The creature¡ªa male, she noticed¡ªflinched at the sound of the True Speech. Still, he knelt down by her side.

    ¡°...Jesus, lady,¡± he said, his voice rougher than any she could have produced even if she¡¯d tried. ¡°What even is help to you? I can get you to a doctor, I think.¡±

    She saw the lights playing behind his eyes. They were tinged amber by awe and that instinctive fear of divine things, but he did want to help her, she could see clear as anything.

    With a grip that could have reduced corundum to dust, she took hold of the man¡¯s hand. ¡°No,¡± she said in his tongue. ¡°Just stay here. Please.¡±

    The man nodded mutely.

    He held her hand through the entire birth, even as her grip almost crushed his hand. Naively, she realized, she had expected the experience to mirror her other children¡¯s births. Those had been intellectual exercises more than anything else. This, though, was nothing but instinct, and pain, and blood. Every now and then, the man told her to push, as if she had any other choice. Strange little thing, he was.

    She heard her son¡¯s cries as he tasted air for the first time. The man caught him before he hit the glassified soil. Not that it would have done him any harm if he had.

    The man, wearing a smile beaten out of anxiety and relief, handed the goddess her son.

    She studied the wet, wailing thing in her arms. Near as she could tell, the child¡¯s vessel resembled a perfectly formed juvenile male of the species. Good, she thought. That would make things easier for him.

    He was so warm.

    With a fingernail, she cut his cord.

    She let her head fall back. The sun had set completely by then, and the stars were out in force. The goddess had never seen them from this vantage point: their light bent and lensed by gravity, obscured by thousands of feet of oxygen and nitrogen. And yet, she was glad she had gotten to see them this way.

    The river was washing her out into a dark, endless sea. She had held out hope that shunting off so much of herself might preserve her from the spear¡¯s poison. That she could stay with her child. She had at least ensured that he could stay, though. She saw her place in the paradox, and decided to fulfill it. It was only polite. ¡°I bequeath you¡­¡± She smiled tiredly. ¡°...I bequeath you¡­ me.¡±

    With the minutes she had left, she let herself savour the feel of her son¡¯s breath breath against her skin as the lights above her started to dim.

    She was aware of the man¡¯s hand in hers. To her relief, touch was the last to go.

 First Intermission: There was a Man

    Joe Bell gently lifted the newborn off the dead woman. He hoped the boy hadn''t noticed her going so still. He was certainly crying like he had. He wrapped the baby in his jacket. God help him if he let the kid catch his death now.

    He looked back down at the child¡¯s mother. Could he have done something? Did he do something wrong? If he had ignored the woman¡¯s plea to stay put; if he had dragged her bodily to his truck and booked it to the nearest country clinic, would the boy in his arms still have a mother?

    Regardless of whether her end had come from his error or hers, the lady from the sky had trusted the trucker with her child, and that was as close to sacred as he could imagine anything being. Even more than she herself had been.

    He couldn¡¯t risk moving her body, not now. A baby could be explained away if they were stopped by someone; a dead woman, not so much.

    ¡°S-sorry,¡± he managed to get out as he turned to head back to the road, blinking back tears. He was grateful her eyes were closed.

    A few hours later, Bell stood in the middle of his rented cabin at the Sandman Road Inn, trying to rock his unexpected travelling companion to sleep. Calling it a cabin was being generous. It was more of a tent made of drywall, left standing all year round. He worried that if it rained, the whole structure might be washed away. Still, he¡¯d at least been able to shell out the extra dollar a night for a mattress, and he¡¯d been able to give the baby a whore¡¯s bath in the toilet block.

    He was still just the ¡°the boy¡±, or the ¡°baby¡±. He didn¡¯t know if he had the right to name him.

    He wasn''t crying right then, but Joe still hoped he would sleep. There was something disquietingly aware in those moss green eyes. They followed his own, like he understood everything that had happened to him. Were his eyes even supposed to be green? He remembered someone telling him white babies were all born with blue eyes, unless they were Polacks.

    Joe was fairly sure the baby was no Polack.

    He was hoping sleep would delay hunger, too. He had no idea where to find milk powder at this hour. He had no idea if the kid even took milk. He might need moon dust for all he knew. It was yet another imponderable question about the child¡¯s future, both near and beyond. Bell had already ruled out leaving him on an orphanage¡¯s doorstep. Even if that didn¡¯t feel like the coward¡¯s way out, he couldn¡¯t help but imagine it leading to the poor boy¡¯s insides being spread out over some quack¡¯s workbench.

    His mother was dead, he had no sisters, and none of his brothers were married. There was his cousin Agnes, but that bridge was only held together by ash.

    He could always bring up the boy himself. No, not even worth considering. What kind of father would he make¡ªa bachelor trucker hauling cargo up and down the country all year round? What would he do, homeschool the kid in the truck¡¯s cabin? What other option did he have?

    The baby started wailing again, louder this time.

    Joe sighed. ¡°I know, buddy, I know.¡±

    There was a knock on the door. Bell froze. Could it be the army, here to question him about that poor woman? Who could have seen him on that deserted spit of road? Or maybe it was the police come to take the baby? Why? Was there any law against a man going around with a kid?

    The knocking grew more insistent.

    Joe looked down at the screaming baby, forcing a smile he did not feel. ¡°Looks like room service is here.¡±

    If the increase in pitch was any indication, the boy did not appreciate the joke. He set him down on the mattress and opened the door, cursing the owners of this dive for not putting peepholes in their doors.

    The man waiting on the other side looked like he had been the single recipient of all the Depression''s hardships. Poor fella couldn¡¯t even afford shoes and pale flesh drooped around his mouth like a basset hound. His faded blue overalls were stained a sickly yellow by the road inn¡¯s neon masthead. The tattered straw hat he wore was missing its top, gray hair poking out of it like wisps of mold. There was a dazed, sleepy expression in his eyes.

    Joe decided this was probably a neighbour of the moment, here to complain about the crying. Uncharitable bastard.

    He grinned embarrassedly. ¡°Sorry, pal,¡± he said over the noise. ¡°Wife stepped out for a bit of fresh air, and the baby¡¯s pining. You know how it is.¡±

    The man grinned back. Far too much. ¡°You are lying,¡± he said cheerfully, barging his way past the trucker. Before Joe could stop him, he was standing over the baby. ¡°That is some exquisite camouflage, I must say. I should take pointers.¡±

    The baby¡¯s cries ceased. An angry air hung between him and the intruder.

    Joe grabbed the man¡¯s arm. ¡°Now look here¡ª¡±

    The man¡¯s face exploded, something fast and sharp lacerating Bell¡¯s chest and flinging him into the wall hard enough to crack it like eggshell.

    The thing¡¯s head now resembled an open blossom, a bone-tipped stamen undulating at the centre of its glistening petals of flesh. Dozens of lumps twitched beneath their skin, tearing open to reveal an array of china-blue eyes. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± gurgled deep from within it. ¡°The fauna here can get aggressive.¡±

    Joe lay slumped behind them, trying to breathe through broken ribs. The cuts on his chest were burning like his own blood had turned to acid. Despite all this, he managed to get back to his feet and charge the monster. ¡°You leave him¡ª¡±

    He was slammed against the ceiling this time, his attempt to brace himself earning him two sharp cracks from his legs. The creature let him drop back to the floor.

    ¡°For crying out¡ªone second.¡±

    The thing proceeded to drop all pretense. Joe heard a dry, almost hollow thump as the false man¡¯s skin began to peel. Not splitting apart to reveal something, so much as literally peeling, like a piece of fruit being slowly stripped of its outer layer, the skin hanging like a loose sack from one end of it. What lay underneath made the trucker dry heave. It was like some kind of landborn coral¡ªhundreds of interconnected, tumorous veins, the missing link between plant and animal, all pulsing and writhing and yet still surprisingly dry. His eyes parched just from looking at the thing, as if he were standing in the middle of the Gobi Desert. Then the thing began to move. It lacked what Bell would have called limbs, much the same way that it lacked a face, or anything else beyond that strange, protean mesh of tendrils, lined with those wretchedly human eyes. It could still move though, the openings between the tendrils elongating and thinning as it stretched itself, the mass almost folding towards him.

    The cancer-worm loomed over Joe, hollowing out into a black tunnel of teeth and hooks.

    I¡¯m going to die, the trucker thought to himself. The pain of his broken legs was smothered by adrenaline, but that wasn¡¯t helping him move any. This thing is going to kill me, and the kid¡­ he¡¯ll be lucky if he just gets eaten.

    The beast lunged at him, only to halt just short of his face. Ichor dripped onto his forehead. It reared up again, emitting an awful, keening shriek, before falling upon him again. Still, no contact.

    Was it toying with him? Joe was filled with rage, even stronger than the fear. Rage and shame and self-loathing. He¡¯d failed. He couldn¡¯t save that poor, fallen woman, and now he was going to let her son die, too¡ª

    The ceiling vanished, leaving the room open to the sky. There was a man. He had stars for eyes and a cloak of night, and he towered over Joe and the worm.

    No, the trucker realized. It wasn¡¯t ¡°a man.¡± The haze of fear and confusion evaporated, and all that was left was him, looking down at himself. The giant seemed to regard his other self with bemusement, but also pity. It was the most aggravating thing in the world.

    ¡°Just do it,¡± said Joe. ¡°Whatever needs to be done, just get it over with.¡±

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    He became an exception in the laws of physics. An edge case in everything. He decided how the world reacted to his presence, and how he reacted to it. It was too much, he was too much. He needed to whittle it down to something he could use.

    Luckily, there was something to work with. It was both new and ancient. It was men in circus leotards smashing cars on boulders. It was angels ripping apart tanks in newsreels. It was Hercules holding up the sky. It was himself, beating back death with his bare fists.

    Joe rose to look the monster in the maw. His feet did not touch the ground.

    ¡°Get out.¡±

    He punched the thing right through the wall. Holding no delusion that would be enough to kill it, he shot out of the room after it. The sensation was exhilarating. He could move in any direction he wanted without the slightest effort. He didn¡¯t move through the world, the world moved around him.

    The thing had come to rest near the toilet bloc, and seemed to be abandoning its formless state for something more defined. Tendrils were knitting together into long, crustacean arms, with which it pulled a small, bronze cylinder out of the centre of its mass. It swung around to look at the incoming human projectile with two bulbous collections of eyes.

    What looked like a miniature sun fired out of the cylinder, momentarily turning night into day. Joe swooped low to dodge it, letting the sphere sink into the earth like its older brother dipping below the sea.

    He tackled the monster to the ground, laying into it with his fists. It hissed and churned beneath him, desperately searching for an arrangement of cells that would let it escape him. It grew mouths to bite him, but their teeth broke on his skin. New orifices spewed something that smelled faintly of sick, and made the grass beneath them sizzle. Barbed tendrils tried wrenching off the new superman to no avail.

    Drunk with newfound might, Joe forgot his fear. How had this mewling, formless lump inspired such terror in him?

    Then it ate him.

    Maybe that wasn¡¯t the right word. It didn¡¯t chew him, and its digestive juices could do nothing to him, but Joe was engulfed by the thing all the same. It was a strange experience, being eaten by something that didn¡¯t really have a mouth. The creature warped, its top and sides expanding around him like some sort of wave. He pulled back his fist with a growl, ready to beat and tear his way free of the thing, and surged forwards. The creature¡¯s extended ends meshed together behind him, and everything was dark. He didn¡¯t care. He started clawing. Then, it was gone. He was under the stars once more. No, among them. There was moisture in the air. He looked around himself, searching for his wayward foe, for the truck, the cabin. Anything. There was nothing to be seen, except steppes of clouds dusted by moonlight. He roared, aimless fury building up in him with nowhere to release.

    Then he felt it. A touch on his mind, a caress from a hand the size of a mountain. It hurt, yet there was no malice there¡ªonly a plaintive fear.  He had never felt anything like it before, but still he recognized it immediately. The child¡¯s cries matched his mother¡¯s, it seemed. He turned towards the horizon, and sped forward through the empty sky.

    ?

    The visitor congratulated itself on thinking to pack the micro-vortex. It might have been in real trouble otherwise.

    What an odd night it was. First, after centuries of glacial pursuit, it¡¯d managed to snare itself a gravid star-goddess¡­ and it let itself be knocked out of the sky by a podunk Gatekeeper. The alien reminded itself to pay this world¡¯s moon a visit if all went well.

    A herd of the planet¡¯s most successful wildlife had been spooked out of their hovels by the noise of their fight. Milk-heavy mothers with their mates and calfs holidaying in the shadow of their world¡¯s latest geopolitical spat; vagabonds hauling foodstuffs and their kind¡¯s latest approximations of technology across the continent; ashamed lovers in search of a safe place to rut.

    They gawked and screamed, and one or two of them even fired primitive projectile weapons at the visitor, stinging it like insect bites. A few poison laden belches and envenomed darts took care of all that

    Peace restored, the visitor took a moment to work out its body again. Much as it valued its species¡¯ hard-won morphological freedom, it liked having something to look at in a mirror.

    An idea occurred.

    It stepped through the broken wall of the cabin. The child was floating above the mattress, hugging his knees with a thumb jammed between his gums.

    Imitating the human nursing instinct even with no eyes on him, the visitor observed. Can¡¯t say this creature isn¡¯t method.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, little one.¡±

    The infant turned towards the source of the voice. The speaker was a tall, queenly featured woman with cornsilk hair and lilac eyes, draped in a red, toothed gown, one eye over her left shoulder lazily watching the room.

    The child so dearly wanted to believe it was her, but even so new he wasn¡¯t that foolish. The woman was too pale, and he could never imagine his mother smiling so cruelly. More importantly, when he touched her mind, it felt like claws being scraped across stone.

    The imposter approached him. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you child. That thing with your mother? An accident, mostly, blame my aim. I just wanted to show you two off to some colleagues of mine. I mean, what do you really have to look forward to here?¡±

    It risked putting its hands around the baby, pulling him close. ¡°Good boy. Now let¡¯s get a move on.¡±

    As the visitor stepped over the bodies it had felled, it pondered the way forward. It considered swallowing the star-god for safekeeping, but decided that wouldn¡¯t be necessary. Not when he was being so cooperative. Then there was getting back to the ship. The visitor could sprout a perfectly serviceable pair of wings if it wanted, but that would require leaving behind a great deal of biomass and knowledge. And it had already been left so ignorant by the crash¡­

    Instead, it headed for where the humans kept their vehicles. It went for one of the larger cargo-haulers, deciding that having a bit of weight to throw around might prove useful on the road. The key was easy enough to bypass, one of its elegant fingers elongating and flattening to replicate its grooves. Luckily, the nervous system it had borrowed from that farmer had some experience with these vehicles.

    ¡°We¡¯re on our way,¡± it said brightly to the child in passenger seat as the engine roared to life.

    They drove for some time. The young star-god wondered what had happened to Joe. Did he still live? If he did, would he ever be able to find him? And if he did, what good would it do?

    He sensed something bright and angry and familiar high above them.

    Joe Bell stared down at his truck as it chased its own headlights. God damn it, he could actually see through it if he squinted hard enough, like his gaze was turning metal into glass. He¡¯d been relieved for a second when he first spotted it, and saw the child¡¯s mother driving. Her resurrection would only be the third most miraculous thing he¡¯d witnessed that night. But then he felt the waves of despair coming off the boy.

    He had to get the kid out of there, but what other tricks did the creature have up its sleeve?

    Focus on the fuel tank, a small, insistent voice told him. It was like his conscience was putting on an accent.

    What good would that do? Joe wondered.

    Just do it.

    Joe frowned at the tank on the underside of the cab. There was a spark, and the black sludge within turned into liquid sunshine. A fraction of a moment later, the truck exploded.

    ¡°Shit-shit-shit-shit-shiiiiit!¡± Bell screamed as he plunged towards the fireball. He ripped the door off the burning cabin, dreading what he¡¯d find inside.

    What he found was the creature slumped smouldering on the wheel. Next to it, the boy sat dressed in ash, embers glowing in his hair, kicking his legs quite happily.

    Joe smiled, reaching into the cabin for the child.

    He almost fell out of the air. Just managing to catch himself, he attempted to reorient. His vision was swimming. He could barely feel the heat of the fire, but he was sweating as if he did. The wounds on his chest were still burning.

    He looked down his blood soaked shirt. The flesh around the cuts was puckered and inflamed, leaking green pus. The veins of his chest looked like they were clogged with soot.

    The baby looked at Joe questioningly.

    He smiled back at him. ¡°Come on, kid. Let¡¯s go find somewhere for you to rest your head.¡±

    ?

    Sarah Allworth was jolted from her dream about Adolf Hitler and the mountain of peeled bananas by the sharp knocking coming from downstairs. She rolled over in bed to try and rouse her husband. She whispered, ¡°Jonah,¡± a shake, ¡°Jonah!¡±

    He groaned, ¡°What is it, sweetheart?¡± still half-convinced he was asking Katharine Hepburn.

    Another round of knocking.

    ¡°That!¡±

    Jonah looked at the alarm clock. In the darkness, he couldn¡¯t make out any numbers, but he could make out words: too bloody early.

    ¡°Why on Earth would anybody be knocking on our door at this kind of hour?¡± his wife asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± he replaced blearily. ¡°Very polite burglars?¡±

    Sarah frowned. ¡°Not funny. We should go down and tell them to clear off.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t that just be giving them what they want?¡±

    More knocking, more demanding this time.

    ¡°Whoever it is clearly aren¡¯t going to let us get any sleep till we do.¡±

    The couple made their way to the threshold. Just in case, Mr. Allworth brought his softball bat. He opened the door.

    A sweat drenched, bloodied young man fell through, but did not hit the ground. Good thing, too. His legs were bent at the most unnatural angles. In his arms was an ashen baby boy.

    ¡°What on¡ª¡±

    The man shoved the baby into Mrs Allworth¡¯s arms. ¡°Please, take him,¡± he panted. ¡°Please-I-I can¡¯t keep going. Flew for hours. Don¡¯t even know what country I¡¯m in¡­ is it night time again?¡± He grabbed Mr Allworth. ¡°If that thing comes here, you light it on fire. It won¡¯t stop moving if you don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    He couldn¡¯t speak anymore. Time broke down for Joe Bell. There was the sensation of being carried, of being in the back of a moving car. The woman, still holding the child, kept asking him his name. As if that mattered.

    A country clinic, lights being flicked on. Needles breaking against his skin. Someone mercifully holding an ether rag under his nose.

    It¡¯s alright. You did your best.

    He had, hadn¡¯t he?

 Chapter Twenty-Three: The Marvellous Reinvention of Allison Kinsey

    ¡°It¡¯s not that different, is it?¡±

    Elsewhere and Myriad lay in the loose hay that carpeted the barn loft, the missing planks in the ceiling striping their faces in light and shadow. They had spent much of their time alone together since their final initiation into the mysteries of the Institute.

    Well, final thus far.

    ¡°My mum was only seventeen when she married Dad,¡± Elsewhere continued. ¡°Wasn''t that long before Drew was born.¡±

    Myriad was surprised Elsewhere had brought up his parents. Since joining the ranks of the abandoned, he had been steadfastly pretending that he was an orphan. ¡°But they were married,¡± she said. ¡°And nearly the same age.¡±

    ¡°Linus and the big girls are the same age,¡± her friend pointed out.

    ¡°Gwydion isn''t.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s what, fourteen? That¡¯s nearly grown up.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡±

    ¡°Well, Lawrence said it was.¡±

    Silence.

    ¡°It¡¯s Metonymy and Artume¡¯s married day this weekend,¡± Myriad said. ¡°Lawrence is going to announce it Friday.¡±

    ¡°Married day¡± was an emerging euphemism at the New Human Institute. It¡¯s what they called the times the older children were paired off to produce offspring.

    ¡°I do wish it hadn¡¯t caught on like it has,¡± Lawrence had confided to her. ¡°Marriage is an artifact of my kind, Myriad. I should hope your race works out more sensible ways of giving order to love.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that?¡± asked Elsewhere.

    Myriad shrugged. ¡°He told me.¡±

    ¡°...Do you think you and me are going to have a married day?¡± Elsewhere asked. ¡°You know, when we¡¯re big?¡±

    Myriad felt queasy. She didn¡¯t know why. It wasn¡¯t as though they were related. And Elsewhere was her friend. Would she rather it be with a boy she didn¡¯t like as much?

    Of course, chances were that was in her future, too. ¡°Yeah. Probably.¡±

    For a little while, the barn made more noise than either child.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Elsewhere.

    ¡°For what?¡±

    ¡°...I don¡¯t know.¡±

    She rolled over closer to the boy, squeezing his hand. ¡°We¡¯re still little. We won¡¯t have to think about that for years if we don¡¯t want.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Myriad got to her feet, making her way to the edge of the loft. ¡°I¡¯m going outside. You coming?¡±

    ¡°Nah.¡±

    For reasons not even Myriad could understand, Elsewhere¡¯s answer came as a relief. With a few notes of Britomart¡¯s song, she leapt to the ground and ventured out into the new New Human Institute.

    In the days since AU¡¯s attack, Lawrence had tried to marshal the students into restoring the Institute¡¯s pastoral character. Their cooperation had been half-hearted at best. Many of the children, as it turned out, preferred the Post-Golden Age<sup>1</a></sup> landscape¡ªwith its all new scars and curiosities. Down by the water gold nuggets were now as common as riverstone; trenches dug by ice and fire were already seeing service as forts and battlements; and of course, AU¡¯s battle dead still held a silent watch. The students had taken to naming them like hedges: Ol¡¯ Scatterclaws, G-Rex, and a whole host of others<sup>2</a></sup>.

    She wandered through a game of tag, Abalone shouting a greeting as he ran past after ¨¥¨­s.

    The destruction had given the children an unspoken licence to make their own alterations, too. Veltha had cut tunnels beneath the school, so that her fellow students could play in her dark underworld. Britomart and Talos had uprooted enough trees to construct a palisade, from which Windshear ruled as a bloody queen. In an unprecedented spate of cooperation, Ex-Nihilo and Growltiger had erected castles of limestone and emerald all throughout the grounds. As the girl watched, Tiresias plummeted from one of their roundels, and had to be carried to the sick-bay, over his woozy protests that he could just walk it off. Everywhere Myriad looked, the world was changing with its children.

    Unlike a lot of young girls, Myriad had never fantasized much about motherhood. Involved too much babies for her taste. However, she had assumed she would one day be a mother. It was just how things went for girls, unless you wanted to be someone¡¯s sad auntie.

    She wondered what having a baby would feel like. Would she be able to hear its song from within her? Once it was born, would she be able to copy it, or the other way around? Would it even have her powers, or one of the many she had dipped her toes in?

    Would it have her eyes, or David¡¯s?

    Not now. Not yet.

    As she walked, she played ?ywie¡¯s song, pushing through the unwelcome memories that came with the ghostly piano chords. She had tried to assume the healer¡¯s powers a few times again since the Quiet Room. Not so much for any actual healing¡ªshe had Maelstrom and Talos¡¯ songs for that¡ª but rather to puzzle out the unease the woman¡¯s abilities inspired in her. It couldn¡¯t just be the piano, could it? Or that note? Surely she wasn¡¯t that big of a wimp? The experiments hadn¡¯t gone well. In truth, she hadn¡¯t managed to hold onto her teacher¡¯s tune for more than a few seconds before losing her nerve. This time, though, she was surprised to find the revulsion wasn¡¯t there.

    Well, if she had the song, why not dance to it?

    ?ywie had been busy. The woman had come up with a plethora of biological refinements, and she had used herself as a testbed for all them. And now, Myriad decided, it was time for her to share.

    Charles Darwin never uttered or put to paper the words ¡°survival of the fittest¡±<sup>3</a></sup>, for the simple reason they aren¡¯t true. Despite what generations of pulp writers might have told people, natural selection does not strive towards any higher plane; it only blindly prunes the inadequate. This is why human beings start to fall apart after less than a hundred years, while somewhere in the ocean drifts a brainless jellyfish older than that entire species.

    If you want a truly exceptional creature, that takes craftsmanship.

    Myriad smiled to herself. The changes she set in motion would take time, unless she wanted to starve to death on her feet. She would have to keep ?ywie¡¯s song playing for days¡ªeven in her sleep¡ªbut after all was said and done, she would be a little less baseline.

    She ate like a horse that evening.

    ?

    Alberto Moretti sung his way softly through Kookaburra Dormitory<sup>4</a></sup>, making the rounds. His ten phantom limbs lay asleep on either side of him, waiting for the psychic to renew his mark on them. As he passed each hammock, he laid a hand on its occupants, his fingerprint seeping into the children¡¯s minds. Their dreams played in his head: wild collages of fear and fantasy, both hazier and more real than the waking world.

    ¡°Fran, mum and dad, Fran, forgot to put on pants to breakfast, known Kadath¡­ Eliza?¡± The esper looked back up the row at Haunt. ¡°Really?¡± Alberto continued his recitation. ¡°Flying Man, spider-house¡ª¡± He stopped, index finger resting on Britomart¡¯s forehead. He looked down at the girl and grinned. ¡°Maelstrom! You kept that well hidden, kid.¡±

    It was an easy evening for the rounds; it was the one night of the week when Artume actually slept. It was a nightmare having to sneak around her all the time, and God knew that this would be a bad week to let things slip. Well, bad for Lawrence at least.

    Long term behavioral modification was a funny old game. When Bertie had first decided he wasn¡¯t above it after all, he had had the psychic take a rather heavy handed approach to things¡ª some of the kids he¡¯d practically turned into little robots. But the thing about the human mind is that if you meddle with too many parts too often, you start to see knock-on effects. Try to make Windshear wash her hands consistently, and you wake up one morning to find the girl crying as she scrubs her skin off.

    He paused again when he reached Maelstrom, snuggled up with Tigger and Mabel.

    Hmm¡­ not tonight.

    Allison was sleeping alone that night. Good idea, Alberto thought. Might as well enjoy it while she could. He pinched a toe.

    He couldn¡¯t get any traction on her. It was like her skin was made of teflon. He focused on the little girl. There was nothing. No dreams, no lights sparking inside her head; nothing. If it weren¡¯t for the steady rise and fall of her chest and the REM twitching of her eyes beneath their lids, the psychic would have thought she was dead. He had never seen such an impenetrable mind since¡ª

    That spill he took on Castle Greystone. That kraut bitch.

    Alberto started hyperventilating. The girl had taken on Eliza¡¯s song again. Why? What possible interest could flesh witchery have for an eight year old girl? Did she remember that morning after Chen came home? Or anything else? If she did, who had she told?

    If Eliza knew, he was done for. If Fran knew, he would wish he was.

    He felt the child¡¯s forehead, hoping he was wrong, hoping he would find even a little purchase on Allison¡¯s mind. Still, he found nothing. If anything, the girl felt feverish, though she seemed quite content.

    It suddenly occurred to Alberto that he couldn¡¯t remember Eliza ever coming down with so much as a cold.

    He ran out of the dormitory, praying to a God he wished he didn¡¯t believe in, a God he knew would never listen to him of all people. He remembered Allison remembering that evil Finnish gypsy¡¯s note. The lines he knew she hadn¡¯t read out for her cohort:

    PS: Beware the one who holds the wires taut.

    For months, Alberto had assumed that was him. Desperate for reassurance, he plunged into the storm of futures, and was relieved by what he saw. The Institute would be finished by Christmas, but he¡¯d seen that coming since New Year¡¯s. More importantly, in all but the most improbable tommorows¡ªnow that the Institute had weathered Chen¡ªhe persisted. The school might die, but the road stretched out long before him.

    Alberto¡¯s pace slowed to a walk as he forced himself to take a few long, grateful breaths. He started heading back towards the farmhouse. He had missed a few kids in his panic, but that didn¡¯t worry him too greatly. Where he slacked off, he had full faith the bullshit Bertie had filled the children¡¯s heads with would make up the difference.

    He would be glad to be rid of this place.

    ?

    Myriad woke up happy that Thursday morning. She¡¯d never been a very loud smiler, but today she was. She actually sung in the showers, which got her a few loofahs lobbed into her stall. As she had done for the last three days, she dug into breakfast like a bear cub on the first day of Spring.

    ¡°You gearing up for a growth spurt?¡± Mrs Gillespie asked. Her tone was bemused, but she was a little concerned. Myriad wouldn''t have have been first of her girls to develop an unhealthy relationship with food after having things explained to her, although the usual tact was to starve themselves.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    Myriad swallowed her mouthful of egg and bacon in one painful looking gulp. She beamed at the teacher, ¡°Nah, that¡¯s not till next year.¡±

    Myriad was not joking. She managed to pocket a knife as everyone got up to head to class, shooting Maelstrom a knowing look that only got confusion in return.

    Tiresias locked himself in his room. Nobody noticed.

    The school day passed for Myriad in a blur of impatience and anticipation as she was passed from teacher to teacher, gophering stationery and textbooks and cups of tea from one end of the house to the other.

    Once, when she was fetching the Institute¡¯s copy of The Mystery of the Cathedrals<sup>5</a></sup> from the library, she dropped ?ywie¡¯s song for Melusine¡¯s. She went icy¡ªjust for a moment, like a photonegative flash¡ªbefore picking up the healer¡¯s tune again.

    She smiled.

    After what felt like a whole school week, Myriad was released from her duties. She ran out into the afternoon sun, following Maelstrom¡¯s song down to the river. A set of green and blue shorts and T-shirt lay neatly folded on the bank. David¡¯s song radiated from the river¡¯s depths like the last orchestra in Atlantis, all glass harmonica and whalebone whistles.

    Myriad took hold of it, then evaporated out of her clothes, her kit falling to the ground with an uncharacteristically weighty thud. She recondensed some ways out above the river, twisted in the air, and dropped into the water with a joyous splash.

    She simply floated at first, unbothered by the chill river currents. Then she kicked downwards, air escaping out of the sides of her mouth in a plume of bubbles as she plunged, mermaid-like, past the point where bright, glassy green gave way to murky marine blue. She could have liquified, become one with the river itself. She had done it before with David, and it was always uniquely freeing, but right now, Myriad wanted to feel the cool, muted gravity of the water; to churn it with her feet and hear its quiet roar in her ears.

    She flew over planes of river weeds, rippling sideways like grass in the wind, punctuated by broken bottles, lost shoes, and drowned toys. A pirate ship in miniature lay half-buried in the silt, its exposed prow long ago given up to moss and rot; fossilisation in reverse. David had shown it to Myriad the first time she had ventured underwater. When Linus and the oldest girls had been small, he told her, they had built the thing over a summer for the sole purpose of sinking it, just so they could say that the river had a sunken ship in it.

    The boy was sitting in the middle of the riverbed. It was deep enough there to drown a careless child, but not so deep you couldn¡¯t see the sun scattering across the surface.

    Myriad gave her friend a small wave as she approached, nervous. They hadn¡¯t really had a chance to talk alone since AU¡¯s attack. It felt different now. David smiled as he caught sight of her, and she settled down next to him, sending up a small, silent explosion of dust and sand. He laced his fingers in hers, and they let the light rain down on them, shattered into yellows and greens, dappling their skin like they were sitting beneath a stained glass ceiling.

    They sat together in companionable silence¡ªnot that they had much of a choice in the matter. Little silvered fish flitted in and out of sight.

    Myriad suddenly found herself hesitating. She didn¡¯t know why. It was good news she had for him. Still, she didn¡¯t want to surface quite yet, to have to crack and scrape her thoughts trying to shove them into words.

    And then there was the all other stuff.

    No. No thinking about weird, confusing things right now. Now was fun time. That was what time with David was meant for.

    Then the idea struck, and she grinned. Why did the best ideas take so long to turn up?

    She gave the boy¡¯s hand a squeeze before letting go, kicking off from the riverbed. David had just enough time to look up questioningly at her, when he saw the pirate ship wrench itself from its unkempt grave, its struggles echoing and burbling through the water. It rose to meet Myriad¡¯s bare feet just as the last of her ice-spun piratical accoutrements crystallized around her. She raised her newly made, translucent sword, and barked silent orders to an imaginary crew.

    David giggled, before melting away like a dream.

    A few fathoms from Myriad¡¯s revenant vessel, a phantasmal clipper manifested, its many sails fanning out like fins and dragonfly wings in the water. The body of the craft was long and thin, almost serpentine in its dimensions, with a suspiciously familiar looking young mermaid as its figurehead.

    Myriad suddenly wished David¡¯s powers came with a tail. She frowned at her own figurehead, the begrudging compromise between a unicorn and a dragon. A growling, boyish tiger grew over it.

    The ghost of a proud Royal Navy captain appeared on the clipper¡¯s deck, resplendent in the memory of his dress uniform. Unlike the pirate queen, this seaman had the loyalty of a full crew of spectral sailors.

    The clipper¡¯s cannons bombarded the diminutive galleon, a dozen tailless comets slamming into its hull, sending wood splinters sinking to the bottom of the river like pine needles.

    Myriad lowered her sword sharply, imagining her grizzled sea-dogs returning fire. Which they did.

    The cannonballs struck their target true, shattering David¡¯s ship like a glass model. Myriad was cheering to herself when she saw the boat mend itself, like time flowing backwards.

    A cannonball struck Myriad¡¯s mast, sending it and her rotting, tattered sail floating off into the green.

    Purely out of habit, she huffed. It was her own fault, she knew. Using a wooden boat for this was like picking black in chess. Down here, David was Jumpcut, Growltiger, Mabel and Elsewhere all in one.

    But then, so was Myriad.

    A pillar of ice grew from her ship¡¯s wound, sprouting a sail that slipped in and out of visibility as the boat cut through the water, ramming into HMAS Triton.

    And so it went. Every blow David inflicted on the NAS<sup>6</a></sup> Anne Bonny, Myriad patched with ice: the ship of Theseus in real time. The old boat died in inches, surrendering to its own ghost.

    And as the ships fought on, they forgot their shape, mutating as they regenerated. They became leviathans and giants, mountains and swords. For one brief, glorious moment, they were a whale and a squid, but neither child took note.

    Eventually, Myriad bored of this distance combat, and swung across to David¡¯s sea-turtle on a glittering rope<sup>7</a></sup>.

    Whatever changes his vessel had undergone, David¡¯s own playing piece still looked the same. The officer and gentleman lunged at the little girl, and a frantic bout of sword-clashing ensued, the two fighters clinging tight to the turtle¡¯s shell as Myriad¡¯s box jellyfish ensnared her in its tentacles.

    Myriad could barely keep apace, small as she was, with the captain¡¯s flurry strikes and parries. She soon gave up on that, letting the blue fade from her eyes and the ice float off her skin, instead reaching for the songs drifting down from the world above. David watched, at first confused, then with an enraptured giggle, as a deep crimson phoenix rocketed from the girl¡¯s hand. Blue tipped wings cast dancing, glimmering shadows all across their submarine battlefield and tinted the gloom with the bright, vibrant orange of fresh flame. The bird let out a soundless screech and streaked over the turtle, a shower of discarded feathers melting through its shell like Greek fire.

    As he picked his way through the remains of the older students¡¯ boat below, David grinned at the sheer novelty of underwater fire. It reminded him of his mother¡¯s stories from the war. He focused his efforts on healing his turtle, deciding to just hold things together until Myriad ran out of air and called upon his power again. Four minutes later, the turtle was gone, and his friend still hadn¡¯t swapped back.

    Myriad saved the captain for last, waiting until the turtle had subsided back into the flow of the river before turning her firebird¡¯s fury on its passenger. David was only half focused, too busy trying to figure out how Myriad was staying under so long without a breath to put up much of a fight, and thus the final battle between bird and swordsman was short lived. The phoenix smote its foe, the beating of its wings blowing the patch of silt where it stood into glass.

    David was applauding when the two of them surfaced. ¡°That was brilliant!¡± he shouted. ¡°You, and the boats, and¡­ and¡­¡± He hugged his friend. ¡°Such a good idea.¡±

    Myriad relaxed. She didn¡¯t know what she had been worried about. David was going to love this.

    The boy let go of her. ¡°You held your breath a long time down there¡­ right? That was a long time for people who aren¡¯t me or Mum?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°Yeah, it was. Hey, got something to show you.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡±

    Myriad grinned as the blue returned to her eyes, and a rogue wave swept them both back towards the shore. Myriad waded excitedly out the water, David and a thin sliver of ice trailing behind her.

    She ran up to her fallen clothes, fishing a piece of scrap paper from one of her short pockets. From where David stood, it appeared to be covered on either side with small, many-coloured shapes, with little notations he couldn¡¯t discern next to each of them. The girl held the paper out like a matador¡¯s muleta, whistled, and the ice-dart zoomed past David¡¯s head, piercing the page and pinning it to a tree.

    David golf clapped. Myriad¡¯s eyes went hazel again. ¡°That wasn''t what I was going to show you.¡± She pulled the knife from her other pocket.

    David threw up his hands, stepping backwards. ¡°Okay, okay! Sorry!¡±

    Myriad realised how she looked, and lowered the knife. ¡°Not for you,¡± she said, still smiling. ¡°Well, sorta.¡± She handed David the knife, before backing away a few paces and putting her hands behind her back. ¡°Throw it at me.¡±

    David dropped the knife. ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°Aww, come on, pretty please?¡± She darted over to her friend, plucking the knife of the ground and forcing it back into his hand in one fluid movement. David barely registered the motion. ¡°You¡¯ll probably miss anyway!¡±

    David¡¯s tone was offended as much it was pained. ¡°And what if I don¡¯t?¡±

    Myriad shrugged. ¡°Then I¡¯ll go icey, or bronze.¡±

    ¡°You might bleed to death before you change!¡±

    She giggled again. ¡°Since when were you so good at throwing knives? And people only die from getting stabbed right away in stories, ¡®less it¡¯s in the brain.¡±

    David fretted with the breakfast knife, scrapping it across his forearms.

    ¡°...You¡¯re not going to hit me in the brain, David.¡± She dug her feet deeper into the dirt, closing her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m gonna stand here till you throw that knife at me.¡±

    They stood in silence for a while, the quiet hiss of the river occasionally drowned out by the shrill cries of birds and children. David shuffled his feet, hoping the world would end right there and then, or that Ophelia would choose that moment to clap. Neither came to pass, not that he would have been able to tell them apart. Every once in a while, Myriad furtively opened an eye to check if her friend was any closer to throwing the bloody knife.

    David screamed, hurling the knife gracelessly at the girl.

    Myriad¡¯s hand whipped in front of her face. She heard David let out a small gasp. She opened her eyes, confirming what the feel of smooth wood against her fingers already told her. She held the knife handle less than an inch from her nose, the blade pointed at her reluctant attacker. She laughed. ¡°It worked!¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯d you learn how to do that?¡± David asked, impressed. ¡°The circus?¡±

    "Nope!¡± She jumped backwards, springing off the tree where she had nailed her scrap of paper and landing on her feet behind David. ¡°Didn''t get that from the circus, either.¡±

    David whistled. ¡°Who then? Was that Brit? Why weren''t you glowing?¡±

    In lieu of an answer, Myriad led the boy by the hand over to the tree, tearing the paper roughly from its spike and handing it eagerly to her friend.

    Much to David¡¯s surprise, being able to read the diversely scribed lines of text next to the shapes only made their meaning less clear. Next to a blue triangle: ¡°pain numbing¡±. A red shield: ¡°heart rate¡±. A diamond split halfway between violet and sky-blue: ¡°hysterical strength¡±

    There were dozens upon dozens of others: ¡°sleepy-time,¡± ¡°stay-awake¡­¡±

    ¡°...Ovulation?¡± David asked, frowning.

    ¡°Girl-bleeding,¡± Myriad explained, unnecessarily. ¡°That¡¯s for later.¡±

    ¡°What is this for, Miri? Are you making up a board game or something?¡±

    The girl bit her lip conspiratorially. ¡°They¡¯re ¡®biofeedback triggers. They¡¯re like¡­¡± If Myriad had been born maybe a decade or two later, the comparison to cheat codes would have been obvious. ¡°It¡¯s like I¡¯ve laid down telephone lines inside me. The pictures, they¡¯re like buttons, but imaginary¡ªbut real, too. They¡¯re like shortcuts. All the stuff your body does without you thinking about it? You¡¯re heart beating, breathing¡­ other stuff? If I think about the right buttons hard enough, I can control those things. You ever hear those stories about mummies lifting cars off their kids? Not supers or anything, just normal people like Lawrence. They can do stuff like that because they¡¯re too scared to care that it¡¯ll break them.¡± She clenched her free hand into a fist and slammed it into the tree, leaving a shallow, splintery indentation in its wood. She quickly went clear and back before David realised how many bones she had broken with that stunt. ¡°I can do stuff like that whenever I want now! And it doesn''t matter because now I heal so much better. Watch!¡±

    Myriad calmly and unhesitatingly cut a gash along her palm. The knife was hardly more than a slightly serrated butter-spreader, so she had to dig a little into her flesh, but she had nothing if not conviction.

    She found herself in David¡¯s arms, the knife pressed uncomfortably between their chests. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he said, his voice choked with revulsion and what Myriad could have sworn was shame. Anger, too, but not at her. ¡°I know it sounds scary, but it¡¯s a long time away¡­ we¡¯ll be good, alright?¡± David hoped they were still wet enough that the tears weren¡¯t obvious.

    Myriad wrapped her arms around him, her blood staining his shoulder blade like okra. ¡°It¡¯s not that, David.¡± She backed out of the hug, the knife falling onto the dry mud, and held out her opened, slashed palm. ¡°Look,¡± she said, ¡°really look.¡±

    David did look. The bleeding had stopped, and although it wasn¡¯t a minute old, the wound was already scabbing over.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be all better in ten minutes¡ªno scar. I mean, I don¡¯t really have scars since I met you, but still.¡± She hugged herself, grinning. ¡°I feel so good, David. It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s like I was covered in mud before and I¡¯ve just gotten out of the bath. Everything¡¯s so clear now, my eyes, my ears, everything. I feel like I could run and run and run for hours and not get tired.¡±

    ¡°That good?¡±

    ¡°Better.¡± She wiggled her toes. ¡°I could grow a tail, you know. Like a real mermaid. Scales are easy.

    ¡°Really?¡±

    She giggled. ¡°Yep. Gills, too. Not that I need them with you around.¡± She stepped in close to David, squeezing his hand. ¡°We could walk back into the river, right now. Just swim until we get to the sea,¡± she whispered. ¡°How have you not been in the ocean?¡±

    That last remark had come in to her mind as a joke, in honesty, but by the time it had reached her mouth, she meant it.

    ¡°We could go find whales. I want to hear their songs. We wouldn¡¯t have to worry about people, or being alone, or married days. It could just be us and the whales.¡±

    For just a moment, David thought he was going to turn around and run into the water. The River Avon would carry him and Allison to Swan River, and then out to sea. He would know saltwater for the first time, and forget the taste of air. Maybe they would find his grandfather, and he would know what it was like to love someone else without it hurting.

    Instead, he asked ¡°How? How did you do all this? Whose power?¡±

    ¡°?ywie,¡± Myriad answered conspiratorially, a glint in her eyes like she was letting slip a friend¡¯s secret crush. ¡°She can do herself!¡±

    ¡°...What?¡± David said, his tone and expression flat.

    ¡°?ywie¡¯s powers work on herself. No clue why she doesn¡¯t tell people. Maybe she doesn¡¯t want everyone bugging her for extra powers, I don¡¯t¡ªwhere are you going?¡± Myriad said as the boy stormed (or maybe gusted) off.

    ¡°All really neat, Miri,¡± David said as he marched back towards the Institute, his voice a little too controlled, even as his song ran discordant. ¡°See you at dinner?¡±

    ¡°...Yeah, sure¡­ I think it¡¯s potato salad tonight.¡±

    ¡°Nice.¡±

    Myriad knew better than to follow. She sat down against the trunk her long-suffering test tree, and wondered what exactly she had told her friend.

 Chapter Twenty-Four: Married Days

    Mabel Henderson sat craned in the gentle shadow of her concealing copse of yarri and honeysuckle, drawing paper, crayons, and colour pencils spread out before her. She was scribbling away intensely, occasionally glancing up from her scratchings to study the grey breasted robin hopping around and spreading its wings photogenically in the dust. Its feathers had a painted sheen to them, and from certain angles appeared almost flat.

    Mabel liked art. She liked looking at it, and she liked putting it to work for her. So when someone (she wanted to say Brit, or maybe Haunt was the culprit<sup>1</a></sup>) had told her how funny it was that she of of all people couldn¡¯t even draw a realistic stick-figure<sup>2</a></sup>, she had taken it to heart. Why should she¡ªPhantasmagoria herself¡ªneed rely on the imagination of others just to work her power?

    And so, she had set herself to the task of learning how to draw, freeing herself from the yoke of artists and illustrators. Then, Mabel reasoned, she would be just shy of God Herself, and¡ªmore importantly¡ªwould open up a whole new world of staging opportunities for the Watercolours.

    However, like a man who sits down and tries to teach himself himself Greek after growing up on The Odyssey, Mabel soon discovered that learning anything often ran counter to actually enjoying it. She couldn¡¯t figure out how the people who did the covers of her pulps gave cityscapes of paint on flat paper such depth, or why her attempts to give her creations cheekbones always ended up looking like facial tumours, or why her birds ended up with far too much anatomy. She¡¯d never realized how clumsy her fingers were.

    Still, her father wouldn¡¯t have given up, so neither would she.

    Mabel had made some noise to Lawrence about hiring an art tutor, but the headmaster had shot down the idea.

    ¡°But why?¡± Mabel had whined. ¡°You bring in all these teachers for Allie¡ª¡±

    Lawrence had given her a look.

    ¡°I mean, you get all these teachers for Myriad.¡±

    A chuckle. ¡°Phantasmagoria, Myriad only needs a single session with an expert to learn everything they have to teach her. I doubt you could manage that feat.¡± He had put a hand on her shoulder then. For a moment, she felt like her dad was talking to her. ¡°If they kept coming back, my dear, they might notice something they wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    With that disappointment under her belt, she then asked Basilisk for help, not that she had expected much technical insight from him. Pen and pencil hardly lasted long enough in his hands for anything like art. Still, the man had a way of making even admissions of ignorance seem insightful; plus, he could order her books.

    Aside from that favour, her teacher did have one bit of practical advice:

    ¡°Draw from life, girl. That¡¯s what everything I¡¯ve ever read about art tells people to do to get good at it.¡±

    It seemed like a good idea to Mabel¡­ at first. The problem she found was that life is often defined by movement. Other children, wallabies, and freshwater penguins alike wouldn¡¯t stay still long enough for her to capture them into wax and oil. Stratogale wouldn¡¯t even make her birds pose for her. It occurred to her that she could have started with trees, buildings, rocks or even the river, but that sounded boring.

    It had all seemed hopeless, but then, an idea occurred to Mabel. She might not have the patience for drawing from life, but surely anyone who managed to get work as a professional artist did. It only followed that any of their work projected onto reality should count as life.

    She started with animals, partly because she had the vague idea that you had to start with naked people, and she couldn¡¯t find any pictures of those she wanted to make real.

    Mabel stood up from her work, studying her drawing. She thought it was an improvement over her previous efforts with the robin, but in her mind, there was only one true test of quality.

    She focused on the pulses beneath her skin. They were always there: skeins of nameless pressure wrapped around her veins. Invisible spheres¡ªthat¡¯s what it felt like, at least¡ªslipped out from under her fingernails. She pushed them down into the drawing, like she was working air bubbles out of an IV line, letting them burst when they sank into the paper.

    Mabel had never quite figured out how to describe the feeling of bringing an image to life. It was breathing into it and pulling it through all at once, like giving a drowning man mouth-to-mouth while hoisting them onto the boat. It always made Mabel feel warm. She liked to think it had something to do with her father. Better that than fire.

    Her robin appeared beside its inspiration, sending it twittering frantically into the branches.

    The bird was deformed, its creator¡¯s attempt at perspective having cursed it with one wing much shorter than the other, and two supernumerary talons on its left foot. It turned its head in profile to look at its creator, a plea for oblivion in both black eyes.

    Mabel tore up her drawing, blinking back tears of frustration, angry grawlixes flashing above her head. That was the other reason she hadn¡¯t started with human subjects. At least animals didn¡¯t yell at her when she got them wrong.

    Even then, it was a small comfort. There was a unique frustration to Mabel¡¯s workaround. A real bird was careless in its perfection; a fine drawing was proof that someone, somewhere was much better at art than her.

    ¡°Whatcha doing, Phantasma?¡±

    Mabel turned to find Myriad standing behind her, clothes over her shoulder, the blue in her eyes and water-darkened hair tell-tale signs of an adventure with David. She looked away sharply. It wasn¡¯t the first time Mabel had seen the other girl in such a state, but context is everything. ¡°Allie, your clothes?¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry.¡± There was a low hiss, followed immediately by a thunderclap. When Mabel looked back, the other girl was dry and dressed, her hair damp and frizzy. She repeated her question. ¡°So, what were you doing?¡¯

    Some powers make people so lazy. ¡°Nothing much, just drawing practise.¡±

    Myriad smiled. ¡°So you can make whatever you want? Neat¡­¡± She looked around at nothing in particular, before blurting out ¡°¡­Did David walk through here?¡± She knew he had, of course, but it was what you asked.

    David had indeed passed Mabel, tears frozen to his cheeks even as steam rose off his skin. That wasn¡¯t a new sight for his friend. What had been new was how he hadn¡¯t answered her when she asked what was wrong. David had never hesitated to share his many hurts with the girl before.

    At least, not till lately.

    Mabel nodded. ¡°Yeah. Didn¡¯t say anything, though.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± She sat down beside Mabel¡¯s pile of rejected drawings; the ones that had only offended her enough to be crumpled, instead of shredded. She smoothed one of the paper carcasses flat again. ¡°This one¡¯s pretty good,¡± she lied kindly.

    Mabel sat down beside her, trying to make it look like she believed the compliment. ¡°Thanks. Were you and David in the river?¡±

    Myriad¡¯s face brightened. ¡°Yep! We had a pirate battle! Then we turned the boats into the monsters!¡± She giggled. ¡°I melted his turtle. Underwater.¡±

    Lately, it had dawned on Mabel that there were really two kinds of supers in the world. There were the ones like herself, or Arn, or even Billy: simple doers of extra-things. Special, maybe, but in the same way Elvis Presley or Anne Bancroft were special.

    Then there were supers like the Barthes, and maybe the Flying Man. The ones who lived differently from everyone else. The ones who got to do things lesser supers like her never would. The ones who didn¡¯t need to be scared of the things she was.

    ¡°Uh huh.¡±

    ¡°Maelstrom ever take you under the water?¡±

    Mabel shook her head. ¡°He tried once, in a bubble. I almost drowned.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Until now, it had been.

    ¡°Mabel?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve known about the married days a while, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Since when?¡±

    ¡°Since I asked ?ywie why the big girls were getting so fat.¡±

    At least you weren¡¯t too wrapped up in yourself to notice, a low, bitter voice in the back of Mabel¡¯s head whispered.

    Myriad frowned. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us?¡±

    Mabel suddenly felt very hot. ¡°I-I thought about it. It¡¯s just¡ªI like you guys. I didn¡¯t want you to get freaked out. Does Billy even know where babies come from?¡±

    Myriad shook her head.

    Mabel let out a half-laugh. ¡°You¡¯re the one explaining that to him, not me.¡±

    ¡°¡­It feels weird, don¡¯t you think?¡± Myriad asked. ¡°Just¡­ knowing that¡¯s¡­ gonna happen, someday.¡±

    ¡°I guess so,¡± Mabel replied. ¡°But is it that different from out there? Only weirdos don¡¯t have kids when they grow up.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence doesn¡¯t have any kids.¡±

    ¡°Not that we know about.¡±

    Myriad giggled. ¡°He has us.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t seem to see the humour. ¡°He didn¡¯t have to make us.¡±

    ¡°¡­Do you think it hurts?¡±

    Mabel remembered the blood pooled between her mother¡¯s legs. ¡°¡­Your power has weird gaps, Allie.¡±

    ¡°Not that. The part that comes before.¡±

    Mabel gave her a disgusted look. ¡°Eww. I don¡¯t wanna think about that!¡±

    Myriad sighed. ¡°Well, me neither. But it¡¯s still there, isn¡¯t it? It¡¯s still gon-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m learning to draw!¡± Mabel overrode her loudly, almost angrily. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing today. I¡¯m learning to draw so I can make my powers better and so that I don¡¯t have to think about the gross, stupid grown up stuff we¡¯re gonna have to do when we¡¯re big! No! It¡¯s not good. No, it¡¯s not fair! It stinks! But it¡¯s gonna happen, so stop making people miserable by bringing it up, stupid!¡±

    Myriad opened her mouth, then closed it again. There wasn¡¯t anything to say to that. It wasn¡¯t as if she could say Mabel was thinking about it wrong, but there was something about the timbre of her song in that moment, something very sad.

    ¡°Is there other stuff that¡¯s¡­ just too sad for you to think about?¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t answer that. Not with words, at least. Myriad didn¡¯t even see the slap coming. All she knew was that a few moments later her cheeks were smarting, and Mabel was stomping off back to the Institute.

    ?

    Haunt lazily flicked shillings through the east wall of the barn, peering through the solid timber as they landed in the hay. He had picked up the habit in the hope of either refining his power, or maybe just pinging one of the Watercolours in the side of the head. He¡¯d stopped doing it while they were inside after a long lesson from ?ywie on the physiological effects of a coin lodged in the brain, but it was still a good way to a warm, floating boredom.

    ¡°You really should give these a try,¡± Growltiger said from the patch of clover he was lying in, a thin hardback covering his face.

    ¡°Read what?¡± asked Haunt, as if he didn¡¯t already know.

    Billy missed the sarcasm. ¡°The Famous Five!¡± He jumped to his feet, pausing only to gently place his book on the ground like it was his own newborn child. ¡°They¡¯re great! They go on adventures and solve mysteries, and-¡±

    ¡°And eat scones,¡± Haunt interjected, deadpan. ¡°And frolic, and play around for ever and ever in a world where even the poor people are happy and the baddies never do more than tie them up.¡±

    ¡°Well, what¡¯s wrong with that?¡± Billy asked, sounding a little defensive.

    ¡°Tiger,¡± Haunt sighed. ¡°Remember how we were attacked by a supervillain? Think he would¡¯ve just tied us up?¡±

    Growltiger thought on this for a moment, before: ¡°¡­ Yes,¡± he said finally. ¡°Yes, I think he¡¯d only have tied us up. Didn¡¯t you think it was kinda weird how none of us got really hurt? We were fighting a supervillain.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± Haunt groaned. ¡°My point is, they¡¯re silly. They¡¯re kid books, and that¡¯s fine, because you¡¯re a kid. But they aren¡¯t like real life.¡±

    There was silence between them for a long while after that.

    ¡°¡­ And what¡¯s wrong with that?¡± Billy asked, his voice shaky. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with wanting to read about a world where everything¡¯s nice and safe and okay?¡±

    ¡°¡­. Fine. Name one book, and I¡¯ll read it, even though it¡¯s gonna be crap.¡± Haunt finally deigned to look around at the other boy, waiting for him to give his single, stupid book recommendation.

    Growltiger grinned, picking up his book off the grass. ¡°That one! Five Go Off in a Caravan!¡± He handed it to Haunt. ¡°It has circuses!¡±

    Haunt looked down at the book¡¯s bright, delicately etched cover, before making, a show of flicking to a random page. ¡°You have to admit these books are corny, Growly. All that food! No wonder they¡¯re always going on bloody adventures, otherwise they¡¯d crush their bikes under them.¡±

    Billy looked dejected. ¡°Mabel likes them.¡±

    Haunt groaned. ¡°Why does it matter so much that I like this stuff? You read what you like¡ªI don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Can I ask you something?¡± Billy was staring at the ground, his lower lip trembling slightly.

    Haunt sighed, bracing himself. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°How¡ª¡± Billy swallowed. ¡°When the other kids say things about you being¡­¡±

    ¡°A boong?¡± Haunt offered.

    ¡°Y-yeah,¡± the boy opened his mouth to elaborate, then closed it again. He did this twice.

    ¡°What?¡± Haunt asked with suppressed irritation.

    ¡°¡­ Why does being different hurt?¡± The boy mumbled, breathing in a short, sharp breath through his nose that Haunt recognized all too well as a sniffle. ¡°I thought the others would stop once I got my name, but they keep doing it! Even the ones who let me play with them call me stuff all the time.¡±

    Haunt rolled his eyes, reaching down between his feet to toy with a stray root. ¡°It just does, Bill. Always has, always will.¡±

    ¡°Is there anything we can do?¡±

    Haunt sat him down. ¡°Look, when someone acts like a dickhead at you, you don¡¯t let them think it bothers you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t!¡± Billy cried. ¡°I laugh at all their jokes, and that just makes them make more!¡±

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    ¡°No,¡± set Haunt. ¡°You don¡¯t laugh with them. That¡¯s more obvious than crying. You have to make them think it doesn¡¯t bother you at all. Then you throw something back at them.¡±

    ¡°Like a rock?¡±

    ¡°No, not like¡ªjokes, Tiger! Mean as you can make them. You remember when Abalone saw you coming out of the toilets?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± Billy answered, wondering where the older boy was going with this. ¡°He said I was supposed to use the litter-box.¡±

    ¡°Little shit,¡± Haunt said, with no particular venom. There was something Billy found thrilling about the other boy¡¯s swearing. ¡°Right, next time he says something stupid like that, you say something about him pissing the bed.¡±

    ¡°¡­Why?¡±

    ¡°Because he does.¡±

    ¡°No, I mean, why do I need to be nasty back?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯ll never leave you alone if they think you¡¯re soft.¡±

    Billy thought about this. ¡°But they still make jokes about you. And Basil sometimes, too. And Mealy¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mealy is his own thing, Bill. And I didn¡¯t say they would stop, because they won¡¯t. Not forever. Sometimes, maybe, after a long time, they might forget you¡¯re different long enough to let you be their friend.¡±

    Growltiger collapsed back onto the grass, eyes cast down between his knees. ¡°Is that really the best we get?¡±

    ¡°Fraid so, mate.¡±

    ¡°What are we talking about?¡± Myriad said, her wireframe form floating up from the earth like a spirit from Hades.

    Haunt startled, jumping backwards. ¡°Jesus¡ªis that what it¡¯s like on the other side of that?¡±

    Billy giggled. ¡°Yup.¡±

    The pair watched as the girl¡¯s features were sketched in. She tried to smile. ¡°Guess so. Um, you two seen Maelstrom or Phantasma?¡±

    Haunt frowned thoughtfully, finding his composure again. ¡°Well, it¡¯s been a couple years, so I figure I¡¯ve seen those two a few times, yeah.¡±

    Billy laughed as Myriad rolled her eyes. ¡°I saw Mealy pacing around the garden,¡± he chimed in. ¡°He was muttering a lot, and a bunch of the pumpkins exploded.¡± Earnestly, he added ¡°Someone should remind him about pants.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Phantasma since breakfast,¡± said Haunt. ¡°I did see a dragon skulking around the bush ¡®bout an hour ago¡ªa very ugly dragon.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s learning how to draw,¡± explained Myriad. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean.¡±

    Haunt hummed, whether in agreement or not Myriad couldn¡¯t tell.

    She tapped her foot a few times. ¡°Ah, Haunt.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re eleven, right?¡±

    Haunt shrugged. ¡°Last time I checked. ?ywie says I don¡¯t get any older while I¡¯m a ghost, so maybe knock a month or two off. Why?¡±

    Myriad whistled slightly. ¡°So, it can¡¯t be long before your first married day?¡±

    The boy¡¯s lip twitched. ¡°That¡¯s still years away, Miri.¡± He was actually making eye contact with her.

    ¡°Not that many,¡± she replied. ¡°Two or three, maybe.¡±

    Haunt reminded himself that two or three years ago, Myriad was in kindergarten. ¡°Why are you asking about married days anyway?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯s weird to think about, you know?¡± Her words started to run together. ¡°And Mabel said it wasn¡¯t fair and that it stinks and stuff and¡ª¡±

    Haunt threw a hand up, silently cursing God for making little kids. ¡°I get it, I get it. What exactly do you want me to tell ya, Miri?¡±

    Myriad lowered her head. ¡°That it¡¯s worth it? That it¡¯s not that weird? And if it is, what do we do about it?¡±

    Haunt patted the ground beside him. ¡°Come sit down, Miri.¡±

    ¡°¡­I can stand.¡±

    Haunt grinned. It never suited him. ¡°Aww, come on, you need to be comfortable for this.¡±

    ¡°She¡ªMiri should stand if she wants to.¡±

    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be silly, Bill. This is a historic moment. We¡¯re gonna teach Myriad a lesson.¡±

    Myriad was starting to see why Haunt had wanted to be part of The Tempest. With some trepidation, she sat down beside the boys.

    Haunt leaned forward, his hands folded. ¡°Hey, Miri, mind telling us what year Captain Cook landed at my great¨Cgreat-whatever granddad¡¯s back garden?¡±

    ¡°1770.¡±

    ¡°Nice, round number, innit? Can ya tell Billy here where the famous Tom Long lived before he came to the Institute?¡±

    ¡°¡­That Talos?¡±

    Haunt¡¯s bluster popped like a balloon. ¡°Well, I guess we know what your power thinks isn¡¯t worth knowing, huh.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sorry¡­ Tom?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Myriad,¡± Tom said. He sounded like he meant it. ¡°Wandering, by the way. Wandering Mission. And no, that ain¡¯t a containment centre. Not for demis, at least.¡±

    A few disparate facts came together in Myriad¡¯s head. ¡°That¡¯s one of the places they send half-caste kids, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Haunt nodded. ¡°Yep. To be honest, the freak-finders aren¡¯t a new thing. They just started going after white kids sometimes.¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with married days?¡±

    Tom tried not to let himself get angry at the girl. Edward Taylor knew what he was like when he got mad. ¡°What I¡¯m saying, Miri, is that I got taken off my parents and put in some awful kid-jail, just like you did.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d they do that?¡± Billy asked. ¡°Couldn¡¯t they look after you?¡±

    At least that distracted Tom from Myriad. He sighed. ¡°Nah, Billy, they could. Dad was a¡±¡ªit was only then that Haunt realized he couldn¡¯t name his father¡¯s profession¡ª¡°boilerman.¡± That seemed like a plausible enough guess. It would explain the old fella¡¯s overalls. ¡°Never that much money around the house, but me and my brothers and sisters never starved or anything.¡±

    ¡°So why¡¯d they take you?¡±

    ¡°Oh, lots of reasons. Not the nicest place, Wandering. The Christian Brothers weren¡¯t very big on things likes maths, but they¡¯d flog ya good if you didn¡¯t act white enough. I mean, I was lucky, sort of. Dad was pretty Anglo, really, but some kids I knew there could barely English! And if you were a girl¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°No, not very nice. Do you two want to know what the secret of the world is? Grown ups, especially poms like Lawrence¡ª¡±

    ¡°Lawrence is Australian,¡± Myriad pointed out.

    ¡°Yeah, but he wishes he was a pom.¡± Although, maybe an Aussie trying to be a Brit is better than a bunch of Brits coming over and saying they¡¯re the real Aussies. ¡°Point is, they always want something from you, or want to change you, or who knows what else. And you know what? As far as grown ups-in-charge go, Lawrence isn¡¯t that bad. Yeah, he¡¯s a weirdo who wants us to give him babies, but his tucker¡¯s good, the company¡¯s alright, and at least he likes us. More than I can say for the Christian Brothers. I mean, no one takes us away to do stuff to at night and sometimes we go months without anyone getting thrashed.¡± He stretched out in the grass, eyes closed like he was one moment of quiet away from a long, summer nap. ¡°Way I see it, that ain¡¯t a bad deal for a bit of lying back and thinking of Kuranda.¡±

    Myriad looked at him. Even with his eyes shut, Haunt could tell his summation of the situation hadn¡¯t satisfied her. That was the nice thing about X-ray vision. ¡°That¡¯s how you get through life, childlers,¡± he said. ¡°You hitch yourself to the least awful bossman you can find, and hope he doesn¡¯t bother you too much till you die.¡±

    ¡°That really what you think?¡± asked Myriad. ¡°About the married days and all?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think about them that much,¡± Haunt lied. ¡°Why don¡¯t you go bug one of the big girls about it? They¡¯re the ones dealing with this crap.¡±

    ¡°Fine, I will.¡±

    As the girl huffed off towards the farmhouse, Haunt¡¯s mind wandered down an old but ill-loved path. It was overgrown with thorns that bit at his ankles, but steep enough that the only way he could avoid tumbling head over heel was to keep walking.

    Lawrence often said that, one day, every child alive would be posthuman. His predictions about such a world were close to open fantasy:

    ¡°Imagine it, children,¡± he had begged them one pitiless winter night, when the whole Institute (much smaller then) had taken their supper clustered around the parlour fire. ¡°Everyone with a purpose, something they are uniquely born to. Generations of doctors like our ?ywie, mending flesh with a touch; children like little Maelstrom pulling forests out from under the Sahara.¡±

    ?ywie and Maelstrom both shrank into the corner of their shared couch¡ª?ywie perhaps because of her barrenness, and Maelstrom because that was just his way.

    ¡°Um, Laurie,¡± Britomart, not even six then, had interrupted. ¡°What happens if one of the doctor kids want to be a firefighter?¡±

    It was a good question, Haunt had thought, but there was another that dug at him. Lawrence never talked about the world between the one they lived in and the one he dreamed of. The one where supers ruled, but their predecessors were not yet a memory.

    Tom could imagine it. The few, dwindling naturals¡ªif that word still even made sense¡ªherded onto the poorest country, the lands the supermen could find no better use for. For their own good, of course. Far kinder than forcing them to navigate a world that had no use for them. Maybe, in their kindness, the supermen would leave them labour they couldn¡¯t bother themselves with. And when a lucky child among them manifested powers, they would of course be taken to be raised with their own kind. They would forget their parents soon enough; better a moment of grief than a life wasted among a dying race.

    The consistency of history was almost a comfort to Thomas Long¡ªhe didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d do if things actually improved.

    ¡°Tom?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Bill?¡±

    ¡°Who do you think I¡¯ll have a married day with?¡±

    ¡°¡­Dunno, mate.¡± Awful choice of words. ¡°Maybe Brit?¡±

    He didn¡¯t know who was served worse by that lie.

    ?

    Ex-Nihilo lay on a bed of spider-silk, woven between the branches of the tallest trees she could find, a glass staircase spiraling around one of its trunks. It had taken her a while to figure out how to coax her protoplasm into adopting its substance, but like most everything else, it was still just a few chemicals in a line. She had fretted about huntsmen or even redbacks and funnel-webs smelling out the hammock and claiming it as a squat, but so far none had come. Maybe they knew a knock-off when they saw it.

    Hanging the thing up was more of a chore, but Gwydion had provided Ex-Nihilo one of his weird platforms. That boy had been doing everything in his power to please her and her sisters, ever since his first married day, and every kindness made them hate him a little more.

    Still, it was a rare escape from the frantic joy of younger children, and slight relief from the first blows of summer. Ex-Nihilo had never much enjoyed the warm months, and the child inside her seemed to agree. It was like it was sweating inside her. She was a great, bloated whale, struggling through a syrupy, kettle-hot sea.

    ¡°Ex?¡±

    The voice came from below her: high pitched, but slightly husky, too. Ex-Nihilo always thought it sounded like it was recovering from a coughing jag. ¡°Myriad?¡±

    The little girl¡¯s voice was laced with wonder. ¡°Is that you up there?¡±

    ¡°Who else would it be?¡±

    ¡°¡­Shelob?¡±

    Myriad almost felt the teenage scowl wafting down from above her. ¡°Ha. Ha.¡±

    ¡°Was only joking. Do ya mind if I come up and take a look?¡±

    Ah, so this was it, Lana thought. The small ones had found her refuge already. Soon enough the hordes would be using it as a trampoline, or worse. Probably break their necks doing it, and then who would they blame? But if she told Myriad to buzz off, then no doubt she¡¯d go and whine to Basil, or Laurie, and then she¡¯d get told off for not behaving in the proper sisterly spirit.

    ¡°We all have a role to play in shaping the children, Ex-Nihilo,¡± Lawrence would say.

    And some of us got double-cast. ¡°Sure, I guess.¡±

    She heard a thump, and the leaves above her rattled. A moment later, she saw Myriad scuttling up one of the anchor trees, her back against the bark, facing forward. She grinned, clearly proud of herself.

    Lana couldn¡¯t help but be impressed, but she also couldn¡¯t help but feel unsettled by the sight. The child looked¡­ insectile. Then again, surely insects would rather be able to see their legs when they climbed? ¡°¡­There were stairs, you know.¡±

    ¡°More fun this way.¡± She launched herself from the tree trunk, landing beside Ex-Nihilo and sending the hammock swaying in the air for a few shuddering seconds.

    The older girl gripped the silk tight. She found herself thinking back to the dead mother from The Secret Garden. At least with ?ywie around, the kid wouldn¡¯t be a hunchback<sup>3</a></sup>. Thankfully, as her perhaps too cursory research had suggested it would, the cloth held true. ¡°Jesus, Miri.¡±

    Myriad stretched out, looking up through the leafy canopy to the blue, unblemished sky above. She thought it was like what a crowded marina would look like from underwater, each leaf drifting around like the shadows of boats at anchor. ¡°How long until your baby comes?¡±

    Ex-Nihilo shrugged. ¡°Couple of months.¡±

    Myriad stared at the older girl¡¯s belly. All that, from a couple of cells. An entire life¡ªfrom beginning to end¡ªfrom just that lump of flesh. ¡°What¡¯s it feel like?¡±

    Ex-Nihilo looked at the little girl. If she had known in advance what Myriad was going to ask, she probably would have called her a mongrel and thrown her off the hammock, without a care whether or not she found a song or whatever that might cushion the impact. But as it was, all she saw was her own past: a gap on the canvas where the old image hadn¡¯t quite been painted over yet. Herself, back when she and her sisters¡¯ biggest concern was whether they¡¯d go swimming that day; herself, back when Linus might as well have been a strangely shaped girl. Herself, back when she had wondered what Melusine¡¯s baby would look like. Before the joy of curiosity had been ruined by the answer.

    ¡°They say it changes everything, sex,¡± Lana said. ¡°As soon as they tell us what it even is, it¡¯s all about how special it is, and how having it too early or too late or with the wrong bloke will ruin everything. But it didn¡¯t change me.¡± She figured if there was any child she could be frank with, it was Myriad. ¡°I mean, it was weird and sticky, and I¡¯ve had a better time with my own fingers, but I didn¡¯t feel anymore grown up or dirty or anything, least once I had a shower. And Linus was good about it.¡±

    Better than Gwydion, at least. That awful, nervous mix of fear and shame and excitement. And he was so small.

    ¡°So it¡¯s not so bad?¡±

    Lana didn¡¯t answer immediately. ¡°What does change you? Being a mother. I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re ¡®mums¡¯, but we are mothers. You spend nearly a year with this kid growing inside you. There¡¯s this heat. You feel it all the time, even when you¡¯re asleep, really. ?ywie told me once that having a baby changed the way your DNA worked a little, and I believe her. And even once it¡¯s out, the kid¡¯s still part you. Just this little piece of yourself that you¡¯ll never get back, that¡¯ll be walking around doing things even after you¡¯re dead. And you hope it will be, because you love it. Babies are like drugs, Myriad. Every chemical in your body forces you to love them. It was weeks before I could even look at Spitfire without getting my blouse wet with milk.¡±

    Myriad squirmed a little. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound¡ª¡±

    ¡°And you can hate them, too, right along with the love.¡±

    ¡°¡­Why?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re how they keep us where they want us.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Men? God? Just Lawrence? I don¡¯t know. But I can¡¯t leave Spitfire, and nobody out there¡¯s going to want to take in some little slut with weird powers and a baby that starts fires when he sneezes, so I guess I¡¯m stuck here until him and the kid inside me are all grown up!¡±

    Myriad had no response to that, except to take hold of Lana Firrens¡¯ hand. It was shaking.

    The two children stayed up there for quite some time.

    ?

    Alberto crouched under the obstacle course¡¯s metal slide, sand and the rubber of his thongs rubbing his feet raw, his daughter clinging happily to his side. He would have put an arm under her, but she seemed content levitating. The baby looked up at her father with large, sloe-blown eyes, crying ¡°Gah!¡± before burying her face in his shirt.

    The psychic smiled. He had to admit, even when she wasn¡¯t blasting all nine of his senses, there was something about Ophelia¡¯s presence that pleased him. Maybe it was just the brainwashing chemicals that prevented cavemen from clubbing the shrieking little shits that ate all their food to death, but he was glad she¡­ glad she was, he supposed.

    Shame this wasn¡¯t a pleasure walk.

    Allison had let go of Eliza¡¯s song, the lights of her thoughts popping back into Alberto¡¯s view the moment she had done so, dancing on the edge of his vision like afterimages. This was good. Now he had an idea of where she was and what she was thinking, and it didn¡¯t seem like he was on her thoughts much.

    On the other hand, now the girl had gone and turned herself into what he was sure Eliza¡¯s old masters would have called the ubermensch, and he still had no hold on the girl¡¯s mind. If she took on the witch¡¯s powers again, who knew when he¡¯d get another chance to sink his hooks in? And what might she find out in the meantime?

    Still, he had plans. Two, to be exact. Plan one was to try and touch Allison before she decided to tweak her immune system to eat colds better or something. If he didn¡¯t get to her in time for that, plan two was to have Ophelia clap, hope it made her let go of the song, and hope he himself recovered his wits before she did.

    God, he hoped she was content with her biology.

    Near as he could tell, she had spent the last hour and a bit playing and commiserating with Ex-Nihilo, blowing bubbles in the air that dried into gold and silver. It was all very sweet, he was sure.

    He watched as the two girls stepped out from the treeline, like witches returning from a sabbat. The younger child hugged the older, trying her best to avoid the baby-bump, before they went off their separate ways.

    Good, that should make things easier.

    Once he was certain Myriad was out of sight of Ex-Nihilo, Alberto started walking towards the girl, his daughter floating in tow. There was no way she didn¡¯t know they were there, but he hoped she would just assume he was sleeping off some of the Lamb¡¯s Blood he kept for especially dreary afternoons. ¡°Brainiac!¡± he called out, in his own non-branded form of cheerfulness.

    The girl turned to look at the man. ¡°Tiresias?¡± She spotted the flying baby. ¡°Ophelia?¡±

    The toddler laughed with her father. ¡°How¡¯d you guess? So, I hear you¡¯ve been going around asking questions about the married days.¡±

    Myriad kicked up some dirt, muttering ¡°Yeah. I just want it to make sense. To sound okay.¡±

    Tiresias looked thoughtful. ¡°Hmm. Who¡¯ve you asked so far?¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Myriad wasn¡¯t sure how seriously Tiresias took the names, so she erred on the side of Lawrence, ¡°Phantasmagoria, Ex-Nihilo, and Haunt. Growltiger was there, too, but I wasn¡¯t really asking him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a good cross-section, I suppose. Would you like a father¡¯s perspective on the whole business?¡±

    Myriad nodded. ¡°That would be good.¡±

    ¡°My advice? Stop stirring up shit, Allison.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    Tiresias threw his arms up like he was holding up the sky. ¡°Girl, did you think all this was free? That Mad Laurie pulled all you children out of the shitholes they had you in because he was just so bloody nice? That he feeds and clothes you and tolerates your endless fuckin¡¯ dramas out of the kindness of his heart?¡±

    ¡°Ye-yes,¡± Myriad stuttered. ¡°He said so.¡±

    A long, hoarse cackle, dangerously close to turning into a hiccup, cross-harmonized with an uncomprehending, joyous giggle. ¡°Remember what Haunt told you, Allison? About grownups always wanting something from you?¡±

    ¡°How did you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be slow, I know everything that goes on here. And he was being too kind. Nobody does anything if they aren¡¯t going to get anything out of it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true!¡± Myriad protested. ¡°People donate to charities and stuff.¡±

    Tiresias smiled, coldly. ¡°Charity is tax-deductible, dear. And all the worst millionaires and robber-barons give money to the poor, or build them schools and hospitals. Makes them feel better at night about being most of the reason they have so little to begin with. More importantly, it helps other people forget that, too. ¡±

    Myriad still looked dubious. ¡°What does Lawrence get out of us?¡±

    He laughed again. ¡°Why, that¡¯s an easy one!¡± He grabbed Ophelia, spinning the child much to her delight. ¡°Babies, love!¡± He let go of his daughter, letting her bob in the air like it was water, before gesturing to the empty air next to him. ¡°Stratogale! Physical wonder!¡± He pointed at himself. ¡°Tiresias! Mental marvel!¡± The psychic wagged Ophelia¡¯s cheek fondly. ¡°He¡¯s like a little kid, isn¡¯t he? Bashing blocks together to see what happens!¡±

    His audience grimaced.

    Tiresias frowned. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t look at me like that. You think I wanted to screw Sadie? She¡¯s a kid! And there¡¯s a perfectly good woman around¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­Wait, you and Melusine¡­¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°We were young. And bored. Still are, sometimes. But me and Stratogale? No joy in it. Just biology and friction.¡± Alberto saw an opportunity. ¡°I don¡¯t see why there even needs to be sex. You¡¯d think Eliza could just turn whatever cells inside you she liked into seed¡±¡ªa smile¡ª¡°a whole school of Madonnas.¡±

    ¡°I guess¡­¡±

    ¡°Me? I reckon Lawrence prefers it physical. I¡¯m sure he thinks it promotes communal bonds or something, but the old man would¡¯ve been brought up on that Greek myth crap, Zeus laying with Leda and all that<sup>4</a></sup>. The man half-thinks we¡¯re gods, why not have us act like it?¡±

    ¡°But-but is it right?¡±

    The man sighed. ¡°Look, married days are crap, if you let yourself think about them that way, but they¡¯re what needs to happen for that old pervert to get his wonder-babies. And that¡¯s why he keeps you here. Why he keeps all of us. That¡¯s why you¡¯re allowed to play with your little puddle of a friend, and go to class, and not be scared, lonely and bored every minute of every day. Yeah, it¡¯s disgusting, and Tim Valour would burn this place to the ground and salt the earth if he ever found out what was going on here. We¡¯re all studs and broodmares, but that¡¯s a small price to pay for what we¡¯re getting. The old man¡¯s a creep, but he¡¯s given you a shred of your life back.¡± Before Myriad could react (which was saying something, after her personal renovations)  Tiresias was whispering in her ear. ¡°So stop being so fucking precocious and asking questions that piss everyone off.¡±

    Alberto straightened, beckoning Ophelia to him. ¡°You¡¯re eight years old, Allie. Just enjoy being hairless and only bleeding when someone pricks you as long as you can.¡±

    As he walked away, the telepath felt the summer heat on the little girl¡¯s face, and the grass beneath her bare feet, while her apprehension and disgust washed over him like floodwaters over parched, cracked ground.

    Just for fun, he flexed her fingers. It was a small thing, nothing she wouldn¡¯t have done herself, but it still filled him with relief.

    He was safe.

    He had to say, it felt good being Allison, at least physically. Maybe, someday, he¡¯d finagle a way of getting her to give him a tune up, too.

    He felt other things, too. Like the rage and betrayal that bubbled and flowed from David into Eliza¡¯s twisted plants, till they burst from it. Maybe he had that boy wrong.

    And as for the Eliza¡¯s little secret, now, at last, he had leverage.

 Chapter Twenty-Five: The Night Watch

    It was the heat that woke Bran Davies his first night at the Institute. His mouth was dry, but his bed clothes were soaked with sweat. Less than six months earlier, when his family had first clambered off the Fairsky at Newcastle, the heat had been its own thrill. It was like all the Welsh summers he¡¯d lived through in Dolgellau had been poorly staged recreations of the ones they put on down here.

    Now, though, he was getting sick of it. It was supposed to get cold at night, damn it. Why else would they have invented blankets?

    Bran reached for the already drained glass on his bedside table. Dipping his fingertip into the thin skin of water still coating the bottom, he stirred up its past, feeling the cool wet rise over his knuckle.

    The boy gulped down the new-old water greedily. He needed air¡ªand to get rid of the first glass of water. He glanced around Wallaby dormitory. Nobody else seemed to be awake, and the only sounds were gentle breathing, the conversation of crickets, and the water-witch¡¯s son¡¯s quiet whimpers. For everyone else, the nightmares Bran had been warned of had either passed or not yet come. To his relief, moonlight had bleached the darkness from the dorm like a painting left in the sun. He had never coped well in the dark.

    When he wrenched himself from his hammock, Bran realized he wasn¡¯t the only child out of bed. One of the hammocks was empty, and the door was ajar. He hoped this meant they had license to wander after bedtime. None of the teachers had said they didn¡¯t. But then again, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time in recent memory Bran had got it for breaking some unexplained, grown up rule.

    His bladder left him no choice. He stepped out into the night.

    That business soon sorted, Bran took a moment to survey the New Human Institute. His new home, Dr. Lawrence had promised him.

    It was funny, really, seeing it this way. Deserted, lit only by the cold, silvered light of a thousand distant, indifferent suns; their only competition the few lights still glowing in the windows of the great, manoral farmhouse and the cottage of that trembly science teacher.

    Not even the same sky, he realized.

    He was searching for the fabled Southern Cross when he heard the girl¡¯s voice. ¡°New boy?¡±

    Bran startled, turning to find a girl standing behind him, a book held folded around her hand. She was a couple years older than him, blonde; he remembered her shooting him a smile a few times at dinner. It had helped, a little¡ªmade him feel more at home.

    ¡°Ah, yeah. You¡¯re¡­¡±

    ¡°Artume,¡± she finished, frowning slightly. ¡°Not Atrume, Artume.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Sorry, sorry, lotta people get it wrong for some reason.¡±

    The boy extended a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Bran.¡±

    Artume laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t bother telling me your name. You¡¯re not going to be using it long.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, that. Not sure what I¡¯m going to pick.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t get to pick.¡± The girl sat down in the grass. ¡°Care to join me?¡±

    Bran took the suggestion. ¡°Good book?¡± he asked. By the starlight, he could just make out its title: Children of the Atom. On its dust jacket, a boy and a girl stood huddled together with their backs to a baying, greyscale mob, their shadowed eyes empty of everything except hate and fear. The girl looked like she rather thought the boy ought to tear his attention away from whatever he was looking at and pay some mind to the crowd behind them.

    Artume glanced at the hardback as though she had forgotten she was holding it. ¡°Hmm? Yeah, I guess. Lawrence told me to read it. Said it was ¡®prophetic¡¯.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡±

    ¡°Buncha radioactive scientists have super-babies¡ªboring ones, though, they¡¯re all just really smart¡ªand an old bloke gathers them all together at a special school because people don¡¯t like them much.¡±

    Bran snickered, raising a grin from Artume. ¡°Yeah, I know, right? I think I liked More Than Human better. Least those kids had real powers.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°You from England or something? You don¡¯t sound Aussie.¡±

    The boy scowled. ¡°Wales.¡±

    The girl¡¯s smile brightened. ¡°My grandmother was from Wales. Couldn¡¯t sleep?¡±

    ¡°Too hot. What about you?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t really sleep. Well, one night a week, but only a couple hours, tops. One of my powers, I think.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that just insomnia?¡±

    A giggle. ¡°Maybe. Still, the grown-ups let me walk around at night when it¡¯s warm.¡± She puffed out her chest. ¡°Call me the night-watch. Want to see what else can I do?¡±

    Bran nodded.

    Beside Artume, the darkness pooled and thickened, flowing into itself like tar, until it had formed a ring of sorts, like a hole opening all the way to the centre of the Earth, lightless. Bran felt that if he dropped a coin into that abyss, he wouldn¡¯t hear it hit the bottom; even if it had a bottom.

    Artume plunged her hand into the rent, rifling through as if it was a purse, until she appeared to find whatever it was she was looking for. Some of the darkness came away as she pulled her hand out, spiralling and dispersing into the night air like unsettled fog. In her hand was a bottle of Coke, plated with frost.

    ¡°Lawrence says my power generates an other-dimensional pocket filled with a dense, non-refractive gas analogue that I manipulate via charged electromagnetic fields, accessible via localized temporal-spatial distortions.¡±

    ¡°...What does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°No one knows. What I do know is that this bottle¡¯s been in there for weeks and it¡¯s still frosty. Maybe time goes slower in the dark or something.¡± She offered the cool drink to her new acquaintance.

    Bran took the bottle gratefully, pulling off the cap with his teeth, only to jerk back as the liquid within frothed out the neck and flooded his nostrils, Artume laughing as he sputtered. Clever girl. Clever, evil girl.

    Dropping the Coke, the boy glared at her, before snatching the cap off the ground. The unopened glass bottle coalesced beneath it, and¡ªgiving it a good shake for luck¡¯s sake¡ªhe shoved it Artume¡¯s face and opened it.

    ¡°Gaaah!¡±

    Bran was already up and running by the time his new friend gave chase.

    ?

    ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright, Metonymy,¡± Basil said, resting a reassuring hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. ¡°It¡¯s only Artume. You¡¯re friends. You¡¯ll do fine.¡±

    Bran took a deep breath, and genuinely tried to believe what the older man was saying. But he knew, somewhere deep down inside, that he was going to mess it all up. Why did it have to be Artume? Why couldn¡¯t it be Reverb, or Ex? Someone who didn¡¯t give him the time of day, who he could be pathetic with and not have it matter. Why¡¯d it have to be Artume? He liked Artume! Heck, a little bit of him had been hoping he¡¯d get to do one with her and he hated that bit of him right now.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Hey, Met,¡± Basil said. ¡°I appreciate you replacing my clothes, but you don¡¯t have to do it five times.¡± Metonymy flinched, suddenly aware of the leather shirts strewn around his feet. Had he been doing it again? Damn it.

    ¡°... Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be,¡± his teacher said, his voice low and gentle. ¡°Listen. You just go in there, you listen to what she tells you, and you¡¯ll be fine. You¡¯re not gonna hurt her, and she won¡¯t think any less of you when it¡¯s done.¡±

    ¡°... She¡¯ll tell me?¡± Bran asked. ¡°W-what to do?¡±

    ¡°If you ask her to,¡± Basil murmured. ¡°Let her take the reins. Makes it easier to stay friends afterwards, okay? Trust me. I¡¯ve talked a lot of kids through this.¡±

    ¡°... T-thanks. Thanks, Basil.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it. Now, go on. You¡¯ve got this, kiddo.¡±

    He turned towards the door, and felt a leather clad hand slap him lightly on the back. He didn¡¯t look back, couldn¡¯t bring himself to. He opened the door and stepped inside, his heart thumping in his chest like a brass drum.

    ¡°Hey, Met.¡±

    ¡°H-hey Artu-¡± Oh, God. She was naked. Why was she naked already? Metonymy considered turning out the lights, but that would be unfair. Darkness hid nothing from Artume, and surely she had worse to look at. And the part of him he hated wanted to keep looking. The part that was a mammal and not a boy. Or maybe it was nothing but boy.

    ¡°Kept me waiting, pal,¡± The girl said, smiling across the bedroom at him, a trace of sadness tugging at her cheek. ¡°... You okay?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ I think so.¡± Oh God. Oh God. No. She was so pretty and this was so wrong and God, why was it so hot all of a sudden? He felt a heat rushing to his face, a tightness in his chest¡­ and his pants.

    ¡°Ah, there we go¡± Artume sighed, glancing down, her smile growing melancholy as she saw. ¡°... So, you do like me, huh?¡± She laughed half-heartedly. ¡°It probably sounds silly, but I was almost hoping you wouldn¡¯t, you know?¡±

    ¡°... I¡¯m sorry.¡± He mumbled, looking down towards the floor, ashamed. ¡°... Y-you¡¯re my friend¡ªbig sister, really, but¡­ You¡¯re still¡­ still pretty¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    For the longest time, she didn¡¯t answer; then, finally:

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she muttered bitterly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too. Take your pants off. Let¡¯s just do this.¡±

    He hesitated for a moment, then reached down and began fumbling with the button of his shorts. He felt like scum. Why had he wanted this? Why had he wanted anything like this, and why was the awful, traitorous little thing between his legs still so damn ready?

    The shorts fell to the floor around his ankles, his underpants following a moment later. He looked up at her, gazing across at his crotch dispassionately, and, in the weakest voice he¡¯d ever heard, asked:

    ¡°Are¡ªare we still gonna be friends a-after?¡± He felt his voice crack a little towards the end, the last words coming out a little choked. ¡°I¡­ I wanna still be friends¡­ Please?¡±

    He wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d been expecting her to respond to that, really, but it certainly wasn¡¯t with tears.

    ¡°... I hope so,¡± she whispered. ¡°I-I really do.¡± She lifted an arm to her face, and wiped the tears away with her wrist. ¡°Heh,¡± She laughed wetly. ¡°I¡¯ve made this awful already, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    Bran laughed too at that. He didn¡¯t know what else to do. He felt something wet on his cheeks.

    ¡°... Well,¡± she smiled. ¡°We should fix that. C¡¯mere.¡± She extended her hands, beckoning.

    Hesitantly, the boy stepped forwards towards her, crossing the few short feet between them in just three or four strides. He found himself wishing he¡¯d taken shorter steps. Then he was in front of her, and it was even harder not to look. Why¡¯d she have to be so pretty?

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Met,¡± she whispered, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Don¡¯t be sad. Smile. You¡¯re cute when you smile.¡± Then, she leaned in, and gave him a kiss.

    It was confusing. All of it. What sort of cute did she mean? She was bigger than him. Why was he so sad, when was his body so excited? Why was he so excited? Her lips were so soft and warm. Why didn¡¯t that help?

    She pulled away, and gave him another smile, small and sad.

    ¡°Hey, wanna make a deal?¡± she asked.

    ¡°... What kinda deal?¡± He mumbled, forcing himself not to look away.

    ¡°... A way to stay friends, I think,¡± she replied. ¡°You¡¯re a boy. I¡¯m a girl. We¡¯ve both got¡­ stuff. A-and¡­ we both have¡­ well, you¡¯ve had dreams about girls, right?¡±

    Bran nodded, a touch less ashamed. He¡¯d had his first one a few months ago. Melusine. He wasn''t even original in his lust. He hadn¡¯t been able to look Maelstrom in the eye for almost a week, and the boy had noticed; not that he wasn''t used to it.

    ¡°Well¡­ what if we¡­ we just explore?¡± Artume asked, her cheeks scarlet. ¡°As friends. No judging.¡±

    ¡°... Promise?¡± He asked, not quite able to believe her.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she whispered. ¡°Honestly¡­ I was¡­ thinking of doing that with you anyway. Letting it be our thing, instead of theirs. I guess we lost that chance¡­ But¡­ you know¡­ we could still make it ours?¡± She gave him another smile, shy and nervous; excited.

    He¡¯d have given anything to be able to believe it.

    ¡°... Okay.¡±

    ?

    Metonymy sat waiting on Basilisk¡¯s plastic wrapped bed, draped in a spare dressing gown, staring at the floor through the gap in his knees. ?ywie was tending to Artume first, of course. Had to make sure that, well, he took. Metonymy was glad to be spared the possibility of a repeat performance, but that made him feel like even more of a monster.

    He felt a gloved clad hand come to rest on his back, another holding a disposable cup in front of him, a wisp of steam rising from it. The boy didn¡¯t move.

    ¡°Come on, boy,¡± Basil said, giving the boy a pat. ¡°I¡¯m sure it wasn¡¯t as bad as you think. You¡¯re not the sort to hurt he¡ª¡±

    ¡°It was awful,¡± Metonymy muttered, staring at the cup without raising a hand to it. ¡°Not just for her. For me. I-I know she still likes me¡ªand I still like her¡ªbut is it meant to be so¡­ weird?¡± He glanced up at his teacher for a moment, saw the stony look in his eye, and quickly averted his gaze. ¡°I mean, it felt¡­ okay, I guess. But it was just so gross! Why is that supposed to be fun?¡±

    Basilisk sighed. ¡°First times are always a little disappointing, Met. And a lot of fun things kind of get spoiled when you make it into a job. You build this sort of thing up in your mind, and nothing¡¯s going to live up to your expectations. Especially when you¡¯re young.¡±

    ¡°Then why do we have to do it when we¡¯re young?¡±

    Before Basil could answer¡ªif he even was going to answer¡ªLawrence stepped into the room, beaming proudly. He strode over and slapped Metonymy on the back ¡°There¡¯s the man of the hour!¡±

    Funny, after all that, Metonymy felt younger than he had in years.

    Despite the lack of reply, Lawrence kept going. ¡°I have to say, you¡¯re handling this with a lot more dignity than many others boys would, I expect.¡± He chuckled. ¡°More than many have, in fact.¡± When Bran refused to look at him, he sighed. ¡°Metonymy, you do understand the beauty of what we¡¯re creating here, yes? Children who may grow to change the whole world some day. Can you imagine it, young man? A new human with Artume¡¯s control of space, combined with your mastery over states and time? My boy, this is a great day. I think you¡¯ll see that, when you meet your child.¡±

    It was everything Bran could manage in that moment to sit still. He wondered, in the back of his mind, if he could push his power a little. Revert the old man to his own infancy. He pushed the thought from his mind.

    ¡°...Can you leave me alone, please?¡±

    ?

    Artume, Metonymy, and ¨¥¨­s lay spread out under the evening stars, Artume mapping out the constellations for her younger sister. She¡¯d performed this nighttime ritual many times over, to the point where ¨¥¨­s probably knew each constellation¡¯s story better than the god who had placed it in the sky, but Artume still did it whenever the little girl asked¡ªeach time swearing it would be the last.

    Personally, Metonymy always thought the matter of which stars connected which seemed fairly arbitrary. ¡°You can make any shape you want with whatever stars you like,¡± he¡¯d said more than a few times over the years. Oftentimes, he¡¯d go on to prove his point by weaving the stars into absurd, vulgar arrangements: The Three Fleeing Idiots, or the Weeping Mealy, and almost every part of the human body.

    At that point ¨¥¨­s, with her earnest brown eyes obscured by her sister¡¯s golden hair, would glare at Metonymy and¡ªwithout taking her reproachful gaze off the boy¡ªtell her big sister to keep telling her about the real constellations.

    ¡°...So Orion was this big old giant hunter that Linus¡¯ auntie had a big crush on. Did you know that his name just means ¡°piss¡± in Greek? No, really.¡±

    ¨¥¨­s did, in fact, know that, but she still giggled. ¡°And he walked on water, didn¡¯t he? Mealy got off so lucky¡­¡±

    That first night at the Institute, when the chase had died down and Artume had mentioned having a sister at the Institute, Metonymy had incorrectly pictured twins. The five year age gap had taken him by surprise, though not so much as the fact that only ¨¥¨­s had been born with her powers.

    ¡°How¡¯d you get yours?¡± he¡¯d asked.

    ¡°There was a man.¡±

    Metonymy had soon gotten used to that answer. Aside from a few outliers like Stratogale and Elsewhere, it was either that, or born blessed and cursing the dark. Dozens of books, all opened to the same page.

    ¡°So, Linus¡¯ dad got jealous¡ªgods are weird, don¡¯t ask¡ªso he sent this scorpion¡­¡±

    Metonymy was pretty sure Artume didn¡¯t hate him, not yet at least. Why would she still wake him up for this sorta thing if she did?

    ¡°Sheilah,¡± ¨¥¨­s rarely kept to the Namings after dark, ¡°did ?ywie tell you what the baby was going to be?¡±

    In the dark, Sheilah blinked. It was still so easy to forget the married day had even happened. Her belly hadn¡¯t started swelling, and the loathing for Metonymy she feared would rise in her had not come. She wasn¡¯t even feeling sick yet. God knew she liked it that way.

    But why shouldn¡¯t Dawn be excited? She was going to be an auntie, and their friend was going to be the daddy. And one day, she would give the baby a cousin. Or a little brother or sister, she thought, remembering Stratogale.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°a boy.¡±

    Dawn nuzzled against her side. ¡°What do you think you¡¯ll call it?¡±

    Artume sighed. ¡°We don¡¯t get to pick.¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Six: The Most Startling Superhero of All!

    Adam Sinclair sat by a rack of sundresses in the women¡¯s fashion section of Boans Department Store, while his mother tried on what felt like every scrap of fabric in the place. Tea-towels included, probably.

    Sinclair family holidays were never grand affairs. Every January, with more regularity than the seasons themselves, they would hitch up their Carapark toaster<sup>1</a></sup> to the Holden and park themselves over in Dunsborough or Margaret River for about a fortnight. Maybe even Rottnest, if Mr. Sinclair¡¯s bonus was good that year.

    Pleasant enough, in Adam¡¯s eyes, except that at the end of the Great Eastern Highway lay the city of Perth. This might not have been a problem, or likely even been a plus¡­ if his mother hadn¡¯t used their annual getaways to stock up on new clothes.

    Adam was running his hands through the hems of some cheap floral blouses, bored out of his mind, when he noticed the hush spreading through the store. It started on the ground floor, and infected the shoppers who peered over the bannister to see what was the matter, only to quickly back as far away from the precipice as they could. The boy tried to get a look for himself, but his father had his hand on his shoulder, pulling him in close. In the sudden quiet, the boy could even make out the faint ching of one of the teller machines being opened.

    There were voices. Young ones, full of merriment, echoing through the petrified store. The shoppers might as well have been especially lifelike mannequins.

    Adam heard cabinets being opened, and another voice, this one plaintive and appeasing. Then a snap, almost lost in the screams.

    Mr Sinclair¡¯s arms tightened around his son.

    Someone was coming up the escalator. Four someones, in fact. The youngest might have been seventeen, the oldest less than thirty. One, an ivory blonde girl in a fur boa that shared an unfortunate resemblance to a swollen caterpillar, rode on the bannister. Next to her was someone Adam recognized immediately:

    ¡°That¡¯s the Fox¡ª¡± His father clapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish. If the bespeckled, bored looking man in the too-big, orange zoot suit and matching wide-brimmed hat heard his name being used, he didn¡¯t react. Too occupied with the pound notes he was counting, perhaps.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for this,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Still have three shops left on the rounds.¡±

    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be like that,¡± a boy further up the moving stairs called back. He looked around eighteen, maybe older: it was hard to tell given how short he was. He wore a leather vest covered with unfortunately identifiable stains, the cleanest thing on him the red neckerchief that lay untied around his neck. He had an arm around a somewhat older, dark-haired lady with a pageboy cut and a white flapper dress. As he smiled at her, his flat face, framed by shaggy, lank black hair, scrunched up briefly. ¡°You¡¯re always talking about getting our name out there.¡±

    If the Coven still needed to get their name out by this point, then in all odds nothing would help. The cabal had shared dominion over the headlines with AU for well over a year now.  AU was definitely the more spectacular villain, but unlike him, they left bodies in their wake. When they made the papers, sometimes the Sinclairs wouldn¡¯t even let their son look.

    ¡°We could call it a double date!¡± the woman in the flapper dress added.

    The girl with the boa¡ªVixen, Adam wanted to say her name was¡ªleaned in close to the Fox. ¡°I want a new dress,¡± she cooed.

    The Fox looked like he was considering pushing her off the escalator while he had the chance. ¡°Fine,¡± he sighed, ¡°but make it quick.¡±

    Once upon the second floor, the Coven started circling towards women¡¯s wear, wandering through motionless, terrified shoppers like a clutch of Gorgons. Now and then, the boy with the neckerchief would twig a nose or pull an ear, laughing whether their owners kept their composure or squeaked in fright.

    The Fox rubbed his temples. ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Redcap.¡±

    Adam couldn¡¯t decide if he was excited or terrified when the quartet stopped near him and his father. His mother, hopefully feeling the change in the air, hadn¡¯t stepped out from her changing booth.

    Pageboy spun a dress carousel, watching the resulting blur of colour thoughtfully. She raised a hand, snapping her fingers. ¡°Attendant!¡±

    Silence. A few more insistent fingersnaps. ¡°Attendant!¡±

    A Boans girl emerged from behind the perfume counter, picking her way towards the supervillainess. Adam thought she had to be the bravest woman in the whole world. ¡°Y-yes¡­ ma¡¯am?¡±

    Pageboy removed a few dresses from the rack. ¡°Which of these do you think would look best on me?¡± Her question sounded casual, like she was asking her sister on a normal Saturday shopping trip.

    ¡°¡­That one,¡± the Boans girl said, pointing to a white gown broken up by blue, swooping wrens. She screwed her eyes shut, clearly expecting a trick.

    The woman thought about it for a second. ¡°Interesting choice. I¡¯m already wearing white.¡±

    ¡°¡­But you¡¯re gonna wear white again, surely?¡±

    The villain shrugged. ¡°Fair cop.¡± She strode over to the row of changing rooms, and pulled aside one of their curtains.

    Crouched low to the worn, well-trodden carpet, still in her underclothes, Mrs Sinclair stared up the other woman. Her eyes darted from the skull and crossbones tattoo on one shoulder to the skeletal hand clutching a heart on the other<sup>2</a></sup> before settling on her bleached irises. ¡°H-hello,¡± she stammered. Looking back, Adam could swear in the mirror behind her his mother was standing. Maybe it was the angle.

    The tattooed woman smiled. ¡°Recognised me, have you? Sorry to interrupt.¡±

    From the linoleum walkway, Redcap and Vixen both laughed. The Fox just rolled his eyes. Their compatriot pointed back at the boy. ¡°Don¡¯t look too hard, Red. We all know how you like older women.¡±

    He grinned. ¡°Not that old.¡±

    Turning back to Mrs. Sinclair, the villainess said, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, ma¡¯am.¡± She uttered the last word like she was addressing a long mummified widow. ¡°None of us mean you any trouble. That I know of.¡± She jabbed a thumb in the direction of the other Coven members. ¡°My friends are their own people.¡±

    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    The other woman smiled queasily. ¡°I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t. I mean, all that stuff they print about you, it has to be lies¡ª¡±

    A grin. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s all true. But that¡¯s business, just like all that stuff downstairs. Right now, I¡¯m here to try on some dresses.¡± She raised her voice, addressing the whole store. ¡°No different from any of you.¡± She quirked a shoulder, before adding at a more conversational volume ¡°Well, I¡¯m probably not paying for any of mine, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°Well how is that fair?¡± Redcap shouted. He glanced around at the other Covenanters, the Fox jerking back from him like he was infectious. ¡°We don¡¯t want these nice folks thinking we¡¯re snobs, do we?¡± The young man ran towards the bannister, screaming ¡°As of now, one time only, 100% percent off sale at Boans! Don¡¯t bother the checkout lady on your way out, she¡¯s nursing a broken arm!¡±

    The Fox raised a hand. ¡°No, no, absolutely not<sup>3</a></sup>.¡± His voice rang with an odd authority, like he was a septuagenarian judge handing down a doom, and not a twenty-something super-criminal of vague powers in a baggy suit. ¡°Everyone is to remain in the store until ten minutes after I and my companions exit the premises. No one will remove anything from the store without paying¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Redcap shouted. ¡°You¡¯re not going to spoil this for me!¡± He spun on his heels, pointing at a portly, bearded fellow trying to hide amongst a forest of trench coats. ¡°You, garden gnome!¡±

    The man gave up on his hiding place. ¡°Yes?¡± he whimpered. No one held it against him, except, maybe, Redcap himself.

    ¡°Take something, and leave.¡±

    The Fox sighed and pulled out a heavy, silver fob watch.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, really,¡± the object of Redcap¡¯s attention said.

    Redcap frowned while raising an eyebrow. ¡°You won¡¯t be if you don¡¯t do as I say.¡±

    As the unfortunate stood there and looked for something to shoplift, the white-eyed lady shot Mrs Sinclair a look of conspiratorial glee, as though sharing a joke only they of all the women in the world could hope to get.

    Eventually, the fat man settled on one of the coats he had hoped would conceal him. Draping it over his left arm, he started making his way towards the escalator, glancing left and right at the other shoppers as he passed. His face looked apologetic, whether for leaving them to the Coven¡¯s tender mercies, or for playing along with this mad child¡¯s panto at all.

    For a second, he made eye contact with Adam. The boy tried to nod encouragingly without moving his head.

    As the man walked, he started to sweat. The perspiration was joined by tears. Then red started leaking into the saltwater.

    As screams rose around him like a cresting wave, the man bled from every pore, blood spilling from his mouth like wine from a drunkard. Still, he kept walking, till he collapsed face down onto the escalator, the stairs carrying him away like a funeral barge.

    ¡°I love you,¡± Adam¡¯s father whispered to him. ¡°Me and your mum love you so much.¡±

    The Fox looked disdainfully at the younger super. There was nothing like disgust in his eyes, Adam saw. Just the arrogant contempt of an older brother failing to be impressed. ¡°And what was that for?¡± he asked, cooly.

    Redcap grinned, saluting the other villain. ¡°He didn¡¯t do as you said, bossman.¡±

    At the changing booths, his girlfriend asked Adam¡¯s mother her name. Casually, as though the man she had just watched die had never been anything but an early, morbid Halloween decoration.

    Shaking, she answered. ¡°Jenny. Jennifer Sinclair.¡±

    The woman extended a hand. ¡°Fey,¡± she said. ¡°Fey of Femurs<sup>4</a></sup>.¡±

    The laughter that escaped Jenny was the kind you sometimes hear at funerals. There was a snap, and the laughter tapered off into a ragged scream.

    ¡°Mummy!¡±

    It was then Adam saw him. Towering over Redcap, Vixen, and the Fox, there was a man.

    Everything was all wrong. Wet bone was jutting from his mother¡¯s arm. That poor man heaped at the bottom of the escalator was dead, all because he had done what those freaks had told him to. And didn¡¯t Boans have a ceiling? And why was it night already?

    The Coven had all turned to look at Adam. Fey of Femurs was wearing a smirk that spoke of angry, wounded pride. Adam was surprised. Did you really pick a name like that if you didn¡¯t want people to laugh?

    The bone-warper was saying something, but if any sound was coming out of her mouth, it didn¡¯t reach Adam. Probably just a threat pretending to be a bad joke. What mattered to him right then was why the man with the starlit eyes wasn¡¯t doing anything. Why wasn¡¯t anyone stopping people like the Coven from going around doing whatever they wanted?

    Adam stepped out from his father¡¯s arms. It was surprisingly easy, like he was being held by a ghost.

    ¡°Ooh, we have a brave one here.¡±

    The man made a shoving gesture. Adam followed suit.

    ¡°That¡¯s not how you pray, kid.¡± Fey extended an arm, only to frown, seeming surprised to find her hand at the end of it.

    Adam pushed his hands forward. For a second, he held the sun at his fingertips.

    When the glare died away, you could see through Fey of Femurs¡¯ chest. It didn¡¯t bleed much. There was just the smell of charred meat. She blinked a few times, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish gasping for water, and then she fell.

    ¡°You little¡ª¡± Someone knocked down Redcap before he could finish. The spell was broken; people were running for the exit, a few even leaping from the bannisters, some having to avoid the droplets running from the freshly melted hole in the store roof.

    Adam wasn¡¯t done yet, though. He ran at the prone Redcap, flipping him over and using one hand to pin him. The other was saved for punching him in the face.

    ¡°You. Hurt. My. Mum!¡±

    His strikes were those of an angry amatuer. There shouldn¡¯t have been any force behind them, yet every blow shattered a few more of Redcap¡¯s teeth. One of them went through his cheek.

    In a corner of men¡¯s wear, the Fox was shouting into a makeup compact, a panicked Vixen hanging off his shoulder. ¡°Super on the premises! Evac! Evac!¡±

    Redcap winked away like a television being turned out, leaving Adam¡¯s fist to crack into the floor. The solid wood gave way easily, while the lino covering it bent and wrapped around his hand.

    The Fox followed not a second later, leaving Vixen clawing at the empty air. ¡°Hey!¡± she shouted, realizing her predicament. ¡°Heeeeeey!¡±

    Adam felt hands around his waist lifting him up, holding him close to the chest of someone large. He pushed away, falling back to the floor. Someone yelled. His father.

    He grabbed his son by the hand. His wife had her good hand wrapped around his forearm. ¡°We have to go!¡±

    They were gone before the DDHA arrived.

    ?

    It was evening when Alberto had the vision. He had been sitting in his room, enjoying a private, liquid desert while rereading his childhood copy of Cuore<sup>5</a> </sup>for at least the sixtieth time. It was one of the only possessions he had managed to hold onto when Lawrence and the others had snuck him out of Bovegno.

    By all rights, he should have hated the story: a sappy, patronizing, thinly veiled morality tale of an Italy almost thankfully wiped away by the War. But nostalgia was a hell of a drug, and as a grown man, Alberto could appreciate the irony of the work of an avowed socialist being devoured by little wolf cubs across the country. Still, not the most thrilling of tales.

    Maybe the vision had come to save him from the book. They were never dramatic, unless they involved fairly immediate threats to his person. It was more like the low whine of tinnitus, or the flashing of scales just beneath the surface of a deep, black lake.

    He rolled his eyes: yet another sneak preview of a possible future student. He got those a lot; new enrollments sadly being the main delta of change around the Institute. Before the DDHA had almost put Alberto out of a job, these visions had been the main source of new supers for Bertie¡¯s collection. The psychic let the old man think it was some kind of power-focused clairvoyance, which he seemed to believe, despite knowing full well his usual range. Thus Alberto was allowed to curate the combination of students that aggravated him the least. It was how he had gotten Windshear for bugging Maelstrom, Metonymy for restocking his favourite vintages, and¡ªnot to mention¡ªPhantasmagoria for bugging Lawrence.

    Alberto wasn¡¯t completely selfish, though. He had helped the Institute avoid some whoppers, too. Like the boy whose only power as far as he could tell was expelling porcupine like quills from his skin. And he thought he was tough! Or would have thought he was tough, Alberto wasn¡¯t sure on the grammar. And then there was the girl who saw through all lies¡­

    He shook his head, trying to dispel that never-memory. The esper didn¡¯t particularly feel up to dealing with a new kid, but for want of anything better to do, he wandered down the hypothetical like a spelunker following a cave-line.

    ¡°Oh.¡± He grinned. Maybe he ought to give Lawrence a heads up after all.

    When he felt like it.

 Chapter Twenty-Seven: The New Child

    The Sinclairs never made it to Dunsborough. Not that they tried. They just got Mrs Sinclair¡¯s arm splinted and fled from Perth as fast as their wheels would carry them, imagining DDHA cars and trucks lying in wait off every exit in the road.

    News of the attack at Boans still beat them back to Kalgoorlie. The papers were quietly jubilant at the death of Fey of Femurs¡ªalways one of the more cruel and gruesome of the Coven¡ªthough much to Adam¡¯s offense, they speculated her defeat was the final outcome of a turf-war among the city¡¯s supervillains.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a baddie!¡± he had protested when he first saw the headline, standing behind his father at the petrol station line.

    His parents had just looked at him like he¡¯d said a dirty word. When they finally made it home, they didn¡¯t let their son out of their sight. The few neighbours who asked after him or the family¡¯s unexpected return (or the plaster on Mrs Sinclair¡¯s arm) were told they were driven back by Jenny taking a bad fall and Adam coming down with pneumonia. Adam tried protesting the situation exactly once, the lies especially. It was the first time his father had ever shouted at him. It had been a shock, to say the least. He¡¯d looked to his mother for help across the dinner table, and she¡¯d just stared back as the man beside her bellowed. He¡¯d hidden in his room for hours, after that, doing his best to ignore the man¡¯s awkward, stumbling apologies through the door. When the man came in and tried to hug him, he¡¯d fought. He didn¡¯t want to forgive.

    Unlike at Boans, however, he couldn¡¯t escape his father¡¯s arms.

    Ernest Sinclair felt his son¡¯s struggles, and clung to him tighter still. There were tears in his eyes.

    Adam was crying, too. His sun was gone, and that strange strength with it.

    Not that that was the end of his parents¡¯ fears. It seemed unlikely the DDHA would accept that their son¡¯s superpowers cleared up overnight. The Sinclairs spent most of their holiday in their lounge room, one eye on the television and the other on the road out front, with the volume knob on the radio set just low enough that they would hear sirens three streets away.

    Eventually, though, the holidays came to an end, and soon Mr and Mrs Sinclair ran out of plausible excuses for not sending Adam back to school.

    He just barely managed to convince his mother to let him walk the two blocks over to North Kalgoorlie Primary. She still fussed over him all the way to the front door, though.

    ¡°You brushed your teeth, right?¡±

    Adam made a face. ¡°Yes<sup>1</a></sup>, Mum.¡±

    ¡°Packed your cricket gear?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°And have you got your pencils so they won¡¯t rattle around the bag and get marks all over your new¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Mum!¡± her son whined, exasperated. ¡°Just let me go, I¡¯m gonna be late!¡± It was the first time he had ever complained of such a thing.

    Jenny Sinclair relented. ¡°Alright, alright. But you better not dawdle after all that fuss.¡±

    Before her Adam could step out into the high summer morning, his mum put a hand on his shoulder. He was turning to complain when he saw the renewed fear in her eyes.

    ¡°I know you might be sad how things have turned out, Adam. I think I would have been to, if that had happened to me. But it really isn¡¯t like how it goes in the cartoons.¡±

    Adam was going to argue, to tell his mum she just didn¡¯t know what it felt like. To ask what would happen if people like the Coven came to Kalgoorlie.

    But she kept looking at him like that.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, hollowly. ¡°I know.¡±

    ?

    He came in April.

    Adam was lying awake in bed, as he often did these days, listening to his parents¡¯ hushed conversation seeping through the thin plaster walls.

    ¡°You still look at him odd,¡± he thought he heard his father say.

    ¡°And he still flinches when you speak too loud,¡± his mother replied. ¡°There are some things we can¡¯t help, love.¡±

    ¡°Do you think he understands? You know, what he did?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s nine. I think he knows he killed someone, I just don¡¯t think he¡¯s aware of it. You know?¡±

    Adam could suddenly smell barbecue. He remembered Fey of Femurs¡¯ eyes. Had she known she was going to die then?

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t call him a murderer, would you? I know it was hard for my mum to look at dad when he came home from the War¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­ No. I¡¯d call him a little boy who wanted to help his mum. Do you think he knew what that power would do when he used it?¡±

    A space that might have been a sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Jenny. There aren¡¯t exactly books on this sort of thing.¡± Unhappy laughter. ¡°Cholic, puberty, and superpowers. I¡¯ll tell you what, though, I¡¯ve never heard of them just going away.¡±

    ¡°Then it was a miracle,¡± he heard his mother whisper, her voice only barely audible through the wall. ¡°It happened, and it went away, and as long as no one ever finds out about it, then he¡¯s safe, okay?¡±

    If his father agreed, Adam did not hear it. What he did hear was a shout. It took him a second to realize it wasn¡¯t coming from the kitchen, but outside.

    ¡°Are the Michelsons going at it again?¡± he heard his father say, hushed tones forgotten.

    The boy rolled over and tugged at the cord of his window blind.

    A war elephant was treading slowly down the road, its flesh (so to speak) completely hidden under plate upon plate of intricately carved golden armour, its silver inlay flashing back the pale yellow light of the street lamps<sup>2</a></sup>. Armed, shimmering skeletons flowed past it like the sea around a rock. Adam thought they looked like they were running late to audition for Jason and the Argonauts.

    At the head of the procession were two skeletons that would have been giants in life, carrying between them a banner of woven sunlight. In neat, Times New Roman, it bore the message:

    PEOPLE OF KALGOORLIE, LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS, SURRENDER YOUR GOLD, AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED¡ªAU

    Despite this warning, some of Adam¡¯s neighbours were in the street trying to fight the golden host¡ªevery man who lived even remotely near a gold-field imagined themselves defending home and family from AU at some point. Best case scenario, they drove off the strange, Oriental menace with their Australian grit. Worst case, they were knighted posthumously for their noble sacrifice.

    What the men of Butterfly Street¡¯s heroic fantasies didn¡¯t account for was the horde¡¯s indifference to their blows. It wasn¡¯t that the golems were tough¡ªthey were made of gold, after all. But whenever a man managed to bend a clavicle or dent a skull, they sprung back into shape as readily as rubber. Their mortal strength could not overcome the beauty of AU¡¯s weapons.

    A few of the men had pushed and shoved their way to the centre of the mass and started hammering at the feet of the elephant, like puppies snapping at the heels of a St. Bernard, their wedding rings slipping off their fingers and melting into the behemoth¡¯s side, tiny raindrops lost in the ocean.

    Adam couldn¡¯t help but giggle. Some villains, like the Coven, were cyclones. You lashed mattresses to your walls and boarded up the windows, praying all the while it would pass you over. Others, though, were great thunderstorms. You battened down the hatches, made yourself a hot drink, and listened to the world be a little more than it normally was.

    When morning broke, Adam wasn¡¯t sure which kind AU was.

    ?

    The raid on Kalgoorlie left no casualties, bar a few broken bones and wounded egos.

    And the local economy.

    The gold-fields had been sucked dry of everything accessible from the surface without a year or more of new excavations, at least. Miners were laid off in droves, their newfound poverty trickling down to everyone in Kalgoorlie whose livelihoods depended on their comfort. The Sinclair Family Deli barely clung on. Their haberdasher aunt had to take an unwelcome early retirement.

    And as Adam¡¯s father kept reminding his son, they were the lucky ones.

    Kalgoorlie never copped well with the Other. The mere presence of Indigenous was enough to stir up resentment in her white residents. But at least blackfellas bled when you shot them.

    The paranoid hum the Flying Man had inspired two years earlier became a cacophony. DDHA posters multiplied around town like fungi. Beneath the usual graffitied calls to ¡°castrate all niggers¡±, Adam kept seeing the post-scriptum ¡°¡­castrating the demis is too good for them!<sup>3</a></sup>¡±

    One morning, a girl from his class didn¡¯t turn up to school. Nobody saw her again for over a month. When she returned, there was a dullness to her eyes. Neither Adam nor anyone else ever managed to get much information out of her, but the rumour in town was that someone had called the freak-finders on her after she made an unusually accurate guess as to the number of jellybeans in a jar.

    Some claimed the DDHA received so many reports from Kalgoorlie, they stopped following up on any calls from the town. Maybe things might have turned out differently if they hadn¡¯t.

    One morning, when long after summer had succumbed to winter, Adam ran into the kitchen to find his mum and dad waiting around the honey oak table, scratched and scuffed by over a decade of domestics, each with a glass of something amber in front of them. Neither bid him good morning. His mother seemed to be trying to avoid looking at him

    ¡°Sit down, son,¡± his father ordered gently.

    Adam obeyed. ¡°Is something the matter?¡±

    Mr. Sinclair nodded. ¡°Do you know a boy named Peter James?¡±

    Adam thought about it. ¡°I think his little brother is in my class?¡±

    Fingers rapping against wood. ¡°Well, you might not be seeing him at school for a little while. Last night, there was¡ª¡±

    ¡°Cut the shit, Ernest,¡± Jenny said, shocking both husband and son. ¡°Last night, some of our neighbours got blind drunk at the York, decided the James boy was a demi<sup>4</a></sup>. They kicked down their door, dragged a fourteen year old out of his bed, and cracked his head open with a rock.¡± She drained her glass like they were sitting in the middle of a desert and got up from the table, stalking out the kitchen. Before she left, she turned back to Adam and said, ¡°Never tell anyone.¡±

    That day Adam learned how readily love and resentment flowed into each other.  He also learned that the men judged to be the ringleaders of the mob got off with a reduced sentence. As the defense argued:

    ¡°Asking an ordinary man to behave rationally in the aftermath of demi-human attack is like expecting a fish to react calmly to the hook dropped into their world.¡±

    Nobody saw the Jameses again in Kalgoorlie after that.

    ?

    Sunday School after that, Adam got canned. The old nun who ran it out of the chilly backroom of St. Mary¡¯s Church was regaling the young Catholics of Kalgoorlie with the story of Lazarus.

    ¡°And that, children,¡± she said in a voice scorched by nearly a hundred outback summers, ¡°proves just how merciful God really is.¡±

    Adam raised his hand. ¡°Excuse me, Sister?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Adam.¡±

    ¡°How was that merciful?¡±

    Silence. Enough smartarses<sup>5</a></sup> had passed through the class that everyone knew full well how these digressions played out.

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    Sister Scholastica<sup>6</a></sup> smiled with tested patience. ¡°Because Jesus was willing to preserve this one man from death, even though he had done nothing for him.¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s Jesus. He can do anything, right?¡±

    The nun nodded.

    ¡°So it would have been dead easy for him to do.¡±

    Sister Scholastica wasn¡¯t sure whether it was more blasphemous to concede or object, so she took a third route. ¡°The point of the story isn¡¯t the ease of it, but the grace.¡±

    ¡°¡­Why did Jesus pick Lazarus?¡±

    The Sister smiled wryly. ¡°I think you¡¯ll have to ask him that yourself, Adam.¡±

    Laughter, though not from Adam. ¡°Did nobody else deserve it more? Really, really nice people¡­ little kids?¡±

    Scholastica¡¯s smile flattened. She silently prayed none of the other children chose that moment to¡ª

    The Carmichael girl piped up with, ¡°Doggies?¡±

    Shit. ¡°It¡¯s important to remember, children, that Christ will save us all from death, by giving us eternal life in Heaven. Lazarus was one way of showing us this.¡±

    Adam was growing flushed. ¡°So what, Jesus only went around doing miracles because he wanted to show off?¡±

    The Sister scowled. Right. She¡¯d given the serene teacher tact a try, now it was time to fall back on the bulwark of her vocation. ¡°Do not blaspheme¡ª¡±

    Adam shouted over her. ¡°Your lot are always telling us how great Jesus is and how he¡¯s always looking out for everyone, but awful, bad things happen all the time, and you say it¡¯s all part of the plan! But then sometimes he brings people back to life or cures their diseases or gives them food! Why do some people get saved and other people don¡¯t? How does he choose?¡± Blood had rushed to the boy¡¯s face by the end of his tirade, along with tears.

    The nun gave him a canny look. ¡°You sure you¡¯re talkin¡¯ about Jesus, son?¡±

    Maybe Adam was imagining it, but afterwards he thought the whacks across his knuckles were a bit half-hearted.

    ?

    God (or whoever) wasn¡¯t the only one whose innaction Adam cursed. He was sure that if he had been there, he could have made the sun rise again in his hands. Been able to do something.

    Like what, he kept asking himself, put holes in our neighbours?

    He could do more than that, surely? He¡¯d been strong, too, back in Boans, he knew that. But where had it all gone?

    And so, Adam became the youngest scholar of his own kind, if his kind they even were. Not daring to ask any adult, he first fuelled his studies with the most abundant resource he had: old comic books.

    They were harder to find than he expected¡ªmost had been confiscated by antsy parents after the Cuban Crisis, with many of the survivors outright burned in an enthusiastic demonstration of panic after the gold raid<sup>7</a></sup>. Every issue was hard won by favours, swapped lunch treats, I.O.Us, and all the other coin the grey market of childhood rests upon.

    All completely useless. Even forgiving the expected air of falseness, the comics for the most part concerned themselves little with the lived experience of superhumans. What it felt like being one, where their powers came from, and, most importantly, what might snuff them out.

    To be fair to the medium, the boy did come across a fair few stories where the hero lost their powers. By the 1960s, they were nearly the only stories you could tell about Superman unless you relied on his patient, boundless sadism towards his loved ones. But Adam couldn¡¯t recall being bathed by any weird space rays, and he doubted the jewelry department of Boans was hard up enough to resort to using gold kryptonite in their wedding rings.

    So, with a heavy heart, Adam Sinclair resorted to checking his local public library. This too proved not to be the easy route he had hoped for. Much to his surprise, there wasn¡¯t enough publically circulated scholarship on superpowers to justify its own shelf. It would have been even more surprising if he had known there was even less of it than before the Flying Man¡¯s world debut, not that he risked asking the staff about it. Superheroes especially occupied an odd place in the literature, their wartime contributions acknowledged, but in the same tone of grudging haste as the Soviets.

    Adam wasn¡¯t a naturally bookish boy¡ªhe seldomly read anything less than fifty percent illustration when left to his own devices¡ªbut now he forced himself to be. He scoured over anything that even tangentially mentioned supers. Patchy newspaper archives; stray sentences in history books; dusty travelogues and biographies in half-formed English detailing chance, dreamlike encounters on lonely roads.

    Most science books, it turned out, felt the need to bring up supers at least once, if only to acknowledge their eternal exception to the laws of physics. Almost every treatise on any mythological figure you might care to name included a sidebar on theorized superhuman inspirations<sup>8</a></sup>.

    What he soon learned to avoid was anything put out by the DDHA. Especially Introduction to Demi-Human Neurology:

    ¡®It is the conclusion of the gathered evidence (Horatin et al, 1958; Reinhardt and Sumere, 1956; Puce, 1960) that demi-humans lack the same basic faculties of empathy and interpersonal awareness to pain that is possessed by their human counterparts. This is hypothesized to be the result of their neurological deviations rendering them incapable of developing to the same standard of experience as human beings, thus rendering them generally incapable of caring for their evolutionary kin.¡¯

    It was all couched in words Adam hardly understood, but he knew when he was being insulted.

    His parents, unable to perceive the patterns in their son¡¯s reading, were glad to see it. Adam, however, felt ripped off. He was getting smarter for nothing. He was about to give up and¡­ he didn¡¯t know, divine the flights of birds for omens (and at least be done with Greek fairy tales forever) when he found the book.

    It was sandwiched between two volumes of a new mother¡¯s handbook. The only reason Adam was even looking in that section was a rumour he heard about a furred baby born down in Albany. A thick hardback bound in maroon leather, faded gold leaf finches rested below the legend:

    The New Child: An Inquiry Into the Race to Come

    Dr. Herbert Lawrence, Ph.D

    Adam glanced around himself like he had suddenly stumbled onto The Killers. The only other souls in the library was the librarian bustling about the shelves and a mother reading to her toddlers, but it was still far too crowded for the boy¡¯s liking.

    He risked a look at the book in his hands. He had subjected himself to enough pulps in his studies to recognize the buzzwords, but this didn¡¯t look like a pulp. It looked like a textbook.

    It had to be a mistake. Some librarian got lazy and didn¡¯t look too hard at the cover. It definitely didn¡¯t look like anything the DDHA would put out. Slipping it into his hessian library bag, he trotted up to the counter and rung the boy.

    ¡°What have we got today? A Wonder-Book for Boys and Girls, Tanglewood Tales, The Greek Myths<sup>9</a></sup>¡­¡± A smile. ¡°Will you be leaving us any books, Mr. Sinclair?¡±

    ¡°I try, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Adam didn¡¯t know if you could steal a library book, but he was going to try.

    He read The New Child the way older boys read dirty magazines: snatched pages in the bushes behind school and beneath his bed covers in the dead of night, the beam of an awkwardly balanced torch flickering across age-blotched paper like candlelight.

    Herbert Lawrence, at least from what Adam could glean from the book, was one of those old baseline adventurers that hovered around the edge of superhumanity, like Tim Valour or Doc Savage<sup>10</a></sup>. The main difference was that while those sorts tended to spring from the military, or the East India Company, or the unorthodox educational schemes of their widowed scientist father, this one began as a psychology student at Oxford.

    Dr. Lawrence wasted little time on his biography¡ªjust a couple cursory pages bashfully explaining his boyhood as the only son of a prominent Perthite gentleman, shipped off to boarding school to inoculate him with proper Anglo-Saxon values from their very source:

    Thetis<sup>11</a></sup> tried to burn the mortality out of her son in the fire of the hearth. The mothers and fathers of my crowd meanwhile send their boys to Eton to scour the colonial out of them. As silly and insecure as that is, for me, it worked all too well.

    By the end of the first chapter, Lawrence was a fresh-faced psychiatrist returning to his native Australia in search of superhumans, or posthumans as he was calling them by page fifty. It skipped over how exactly the good doctor had come to this fascination, but then Adam had no idea why anyone wouldn¡¯t be interested in superhumans.

    It was page twenty-one that that gave the boy all the reason he needed to keep reading:

    For the sake of his privacy, I will only refer to my first student by the nickname he went by at the Institute: AU.

    Adam had to put down the book for a moment. The bloke who wrote this knew AU, had taught and took care of him for years. More shocking still, AU had been a kid.

    His parents told me their son was pulling the wedding rings off of passersby when he wasn¡¯t a year old. Even with all I¡¯ve learned¡ªFrom John<sup>12</a></sup>, from ?ywie, from all the posthumans I have ever known¡ªI still can¡¯t begin to guess the whys and hows of AU¡¯s power. More things in Heaven and Earth and all that.

    I can¡¯t blame the boy for being willful at the start. Pulled from his home, dragged around the country by an old Englishman like a puppy on a tether; a life chopped up into hotel rooms and guest bedrooms. I can tell you, it took me some getting used to as well.

    I can¡¯t stress how glad I am we both pushed through it, though. I never had children of my own, nor a wife; not uncommon in academic circles, regretfully. So many men like me cut themselves off from the young, from women, from anyone remotely different from ourselves. It can have, I fear, a calcifying effect on the soul. Our personalities run the risk of becoming settled, fossilised.

    That¡¯s not to say that childishness was the only virtue in AU¡¯s company. Even as a boy, he had a way of cutting to the point of things. Fond of a barb, for certain, but never I think entirely without kindness.

    If AU ever reads this, I hope he understands I never meant for things to turn out the way they did.

    Adam checked the book¡¯s copyright: 1958. AU wouldn¡¯t make his supervillainous debut for another six years. He felt vaguely cheated, not that the book didn¡¯t offer other attractions:

    I had never heard the word ¡°superhero¡± when AU and I first encountered them. To my recollection, that term only started being bandied around in 1940 or so. Looking back, it feels strange it took so long for someone to come out and say it. For decades, we called men like the Crimson Comet ¡°adventurers¡± or ¡°masks¡± or even, God bless us, ¡°mystery men¡±. Then two Jewish cartoon writers took the word from the tip of our tongues, and the dialogue became much less tortured, if very loaded.

    It must have been 1936 when we first met Ralph Rivers<sup>13</a></sup> I had been told of a  Sydneysider super calling himself Jack Jupiter¡ªdoubtless derived from his fascination with lightning strikes.

    From that trivia, you good readers might already have surmised that Jack was what many laymen in their ignorance call ¡°mad scientists¡± those posthumans whose gifts manifest as impossible insight into scientific theory and praxis. Historically these remarkable individuals have enjoyed a great deal of scorn and ostracization from regular folk, even more so than other posthumans; likely for the same reasons the public has been wary regarding scientific advances. So often I have seen such miracle workers<sup>14</a></sup> caricatured as manic, bitter souls, smothered in layer upon layer of malicious ego.

    Sadly, poor Jack very much lived up to the stereotype. I had managed to arrange an interview with the man at his workshop in Padstow, and the next thing AU and I knew, we were trussed up in a drafty warehouse, listening to Jupiter threaten the Lord Mayor over the phone with the detonation of every wireless set in the city.

    ¡°Jupiter,¡± I tried imploring him after he slammed the receiver down, ¡°This is a dire waste of your powers.¡±

    Protests. He had no powers, he insisted, just a scientist. A sadly common delusion among his breed, I¡¯m afraid, but a child playing at Einstein would have produced more coherent equations; and been able to explain why the great bronzed spider he had curled up in the centre of the warehouse specifically needed a bolt of lightning from the actual sky to come to life.

    I kept trying to get through to Jupiter, despite AU¡¯s continual imploring for me to keep my peace (perhaps the wiser course of action, I will admit) which only resulted in that addled soul raising the offspring of a trident and a tesla coil to my throat.

    I was fairly certain I was facing death, then. Part of me thought there was a fittingness in dying at the hands of my life¡¯s study. The much larger part was screaming.

    That was when the wall exploded.

    Photos, or even those ghastly comics they put out, can never capture the weird, lurid glory of the Crimson Comet. The ridiculous red of his costume, still bright even with the layer brick-dust and drywall. And those great, gold-cast wings, scalding the air with their glow. The man was where giant met archangel. But most amazing of all was his face. Mechanical men were closing in around him on all sides, their eyes aglow with their master¡¯s spite, and it was as if he didn¡¯t know what fear was. In fact, I could swear he was smiling.

    You¡¯ve no doubt seen the newsreels, or the pictures. I don¡¯t need to tell you how he fared against Jupiter¡¯s machines.

    If Adam had one bone to pick with this Herbert Lawrence, it was his clear disinterest in action.

    In this book, I will say many things about the superheroic tradition. You might come away with the impression that I consider it a¡­ maladaptive institution, or even a waste of posthuman potential. And you¡¯d be right. But that¡¯s not to say that many superheroes aren¡¯t fine men or women. And none more so than Ralph Rivers.

    Over the years, we grew quite familiar with each other. Even before the Institute, where he was always welcome, his humble flat was similarly open to me and AU.

    It was Ralph, over a few pints at his local, AU safely stashed with his sister at home, who first told me about what John Smith would later call ¡°the Asteria presentation¡±:

    He was nine years old, when he became a posthuman, he told me. Asthmatic and runtish, his classmates smelt weakness the way our kind¡¯s young are wont to. One day, they had him against the wall, and then:

    ¡°There was a man.¡±

    I cannot tell you how many times I would hear those words, good readers. He was a giant, Rivers said, with stars for eyes, whom the night sky followed half the day too early. He tried warning his menacers of the giant, but they laughed it off, a half-simple boy trying to make them turn around.

    ¡°I thought he was God. Still not sure he wasn¡¯t.¡±

    And when the giant looked at him, he was filled with what felt like the Holy Ghost.

    ¡°Except I don¡¯t think the Holy Ghost would¡¯ve let me break Pete Jenkins¡¯ jaw with a slap.¡±

    So he wasn¡¯t alone, Adam realized. No less than the Crimson Comet had seen the giant, had been changed the same way he had.

    ¡°I¡¯m not proud of it, Lawrence. I think, in the end, these powers are for us to help people. Killing¡ªI¡¯m not going to say it never needs doin¡¯¡ªthat¡¯s a job for guns and bombs. A mystery man, they shouldn¡¯t have to resort to that.¡±

    We sent this man to war. God help us.

    Oh. So that was why. He had failed. Taken the easy way out. Killed when he could have done anything¡ªliterally anything¡ªelse. The man with the stars in his eyes had found him wanting.

    Adam closed the book, hurled it back under his bed, and finally started trying to forget his sun.

    ?

    Spring had revived well by the Saturday morning Jenny Sinclair roused her son early.

    ¡°Did church change days?¡± he asked blearily.

    ¡°No, no, nothing like that¡± his mum answered, an anxious smile playing across her lips, ¡°we have guests. They¡¯re here for you.¡±

    That was all she would tell him till he was up and presentable, and pushed, still on autopilot, into the kitchen.

    Around the table, a large, bearded man in a green suit and tie sat waiting, flanked on either side by a beautifully carved blonde woman with eyes like shards of ultramarine, and a young man whom adolescence seemed to cling to like cobweb. Next to his uneasy looking father, meanwhile, were two sullen children, their eyes unmistakably those of the woman¡¯s.

    Like the sea in summer.

    It was like hearing a word he had only seen written. ¡°¡­Dr. Lawrence?¡±

    As the doctor¡¯s eyes widened at the recognition, the younger man to his right leapt up from his chair, strode over to the young Sinclair, and shook his hand, all smiles.

    ¡°Tiresias! Pleased to meet ya, Adam.¡±

 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Adam and the New Humans

    ¡°Sooo¡­¡± Adam said from his seat between the two younger children, on a swing set built for a larger family than his. ¡°¡­ Wanna play chasey?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Myriad, echoed almost immediately by her companion. He knew their names (or at least their Lawrence approved ones) without having to ask. How could he not? They¡¯d been all over the papers for a solid fortnight after their show at Parliament House, their miracles scratchily preserved in black and white. Even without that, Maelstrom had been in the New Child, if only as a baby in arms or sporting in a fishtank. Myriad, though, she had to be a later acquisition, whatever her eyes said.

    It was embarrassing, to be honest. In the months he¡¯d been trying to figure all of this stuff out, he¡¯d taken to pretending to talk to them from time to time, just to bounce his frustrations somewhere other than inside of his own head. And sometimes to fight lava-pirates.

    Adam was rapidly coming to prefer the ones in his head.

    ¡°¡­ Lemonade?¡± he tried.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Fine. If his mum and dad were going to banish him outside with his imaginary friends while they chatted with the book people, he was at least going to sate some curiosity. ¡°Are you two brother and sister?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± the pair both shouted at him, though Adam thought he heard something¡­ else in the boy¡¯s voice.

    ¡°Cousins? It¡¯s just¡ªthe eyes. Yeah.¡±

    Maelstrom folded his arms, scowling. ¡°She¡¯s a power-snatcher. She¡¯s just using mine.¡±

    ¡°Power copier,¡± Myriad clarified sourly. ¡°And I¡¯m actually using his mother¡¯s. She¡¯s much better.¡±

    ¡°Right¡­¡± He sat there between them for a few more seconds, trying unsuccessfully not to fidget. ¡°Did I do something wrong?¡±

    Myriad simply huffed at that, but after a moment, Maelstrom let out a sigh.

    ¡°¡­ No. Sorry. It¡¯s Adam, right? Nice to meet you.¡± The smaller boy held out a hand, and Adam shook it, confused. ¡°We¡¯re not mad at you, I¡¯m mad at her.¡±

    ¡°Why are you mad at her?¡± Adam asked.

    ¡°Cuz he¡¯s a weenie,¡± Myriad huffed again. ¡°A mean weenie who doesn¡¯t listen.¡±

    ¡°Because she made things confusing,¡± Maelstrom answered softly, not looking at her. ¡°And it hurt.¡±

    ¡°Did not!¡± Myriad retorted, her voice rising.

    ¡°Yeah, Allison,¡± he whispered. ¡°Yeah, you did.¡±

    Huh, so she did have a proper name.

    Adam gazed between the silent pair for a long moment, then shook his head. Honestly, little kids were pretty stupid. It was times like these when he was thankful for all the life experience he held over their ilk.

    ¡°Was she trying to hurt you?¡± he asked.

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t reply at once, preferring instead to drop his eyes to the ground, scrapped clear of grass by a thousand sharp stops.

    ¡°¡­I dunno.¡±

    ¡°Have you asked?¡±

    ¡°N¡ªno.¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe you should.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying¡ª¡±

    Adam put a hand over the girl¡¯s mouth. ¡°You, shush.¡± He could feel spittle on his palm from the girl¡¯s muffled sputtering. Who knew the girl Lawrence felt worth presenting to the whole nation could be such a brat.

    Looking to Maelstrom, he said ¡°Now, ask her if she was trying to hurt you.¡±

    Maelstrom took a deep breath. ¡°Were you trying to hurt me, Myriad?¡±

    Adam nodded at Myriad, removing his hand from from her mouth. Frowning, she answered, ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t. I just thought it was weird that¡ª¡±

    ¡°You promised not to talk about it!¡±

    ¡°And I haven¡¯t! Why are you so mad at me when I¡¯m doing what you¡ª¡±

    A hand over both their mouths, this time. Adam noted that Maelstrom protested far less. ¡°Just¡ªjust don¡¯t try explaining anything or complaining. Not while I¡¯m stuck out here with you.¡± Bloody little kids¡ªthey hadn¡¯t even done any tricks yet and he was already having to play mediator between the two. He looked right into Myriad¡¯s copycat eyes. ¡°Now, just say you¡¯re sorry.¡±

    The girl¡¯s eyes narrowed. If Adam had any brothers and sisters, he would have known what was about to happen.

    A sharp, crushing pain, and Adam jerked his his hand away. ¡°Ow!¡±

    Myriad lunged at Maelstrom, pulling him down into the dried mud and whaling on him over and over.

    For a moment, David just lay there and took the blows. What else was he going to do? Hit Allie?

    Then, he realized: Allie was hitting him.

    Allison was hitting him.

    Maelstrom screamed, managing to tumble on top of his friend and start clawing her face. Not that his advantage lasted long. He had never used his bare, human strength against another child, while Myriad fought with the ferocity of a dozen primary school bullies, poured into one bioengineered body.

    Adam hovered around the scuffle like they were a pair of tussling cats, all sharp ends ready to close tight around any interloper. He wondered if he had stumbled onto something¡­ tender.

    Myriad was shouting now, a handful of Maelstrom¡¯s hair in her fist. ¡°Why. Are. You. Such. A. Wimp?¡±

    Definitely.

    The girl had her mouth open, ready to lash out some more, but Maelstrom¡¯s fist caught her in the stomach, and whatever she¡¯d been about to say was lost in a high pitched wheeze as the air was forced hard out of her lungs.

    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± he shouted. ¡°I¡¯m just nice!¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m not?¡±

    ¡°¡­No!¡±

    ¡°Grrh!¡± Another body-slam. Maelstrom swallowed a mouthful of dirt. He wondered if this was what being Veltha was like.

    Adam was dimly aware of the rasp of a screen door sliding open somewhere far away.

    ¡°I know it might be hard to believe, Mrs. Sinclair, but our Alberto¡­¡±  Lawrence¡¯s reassurances trailed off as he saw the ball of violence his favourite students had become.

    ¡°Children!¡± he barked, running over to the children to try and pry them apart like hateful magnets. ¡°Stop this at once!¡±

    The two ignored him, twisting in his arms as they scratched and kicked at each other. Lawrence could only be grateful they weren¡¯t using their powers.

    Like wolves fighting with their claws sheathed.

    The old man looked plaintively at Tiresias, still standing in the doorway a few paces behind the gawking Sinclairs.

    ¡°Help,¡± he mouthed, garnering only a wry grin from the psychic.

    ¡°Sure, Bertie. I¡¯ll get riiiiight on that.¡±

    Myriad was still screaming at her friend, ¡°Why do you let people make you feel like this?¡±

    Melusine barged past Tiresias and strode towards the scene, sending a flurry of panic through Lawrence. He had seen what she did to those who wronged her son. Even Alberto looked concerned.

    Those concerns, as things turned out, were unfounded.

    Fran?oise strode between the two like a ship through the seas, the children parting like waves crashing harmlessly off her hull. With a move Adam could not quite find the words to describe, she placed a hand on each of the fighting children¡¯s heads and pulled them apart, tangled limbs and all.  Adam couldn¡¯t quite fathom how she did it, only that she had.<sup>1</a></sup> Then, she sat down between them.

    ¡°Now, Allison,¡± she said, ¡°why are you and my droplet fighting?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Allison didn¡¯t seem quite able to look at the older woman in that moment, instead staring determinedly at her feet.

    ¡°¡­ Cuz he¡¯s a doop.¡±

    ¡°Am not!¡± David shot back past his mother. ¡°You¡¯re a meanie, and a bad-truth teller, and a-a¡­ a bad friend!¡±

    Adam watched, confused, as both Allison and the adults from the Institute stared at the little boy like he¡¯d grown a new set of ears.

    ¡°¡­ Did the kid just grow a spine?¡± Alberto asked, one eyebrow raised.

    Fran?oise held up a hand towards Alberto, palm flat, and he wisely shut his mouth.

    ¡°Now, David,¡± she asked her son, either not noticing or ignoring Lawrence¡¯s frown, ¡°do you think Allison¡¯s the kind of person who hurts people just because she wants to?¡±

    ¡°¡­ Sometimes.¡±

    Adam glanced at Allison, expecting her to object. She didn¡¯t. She was still staring at her feet, her lip beginning to quiver.

    ¡°Well,¡± Fran replied, ruffling the boy¡¯s hair. ¡°I think we both know you¡¯re a kind enough boy to forgive someone when they hurt you. Aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°¡­ It was a lot of hurt.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯m proud of you for standing up to her. But I want you both to remember that you¡¯re still friends. I¡¯ve seen you cuddling.¡±

    The only reason Allison didn¡¯t blush was that her face was already flushed from the fight.

    ¡°Do either of you want to lose that?¡±

    Both children belatedly shook their heads.

    ¡°Good. Then you can talk this over with each other later. If you need a grown up to help you talk about it, then come see me. But right now, I¡¯d like you both to give each other a hug, because you care about each other, and that¡¯s what matters. Okay?¡±

    After a few tense moments, Allison pushed herself up onto her feet, and shambled awkwardly across to her friend. Adam watched the two embrace, one eyebrow raising as David tried to stifle a sniffle. He shook his head. Kids were weird.

    ?

    Once the blood and grime was rinsed off the children¡¯s faces, and they¡¯d been settled on the Sinclairs¡¯ overstuffed lounge room sofa, Lawrence launched off into a tirade. Mrs Sinclair didn¡¯t much see the point of it, after the Frenchwoman¡¯s intercession, but she recognised the pattern well. How many times had she sorted out some misdeed of Adam¡¯s, only to mention it to his father after he¡¯d come home from work, and have him storm in and open up the whole wound anew.

    David and Allison just sat there in their soiled Sunday best, one of Fran?oise¡¯s arms over each of them, and let the old man¡¯s words wash over them. Occasionally they¡¯d flinch, like they¡¯d been spat at by burning grease.

    Adam, meanwhile, feeling that painful super-visibility of any child watching another be reprimanded, silently made note of every line he¡¯d read in Lawrence¡¯s book.

    ¡°You can¡¯t afford to let yourselves succumb to this kind of pettiness. A human child who loses their temper might just strike their friend, but you¡­¡±

    Page seventy-two.

    ¡°¡­You need to set an example¡­¡±

    Too many to count.

    ¡°¡­And in front of strangers, too!¡±

    Well, that was just universal, wasn¡¯t it?

    Mid-lecture, Lawrence turned away from the children to address Mr and Mrs Sinclair. ¡°I swear, they aren¡¯t usually so churlish.¡± Like a lot of proud guardians of gifted children, Dr. Lawrence seemed to expend a lot of words on insisting that their behaviour wasn¡¯t typical of them.

    Mr. Sinclair nodded awkwardly. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Doctor, really. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ve had a long drive.¡± A faint, pained smile. ¡°We all know what children can be like on boring trips.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s jaw grew tight, and his back very straight. He was no father, but he was close enough to one to recognise the taste of that silent, politeness-shrouded, and possibly imaginary judgment. ¡°Please don¡¯t try to defend them, Mr. Sinclair. They need to be better than other children, for all our sakes.¡±

    Mrs Sinclair waved a hand, as though trying to disperse the argument like smoke. ¡°We understand, Doctor Lawrence. But surely you came here to talk about our son, not your students?¡±

    Lawrence collected himself: he was letting things get off track. ¡°Yes, of course. My apologies.¡± He lowered himself onto one of the kitchen chairs that had been dragged out into the sitting area. ¡°So, you say your son has not displayed any sign of extra normal ability since¡­¡±

    ¡°January,¡± Adam¡¯s mother admitted.

    Lawrence nodded thoughtfully. ¡°But he did perform a superhuman feat in that time, correct?¡±

    A reluctant nod, from both of Adam¡¯s parents. He was starting to dislike being talked about like he wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡°Could you tell us about the circumstances behind this manifestation?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not something we try to think about, honestly,¡± Ernest said.

    Alberto leaned forward in his chair, pointing between the two elder Sinclairs. ¡°It was Boans, wasn¡¯t it?¡± he said, his tone barely allowing any ambiguity. ¡°Your kid was the one that killed that Fey of Femurs woman from the Coven.¡±

    You could almost hear the dust drifting through the air. Allison and David both looked at Adam like he was somewhere between god and devil. And yet everyone else in the room seemed to be trying not to look at him, even as he felt more watched than ever.

    Jenny Sinclair cast her eyes down towards the carpet. ¡°He didn¡¯t mean to,¡± she said quietly. ¡°And it was the only way he could save me.¡±

    Lawrence stood and moved to the woman¡¯s side, resting a gloved hand on her shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone here is doubting that, my girl,¡± he said. ¡°The death of that girl was tragic, as any death is. But this one, I think, was chiefly a tragedy of her own making.¡± The old Oxfordian glanced over to Adam. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first new human child to take a life in the early days of their powers, Adam, and far from the least justified in doing so.¡±

    That was not in the book. Prose hangs around long enough for the author to think it through. Adam sighed. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, Doctor Lawrence. The power went away right after. I haven¡¯t done or felt anything like it in months. I¡¯m not like those two,¡± he said, pointing to the Institute children still gawking at him.

    ¡°But you have to be,¡± Allison piped up. ¡°Your song doesn¡¯t sound human.¡±

    Adam raised an eyebrow. ¡°My song?¡±

    Lawrence opened his mouth¡ª

    ¡°People make music only our Allison can hear, and it lets her learn things from them. Supers sound very interesting to her,¡± Fran explained. ¡°Sorry, Laurie, but you would¡¯ve just confused them more.¡±

    ¡°Well, what does my song sound like?¡±

    The girl wrinkled her nose, tilting her head. ¡°¡­Cludgy? Like whoever wrote it wanted to include all the instruments they knew? Spanish guitar, harmonica¡ªit¡¯s a mess, sorry.¡±

    So I¡¯m a crap super. Great.  ¡°But my powers still went away. Maybe the song is like an appendix scar?¡±

    Lawrence scratched his beard. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s psychosomatic? I¡¯ve heard cases of musicians and writers ¡®losing their talent¡¯ after traumatic events.¡±

    Alberto stood up. ¡°May I try something, Lawrence?¡±

    The doctor looked surprised. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not, Alberto.¡± Quickly, he added, ¡°If young Adam¡¯s parents will permit it, of course.¡±

    The boy in question looked at his parents, not sure what his eyes were asking them.

    Jenny¡¯s gaze narrowed on the young man like iron-sights. ¡°You¡¯re not going to hurt him, are you?¡±

    Adam hadn¡¯t even considered that possibility.

    Alberto grinned. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± He pulled a tiny clay bird out from his pocket, setting it down on the coffee table.

    Does he just walk around with that in his pocket?

    ¡°Burn it,¡± the man ordered.

    Adam looked at the bird, then back at its owner, frowning. ¡°I just told you all my powers went away.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re lying,¡± Alberto replied casually. ¡°Stop malingering, kid, and just blow up the damn bird.¡±

    Ernest sputtered. ¡°Don¡¯t you go calling my son a liar¡ª¡±

    Adam¡¯s father was cut off by the esper throwing up a hand, still looking at his son. ¡°I know he is.¡±

    He strode towards the child, his feet devouring the space between them till they were close enough for him to jab his thumb into the Adam¡¯s forehead. From there, Tiresias traced a pattern across the boy¡¯s face, ignoring his squirming. ¡°I can see it¡ªunder his skin¡­¡± He manually extended his captive¡¯s arm outward, prying his hand open like a schoolboy trying to steal a smaller kid¡¯s canteen change.

    Adam tried to pull his arm back, but there was strength in those long, pale fingers. ¡°I said I can¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± the psychic growled in his ear. ¡°You¡¯ll bore a hole through a girl, but won¡¯t even cremate a bloody clay bird? The hell is wrong with you?¡±

    ¡°Not won¡¯t, can¡¯t,¡± Adam half-whined. Why weren¡¯t his parents making the weirdo lay off him? Even Dr. Lawrence looked more worried.

    ¡°You know what I think? I think you can do whatever it is you do whenever you damn well please. You¡¯re just a coward.¡±

    Tears started stinging Adam¡¯s eyes. ¡°Am not!¡±

    Hot breath in his ear, alcoholic fumes forcing their way up his nose and bringing more tears with them. ¡°Are too,¡± Tiresias hissed. ¡°All that moaning in your head.¡± He launched into a childish falsetto. ¡°Why didn¡¯t the Flying Man save Peter? Why¡¯d that bloody giant give him powers if that¡¯s all he got out of it¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you¡ª¡±

    ¡°You read Bertie¡¯s book, kid. How do I think I knew that? But that was a good question, but you know what¡¯s an even better one? Why couldn¡¯t you have saved Peter?¡±

    ¡°I was asleep when they got him!¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have mattered if you weren¡¯t. Because you¡¯re afraid of rising up above the dross, aren¡¯t you? Keep your head low and the freak-finders won¡¯t bother ya, won¡¯t they?¡± A crooked grin. ¡°You¡¯d have just stood there and watched them crack open that poor boy¡¯s skull¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡± The boy exploded out of his arms, sending the man into the wall like he had air for insides. ¡°I would¡¯ve done something!¡±

    Adam felt it before he even realised what he¡¯d done. Like his fingers were pressed against summer-warm glass. He looked down at his hands. A sun in each, like a binary star system.

    ¡°Woah¡­¡±

    It was Alberto groaning, slumped at the foot of the wall like an abandoned coat, that brought the child back to the present. The suns winked back out.

    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry¡ªsorry¡ª¡±

    The light changed. The whole room smelled the way clouds ought to feel. Even the pull of gravity felt like a friend. Fran, David and Allison shuddered as one, even as the children¡¯s cuts and bruises mended themselves. Adam¡¯s parents both sighed like they were breathing in a bouquet. Lawrence appeared to be in awe.

    Alberto stood back up, smiling and cracking his neck, blood pouring from fresh wounds that were already beginning to close. ¡°Christ, I feel like I¡¯ve got the liver of a ten year old.¡±

    The Sinclairs both frowned at him.

    ¡°Oh, lighten up.¡± He moved over to Adam, clasping a hand over his shoulder. ¡°Sorry about all that, kid. Thought I needed to angry up the blood a bit.¡± He pointed at Lawrence. ¡°See that old fart? His folks paid hundreds and hundreds of pounds for some eggheads to work him over into a psychiatrist, and he couldn¡¯t have gotten that out of you in fifty sessions!¡±

    Lawrence ignored the insult, turning to the Sinclairs. ¡°So, shall we discuss enrolment?¡±

    ¡°¡­ What?¡± Asked Ernest. ¡°After a stunt like that? Are you f-¡± Alberto glanced sidelong at him, and the sentence seemed to fizzle out in his throat like a dying sparkler.

    ¡°There some kind of problem?¡± Tiresias asked, the corners of his lips tugging upwards in a small smile.

    The Sinclairs seemed to struggle for words for a moment, Ernest shifting just a little in his seat, before:

    ¡°¡­ No.¡± Jenny replied. ¡°No problem. How soon can you take him?¡±

    ¡°¡­What are you doing to them?¡± Adam asked, the fear rising painfully in his gut. ¡°Let them go. I swear. You stop it right now-¡± Alberto glanced at him, and he crumpled to the floor, fast asleep.

    Alberto let his eyes wander around the room. David and Allison both staring at him, the girl accusing, the boy terrified. He looked at Lawrence, glaring disapprovingly at him, and at Mel, her head resting on her son¡¯s shoulder. Always start with Mel.

    Myriad opened her mouth to speak, but Tiresias wasn¡¯t in a mood to humor her. Both children lay back in the couch, dead to the world.

    Ernest jumped out of his seat, probably to fetch his gun or the like, but instead just fell forward onto the shag carpeting, his wife soon following.

    ¡°I wanted to at least try talking it through with them,¡± Lawrence growled. ¡°It¡¯s called common courtesy, Tiresias.¡±

    ¡°You did try talking to them,¡± he replied. ¡°You did it badly, and I got bored. We¡¯re just lucky the Sinclairs were polite enough to shake my hand. For their reward, they all get to remember something better happening instead. I¡¯m sure Elsewhere¡¯s folks would be happier if I had just done that when they all rolled up.¡±

    Lawrence narrowed his eyes. ¡°This isn¡¯t something we should rely on.¡±

    Alberto¡¯s eyes flared. ¡°Let me make one thing clear, old man¡ªI¡¯ve been pulling you out of the fire since the day we met. ¡± He poked at Adam¡¯s father with his dress shoe. ¡°While you reflect on that, I¡¯ll be checking The Importance of Being Earnest over here¡¯s beer fridge.¡±

    As the psychic headed for the back door, Lawrence surveyed the sleepers in the lounge room. He didn¡¯t think he had seen Myriad and Maelstrom so peaceful since AU¡¯s return.

    He just hoped the memory Tiresias wrote for them wasn¡¯t too ridiculous.

 Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Reefs of Sound

    ¡°Why would I wanna start it there?¡± Mabel asked, frowning sidelong at the Institute¡¯s newest member. ¡°If I¡¯m drawing the barn, shouldn¡¯t I start with the door?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Adam grinned, shuffling over to the younger girl, a drawing pad balanced on his lap. He pointed at the barn resting down the hill from them. ¡°If you start drawing the door, then you¡¯ll just have a door. Some weird rectangle thing like you get in kiddie drawings. If you go from the outside in, then you can kinda focus on the shapes a little more, you know?¡±

    ¡°Like this?¡±

    ¡°¡­No. Nothing like that.¡±

    Scribbling. ¡°This?¡±

    ¡°Better, but no.¡± The boy put a guiding hand over Mabel¡¯s. ¡°Take more time with it.¡±

    A small, mostly involuntary smile. ¡°Fine, fine.¡±

    Adam, as Mabel had slowly begun to conclude, was pretty alright.

    ¡°Why¡¯s it okay for him to teach you and not me?¡± Myriad asked sourly from the slab of rock she was lying on, sunning herself like a goanna.

    Mabel huffed. ¡°Because he actually knows how you learn to draw.¡±

    Myriad muttered something age inappropriate. Beside her, David crossed his arms, pouting. ¡°I could¡¯ve helped, you know.¡±

    ¡°You power-cheat as well, Maelstrom.¡±

    ¡°Do not!¡±

    Mabel put her hands on her hips. ¡°Okay, teach me how to spray stuff with water so I feel them.¡±

    Maelstrom and Myriad both looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and stalked off towards the big house, at first together, then seeming to peel off as they got close, David heading down to the river.

    Mabel pulled her gaze back to the barn, scowling. An awful, mean part of herself had cheered a little at her friends¡¯ spat at first. They were getting way too clingy. Maybe David would play with her more again. Now, though, there seemed to be peace between him and Allison. An uneasy peace, brokered by occupying forces.

    But they were still so mad at everything.

    Mabel practically gouged at the paper, snapping off the point of her purple pencil<sup>1</a></sup>.

    She wasn¡¯t even done swearing before Adam had his hands over the dropped pencil. The air shimmered, and the pencil leapt back into Mabel¡¯s hand, fine and sharp once more.

    She blinked a few times. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could do that.¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t, either.¡±

    ¡°How many powers is that now?¡±

    Adam had to think about it. ¡°¡­Six. Seven counting rainbow breath, but I don¡¯t even know what that one¡¯s for.¡±

    Mabel giggled. ¡°Lawrence is going to take ages picking you a name.¡± For some reason, she really hoped he did.

    ¡°Probably.¡± Adam took Mabel¡¯s hand again. ¡°You know what your problem is? You always point the pencil straight down, like you¡¯re gonna stab the drawing or something. Hold it at an angle when you shade.¡±

    He steered her into scratching a gradient¡ªiris to eggplant¡ªacross the page. So that was how you did that.

    ¡°See? Useful.¡±

    Definitely alright.

    ?

    It took Adam a while to really get Linus. The Institute¡¯s first male student was a constant presence in The New Child, lauded by Lawrence for his cheerful, earnest manner¡ªeven has he bemoaned his continual insistence that his father was the god Apollo:

    I¡¯ve explained to the boy¡ªgently, mind you¡ªthat the posthuman (probably the latest in a long line) who claims to be Apollo generally keeps to Greece. Oh, sure, more often than not, Linus nods and says ¡°Yes, Lawrence,¡± like the good lad he is. But there¡¯s always that smile. That secret smile children indulge us silly grown ups with.

    Adam couldn¡¯t help but be curious how a boy who claimed such a thing about himself kept the hot air from broiling his brains. First night they were both after-dinner dish-duty, he had sidled up to Linus, grown tall and golden past the The New Child¡¯s epilogue.

    ¡°What¡¯s up, new kid?¡± he asked. He grinned crookedly. ¡°You aren¡¯t thinking you¡¯ll pass on all the work to me are ya?¡±

    Adam laughed, flicking some suds at the the older boy. ¡°Shut up! I just wanted to get to know you lot. I mean, I¡¯m going to be here a while, right?¡±

    He nodded thoughtfully. ¡°You¡¯re probably right about that, sorry to say.¡±

    Adam shuffled his feet. ¡°It¡¯s alright. I mean, it seems nice? Even before I got here, Laurie¡¯s book, you know?¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m an open book. What¡¯s on ya mind?¡±

    ¡°¡­Howdidyougetyourpowers?¡±

    Linus stopped  scouring the dried pasta sauce off his plate, tilting his head at Adam. ¡°Whad¡¯ya say, mate?¡±

    ¡°¡­How did you get your powers?¡±

    Stupid, stupid Adam, he knows you read the book, idiot!

    ¡°Oh.¡± Linus went back to scrubbing. ¡°Not much of a story there. My dad¡¯s a god.¡±

    His father could have been a banker or a glazier, if you missed the last word. There was no bragging in his tone. Maybe once, long ago, but not anymore.

    ¡°Which one?¡± Adam asked.

    ¡°Apollo. He does pretty much everything my uncle¡ªhalf uncle, actually, granddad owned a bike¡ªdidn¡¯t snatch up first. Prophecy, healing, light¡­ music.¡± A smile like the sun. ¡°You can probably guess where I take after him.¡±

    ¡°You ever meet him?¡±

    ¡°Few times. It¡¯s been years, though.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡± Adam wasn¡¯t sure if the ¡°he¡± needed a capital letter.

    Linus shrugged. ¡°You know what dads are like.¡±

    Stolen story; please report.

    Adam found it hard to believe this boy was a father three times over.

    The other thing Adam couldn¡¯t get his head around was Linus¡¯ power. From what he had gleaned from The New Child, Linus¡¯ gifts were more less covered under the umbrella of ¡°being really, really, good at music.¡± And Adam reckoned if that qualified for the Institute, Lawrence would need to buy up all of Northam to have enough room.

    At least, he didn¡¯t get it till that first Friday night in Lorikeet dorm. Lights out had been called three hours ago, but Linus and Gwydion were only just ambling in. That was one of the perks of fatherhood: you got to stay up till 10:30.

    Linus quickly threw himself onto his hammock. Almost as soon as it stopped swinging, Windshear was tiptoeing through the dark over to him.

    ¡°Linus,¡± the little girl trilled in his ear, whispering louder than she usually spoke, ¡°play us a song.¡±

    All around him, Adam saw and heard his dorm mates sit up or murmur expectantly.

    ¡°Not tonight, Windy,¡± Linus groaned with the resignation of the already defeated. ¡°Tired.¡±

    ¡°And he¡¯s not that good anyway,¡± Haunt called out, raising laughter. ¡°Well he isn¡¯t!¡± Haunt often claimed to be immune to Linus¡¯ music, or as he put it, ¡°impervious to bullshit.¡±

    ¡°Come ooooon,¡± Windshear whined. ¡°It¡¯s Friday, you can sleep in.¡±

    Linus smacked his pillow into her face. ¡°Fine. Just one, though, then you¡¯re all going to let me sleep<sup>2</a></sup>.¡±

    Linus reached for the Maton six-string leaning beside the hammock and started plucking at the strings. ¡°Oh, yeah, I¡¯ll tell tell ya something, I think you¡¯ll understand¡­¡±

    The notes streamed like rivers from Linus¡¯ guitar; staining the moonwash crimson and gold; flashing with every soft strum of the boy¡¯s fingers, quick as gum-leaves on the wind. He had started off singing ¡°I Wanna Hold Your Hand¡± but that wasn¡¯t what the other children heard.

    Adam didn¡¯t even notice when he started singing along. That was the thing with Linus¡¯ songs. You couldn¡¯t help being washed away by them. He was singing along with the older boy, reciting lyrics to a song he didn¡¯t even know the words to, dancing with a complete lack of self consciousness he hadn¡¯t known for years. Soon he realized he was crying. He wasn¡¯t the only one. Most of the children were.  Not the weepy, screechy sort of crying, or the type where the lungs began to clench. The clean kind, where every tear gave air to some old hurt. Those pains circled the dorm, passing from child to child as freely as a tune, building up force until it was like a rip current flowed through each of their bodies.

    Each was a part of the song. Maybe the space between notes that gave them definition. Windshear, still wondering after all these years how her brother hadn¡¯t turned out super with her. Snapdragon, trying to shake the memory of those raw, seeping burns across his father¡¯s face. Mabel, wondering if she should have burned instead of her own father. Fey of Femurs and Peter James dying all over again.

    Adam glanced toward Myriad, moving with that perfect, almost grim grace, and followed a line through the air to Maelstrom, play-waltzing with Growltiger right across the other end of the dorm. A melancholic, resentful note still rang loud between the two children. You couldn¡¯t lie when Linus sang, not even to yourself.

    Haunt was still in his hammock, his teeth clenched with his arms wrapped tight around his legs, lest they betray him too. Adam felt something bitter tease at his soul; the face of a mother, only half remembered. Then he looked to Elsewhere, and felt confusion brushed with sadness; a note of longing. Elsewhere, for his part, was staring right at Maelstrom. Were it not for the honesty of the song, Adam might have laughed at him or worse. Maelstrom simply gave Arnold a sad smile.

    Nobody sang the same words, but they were all the right ones. A dozen piping, out-of-key voices, a couple cracking with puberty, and all made and tuned for just this very song.

    The song and the spell died down as Billy looked at Adam.

    ¡°¡­ You killed her?¡± he asked, a small frown pulling at his features.

    ¡°She tried to hurt my Mum,¡± Adam replied. A soupy, endorphin thick exhaustion had settled on him, like he had been dancing for hours instead of minutes. ¡°I¡¯m not sorry¡­ What does that say about me?¡±

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re like a soldier?¡± Elsewhere suggested. ¡°I know my dad¡¯s killed people, and I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s sorry. Or the same kind of sorry.¡±

    For some reason, the idea hurt didn¡¯t Adam as much as he thought it would. If he couldn¡¯t be like the Crimson Comet, at least he could still be something besides a murderer.

    The dorm caught its breath as the door swung open. The teachers usually ignored Linus¡¯ after-hours singalongs, probably because they couldn¡¯t bare to put a stop to them, but you never knew.

    ¡°Aww, did we miss a Linus thing?¡± Artume jeered as she stepped inside, her sister and Metonymy following behind her.

    ¡°Sure did,¡± Windshear answered dizzly.

    ¡°The party kind or the weird touchy feely sort?¡± Metonymy asked.

    ¡°Weird touchy feely,¡± Haunt grumbled from between his knees. ¡°Stay out of my head, Linus!¡±

    ¡°You gonna do another song?¡± ¨¥¨­s asked giddily.

    Haunt shouted, ¡°No!¡±

    Linus through a hand up. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll tone it down a bit. Didn¡¯t mean for it to come out so heavy anyway. Maybe you all needed to vent.¡±

    ¡°Why the fuck would anyone need that?¡±

    Growltiger and ¨¥¨­s both let out an ¡°ohhh¡± while Artume shot Haunt a look. ¡°Don¡¯t knock it,¡± she told him. ¡°Linus sang that way after me and Metonymy¡¯s married day. It kinda hurt, but things made more sense afterwards.¡±

    ¡°The married day made more sense,¡± Haunt specified flatly.

    ¡°Not that.¡± Metonymy weaved his hand into Artume¡¯s. ¡°Us. Being friends.¡±

    Haunt looked around the dorm, trying to find a comrade in scorn. ¡°You needed Linus magic to figure that out?¡±

    Linus just smiled. ¡°Happy to be of help.¡±

    As promised, his next song was more sedate, and let the children stay in their own heads. Honestly, after the cathartic scouring of the last song, a simple (if strangely full sounding) rendition of ¡°Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds¡± was a relief.

    For lack of anywhere else to sit, Artume and Metonymy settled down beside Adam on his hammock, watching ¨¥¨­s dance with Growltiger.

    ¡°So, Institute treating you good?¡± the girl asked Adam, making small talk.

    Adam shrugged. ¡°So far. Food¡¯s nice.¡±

    Metonymy nodded. ¡°We really need to get Alberto to make dessert more.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡± Adam glanced at Artume. ¡°So, what was your married day like?¡±

    In the time it took the other children to face him, Linus had already slowed his tune, his lyrics becoming quieter. There was anger there, a note of hurt far more profound than Allison and David had contributed. Lucy, it seemed, was falling.

    Lawrence hadn¡¯t waited long to explain the Institute¡¯s stirpiculture<sup>3</a></sup> to the boy. As the old doctor had admitted, he used to leave it many months, till new students had adjusted to the school, and the neuroses of human society had faded somewhat.

    ¡°Cowardice on my part, dear boy. Unfair on the students, making them keep things from their brothers and sisters. Especially our brave young women.¡±

    Adam had just sat there in the headmaster¡¯s study, waiting for Lawrence to say something that would make sense of all this. He didn¡¯t. ¡°¡­How old do we start?¡±

    At that, the old man¡¯s upper lip twitched like he was speculating about the weather that week. ¡°For girls, about fifteen. Fourteen if they¡¯re early bloomers, but we try to play it safe. Boys, though, we can afford to start a little earlier. It¡¯s funny, really. Girls might start down the path to womanhood younger, but boys may be men before them.¡± A chuckle  ¡°Far away as it is, I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table, Adam. I mean, how often is it when a Naming is delayed because I¡¯m spoiled for choice?¡±

    The whole concept had itched at the boy ever since. Giggled, whispered rumours had told him enough about sex that he knew this arrangement would be scandalous back in Kalgoorlie, but he couldn¡¯t quite remember why. Every objection he could think of felt fake, like Sister Scholastica trying to explain Original Sin for the fiftieth time. Sometimes it was felt like it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn¡¯t grasp it. Lawrence got to be be right by default, like the only horse at a race. Maybe the rules were just different for supers. If they could run around in costumes punching crooks, why not have babies sooner?

    Artume was looking at Adam hard enough he worried she might leave bruises. ¡°You want to know what a married day is like? Do you really?¡±

    Metonymy squeezed her hand. ¡°He¡¯s not trying to be nasty, Arty.¡±

    ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean to.¡±

    ¡°I know you didn¡¯t,¡± she said, firmly. ¡°So I¡¯m going to tell you.¡±

    And so, in a voice like brittle iron, Artume explained the whole process. The wetness, the heat, that shuddering moment when sight abandoned her, the scratching. As she spoke, Linus¡¯ song grew sharper, more jagged: Lucy in the impact crater with very bad acid.

    Adam was white by the time she was finished, his fingers digging into the flannel of his pyjamas. Artume, for her part, was gripping Met¡¯s hand like some sort of life buoy. A tiny part of Adam found that strange. How could he be a comfort to her, after all that?

    There was a suspicion of guilt in Artume¡¯s features. ¡°Ah, sorry. Was that too much?¡±

    Adam didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Here, I¡¯ll get you a drink.¡±

    Blackness bled from the air, Artume plunging her hand into the wound in search of a Coke.

    Adam closed his eyes. He wasn¡¯t sure which emotion was deeper in his skull at that moment, shame or pity. He couldn¡¯t look at the older girl after a story like that.

    Artume found her coke, and began to pull it free, frosty cold from the chilled space of her dimension, when the portal growled. Her portals never growled. She flinched, and that reaction was the only reason she didn¡¯t lose a finger when the gap snapped shut, shearing off a length of skin along the side of the girl¡¯s palm.

    For the first time in his life, Linus missed a beat. Then Artume screamed.

 Chapter Thirty: Mabel Hendersonâ€™s On the Case!

    Cervantes once wrote, ¡°Where there¡¯s music there can be no evil.<sup>1</a></sup>¡±

    Conveniently, Linus had stopped playing.

    Artume was whimpering, the red from her gashed hand mixing with the spilt cola as Met frantically tried to pry her other hand away to assess the damage. It wasn¡¯t pretty. The portal had cut clear down to the bone. Myriad and Maelstrom were both screaming now, the boy lying prone beside a puddle of his own sick. Adam didn¡¯t know what to do with himself. What could he do? He took a tentative half step forwards, before stopping, hand half raised, useless. Despite the general shouting and panic, Linus acted promptly. He grabbed a clean blanket from the closest hammock, pried Artume and Met¡¯s fingers free and wrapped the linen tight around the wound.

    ¡°What happened?¡± he asked, forcing calm into his voice.

    Metonymy answered for Artume. ¡°The portal shut on her¡ª¡±

    Another scream, but muffled. Next to Haunt¡¯s hammock, a pyjama clad leg kicked and twitched, stuck halfway out the wall as if the whole dormitory had been built around it.

    Linus shook his head in disbelief. ¡°What the fu¡ª¡±

    Britomart was running over to the leg, panicked. Falling to the floor, she reared her fist back. ¡°Just hold still mate¡­¡±

    Linus tried rushing over the girl. ¡°Wait, Brit, don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    She struck the wall around Haunt¡¯s leg as hard as she could muster. Normally, that would¡¯ve brought the whole dorm down on them. This time, though, a biting, alien sensation exploded in her knuckles. A sensation she had only ever felt across her back. A shocked, confused sob, and then Britomart was bawling.

    Adam looked over to Linus. The teen was running his fingers through his hair, mouthing panicked obscenities to himself as he struggled to even count the theatres of trouble springing up around him. The younger boy made his decision. He straightened his back, put on a brave face, and strode over to Brit.

    She was still looking at her hand like it had betrayed her, the grazes on her knuckles starting to bleed. Adam ignored her. Haunt needed his help.

    He rested his hand on the wall a few inches away from the other child¡¯s trapped leg. From somewhere within Adam, music was playing. It ran down his arm, the song vibrating through the lines of his palm, just off the beat of his own pulse.

    He shoved the song forward, deep into the corrugated steel, and the wall fell away like salt in the rain.

    Haunt was finally allowed to fall to the grass outside. Before he could scream from the jolt, Adam exhaled, and Heaven was on his breath. The other boy shuddered as his broken bone snapped back into place like a doll¡¯s leg. Across the dorm, Artume¡¯s cut closed.

    Linus sighed. Myriad and Maelstrom were still weeping, and everyone was shaken, but at least the walls weren¡¯t closing in anymore. Mostly because of the hole.  ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver, Adam.¡±

    The young man felt a small, insistent hand tugging at his singlet. Myriad was looking up at him, her eyes raw and far too hazel for that time of night.

    Linus drew an arm around her. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Miri, the scary part¡¯s over.¡±

    The girl clung to her. ¡°Linus?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t hear anyone.¡±

    ?

    Somewhere, far away, a little boy opened his eyes. He was floating, but he couldn¡¯t see the riverbed below him. He couldn¡¯t even feel where the water touched earth or air.  All there was to see was green in every direction, sloping down into darkness, the sun a distant sliver above him.

    And that salt in his mouth. He¡¯d never tasted it before, but he knew it.

    The boy began to weep, his tears lost in the sea.

    Arms wrapped around him and held him close. Those arms were the currents themselves. He was home.

    ?

    Mabel Henderson sat at the edge of the Avon River, watching it twist and turn in its bed: thin, watery tendrils reaching out from the normally flat surface and weakly slithering towards the Institute like primeval worms crawling out from the sea. Clawing, breaking.

    It had been doing that since the blackout had started. A week in, it had lost its novelty. Instead, Mabel focused on sketching either her seventh or seven-hundredth lorikeet for the day. Laying down her pencil, she assessed her work.

    It was a decent attempt. She had managed to emphasize the shoulders better, and she had finally figured out how to make the tail feathers not look like colourful knives.

    Without thinking, she raised her hand, ready to see what her lorikeet looked like in three dimensions.

    ¡°Annoying, innit?¡±

    Mabel closed her hand, gritting her teeth. ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to use my powers.¡±

    Adam smiled softly. ¡°Everyone¡¯s done it, you know.¡±

    Mabel twisted to face the boy. All three of him. ¡°Everyone besides you, you mean.¡±

    ¡°Not just me!¡± the triplicated Adam protested. Somehow, they still sounded like one boy. ¡°?ywie and Basil still have theirs.¡±

    She frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about the powers like they¡¯re gone.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. I mean, they can still use their powers, too. Oh, and Tiresias.¡±

    Mabel scoffed, blowing a stray lock from in front of her eyes. ¡°Does Tiresias even use his powers?¡±

    Adam¡¯s fingers throbbed. ¡°I kinda hope not.¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you kinda rubbing it in, walking around, being all three of you?¡±

    Adam(s) scratched the back of his neck. ¡°Lawrence wanted me to make sure everyone was coping. So, then I made these two,¡± all three of Adam gestured vaguely between themselves, before smiling bashfully, ¡°and I don¡¯t know how to make them go away. Maybe we need to decide who¡¯s the real one first.¡±

    ¡°And your other powers?¡±

    Adam wasn¡¯t sure what the right answer there was, so he just lit his sun in his hand for a moment before snuffing it out again.

    ¡°Wizard,¡± Mabel said, her expression flat. ¡°Absolutely wizard.¡±

    The Adams awkwardly shuffled their feet, glancing at each other like they were trying to settle on a scapegoat. Eventually, one of them sat down besides the younger girl. ¡°Mind if I look at that drawing?¡±

    Mabel mutely passed him the paper.

    Adam smoothed the drawing out against the air, nodding slowly. ¡°This is good! The legs and all don¡¯t sticky-out anymore.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°Great.¡±

    The boy nervously fiddled with his hands. ¡°¡­You want more drawing help?

    After a moment, Mabel deigned him eye contact. ¡°¡­What sorta help?¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe you could draw me?¡±

    A smile betrayed her. ¡°Big-head.¡±

    ¡°Well, I mean, have you done any people?¡±

    ¡°No. Still on birdies.¡±

    Adams threw his hands up. ¡°Gotta start somewhere.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± she muttered, still refusing to look at him. ¡°If it makes you shush, I¡¯ll draw you. Just sit down over there or something.¡±

    Adam grinned at that, and decided to tease the younger girl.

    ¡°Sure you don¡¯t want it to be a nude?¡±

    Adam had a lot to learn about girls. More to the point, he had a lot to learn about this girl. Mabel Henderson had been raised by a single father. In a mining town. And was best mates with Maelstrom.

    ¡°Sure,¡± she replied without hesitation. ¡°Just chuck your shirt and stuff over in the grass somewhere and make sure I can see everything.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Adam asked, eyes suddenly rather wide.

    ¡°You heard me,¡± Mabel gave the boy a wink. All three of him. It looked like she might have had dust in her eye.

    ¡°¡­ Maybe clothes?¡± The lead Adam asked, his voice small.

    Mabel only laughed at that.

    ¡°Yeah. Maybe clothes.¡±

    The next few hours were as uneventful as one could expect during a wonder-outage. She sketched, they talked, she sketched again. So it went, on and on, stick figures becoming the skeletons of full sketches. By the time the model-Adam finally grew tired of sitting still, Mabel had stopped smiling. Her mouth was set in a hard line, her back hunched over around her pad as she worked, the pencil tip scratching slowly over the paper, texturing the scene as it passed.

    ¡°Wow,¡± said the Adam sitting next to her. ¡°Nice one, Mabel. That last one even kinda looks like me.¡± He squinted.  ¡°I think my hair¡¯s more red than orange, though.¡±

    ¡°Says you.¡±

    ¡°And it¡¯s not that curly.¡±

    Mabel grinned. ¡°Artistic license.¡±

    ¡°¡­What¡¯s that mean?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know, Miri said it once. Well, shouted it.¡± A frown. ¡°You checked on her and David today?¡±

    The three Adams made a diverse assortment of sombre expressions. The one closest to Mabel looked down at the space between his legs. ¡°Yeah. I have.¡±

    Mabel dipped her head slightly, trying to get a better look at the older boy¡¯s face. ¡°Any better?¡±

    Almost imperceptibly, Adam shook his head.

    Mabel got to her feet, stretching and gathering up her things. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go see them¡­ you mind walking with me?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    The two (or perhaps four) made their way back up to the Institute, across grass mottled with green and brown. The calendar said there were still a few weeks of spring, but her work was done, and all that was really left was for summer to go out and change the signs.

    The heat clawed at Mabel more than any summer she could remember, even in the deep desolation of Circle¡¯s End. It wasn¡¯t any hotter than usual, at least according to the grownups and thermometers she had consulted, but it felt less escapable. Windshear would be summoning no helpful breeze, and Melusine would not be making it rain. And the flies. Swarms of them settled on the Adams¡¯ backs even as they walked. Mabel tried to remember if there was anyone with powers that warded off bugs.

    No. There wasn¡¯t. But what else was there to pay attention to?

    Children milled around half-completed battlements of gold and limestone like a construction crew after the funding fell through. A few listlessly played soccer. Just soccer. Calcio fiorentino wasn¡¯t meant for human beings.

    Windshear staggered up to Mabel and the Adams, swaying between Haunt and Britomart, each supporting a shoulder.

    ¡°You alright, Windy?¡± asked the hindmost Adam.

    The little girl glared at him. ¡°No, why would I be okay? Nobody¡¯s got powers, it¡¯s stinking hot, Adam¡¯s cheating, and I can barely walk!¡±

    Mabel tilted her head. ¡°Why¡¯s that? Were you flying all this time?¡±

    ¡°She used her powers to make her sense of balance better,¡± Brit explained. ¡°Guess she got used to it.¡±

    Windshear half-heartedly elbowed the other girl. ¡°I can still talk.¡± She looked back at Mabel and Adam. ¡°And don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten what everyone owe¡ª¡± She slipped out of Britomart¡¯s grip, but Haunt caught her around the chest.

    ¡°Maybe you should lie down,¡± he said.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m not doing it cuz you told me to.¡±

    ¡°We know, Windy, we know.¡±

    Mabel watched as the three made their way to the Kookaburra dormitory. Haunt stopped dead in front of the door, regarded it oddly, exhaled, and threw it open.

    The rest of the campus wasn¡¯t much better. Linus sat on one of Ex Nihilo crystal thrones, trying to thin the malaise with his guitar. But all that came out of it was music, made of sound. Abalone and Talos were trying to coax Ophelia into clapping, hoping it would either dislodge whatever was blocking their powers or provide some distraction. She wasn¡¯t biting, though. Nobody could decide if she lacked Tiresias¡¯ exemption from the outage, or if she just knew the boys wanted her to use her ovation.

    Either way, she took after her father.

    As they walked, the Adams peeled off to attend to students in need. Fetching Stratogale a drink, finding a torch for ¨¥¨­s come nightfall. There was only one left at Mabel¡¯s side by the time they reached the big house.

    ¡°You alright on your own from here?¡± he asked her as they stepped onto the veranda. ¡°There¡¯s a bunch of kids I think could use me.¡±

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Mabel nodded. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll be good,¡± she answered, unsure if she was being truthful.

    The inside of the main house was more crowded than usual. What good was sunshine and fresh-air when you couldn¡¯t stir those things into light-tornados? Plus, without powers, the pumpkins had gone from being funny to being in charge. Board-games unexposed to open air since the Ottoman Empire had been dug out of forgotten cupboards. Gwydion and Snapdragon were making fumbling attempts to get Basilisk¡¯s projector up and running.

    Mabel couldn¡¯t spare them much sympathy. They were just bored. There were worse things.

    She climbed up the stairs, past ?ywie pouring over eighteen years worth of notes in her office, past the muffled, nigh-hysteric phone conversation seeping out from under Lawrence¡¯s study door.

    ¡°These children need you, Smith! God knows you owe them¡­¡±

    ¡°Phantasmagoria?¡±

    Mabel almost didn¡¯t notice Melusine curled up on the third story landing. The woman looked down at her with eyes like poorly varnished, painted glass. Her hair, usually artfully dishevelled, looked like a rat-king.

    ¡°Oh, hi, Mels,¡± the girl stammered. ¡°You alright there?¡±

    Melusine rested her face against the handrail. ¡°Comme ci comme ?a<sup>2</a></sup>,¡± she said weakly. ¡°?ywie gave me something to help me relax.¡±

    Mabel winced. She could smell her teacher¡¯s breath from the stairs. Rumour was that Melusine had never bothered learning to brush her teeth, instead letting the transition to water carry the plaque away. Evidently there was some truth to it.

    ¡°¡­She gave you what?¡±

    ¡°She put me in a headlock and made me relax. I feel like I should be angrier about that. But I was screaming a bit.¡±

    Mabel nodded slowly. ¡°We were running out of plates. Are Maelstrom and Miri still in Basil¡¯s room?¡±

    Melusine didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Mels?¡±

    ¡°¡­Tell him I¡¯m here, will you?¡±

    Mabel hurried up past her teacher, patting her on the shoulder as she did. ¡°Promise. It¡¯ll get better, Mels, I¡¯m sure it will.¡±

    Basilisk was playing chess. So was Myriad, ostensibly, but Basil was making half her moves for her. For the most part, the little girl sat across from him, knees tucked up to her chest, glaring.

    Basil paused in the middle of moving her rapidly eroding knight. ¡°Just tell me what you want me to do, Miri.¡±

    The door opened. ¡°Can I come in?¡± asked Mabel.

    Basil quickly forced a grin. ¡°Course, Phantasma. Probably should ask before opening the door, but still.¡± He turned to look at his bed. ¡°Maelstrom, Phantasmagoria¡¯s here!¡±

    In answer, Maelstrom curled tightly around some donated plushies<sup>3</a></sup>, making a sound that might have been a word.

    His father¡¯s smile faltered, but it held long enough for him to look back at Myriad. ¡°Say hi to Phantasma, Miri.¡± He hated how patronizing he sounded.

    She looked at the man for a long time, narrowing her eyes. ¡°None of this is happening, stop talking.¡±

    ¡°Miri¡­¡±

    Myriad shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re not real. Stop talking.¡± She blurred out of her chair over to the bed, burying her face in Maelstrom¡¯s side and clutching the sides of her head.

    Mabel made to approach her friends, but Basil stopped her. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea, love.¡±

    ¡°¡­She¡¯s really fast.¡±

    Basilisk shrugged. ¡°Pain can do that to people.¡± He rubbed his shoulder. ¡°Hits harder than you¡¯d think, too.¡±

    ¡°What do you think is wrong with them?¡±

    Her teacher shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Myriad, I can get my head around. Poor girl¡¯s been crippled and deafened all at once.¡±

    Myriad let out a spiteful, half-hearted groan. ¡°Don¡¯t talk about me.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sweetie. But David¡±¡ªHe didn¡¯t even realize what name he was using¡ª¡°I don¡¯t know. None of the other born children are reacting like this. Miri¡ª¡±

    ¡°I said don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    David limply drew an arm around the girl, and she snuggled into him.

    ¡°She¡¯s suffering, Phantasma. But she¡¯s still here. She¡¯s angry and hurting, but she¡¯s here. David, I don¡¯t know where he is.¡± There was a tremor in his voice. ¡°Even Fran¡¯s more with it. Maybe it¡¯s because she¡¯s older. But it¡¯s like David¡¯s been scooped out of himself. And all that¡¯s left is this ache.¡±

    Basilisk slumped back into his chair. ¡°It¡¯s not fair.¡±

    Mabel wasn¡¯t sure she had ever heard a grownup say that. ¡°What¡¯s not fair?¡±

    He rubbed his fingers together. ¡°Do you know what I¡¯m good for, Phantasma? I break things. I make everything I touch fall apart in my hands. I stink of burning metal, all day, everyday.¡± He pointed towards his son and his erstwhile assistant. ¡°David and his mother? Allison? They make wonders. Hell, they are wonders¡ªright down to their bones. Why do they get that taken away from them, and I still warp the bloody floorboards on hot days?¡±

    ¡°Because you don¡¯t have powers,¡± Myriad muttered from the bed. ¡°I tried playing your song once. Nothing happened because you¡¯re not like us.¡±

    ¡°Miri!¡± Mabel cried.

    Basil threw his hand up. ¡°She¡¯s hurting, Phantasma. And it¡¯s nothing I didn¡¯t already know.¡±

    Mabel drew up Myriad¡¯s chair. ¡°¡­Why do you think ?ywie and Tiresias still have their powers?¡±

    Basil shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s an esper thing for Tiresias. ?ywie¡­ maybe the world just can¡¯t bear being without her? I¡¯d think this just didn¡¯t affect grownups, but then there¡¯s Adam to think about. I think I saw Ophelia floating in the nursery, too.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. What about Adam?¡±

    The inquiry seemed to rouse Basil from his mood slightly. ¡°No clue there. If I had to guess, it could be something here that hasn¡¯t had time to affect him? God knows what AU got up to between those raids; maybe he left something here to drain your powers?¡± He frowned. ¡°Not sure how much sense that makes. Chen didn¡¯t seem like he was planning on leaving as soon as he did.¡±

    Mabel¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Basil?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Has anyone left the Institute since the blackout?¡±

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    Mabel stood up sharply. She almost smiled. ¡°I gotta go. Thanks for talking!¡± She started towards the door.

    ¡°Wait, Phantasma, what are you thinking?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I can handle it! Keep looking after David and Allie.¡±

    Basil managed a smile as the door slammed shut. Smart girl, that Phantasma. No wonder his son liked her so much.

    David made a low whimper. With a sigh, his father rose from his chair, and lay down on the bed beside him and Allison. He pulled them both in close. Allison fidgeted slightly, but soon went placid. David draped his arms over Basil¡¯s chest.

    ¡°I know, I¡¯m not much help,¡± he said softly, listening to his boy¡¯s hoarse breath. ¡°When have I ever been?¡±

    ?

    Arnold and Billy sat in the cool dim of the barn. Partly because the shade was a relief, partly because the barn was theirs and Arnold wasn¡¯t keen to let anyone forget that, but mostly because they were pretty sure the pumpkins couldn¡¯t batter down the doors.

    Every few minutes or so, Billy would make vague hand gestures, cupping them or snapping his fingers. He always seemed disappointed by the result.

    Arnold looked at the other boy over his contraband G-Men issue. It was an especially rubbish one, where the cheerful jackboots and their pet super went up against a mad-scientist plotting to use a suspiciously American looking statue to transform all mankind into demi-humans. If there was any downside to this scheme, the writers forgot to mention it.

    ¡°Billy¡±¡ªNeither boy saw much of a point in using their new human names without their powers¡ª¡°if the blackout was over, don¡¯t ¡®cha think we¡¯d have heard about it?¡±

    Billy pouted, his tail beating the dirt behind him. ¡°Someone has to notice it first.¡± He clenched his fist. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense. Me still looking like¡­ me, you know?¡±

    Arnold shrugged from the floor. ¡°Maybe your fur and stuff isn¡¯t because powers? Maybe it¡¯s a coincidence?¡±

    Billy crossed his arms. ¡°That¡¯s just silly.¡±

    Arnold went back to his comic¡ªreluctantly. He couldn¡¯t blame Billy for being grumpy. At least he could theoretically walk down the street without being hassled. Not that Arnold was enjoying himself much, either.

    It was odd, he thought. He hadn¡¯t been a super for that long, not even a year. He could still remember life without powers. But it didn¡¯t feel the same. It was like there was a hollow under his skin. Still, they were both doing better than David and Allie¡­

    Light slithered into the barn, followed by Mabel slamming the door hard behind her. There was a disappointed hissing noise trailing off into the distance. ¡°Bloody pumpkins,¡± she said to herself, before addressing the boys. ¡°There you are,¡± she tossed a couple of water bottles in their general direction. ¡°We¡¯re going for a walk.¡±

    ?

    ¡°Umm,¡± Arnold panted as he half walked, half jogged after Mabel. ¡°Why exactly are we going walking?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re doing an experiment,¡± she replied, not breaking her stride. The boys couldn¡¯t help but be a little impressed. Unlike them, she had burdened herself with an overstuffed backpack. Supplies, she said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t we need¡­ chemicals or something for that?¡± Billy asked.

    ¡°Not that kind of experiment,¡± she answered, brusque but not harsh.

    That didn¡¯t do much to answer Billy¡¯s question. ¡°What sort of experiment, then?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you guys yet, because that might interfere with the experiment,¡± she rattled off, businesslike. ¡°You¡¯re the¡­¡± she dug in her memories of conversations with Lawrence and Miss Fletcher¡¯s classes, ¡°the control group!¡± That sounded about right.

    ¡°Great,¡± Arnold muttered. ¡°I¡¯m back at Roberts.¡±

    Honestly, he couldn¡¯t complain too much. The weather was nice, and better the spring-green bush than the terrified, morose boredom of the Institute. And whatever Mabel was up to, it had to be more fun than the G-Men.

    Soon enough, they reached the river. It was still acting weird. Arnold didn¡¯t like looking at it. The tendrils prying at the earth by the water¡¯s edge reminded him of Maelstrom¡¯s. Except David never had any trouble making the water move, and whatever this was, Arnold couldn¡¯t help but think it was struggling. Mabel caught him gazing down at the water¡¯s surface, and he felt a hand prod him in the shoulder.

    ¡°Hey,¡± she said, her voice small. ¡°They¡¯re gonna be okay, you know?¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Arnold answered. ¡°Still, weird.¡±

    Billy crouched down to get a closer look at the troubled water. ¡°Do you think this is a Mels and Mealy thing, or an Adam thing?¡± he asked. ¡°How many powers does he have now?¡±

    Mabel frowned. ¡°You have a bunch of powers, too.¡±

    The tiger-boy shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to be mean about it. But I have like three, and he has, what, fifty?¡±

    ¡°Fifteen,¡± Mabel said quietly, hoping she wouldn¡¯t be heard.

    Arnold was looking across to the river¡¯s far-bank. ¡°So, how do we get across? I can¡¯t even see the stepping stones.¡±

    ¡°We walk,¡± Mabel answered with a shrug. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be hard. I tried it when the water started being wibbly. Whatever it is, it¡¯s making it thicker, like a sponge or something. We can probably just walk right over.¡±

    Billy made a face. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound safe.¡±

    The girl smiled. ¡°What are you worried about? Tigers can swim.¡±

    Billy remembered what Haunt had told him. ¡°And witches float.¡±

    She slapped him on the back. ¡°Damn right!¡±

    Mabel stepped out onto the water first. At first, her feet sank into it and the wet sand as you would expect. But as she walked, and the river rose around her ankles, she managed to pull her feet out of it and step onto the surface, like she were extricating herself from a jelly mold. Soon, she was treading the river, watching it mold itself around her feet like a deep carpet.

    ¡°¡­ This feels so weird.¡±

    From the shoreline, Billy giggled, before running out after her, followed by a somewhat more dubious Arnold.

    It was more a messy crossing than a hard one. Tendrils and blind, rogue wavelets would splash against them, or their feet would break through the wobbly, fragile surface. Arnold didn¡¯t even want to think how it must have felt for the fish.

    Eventually, they slogged their way onto dry land again, half drenched.

    ¡°We coulda just swimmed you know,¡± Arnold mumbled, ringing out his shirt while Billy tried to shake his fur dry.

    ¡°Nah,¡± Mabel said. ¡°It would¡¯ve been like trying to swim through fudge or something.¡±

    ¡°Or worms,¡± Billy agreed. ¡°So now what?¡±

    Mabel pulled the straps of her bag tight. ¡°We walk.¡±

    The bush was alive. Young insects buzzed and danced with dust motes, rushing to fit a whole life into the days and weeks they had to spare, dodging the magpies and kookaburras that shouted and snatched them out the air<sup>4</a></sup>.

    As they walked, Arnold couldn¡¯t help but spot scars from the great lad-hunt; the ones spring hadn¡¯t managed to heal over. Scorch marks, shards of exotic crystal, the odd rotting doll being mined out by convoys of ants. Long, bare stretches that betrayed the ghosts of trees. It made Arnold feel queasy.

    Maybe we deserve it.

    ¡°Are we allowed out here?¡± Billy asked, trying to resist the urge to lick himself.

    Mabel shrugged. ¡°Not really, I think. But it¡¯s the kind of not-allowed that¡¯s alright most of the time?¡±

    ¡°¡­Sure.¡±

    The girl frowned at him.

    ¡°Just shush up and trust me on this, kay?¡± She grumbled. ¡°Lawrence¡¯ll be totally okay with it if I¡¯m right. We might even get ice cream for dessert. For a month.¡±

    ¡°Promise it might help?¡±

    ¡°Promise.¡±

    Arnold hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

    ¡°Okay. I¡¯m in. You¡¯re the smart one, right?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± she nodded. ¡°Totally.¡±

    They walked on for a while. It was getting late enough that Arnold and Billy both feared not being back in time for dinner, not that they could keep close track of time without watches. That late in the year, daylight stretched well into the evening. Made bedtime rather frustrating.

    ¡°Mabel?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°How do we know if the experiment doesn¡¯t work?¡±

    ¡°When we circle the world and walk back onto the Institute.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­ why do you think Allie lets David near her like this and not me?¡±

    ¡°Like this?¡± she asked. ¡°¡­ Like what?¡±

    ¡°All sad and scared I mean. And angry. At everything. Except David.¡±

    ¡°Maybe you¡¯re the friend she wants to be happy with?¡± Mabel tried, unable to make it sound like she believed it.

    ¡°She¡¯s happy with David, too. All the time. Really, really happy. Kinda makes me wanna vomit happy. You see those two in the river? Weird.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Dunno,¡± she admitted. ¡°Think it¡¯s the same reason that David won¡¯t be like that with me?¡±

    ¡°What? You two are so friends. Weren¡¯t you his only friend for a while there?¡±

    ¡°I was,¡± Mabel said, kicking at a stone. ¡°So why¡¯s she the special one now?¡± She looked away, totally not drying her eyes.

    ¡°I know, right? I was her friend back when she was just the weird pale girl yammering about songs or whatever, I got her out of the asylums, and now it¡¯s all ¡®David, David, David!¡¯,¡± he finished in a whining falsetto.

    ¡°¡­ I wish he¡¯d just be mean one time,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Then I¡¯d be allowed to be angry at him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I don¡¯t get!¡± Arnold nearly shouted. ¡°They¡¯re not even the same. David¡¯s all nice till he hurts and Allie¡¯s all¡­¡± He was almost glad for a second his friend was currently powerless. ¡°She¡¯s¡­ not that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s called being a bitch,¡± she sniffed. ¡°Or a cow.¡±

    ¡°Mabel!¡± Billy cried.

    ¡°You can¡¯t say stuff like that!¡± Arnold hissed. ¡°¡­God¡¯ll hear you.¡± Or his mother. Same thing, really.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care! David¡¯s too good for her!¡±

    ¡°Maybe that¡¯s why he needs Allie?¡± Billy suggested.

    Mabel looked at him. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I mean, David¡¯s nice, yeah, but does it ever make him happy?

    Mabel dug her heel into the dirt. ¡°¡­Not really.¡±

    Billy nodded. ¡°So he needs mean lessons. Or someone to be mean for him, I don¡¯t know. Haunt could probably explain it better?¡±

    ¡°But what does Allie get out of it?¡± Arnold asked, glaring at the other boy.

    He thought about it for a moment. ¡°¡­Someone who¡¯s okay with her being a meanie sometimes?¡±

    ¡°But that was me!¡± Arnold wailed. ¡°Even when she was making fun of my stupid Bible lunch bags! Sometimes we were mean together! Like with Petey Binks!¡±

    The other two just looked at him expectantly.

    Arnold rolled his eyes. ¡°He had a lazy eye and warts. And he smelled like hay all the time, it was weird. What I mean is, I didn¡¯t care Allie wasn¡¯t always nice.¡±

    Billy quirked his shoulders. ¡°Then maybe she just likes water.¡± He turned and started walking again, continuing, ¡°I don¡¯t think people like other people just because they can get something of them, anyway. Haunt likes me, I think, and all he gets out of me is gold and jewels.¡±

    Mabel and Arnold exchanged a look. ¡°Billy¡­¡± the girl said.

    ¡°I can make jokes too! And you two are whingeing about people having more than one friend, so shush!¡±

    They trudged along, Billy taking the lead. But Arnold couldn¡¯t let it rest. ¡°It¡¯s just¡ªit¡¯s lonely, you know? Allison¡¯s the only person left I really, really know. I don¡¯t know how much she really liked me, or if it was just my song, but it felt like she liked me.¡±

    ¡°I like you,¡± Mabel said, slowing her pace till she was beside Arnold.

    ¡°The way you like corned beef, I bet,¡± he grumbled.

    She giggled. ¡°No, not the way I like corned beef. That¡¯s just okay. You¡¯re sponge-cake.¡±

    ¡°¡­Sponge-cake?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re great! You were like, sixty-zillion of the reasons The Tempest turned out so good.¡±

    ¡°¡­A supervillain tried to kill us<sup>5</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Did you invite him? I¡¯m serious, Arnold. Doing the play with you, it felt¡­ different than with David. I mean, he had fun too, but you got it.¡±

    ¡°I still think we shoulda charged for tickets.¡±

    Mabel slipped her hand in his. It didn¡¯t feel half-bad there. ¡°Next time, executive-producer.¡±

    For some reason, Arnold stood a little bit straighter.

    As they walked, Mabel seriously pondered when they ought to turn back. Part of her said ¡°never¡±, even if they did get their powers back. Maybe even more so if they did. They could just keep walking, and leave Lawrence and the Institute and his married days behind. Find a Daddy Warbucks to adopt them, or failing that, a nice old couple, like Superman¡¯s mum and dad<sup>6</a></sup>. Or Arnold¡¯s folks. Did she have any uncles or aunties left?

    It suddenly occurred to Mabel that if she did, they probably thought she was dead. Then she noticed Billy had stopped a few paces in front of them. The boy was shuddering slightly, like someone had poured ice-water down the back of his shirt.

    ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± Mabel asked.

    He said nothing. Instead he raised his hand, a perfect bulb of quicksilver blooming in his palm.

    The other children sprinted to join him. It was like coming down the mountain into warm, thick air. A weight they didn¡¯t even know was there had been lifted off both their shoulders.

    Arnold was laughing, his voice crackling and popping with thunder. Billy was making it rain confetti from a mirrored stormcloud.

    Mabel, meanwhile, reached into her backpack with that odd, sightless sight, into the scrapbook nestled within.

    A lady astronaut with a fishbowl helmet appeared before her, frowning when she caught sight of the girl.  ¡°Not this again.¡±

    ¡°Spacey!¡±

    ¡°My name is¡ª¡± The star-woman grunted as the little girl slammed into her waist.

    ¡°I¡¯ve missed you¡­¡±

    Reflexively, the astronaut stroked her tormentor¡¯s hair.

    ¡°Is that what the experiment was for?¡± Arnold asked once he¡¯d stopped scattering trees across the country.

    Billy was fading in and out of visibility, but he did manage to get some words in. ¡°You could¡¯ve told us!¡±

    Mabel let go of her summon. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to get your hopes up!¡±

    Having gotten the pent-up lightning out of his system¡ªand created a new clearing¡ªArnold glanced from his phosphorescent hands to where they had come from. Cautiously, he treaded back towards the Institute.

    After a few steps, the light in his skin died. Then he jumped backwards, reigniting before his feet hit the ground again. ¡°¡­Weird.¡±

    Mabel looked at the astronaut.

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    The girl walked slowly past Arnold.

    The astronaut gasped, disappearing in a puff of pastel dust.

    ¡°Poor thing,¡± said Billy.

    Mabel stepped back over what she was already thinking of as the Line. The astronaut resumed existence, panting. ¡°God. That was even worse than normal.¡±

    Both of Billy¡¯s friends looked at him.

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    Mabel sat down in the dirt, rubbing her chin. ¡°So it¡¯s not something inside us,¡± she thought aloud. ¡°It¡¯s something around the Institute. What¡¯s changed since¡ª¡±

    She vanished in a blast of green light.

    Billy gawked at Arnold. If he was going to say something, he didn¡¯t get it out before he joined his friend.

    Alone, the lightning-clad boy looked toward the wrong side of the Line, and sighed.

    Then he ran.

 Chapter Thirty-One: Blasphemy

    She was an equation, faultlessly proven to be somewhere else. Then gravity snatched her out of the air¡ªdown into warm, wet darkness.

    Mabel Henderson couldn¡¯t tell up from down. Then something else plunged through the water, cutting a shaft of light in its wake, and she scrambled towards what she hoped was the surface.

    She burst through a layer of old leaves and dead insects. Before Mabel could even think again, Billy surfaced a couple of feet away, gasping.

    They were floating in a filthy, stagnant pond. Slowly evaporating in the heat, it was still deep enough that the children had to swim to keep afloat, even as its crumbling, curved mud walls jutted out above the water.

    Mabel remembered that day with the lads. His stupid bloody pool¡­

    ¡°What the hell, Arnold?¡±

    ?

    ¡°So where¡¯s this elevator go?¡± Adams 1 and A<sup>1</a></sup> asked as they followed Elsewhere through the halls.

    ¡°Where do ya think? The basement!¡±

    Adam didn¡¯t think he¡¯d ever been in a house with a proper basement. He always thought only yanks and poms went in for them. ¡°What¡¯s so great about the basement?¡±

    ¡°Where Lawrence keeps his souvenirs. Like the Batcave. He used to know loads of supers and heroes and stuff. There¡¯s mad scientist gear, one of the Raven¡¯s guns, the Crimson Comet¡¯s old wings, I think?¡± Quickly, he added, ¡°What¡¯s left of them, I mean.¡±

    Adam was pretty sure Elsewhere was lying. It wasn¡¯t something he did well. Probably was planning on dumping a bucket of water or glue or something over him. Still, Adam couldn¡¯t help but feel sorry for Elsewhere. He knew the younger boy was close to Myriad and Maelstrom, and some of the rumblings Adam had heard about his family¡­

    Why not go along with it, Adam thought. Let the kid play his dumb joke. He still had his superpowers, what could happen?

    Then they turned one last corner, and Adam reconsidered.

    ¡°Voila!¡± Elsewhere said, gesturing grandly at the silver slab set into the wall.

    Adam 1 rubbed the metal, warm beneath his hand. Sure enough, there was even what appeared to be a call button next to it. ¡°Huh. Okay. Kinda surprised it¡¯s really here. Why didn¡¯t Lawrence show me this when I got here?¡±

    Elsewhere shrugged. ¡°Maybe he doesn¡¯t want us touching his stuff?¡±

    ¡°So we¡¯re probably not allowed down there,¡± Adam A asked, still standing a little behind the younger child.

    ¡°Probably. Still, who¡¯s gonna care right now?¡±

    Adam 1 nodded. ¡°True.¡±

    ¡°So, we gonna take a look-see?¡±

    Adam pushed the button. ¡°Sure.¡±

    The door slid open, and Adam 1 stepped inside. It was bigger than any elevator he¡¯d been inside (not that that was many) with walls like fork-lightning trapped in obsidian. ¡°Why aren¡¯t there any buttons¡ª¡±

    He was cut off by the sound of the door closing.

    Adam A tilted his head at Elsewhere, his fist slammed down the ¡°call button¡±. ¡°Wha¡ª¡±

    The boy disappeared in a puff of burgundy smoke.

    ¡°Arnold Barnes!¡±

    The child in question swung around to see Mabel glaring at him. She was soaked to the bone, bits of leaf and dragonfly tangled in her hair.

    ¡°Mabel!¡± Arnold cried. He glanced behind the girl. ¡°Where¡¯s Billy?¡±

    ¡°Having the hottest shower in the world,¡± she answered flatly, before shouting, ¡°and you wouldn¡¯t need to ask us if you hadn¡¯t dropped us in your stupid, gross pool! Seriously, why?¡± She looked at the Quiet Room¡¯s door. ¡°You let him out right now!¡±

    Arnold folded his arms. ¡°How do you know anyone¡¯s in there?

    Mabel sputtered. ¡°Because¡ªbecause why else would you be here?¡±

    ¡°Then how do you know it¡¯s a he?¡±

    The girl stomped over to him, right up to his face. ¡°Just let him go!¡±

    Arnold¡¯s eyes flashed lime. ¡°Your powers just came back too, didn¡¯t they? It¡¯s him, Mabel. You know it is.¡±

    ¡°¡­Where¡¯re all the others?¡±

    ¡°Baths.¡±

    ¡°Let him out now, before anyone notices.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because¡­¡± Mabel couldn¡¯t put it into words. Only images of crowds in dour clothing gathering to watch strange old ladies and touched children burn. ¡°They¡¯ll be mean to him.¡±

    Arnold brought her in closer, pointing toward the ceiling. ¡°But listen.¡±

    Laughter, young and girlish.

    ¡°Allie¡¯s my friend, Mabel. And so¡¯s David. I don¡¯t want them hurting.¡±

    More voices joined the laughter, along with whispers of flame and wind. And splashing. Lots of splashing.

    Mabel sighed, looking her friend right in the eye. ¡°Arnold¡­¡± She shoved the boy to the ground and slammed the button.

    Adam stumbled out of the Quiet Room. His face was pale, and he was breathing slowly and deliberately. ¡°God, that was horrible.¡±

    For a moment, Mabel had hope. She still felt the pressure of her power around her veins. Then Adam looked down at Arnold. ¡°What the hell, Else?¡±

    It was gone. She could hear groans from upstairs, only to be drowned out by a pained, angry scream.

    ¡°Allie!¡± Arnold cried from the floor, scrambling to his feet.

    Adam glanced between the younger children. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Mabel grabbed Arnold¡¯s hand and ran, hoping Adam would not follow. She pulled her friend into the library and whispered, ¡°Please don¡¯t tell the others. Not like this.¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Arnold tried to wrench his hand out of hers. ¡°Okay, okay, just let me go! Allison¡¯s screaming.¡±

    ¡°Promise not to tell?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    Reluctantly, she let him go, though she did follow the boy as he raced upstairs, past their disappointed, towel-clad schoolmates, up to Basil¡¯s door.

    When he opened it, Allison was twisting in Basil¡¯s arms, screaming herself raw while David twitched on the floor.

    ¡°Not again!¡± she was screeching. ¡°Not again!¡±

    ¡°Please, Miri¡ª¡± Basil grunted, trying desperately to keep the girl¡¯s arms in his grip. ¡°It might be nearly over¡ª¡±

    She exploded out of the man¡¯s arms, punching him in the nose and sending him to the floor in a groaning heap. Blood was seeping from his nostrils.

    Allison didn¡¯t notice. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here!¡± she yelled as she stalked towards the doorway.

    Mabel shut the door hard.

    Arnold glared at her. ¡°Mabel!¡±

    ¡°Did she look friendly?¡±

    A pale fist punched through the door. It felt around for the door handle for a few seconds until its owner growled and pushed the whole thing over, wrenching it from its frame with a few metallic clicks.

    Mabel and Arnold managed to jump clear of the door a second before it landed on them. Allison was staring straight ahead, the corners of her eyes twitching. Her knuckles were bleeding, but she didn¡¯t seem to care. ¡°You¡¯re not here. Get out of my way.¡±

    They were about to obey as fast as possible when ?ywie pushed past the pair. ¡°Stay back, children,¡± she ordered them calmly.

    She scooped up Allison effortlessly, even as the girl thrashed and clawed at the woman. Then, without loosening her grip in the slightest, she put a hand to Allison¡¯s forehead, like she were feeling for a fever. Immediately, the child¡¯s eyelids started to droop. She tried fighting it, but sleep found her as her teacher sung a German lullaby under her breath.

    Once Allison was well and truly under, ?ywie laid her down softly on the hallway carpet. Mabel thought she looked guilty.

    Her attention turned to the two other children. ¡°It¡¯s alright, little ones,¡± she assured them. ¡°Myriad is just asleep. I think she prefers that right now.¡±

    ¡°How did she do that to the door?¡± Arnold asked, his voice warbling.

    ¡°Adrenaline, dear,¡± ?ywie said, ¡°just adrenaline.¡± Allison attended to, she moved quickly but steadily over to Basil¡¯s side. The man was still moaning, smoke rising from where his blood had fallen on the tortured wood. The healer took his hand, and he sighed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªshe isn¡¯t in her right mind,¡± Basil gasped.

    ¡°I know, Hugo,¡± ?ywie said. ¡°I know.¡±

    As they watched, Arnold turned to look imploringly at Mabel. ¡°We need to tell someone,¡± he whispered.

    Mabel didn¡¯t look back. She was too focused on David, still curled up in the corner.

    ¡°Mabel?¡±

    She nodded.

    ?

    Lawrence tapped the rim of his desk with one of his fountain pens, examining the two children sat before him. ¡°So, before you tell me why we¡¯re having this talk, might I ask how you two got into the state you¡¯re in?¡±

    Mabel and Arnold shared a look. The former was still damp and covered in detritus from the pool, and the latter hadn¡¯t crossed the river again unscathed. By some silent agreement, Mabel went first. ¡°About that, um, me and Elsewhere need to admit something. We kinda broke a rule today.¡±

    The almost imperceptible hiss of breath escaping between clenched teeth. ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°Elsewhere and me¡±¡ªshe and Arnold had agreed in advance to leave Billy out of the picture¡ª¡°we crossed the river today.¡±

    Arnold had been unsure about leading with that little tidbit. Even a child (especially a child) could tell the headmaster was on edge. He had barely left his study since the blackout started, even for mealtimes. Arnold swore more of the red had gone out of his beard. It was the first time he had seen the man without a suit-jacket.

    Still, Mabel thought the admission might win them some credibility.

    Lawrence swallowed sharply, like he was trying to force down bile. ¡°I will say this, children, it speaks well of you both that you didn¡¯t try to keep this from me. Oftentimes, the cover-up is worse than the sin.¡±

    Here we go, Arnold thought.

    ¡°Nevertheless, I can¡¯t emphasize enough how foolhardy that was.¡±

    If there was one thing Arnold Barnes¡¯ short life had taught him, it was that fessing up never spared you the lecture. It just knocked off some of the edges.

    ¡°¡­With how the river¡¯s behaving right now, you¡¯re lucky you didn¡¯t drown.¡±

    He had to say, though, Mabel was handling it like a pro. She nodded at all the right junctures, hit her mark every time with a ¡°Yes¡± or a ¡°I know¡±, maintaining a mask of solem repentance throughout it all. Arnold was beginning to wonder why the girl didn¡¯t act in her own shows.

    ¡°¡­I should hope that you wouldn¡¯t use this time of crisis and stress as a license to misbehave.¡±

    Mabel sensed her opening. ¡°We know it was still wrong, but can we tell you why we did it?¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Context is always important.¡±

    Arnold¡¯s turn. ¡°So Mabel thought that if whatever was making our powers not work wasn¡¯t inside us, it might be something around the Institute.¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m to take it you were attempting to test that hypothesis?¡± Lawrence asked. ¡°Very scientific thinking.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Mabel thought if we walked far enough, our powers would come back on. And they did.¡±

    Lawrence dropped his pen. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Our powers,¡± Mabel said. ¡°They came back once we were far away from the school. And they stayed till we came back.¡±

    The hug was like being pulled into a brick wall. ¡°Fantastic!¡±

    Mabel and Arnold could hardly breathe, their faces buried in Lawrence¡¯s sweat-misted undershirt. ¡°Lawrence¡­ too tight,¡± the girl managed to get out.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, children,¡± he said, laughing as he set them down. ¡°I can¡¯t tell how relieved I am, children. And how much of a debt our school owes you.¡±

    ¡°¡­Ice cream?¡± Arnold said, his voice small.

    Lawrence¡¯s laughter came in shudders, like he was trying to keep back the tears of relief. ¡°Sure, why not!¡±

    Soon he was talking mostly to himself. ¡°I¡¯ll have to ring Valour, have him send teams. Water tests, soil work, dig up the whole bloody school till we find what¡¯s causing this. And if we can¡¯t, we¡¯ll relocate. All the way to the NT if we have to! Might move you children in the meantime anyway. I hate to imagine the effects this continual assault might be having on the unborn¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± Mabel interrupted. She really didn¡¯t want to do this. ¡°We know what¡¯s making the blackout happen.¡±

    Lawrence grabbed her shoulders. ¡°What, girl, what?¡±

    Mabel studied the old man¡¯s face. He had a grin as wide as the world, like when her father first heard her read a sentence aloud. But there was something else there, too. A kind of pleading desperation she hadn¡¯t known grownups could feel. ¡°It¡¯s Adam, Laurie.¡±

    The bottom fell out of her teacher¡¯s smile. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°When the powers came back for a sec today,¡± Arnold said, ¡°it was cuz I pushed Adam into the Quiet Room¡ª¡±

    The smack came as hard and fast as the hug. Arnold began crying, soon to be drowned by Lawrence¡¯s shouting.

    ¡°You cruel boy! You know what it¡¯s like being without your powers! That room is only for children who do the worst sort of wrong! What did he do to deserve it, hmm?¡±

    Arnold sobbed, ¡°David and Allie were hurting¡­¡±

    ¡°And now you¡¯re misnaming your brothers and sisters,¡± he hissed, before his attention fell on Mabel. ¡°And this nonsense about Adam stealing your powers. Phantasmagoria, I never thought you would be so petty.¡±

    Mabel had been leaning over to try and comfort Arnold, but that sent her to her feet like her chair was electrified. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Just because our newest friend has proved immune to the blackout, you choose to believe he¡¯s afflicting you. I would expect this from a New England Puritan, not a young posthuman.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s doing it on purpose!¡± Mabel protested. ¡°I don¡¯t even think he knows he¡¯s doing it!¡±

    ¡°Is it his shade then, working for the devil?¡± the man asked sourly.

    ¡°Lawrence,¡± the girl half-begged, ¡°I don¡¯t want to be right. Adam¡¯s really nice and his powers are cool. But I think we are right, and we need to do something.¡±

    ¡°Whatever force is responsible for your kind¡¯s existence would not create a child that preys on their fellows.¡±

    Dimly, from the sore, wet place Arnold had retreated to, he was reminded of the way his mother or the sister who taught sunday school reacted to certain questions. Except they never sounded so threatened.

    Mabel growled in her throat. She wanted to throw something out the window. To push the chairs over. To tear all the pages out of all of Lawrence¡¯s stupid books and shove them in his face. To dangle him over a dragon¡¯s mouth till he shut up and listened to her. This was what it was like being a natural kid, she thought. All her wants just stuck inside her.

    ¡°¡­Maybe you¡¯re wrong,¡± she said, quietly but resolutely. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re wrong about all this. Maybe there isn¡¯t anyone in charge of us. Maybe powers are just things that happen to people. Or there is someone who hands them out, and they just don¡¯t care. Maybe we¡¯re evolving. Maybe evolution doesn¡¯t care who it eats.¡±

    The smack was as quick as it was expected. It was, however, far harder than she¡¯d thought it would be. Her nose was bleeding.

    Lawrence leant back on his desk, inhaling slowly. ¡°The Physician will be here in two days. I¡¯m sure his insight will be helpful. I think it¡¯s time for you two to leave. Go see ?ywie about your nose, Phantasmagoria.¡± He looked at Arnold, curled up in his chair. ¡°If I hear about either you spreading these vicious rumours, there will be punishment. A stint in the Quiet Room seems appropriate.¡±

    Mabel wanted to laugh at that. What set the Quiet Room apart from anywhere else in the Institute? Her hands shook even as she held them over her nose, and her breath was hammering against her chest. She was going to let it out when Arnold put his hand on her arm.

    She met the boy¡¯s grey eyes, streaming like storm clouds. They weren¡¯t going to win this. People like Lawrence didn¡¯t let you win.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be petulant, Phantasmagoria.¡±

    As soon as she was out of earshot, Mabel screamed.

 Chapter Thirty-Two: PharmakÃ³s

    The Physician did not arrive at the New Human Institute in his usual dirty green Holden, but in an eight wheeler truck. From its trailer spilled out three identical men¡ªMr. Groove, Mr. Vibe, and Mr. Jam, their name-tags said¡ªsilent and sculpted like stone made flesh. For some ghastly reason, they were dressed like clowns. They erected a canvas tent for their master to work in, along with tables laden with snacks and cool drinks. Snacks and cool drinks that were edible to human beings no less. Although Lawrence wouldn¡¯t have put it past the Physician to disguise his concoctions with brand name labels.

    ¡°In my country,¡± the Physician had explained to Lawrence, ¡°we like to respond to public health crises with a festive spirit. Helps cheer the afflicted up, you know?¡±

    Lawrence often wondered if the Physician was pulling his leg whenever he talked about his home. This time, though, he didn¡¯t have the energy to question the doctor. So, he dressed the children up as nice as possible, and declared it a festival.

    The students milled around the Physician¡¯s tent, morosely picking at the sweets and sausage-rolls as they sweated in their sunday best, waiting for ?ywie and the doctor to call them inside.

    The alien was presently trying to stick what looked like clockwork Christmas beetles<sup>1</a></sup> onto Ophelia¡¯s temples, the toddler squirming and squealing in protest under the Physician¡¯s writhing, worm-like fingers. For once, the discomfort appeared to be mutual.

    ?ywie looked up from her clipboard, frowning. ¡°Do you want me to handle her?¡± she asked flatly.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Miss Winter,¡± the Physician replied as he cautiously tried weaving his hand behind the girl¡¯s head. She slapped it away, making the doctor visibly vibrate. ?ywie gathered that was something like a flinch.

    ¡°What is with you and babies?¡±

    ¡°I had a bad experience with¡ª¡±

    Time popped. Sound and colour ran together, and for moment, the conscious and the subconscious swapped places. Every bird within a mile developed a migraine.

    ?ywie didn¡¯t budge an inch. She took the grumpy baby into her arms. ¡°Well, we know Ophelia has her father¡¯s resistance. Didn¡¯t even need to clap¡ª¡± The healer cringed when she saw her colleague heaped on the ground.

    The Physician¡¯s bones didn¡¯t sit right under his skin. Even under his periwinkle suit, they stuck out at odd angles. He looked less like a prone man and more like a mound of gravel and sticks poured into an empty human pelt. She caught a glimpse of something dark brown and formless trembling in the recesses of his suit, where another human¡¯s eyes wouldn¡¯t have had the clarity to see.

    ¡°Eugh.¡±

    The Physician got back to his feet, his skeleton seeming to assemble itself as he did. ¡°You know, I really do not appreciate your racism, Eliza.¡± There was an audible crunch as his ribs pulled themselves back into place. He straightened his jacket.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that you¡¯re different, John, it¡¯s the fact you bother with this awful impression of a human being. It¡¯s like a minstrel show for the entire human race. Trust me, we¡¯d get along a lot better if you would just be a bug-eyed monster or whatever your lot look like at home.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s face split into a grin. ¡°I sincerely doubt that, little doctor.¡±

    ?ywie¡¯s mouth was a straight-line. ¡°Mr. Jam.¡±

    One of the Physician¡¯s assistants poked his head inside the tent, his expression stolid beneath slathers of white face-paint and a red foam nose. ¡°Yes, Miss Winter,¡± he said in the best Lurch impression the Physician could manage.

    ¡°Would you please take Ophelia back to her mother. Tell Stratogale she has a clean bill of health.¡± She plucked the child¡¯s cheek, cooing, ¡°Yes she does, yes she does!¡±

    ¡°Yes, Miss Winter.¡± The clown took the baby from the woman. Ophelia regarded him for a moment, before squeezing his nose and giggling.

    Mr. Jam made no reaction. Unlike most clowns, he medically lacked anything resembling a sense of humour, which surprisingly was an advantage over the rest of them.

    ?ywie watched him traipse off in search of their flying girl, her expression downcast.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about Mr. Jam,¡± the Physician said. ¡°Half his brothers are babysitting your future lords and masters over in Canberra.¡±

    ¡°I still think it¡¯s cruel what you put those poor creatures through.¡±

    ¡°Put them through what?¡±

    ¡°How old is that one?¡±

    The Physician thought about it. ¡°Oh, that. Eleven months.¡± A click that might have been a shrug. ¡°They¡¯ve never complained.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡±

    Once they had recovered sufficiently from the Ovation, Basilisk gently led Myriad into the tent. Or as gently as he could, with how hard the little girl was digging her heels into the dirt.

    ¡°No!¡±

    Basilisk grunted, trying to pull her a few more steps inside. ¡°Come on, Miri. ?ywie and the Physician just want to fix everything. You might be just what they need.¡±

    ¡°This is stupid! Take me back to David!¡±

    ¡°David¡¯s napping, dear. I¡¯ll be bringing him down soon, don¡¯t worry.¡±

    Angry tears. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna be here.¡±

    ?ywie stepped between Basil and Myriad. ¡°I think we can take it from here,¡± she said, taking the child¡¯s hands. The girl wilted like a flower at the healer¡¯s touch.

    ¡°You sure?¡± Basilisk asked, eying his assistant with concern.

    ¡°Quite sure,¡± the Physician said, his tone clipped as always. ¡°Go on, I¡¯m sure one of her schoolmates is about to stick their finger in an electric outlet.¡±

    ¡°Back soon, Miri.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡±

    Basil sighed as he left. ¡°I know you don¡¯t mean these things, Allison.¡±

    The girl glared at the Physician. With the blackout, there was nothing to distinguish him from anyone else, musically speaking. Not that it helped much. Getting to know the Physician was like grieving for a loved one. Necessary, sometimes even helpful, but never welcome.

    The Physician clapped. ¡°So, are you going to examine the patient, Eliza?¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure,¡± she said, resting a finger on the nape of Myriad¡¯s neck.

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡± Fast asleep.

    ¡°What was that for?¡±

    Crouching, Eliza rested Myriad against the wall of the tent. ¡°Because it¡¯s less likely she¡¯ll break our faces this way. And there¡¯s something I want to discuss with you.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡±

    ¡°Myriad has adopted my¡­ structural alterations.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Good for her. Nice to see a child be so proactive about self improvement.¡±

    ?ywie groaned. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, John. I spent my whole life figuring all these out. And then this little girl just¡­ alters herself, on a whim, without even telling a grown up.¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t see the issue. You¡¯re thirty-five. Nothing inside you has blown up yet, has it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the healer admitted. ¡°But there¡¯ve been some close calls. Adjustments made. I once went into cardiac arrest for a full day. Had to to force the blood through my veins manually while I adjusted for the mistake. Miri doesn¡¯t have that luxury.¡± She brushed a stray lock from Myriad¡¯s face. ¡°What if she needs to adjust something, and I¡¯m not there?¡±

    ¡°Have you found anything concerning?¡±

    ¡°No, she¡¯s stable, far as I can tell.¡± ?ywie sighed, then smiled slightly, rubbing the girl¡¯s head. ¡°I¡¯ll say this about our Myriad, she doesn¡¯t half-do anything.¡± She looked up at the other doctor. ¡°I¡¯ve been suppressing the changes, though. She isn¡¯t well enough to be trusted with them. I would appreciate a second opinion.¡±

    The Physician put a hand over where his heart would¡¯ve been. ¡°Eliza, I¡¯d be honoured.¡±

    The speed and ease with which he examined the child would have amazed any medic but Eliza. A pass over with a silver mirror infested with lights and wires, a few drops of blood slurped up by what looked like a tongue in a box, and a couple of things Eliza was glad Myriad was asleep for. Then he was done.

    ¡°I think she might have improved on your work, my dear.¡± His grin crept closer to his ears. ¡°I like to think I had a hand in that. Still, all clear. I¡¯m sure Allison will go on to lead a perfectly normal, healthy life. As many of those as she wants, in fact.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Good.¡±

    ¡°And you weren¡¯t joking about her being thorough. She got right down to the germ-line. That would¡¯ve taken some effort.¡± The grin was almost up to his earlobes by now. ¡°I¡¯m sure Lawrence would be thrilled.¡±

    ?ywie hadn¡¯t even considered that. ¡°You¡¯re not going to tell him, are you?¡± she asked hurriedly. ¡°You promised me, John.¡±

    The Physician raised a hand. ¡°We have patient confidentiality back home too, Eliza. Still don¡¯t get why you¡¯re so secretive about these things, though. It¡¯s just like those lies about infertility again. If you don¡¯t want to have a baby, just tell Lawrence. If he presses the issue, give him cancer until he stops.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand,¡± Eliza muttered.

    ¡°No, my dear, I don¡¯t think I would.¡± The Physician stuck his Christmas beetles onto Myriad¡¯s temples. ¡°Would you wake her up please?¡±

    Myriad sprung to life like ?ywie had found her on button. ¡°What happened?¡± she snapped.

    ¡°Nothing sweetie¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    ¡°¡­You just nodded off, alright.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a baby.¡±

    ¡°No one is saying you are, Allison,¡± the Physician said. He was fiddling with the knob of what used to be a portable TV set, its screen lit with swirls of colour that hopefully made sense to him.  ¡°Now, would you do me the favour of trying to use your powers?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The girl folded her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t have my powers.¡±

    ¡°I am aware of that, but seeing how your brain reacts to the attempt might yield useful data.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing to hear!¡±

    ¡°Would you just¡ª¡±

    Myriad tore off the diodes. ¡°No!¡±

    She ran out of the tent.

    The Physician made a sound like an exploding accordion. ¡°This is just the most productive day, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    It at least went smoother after that. A child would come in, ?ywie would sift through their cells looking for something she already knew wasn¡¯t there, and the Physician made them playact their powers.

    ¡°Can I stop now?¡± Haunt asked as he walked in place against the tent wall.

    ?ywie looked at her partner. ¡°I think so. What about you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you can go now, Thomas. Hand the diodes back to Eliza on her way out.¡±

    Then it was Maelstrom¡¯s turn. Lawrence carried him down from the Big House like a babe in arms, setting him on his feet in the middle of the tent.

    He stood there, swaying, his eyes darting around the tent like a panicked animal. ¡°Z¡ª?ywie? Dr. Smith?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t blub, Maelstrom,¡± the boy¡¯s teacher said. ¡°You don¡¯t see your brothers and sisters letting themselves fall apart like this<sup>2</a></sup>.¡±

    Maelstrom suddenly stood very straight. ¡°Yes, Lawrence,¡± he answered gravely. For just a moment, ?ywie recognized him.

    ¡°I trust you¡¯ll listen to what our fine doctors tell you?¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Good.¡± He turned to leave, but not before telling ?ywie, ¡°And don¡¯t you baby him like Basilk¡¯s been doing. We¡¯ve brought Maelstrom up better than that.¡±

    ?ywie was going to say something, very loudly, but Lawrence was already gone, and there were more important things to attend to.

    She bent down to look into the child¡¯s dull, jeweled eyes. ¡°Are you alright, honey?¡±

    Maelstrom nodded hard, but the healer knew it meant nothing. Just him trying to please her. That was all that was left of him right now. With his headmaster out of sight, he was starting to shake as if he were stuck in a blizzard. Not to mention the grey tint to his skin¡­

    ¡°It must be awful, to only have a quarter of yourself at hand.¡±

    ?ywie stared back at the Physician. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    He waved her off. ¡°Nothing you could understand without a degree in practical metaphysics. Now, let¡¯s not take up too much of our young man¡¯s time.¡±

    Maelstrom placidly let ?ywie attach the beetles, not even squirming as they sunk their legs into his skin. A tap on his cheek, and ?ywie learned nothing. Again.

    With a squelch, the Physician pulled a canteen from behind his back. ¡°Alright, David,¡± he said, unscrewing the lid, ¡°I would like you to pull the water over to yourself.¡±

    The boy squinted. ¡°There¡¯s water in there?¡±

    The Physician glanced at the canteen. ¡°Well, yes, of course.¡±

    ¡°¡­I can¡¯t feel anything.¡±

    ?ywie squeezed his shoulder. ¡°David, I know it¡¯s hard, but this would really help us. And the other children.¡±

    David stood a little straighter. ?ywie needed him to be good.

    He stared at the canteen. It was like trying to clasp air. No, vacuum. The boy tried to remember what water felt like, but not even his own tears could remind him.

    ¡°That¡ªthat¡¯s enough, David.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he whispered.

    ?ywie hugged him. ¡°No, don¡¯t be. You tried your best.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s never good enough.¡±

    Her grip tightened. ¡°Do you want Mr. Jives to take you to Miri?¡±

    A nod against her blouse.

    The Physician didn¡¯t see his henchman escort the child to his friend. He was occupied with the television screen. ¡°It¡¯s fascinating, neurologically speaking. It¡¯s as if they aren¡¯t even trying to¡­¡±

    He trailed off as he noticed the healer¡¯s weeping.

    ¡°I¡¯m so useless¡­¡±

    The Physician wasn¡¯t terribly literate when it came to human emotional expression, but enough people had burst into tears in his presence that he knew what it meant. ¡°Oh now, what¡¯s the matter Eliza?¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t understand. I delivered that boy, John. I was the first face he ever saw.¡±

    ¡°¡­You assume I don¡¯t have children, Miss Winter?¡±

    The sobs subsided slightly. ¡°Do you?¡±

    ¡°Oh, hundreds of them. And nieces and nephews, I suppose. Have I ever told you how odd it is English doesn¡¯t have a gender-neutral term for that?¡±

    ¡°What are they like?¡±

    ¡°Children, Eliza, they¡¯re just like children.¡±

    ¡°I can cure cancer. I¡¯ve put babies with Downs and Tay-sachs right inside their mothers. I¡¯ve woken the dead! I should be able to do something for these children¡­¡±

    The Physician considered the woman for a second. ¡°You would be a living saint on my world, you know that? The fact you haven¡¯t cracked this only speaks well of the problem.¡±

    She sniffed. ¡°Thank you, John.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s grin returned. One thing he would never get about humans was how much they liked to dwell on moments like these. ¡°Well, shall we call in Adam?¡±

    It was the first up-close look the boy had gotten at their visitor. The closest comparison Adam could make was to the Sinclairs¡¯ GP back in Kalgoorlie¡­ if he had lost a lot of weight and kept the spare skin pulled back with laundry-pegs. He tried to resist the urge to scratch at the Christmas beetles. ?ywie had assured him the resemblance was purely aesthetic, but sometimes he felt them rub their legs together¡­

    ¡°So, you want me to use my powers?¡±

    ¡°Exactly right, young man. One at a time, if you could,¡± the Physician said. He tried to snap his fingers, but the result was a wet scrape. ¡°Actually wait just a moment.¡± He reached over his tool-table, tapping his speaker-starfish on its central ruby.

    Roy Brown started belting out ¡°Butcher Pete¡±.

    ¡°Hey everybody, did the news get around,

    About a guy named Butcher Pete,

    Oh, Pete just flew into this town,

    And he¡¯s choppin¡¯ up all the women¡¯s meat!¡±

    The Physician¡¯s smile was practically a crescent moon. ¡°Begin.¡±

    First, Adam lifted the tool-table over his head with a single finger. That should¡¯ve impossible, according to Lawrence, although he hadn¡¯t gotten around to explaining why. Then, he juggled suns like he was the great black hole at the centre of the galaxy, only for them to wink out as he exhaled Heaven. He winced as Eliza coughed up something black and the Physician rippled.

    After about ten powers, Adam became self-conscious. Even out of the other children¡¯s sight, he felt as though he were rubbing it in somehow; like dancing in a polio-ward.

    ¡°?ywie¡­¡± three Adams said.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Adam.¡± She shot a glance at the Physician¡­ moving rhythmically in the corner, juddering and shuddering.

    ¡°Ever since Peter flew into town

    He¡¯s been havin¡¯ a ball,

    Just cuttin¡¯ and choppin¡¯ for miles around!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Dr. Smith is almost done.¡±

    Eventually, the Physician turned the music off. ¡°Very well, Adam, you can stop now.¡±

    Adam was busy pouring cordial through his hand, watching it spill out the other side as warm ice. He didn¡¯t even know what the point of that one was. ¡°You sure? I still have a few powers left.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, but that won¡¯t be necessary. We¡¯re done now. You should go play now.¡±

    Adam headed towards the fresh air. He hesitated on the threshold, fingering the hem of the tent flap, then stepped out and disappeared into the sunlight.

    ?ywie sighed. ¡°Who should we check next.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s only answer was to put on the Beatles. He slouched and slithered towards the door, his arms rolling and twisting to the sound of ¡°Ticket to Ride¡±

    The healer scowled. ¡°And what do you think you¡¯re doing?¡±

    ¡°I told you, we¡¯re done. Now, I¡¯m going out to enjoy the party I¡¯m throwing, and I suggest you join me.¡±

    ?ywie watched him ¡°dance¡± out into the dry grass.

    ¡°Oh, God.¡±

    ?

    Lawrence sat behind his desk, waiting for either his old student or their visitor to tell him something. ?ywie was half-slumped in her chair, like she were sixteen again and hoping against hope he didn¡¯t know she had snuck off to Duke¡¯s Inn for a few pints. The Physician, for his part, was sitting stock still, grinning. Lawrence was vaguely expecting dust to form on his teeth.

    The old man raised a finger. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Adam,¡± the Physician reported cheerily. ?ywie put her face in her hands, groaning softly.

    Lawrence froze, then slumped in his chair. ¡°Are you¡­ are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Certain. Fairly obvious in retrospect, I must say. Surprised nobody figured it out before I got there.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s gaze drifted slightly, avoiding the Physician¡¯s eyes.

    The Physician noticed. ¡°Oh, Lawrence, I hope you didn¡¯t bite their head off.¡± He lightly elbowed ?ywie. ¡°Even Eliza here might have a hard time fixing that.¡±

    Both Lawrence and the healer gawked at him for a moment. The Physician reminded himself to work on his timing. ¡°Still, yes. Adam is the one suppressing everyone¡¯s powers.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯ve ruled out a fault with the Quiet Room?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Lawrence, the null-chamber is secure, I checked it first thing. And I resent creatures who haven¡¯t even figured out how to sneak around the light barrier questioning my handiwork.¡± He looked at Eliza as though they were sharing some private joke. ¡°I swear, a barbwire fence is more troubling.¡±

    Lawrence closed his eyes. ¡°Tell me then, how is he doing this?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence,¡± ?ywie said, ¡°how would you describe Myriad¡¯s power?¡±

    ¡°She looks at other new human abilities, and her power recreates them as best it can.¡±

    The Physician nodded, ¡°I think it was Picasso who said ¡®good artists copy, great artists steal¡¯<sup>3</a></sup>. Well, that¡¯s nonsense. I would look into that Picasso if I were you, he sounds dodgy. Anyway, Adam¡¯s power¡ªhis root ability¡ªI think is similar to little Allison¡¯s. But he doesn¡¯t copy supers. I think his power looks at others, and uses them as points of inspiration for new ones. A bit like collage, I suppose.¡± He looked proud of himself. ¡°Remind me, Lawrence, how many students do you have? Not counting Adam. And how many powers has he displayed?¡±

    Lawrence latched onto that like it was a lifebuoy. ¡°Thirty-two!¡± he gasped, as if it mattered. ¡°Adam has forty-one powers! How do you explain that, hmm?¡±

    The Physician was about to suggest it didn¡¯t have to be a strict one to one correlation, but Eliza beat him to it: ¡°We¡¯re not the first posthumans Adam¡¯s encountered, Lawrence. The Coven, AU raided his town, that poor boy they lynched afterwards¡­¡±

    ¡°That still leaves three powers unaccounted for!¡±

    A thought struck the Physician. ¡°The children inside your oldest girls.¡±

    Lawrence shuddered. ¡°Even if you¡¯re right¡ª¡±

    ¡°I am.¡±

    ¡°¡­How does it follow that Adam would be¡­ sabotaging other new humans?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a perfect defense mechanism.¡±

    ¡°Why would he need a defense mechanism against his own kind?¡±

    The Physician looked puzzled by the question. ¡°Why do you humans make guns and tanks? It¡¯s a self-fulfilling prophecy, I reckon. Adam gets upset¡ªhomesickness, loneliness, the breeding program, whatever¡ªand his power tries to keep him safe. Everyone else being power-neutered stresses him out, so it keeps trying to do that.¡± He got up out of his chair and made for the door. ¡°Still, you won¡¯t have to worry about it for long.¡±

    ?ywie twisted to keep track of him. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    The Physician stopped. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be taking Adam off your hands.¡±

    Lawrence sputtered. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ªwhy?¡±

    ¡°Lawrence, this boy of yours can suppress all three Socii presentations, a demigod¡ªdon¡¯t give me that look¡ªsorcerers, and two elementals. At once.¡± The Physician¡¯s voice grew shrill, like a kettle. ¡°Then, he dices up their powers and makes new ones! Can you imagine the experimental opportunities?¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s my student!¡±

    The Physician tilted his head. It looked like his neck had snapped. ¡°Is he, though? He doesn¡¯t strike me as an asylum find.¡± Lawrence could almost hear the crack of the alien¡¯s grin as he cheerily wagged a long, spindly finger. ¡°You know Timothy Valour doesn¡¯t like you poaching.¡±

    ?ywie ran to the Physician¡¯s side, putting her hand on his. ¡°Please, John, think of the boy¡¯s wellbeing.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense! He¡¯ll be fine at my place. I¡¯ll teach him to play checkers. And think of the powers my stock could teach him. He¡¯ll be like the Flying Man come again!¡±

    He started walking again, but Lawrence physically blocked the door. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Dr. Smith, but I can¡¯t let you do this. Adam needs to be among his own.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I just told you, he¡¯ll be with his own kind regardless!¡±

    ¡°Not¡ªnot like that.¡±

    The Physician lashed out like a viper, lifting the old Oxfordian a clear inch off the ground and setting him aside like he was made of paper. ¡°Herbert, I¡¯ve been very accommodating of you over the years. Face it, I¡¯ve taught you a lot more about these children than you have me. I¡¯ve let you keep a fair few experimentally interesting subjects. Myriad, all the ones you¡¯ve bred.¡± He pointed back at ?ywie. ¡°Why, I let you keep her. And that hurt, trust me.¡± He pulled Lawrence in close, until the man could smell his cool, metallic breath. ¡°But there is a limit.¡±

    He let go of Lawrence¡¯s shirt, shoving the headmaster back. ¡°I¡¯ll be arranging a transfer of custody with Timothy, Lawrence. I trust you know what I shall be telling him if you don¡¯t cooperate.¡±

    The old man fell to his knees. ¡°No, John. I¡¯d rather you tell him about the girls than Adam! Think of what the DDHA would do with him!¡±

    The Physician glanced down at him. ¡°Yes,¡± he remarked casually. ¡°I suppose that could get unpleasant.¡±

    He stepped out of the room.

    Lawrence wept. What else could he do? He wondered if this is was what it was like for Tiresias, when a future became impossible. Adam Sinclair was supposed to be the truest expression of what his people could be, vast and flexible. He¡¯d already imagined his potential mingling one day with Myriad¡¯s. To have all that snatched away from him, to not even get to Name the boy¡­

    He was dimly aware of ?ywie¡¯s hands around his shoulders. He looked up at the woman.

    ¡°Oh, ?ywie, what are we to do?¡±

    ?

    It was the cheering that woke Mabel the next morning. Lorikeet dorm was filled with the sound of relieved celebration. And what sounded like an indoor cyclone.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± she shouted over the howl, her hair whipping in the wind.

    Where the door should¡¯ve been, there was a black cloud, darker than space, lit only by flashes of green escaping from its mass. Elsewhere burst out of it, almost too bright to look at, the air swirling around him as it was struck by his power. He saw Mabel, sitting up bewildered in her hammock. ¡°Mabes! The blackout¡¯s over!¡±

    Just for emphasis, he proceeded to banish the hammock out from under her.

    Managing to catch herself, the girl instinctively manifested the lady astronaut¡¯s sidearm. She was about to find out if the stun setting worked when she realized what she had done. She turned the laser over in her hand. ¡°Oh, my God.¡±

    She wanted to laugh. And cry. She¡¯d been wrong, after all. And she couldn¡¯t be happier about it. ¡°Adam!¡±

    She looked around the dorm for him, her eyes moving from fireworks to light-shows to rents in the world. To her surprise, Adam was still in his hammock.

    Sleeping must be one of his powers.

    She ran over to him, dodging Jumpcut¡¯s repeated apparitions and Haunt rising from the floor, trying to look cool.

    Mabel shook the boy. ¡°Adam! Adam, wake up!¡±

    No response. He felt still under her hands.

    ¡°Adam?¡±

    She rolled him over. Cold sweat clung to his face. No breath rose from his mouth and nose.

    Mabel screamed.

 Chapter Thirty-Three: Still Waters

    It took a few moments for David to notice anything after waking up. The first thing he noticed was his stomach growling, like he hadn¡¯t eaten in days. He was laying on something soft, patches of his pyjamas worn almost through and the fabric rough against his skin. Sunshine pressed against his eyelids. He didn¡¯t open them. No need. The door was closed. The nearest moving person was downstairs. There was someone else in this room, though. Breathing, but still. Small, female. Allison. He smiled. He really wasn¡¯t sure why.

    Still with his eyes closed, David reduced himself to fog. Mist seeped out of his pyjamas and down through the floorboards.

    In the kitchens, Therese Fletcher heard a pop as she sullenly worked the stove, followed by the tell-tale rustle of paper and plastic. She turned, and caught only the briefest snatch of a boy, quite naked, eyes sparkling with mischief as he dug through the drawer where the sweets were stored. Before she had a chance to say a word, however, there was another pop, and the boy vanished in a puff of fog, leaving a half empty packet of tim tams in his wake.

    ¡°... Maelstrom?¡± she asked absently. No. That couldn¡¯t have been him. Maelstrom would¡¯ve broken down and wept if he¡¯d been caught in the treat cupboard. Probably even if Lawrence had sent him. And those eyes were the wrong colour.

    Back in the darkened room, Allison Kinsey felt something cold splash against her cheek, and opened one bleary eye to Maelstrom dumping a jug¡¯s worth of water on her head.

    It took Allison a moment to recognize his song. It sounded like someone had figured out how to play hot-jazz with verrilion. Then Allison realised the songs were back and nothing else mattered in the world.

    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± said the strange boy, his eyes milky green like the edges of waves in moonlight. ¡°I want to play.¡±

    Allison blinked up at the friend she didn¡¯t know. Then she grinned, the hazel of her eyes got lost in the green, and the world was a flood. David ran out of his father¡¯s room, pursued by the ghost of Allison, her vaporous fingers reaching out to grab him.

    As he ran, David savoured the way his legs moved. His whole body felt new and strange, like a toy just out of the box. The air was odd, too, thin and light around his limbs.

    Allison gained on David, tickling his skin. He turned and made a sharp stop, letting her fog smash into his now icy chest.

    Allison coalesced behind him, pouting. ¡°No fair!¡±

    Flesh and blood again, David turned and shrugged, grinning all the while. ¡°It¡¯d need rules to be fair!¡± His body collapsed into water, soaking into the carpet till he was gone.

    Allison growled and followed suit.

    David had never realized how porous the big house was. All the little nooks and crannies were like doors for him. Why hadn¡¯t he thought of it before?

    He dripped down towards the second floor, the droplets that were him evaporating into steam before they could hit the ground. Allison followed him, their mists intermingling in a deeply confused hug.

    Once they had figured out whose water molecules were whom, they noticed Arnold leaning against a door, anxiously clawing at the wood as he zapped a ball into the air, over and over.

    That confused Allison. They had their powers back. What was there to be miserable about?

    David, for his part, simply saw someone being unhappy. The boy tried to think of what would make Arnold happy.

    Then he remembered Linus¡¯ song.

    He materialized in front of the other child, and before he could say anything, gave him a kiss. It wasn¡¯t a long one, but Arnold went pale before the end, nonetheless.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, you know.¡±

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°M-Mael?¡± he asked, eyes widening as David and Allison ran laughing like mad towards the bannister, leaping over the wooden railing with no hesitation.

    On the first floor landing, splinters of ice reassembled themselves like a child attempting a jigsaw-puzzle.

    Allison clutched David¡¯s hands, bouncing on her heels. ¡°What do you wanna do now?¡±

    He grinned. ¡°I wanna go outside.¡±

    The pair burst out the front door, bounding down the veranda and into the lawn.  Left unattended in the chaos of the blackout, the grass blades now stabbed towards the sky like so many spears.

    David savoured the warmth on his skin. The rays of the sun and the dirt under his feet were distant, pleasant memories, suddenly made real and vivid again. And he felt so fast. Like he could run to Perth and back without breaking a sweat.

    He wanted water. Luckily the rising summer had yet to burn all the green from the world. Blades of grass, ants, and flies alike exploded, the moisture inside them pursuing David as he ran past. It didn¡¯t matter. Their water was his.

    The water clung to David¡¯s hands. First like beads of sweat, then clear, glittering gloves, and finally crystal spheres bigger than his head. Without breaking his stride, he turned to face Allison, poking his tongue out.

    Lashes of water slapped the girl in the face. Sputtering and fuming, she tried to to close the growing gap between her and David.

    A red and blue diamond, split down the middle.

    Nothing. Stupid ?ywie, making her be weak.

    Allison looked toward the ribbon of blue in the distance. All that water¡­

    A great finger of water rose from the river, dwarfing the trees along its banks. Like a serpent, it reared over the grounds of the Institute, dragging its tail out the river and into the air, until its shadow was over Allison.

    She let go of David¡¯s song.

    The entire mass lunged down onto the girl. The next second, she was fifty yards in front of David, glowing like the moon and frosted with ice.

    ¡°Nah ha!¡±

    ¡°No fair!¡±

    Allison smirked. ¡°I thought you said there weren¡¯t any rules?¡±

    David roared. The thousands of gallons of snow and ice-water rose behind him, and flew towards his friend.

    The blizzard hit a dam of fire, hissing as it melted for the ground to drink, the steam lost in the air.

    David¡¯s song would always be Allison¡¯s favourite, hands down. But who ever listened only to their favourite song?

    Arm in arm, the two children laughed. It was a good day. Then, David quirked his head.

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of people ¡®round the dorm.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison. ¡°Like, halfa¡¯ everyone.¡±

    ¡°Wonder why?¡±

    Shrug. ¡°Power-party?¡±

    David grinned. ¡°Wanna check it out?¡±

    Mabel was sitting on the dormitory steps, her face flushed and threaded with tears, her breath heaving softly. Basilisk and Melusine were sitting either side of her, united in purpose. Children milled about uncomfortably, while Lawrence and Mrs. Gillespie comforted a weeping ?ywie.

    ¡°Shush, shush, shush¡± the old woman whispered. ¡°There¡¯s nothing you could¡¯ve done.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± David asked, recondensing after misting through the crowd.

    Lawrence glared at the boy. ¡°Maelstrom, this is completely inappropriate.¡±

    For some reason, the voice itched at David. Made him want to hit something. He pushed the feeling from his mind, and asked again.

    ¡°What happened?¡± He frowned. ¡°And why were we in Basilisk¡¯s bed?¡±

    Mabel was staring at him. ¡°Why are you two so happy?¡± She pronounced the last word like it was the most dire accusation.

    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t we be?¡± David snapped, digging his heels into the ground.

    All around them, children shuffled their feet and tried not to look at the water-sprite.

    He stared at Lawrence. ¡°Did you make Mabel cry?¡±

    The old man looked like he was about to explode, and for a moment, David¡¯s eyes flared arsenic green, but Melusine raised a hand. ¡°David,¡± she said gently. ¡°Adam passed away last night.¡±

    Her son wilted slightly. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°She means he¡¯s dead!¡± Mabel shouted.

    David¡¯s eyes were wide. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°An aneurysm,¡± Lawrence said. ¡°There was a fault in the Quiet Room. It made you all lose your powers, but it gave poor Adam a brain bleed.¡± Tears began to escape him. ¡°At least it was painless.¡±

    David looked toward the crowd being parted by Allison¡¯s elbows. ¡°Allie?¡±

    When she reached the front of the children, the girl looked back at him. ¡°I¡ªI can¡¯t hear him anymore.¡±

    Lawrence stepped towards David, putting a hand on his shoulder. ¡°David, it¡¯s time for you to go back inside.¡±

    ¡°But Adam¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°Inside, now.¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    Only a few of those watching were really surprised when Lawrence struck David, the back of his hand snapping the boy¡¯s head to the side. He¡¯d been impudent. It was a foregone conclusion.

    ¡°Your behaviour in the wake of this tragedy has been vulgar and childish, Maelstrom,¡± he said, his voice hard. ¡°I should hope you¡¯d know better.¡±

    He swung his hand again, but all it did was disturb the mist left by David¡¯s passing. The boy reformed as quickly as he had vanished. He met the old man¡¯s glare not with anger, but contempt.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± Haunt whispered to Britomart. ¡°What¡¯s Mealy on?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± she replied, regarding the boy. ¡°I think I like it?¡±

    Fran?oise blinked. ¡°David,¡± she said. ¡°Where were you?¡±

    Her father¡¯s eyes stared back at her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But it was great.¡±

 Chapter Thirty-Four: Panoply

    The Physician came for Adam¡¯s body in the afternoon. Lawrence insisted all students and staff alike be there for the handoff.

    ¡°It¡¯s only right we see him on his way,¡± he had told them.

    The New Human Institute bore no coffin or bier as they marched down the long dirt driveway. The Physician was waiting for them, his truck parked at the edge where school gave way to bush, henchmen¡ªmakeup thankfully washed off¡ªflanking him on both sides. To Lawrence¡¯s relief, he wasn¡¯t smiling. In fact, he didn¡¯t seem to have much of any facial expression.

    Lawrence and ?ywie moved ahead of the pack, trying to gesture for everyone else to stay back. Luckily, nobody needed much encouragement to keep their distance from the Physician.

    The doctor had his arms folded, his long fingers furling and unfurling along his sleeves. ¡°I trust you have kept the body cool?¡± he asked tonelessly.

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°We¡¯ve tried our best, John.¡± He turned to look back at his students. ¡°Artume?¡±

    Mary Gillespie took the young girl by the hand and led her over. ¡°You¡¯re being very brave, love.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s face came to life when he recognized her, the muscles tightening like clockwork. ¡°Sheilah Brown!¡± He grinned at Lawrence. ¡°Whose idea was this?¡±

    ?ywie sighed. ¡°Mine.¡±

    The Physician clicked his tongue. ¡°Not surprised!¡± Addressing Artume, he said, ¡°Congratulations on the conception by the way, I¡¯m sure the results will be very interesting.¡±

    The girl stared at her feet. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Would you mind dislodging the carcass for us, Miss Brown?¡±

    A gash opened in the world, bleeding black.

    Artume tried not to look at the wound. ¡°I don¡¯t have to¡­ get him out, do I?¡±

    ¡°Oh, of course not,¡± Mrs Gillespie assured her. ¡°You¡¯re doing more than your share as it is.¡± She turned to ?ywie. ¡°Would you assist me?¡±

    The two women reached into Artume¡¯s void. Without her darkvision, it was a hard search, but neither Mary nor ?ywie would consider calling her over.

    The Physician watched with interest. ¡°Lawrence,¡± he asked. ¡°Is handling the dead a traditionally feminine task in your culture?¡±

    Lawrence raised a hand. ¡°?ywie¡ª¡±

    ¡°No, Lawrence. I need to do this,¡± she said.

    They pulled out chocolates, Coke bottles, old issues of Womens Weekly¡ª

    ¡°Ah,¡± Mary Gillespie closed her eyes. ¡°I think we¡¯ve got a hold of him.¡±

    Tenderly, one arm each, the pair pulled Adam into the light of reality. Neither rigor-mortis nor the smell of death had set in yet. The boy could have been asleep, if he weren¡¯t so cold.

    At first, when the screaming hadn¡¯t even died down, there had been some hope that ?ywie could bring Adam back to life. She had done it before¡ªstill hearts coaxed into beating again under her hand. But Adam had lain dead for at least an hour, entropy scrambling the pattern that had been him. Even for ?ywie, it would¡¯ve been like putting a dust-cloud back together from memory, without mislaying a single speck or mote. What she woke might have breathed, but it wouldn¡¯t have been Adam.

    The henchmen took Adam from the women, presenting him to their master. The Physician leaned in for a sniff. ¡°It¡¯s not ideal, but I might work something out,¡± he said, straightening himself. ¡°It¡¯s such a shame. I was looking forward to our chats.¡± He pointed from Vibe and Jam to the truck. ¡°Prepare it for transport.¡±

    Lawrence, half out of respect, half out of curiosity, followed the pair as they carried Adam to the back of the truck bed.

    They swung the doors open. Inside¡ªamongst a disassembled tent and the Physician¡¯s other tools¡ªwas what Lawrence could only describe as an enormous, mottled black and yellow pupa, lying in the middle of the floor. As the two men approached it, the thing opened.

    Lawrence gagged at the stench of it, sickly and brackish. The chamber was filled with a blue, fluorescent fluid, thinner than ink. Jam and Vibe dropped the dead boy inside, and then he was gone, the pupa resealing once the ripples subsided.

    ¡°We¡¯re lucky I always bring a specimen jar when I travel.¡±

    The old man jerked at the Physician¡¯s voice. He hadn¡¯t heard the doctor creep up behind him. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°I suppose it is¡­ you¡¯re being very understanding about this, Doctor.¡±

    The Physician shut the truck doors with Mr. Jam and Mr. Vibe still inside. Just more cargo. ¡°Oh, Herbert, what¡¯s the point of anger when all is said and done?¡± He made for the cabin. ¡°Have a good Christmas. Tell me when the babies start coming, I¡¯d like to have their DNA on file.¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t bother answering. He doubted the Physician would care either way. He watched the truck drive away until it turned around the first bend in the road.

    As the Institute dispersed back into the campus, Lawrence felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down. ¡°Yes, Phantasmagoria?¡± he asked, tiredly.

    ¡°Why does the Physician get Adam?¡±

    ¡°Autopsy. He wants to make sure what caused his aneurysm won¡¯t affect any of you.¡±

    ¡°But his mum and dad? They¡¯ll get him after, right?¡±

    Lawrence nodded slowly. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s only right.¡±

    Mabel stopped walking. Her teacher left her behind without a glance.

    As the little girl watched him trudge up towards the big house, she wished she could believe him.

    ?

    The memorial was only a couple days later. Everyone gathered in the spot along the river where they usually put on the Namings. Lawrence stood beside something hidden under a white tablecloth.

    ¡°Adam Sinclair was only with us a short while, but I will always remember him as the boy who¡ªwhen he found himself the powerful amongst us¡ªdid not use his gifts to bully or lord over his fellows, but to help maintain their spirits and standards. For a fortnight, he might as well have been the only posthuman in the world, and he behaved above and beyond what I¡¯d hope from one.¡±

    Next to Mabel, Maelstrom whispered, ¡°Was it really two weeks?¡±

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Myriad replied. ¡°You really don¡¯t remember?¡±

    Mabel wanted to shout at the pair of them, muttering during a funeral (or whatever this was) but how could she blame them? Most of the time Adam had been there, they¡¯d been off in their own little worlds. Everyone had been, really. Nobody but her had cried¡ªapart from Growltiger, but he was just like that¡ªand it made her feel stupid. She barely knew Adam. What did they do together besides a few drawing lessons?

    It worried her David didn¡¯t cry, though.

    ¡°Nope. Last thing before we woke up was Linus¡¯ singing.¡±

    ¡°Lucky, I guess,¡± Myriad said.

    Lawrence kept going. ¡°Adam¡¯s powers were amazing. I doubt the world has seen anything like him, and won¡¯t for a long time. But the true tragedy is all the times he could have had with us. All those experiences. Today, however, I wish to grant Adam at least one of them.¡±

    He pulled off the bed sheet, revealing a grey marble plinth. A cenotaph, as Allison would later call it. A grave for the absent and lost. A Galapagos finch was inlaid on its face in gold, above a name in silver:

    PANOPLY

    ¡°I¡¯d like to thank our Growltiger and Ex-Nihilo for their work on this memorial.¡±

    Billy didn¡¯t know whether he was supposed to acknowledge the credit or not. He settled for staring at his feet.

    ¡°I never got to Name Adam Sinclair, but I will always remember Panoply.¡± The old man had to take pause. The words were catching in his throat. ¡°I hope¡ªI hope you children can look at this stone and remember Panoply too.¡±

    The children started clapping softly. Nobody was sure if it was the done thing, but what else could they do. Nobody knew Adam well enough to give him a eulogy.

    Mabel was very glad she wasn¡¯t standing at the front, because she couldn¡¯t keep the anger off her face. That plinth was a lie. Nobody who had ever loved Adam had ever called him ¡°Panopoly¡±. Nobody who had even liked him had called him that. It was a story; the version of Adam Lawrence had wanted. And that stupid bird. It turned it from a gravestone into an advertisement.

    There¡¯ll be a real grave somewhere, she tried telling herself. A real grave, with his real name, that his mum and dad can go visit.

    It was an odd thing to hope for, but Mabel knew not everyone got as much.

    ?

    Lucius Owens sat in the big house¡¯s library, alone but for the characters of The King Must Die. Not the cheerist title, but the way those Athenian hostages bonded over bull-vaulting of all things comforted him.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    He didn¡¯t look up when the door opened, but he did when he heard Phantasmagoria¡¯s voice: ¡°Linus?¡±

    Linus rested the book on his knee. ¡°You alright, Phan?¡± That was the default greeting at the Institute lately.

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Well, time to be the communal big-brother. He scooted sideways to make space on the leather couch. ¡°Get over here.¡±

    Phantasma sat down next to the the older boy, lolling against his side. ¡°What¡¯re you reading?¡±

    He glanced at the book¡¯s cover: two fresco-figures with their arms entwined by serpents.  ¡°The King Must Die.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it about?¡±

    ¡°Theseus.¡±

    That caught Mabel¡¯s interest. ¡°So, the Minotaur?¡±

    Linus shrugged. ¡°Sort of. But he¡¯s just the prince in a big bull mask. It¡¯s one of those books that tries to show how the story could have happened without my folks getting involved.¡± He winked. ¡°Pure blasphemy, I say.¡±

    The girl looked up at him, tilting her head. ¡°So, they made it more boring?¡±

    Linus laughed. ¡°I guess they did.¡±

    ¡°¡­Linus?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Phan?¡±

    ¡°Your folks basically made the world, right?¡±

    Linus thought he knew where this was going, but he decided to let the girl get there herself. It was just nice that some of the littlies believed him. ¡°I suppose you could say that. I think it¡¯s more that they painted over a lot of it.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes briefly darted upwards. He hoped his family didn¡¯t take this the wrong way. ¡°And some of them are the world. It¡¯s complicated.¡±

    ¡°¡­Do you know what happens to people when they die?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± It wasn¡¯t the first time one of the younger kids had asked Linus that. Hell, it wasn¡¯t even the first time Phantasmagoria had asked him. She could still remember her then¡ªthat sad, sun-dried thing Lawrence had found in the desert, lost and afraid even of her own powers. Time had almost washed that girl away like a bad chalk-drawing in the rain, but Linus thought he could see her stirring behind Phantasma¡¯s eyes.

    She probably doesn¡¯t even remember, he realized. Linus had forgotten how long three years felt when you were small. ¡°Most of what I know you could probably get from books. Dad never really sat down and explained it all.¡±

    ¡°I still want to know.¡±

    ¡°Alright. You know the Grim Reaper?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s basically my uncle, Hermes.¡±

    ¡°I thought he was the thief god?¡±

    A smile. ¡°He¡¯s god of a lot of things. I think even he loses track sometimes. But like I was saying, one of Hermes¡¯ jobs is guiding dead people down to the Underworld, where his uncle looks after them.¡±

    Mabel was quiet for some time. ¡°¡­Why?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯cha mean?¡±

    ¡°Why do dead people have to go anywhere? Why can¡¯t they just stay up here with us? Dying could be like¡­ puberty or something.¡±

    Linus frowned. ¡°That¡¯s called being a ghost, Phan. Nobody wants to be one of those.¡±

    ¡°I would!¡±

    The boy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Would you now?¡±

    ¡°Yeah! Floating around, walking through walls, being all see through. Haunt likes it.¡±

    ¡°Haunt can turn it off, Phan. The world¡¯s just not built for naked souls, I think. The sun burns too bright and sounds are too sharp. The Underworld¡¯s where they belong.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s dumb!¡± Phantasmagoria cried. ¡°Who made it so everyone has to go away forever just because they hurt too much or lived too long!¡± She pulled away from Linus, scrunching in on herself and scowling. ¡°Your family¡¯s a bunch of meanies.¡±

    Mabel expected some kind of protest from Linus, or maybe an insult. The fact none came worried her enough to make her glance back at him.

    The young man was looking contemplatively at his book. ¡°Yeah, they can be sometimes. But my family didn¡¯t invent death. It¡¯s not like that Garden of Eden stuff in the Bible. Death¡¯s always been here. Only way it could work. If nothing ever died, we¡¯d be smothered by flies. Hell, we¡¯d smother the flies. And it¡¯s even littler things, too. Cancer is immortal: did you know that?¡± He sighed. ¡°Maybe some angry cousin of mine invented all the other stuff. Made dying so scary. Made it so we missed people. Made it so it¡¯s always kinda shocking, even though everyone does it.¡±

    Mabel drew in close to him again. ¡°Do you think they¡¯re alright? Adam. My mum and dad. Everyone?¡±

    ¡°Is your uncle kind?¡±

    His father¡¯s voice, like music at dawn. ¡°No. But he is fair.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Linus said. ¡°I¡¯m sure they are.¡±

    They didn¡¯t speak for some time. Linus hummed a little, and it put birdsong to shame. He wasn¡¯t trying to use his song, but keeping magic out of his voice was like trying to keep water out of the sea.

    ¡°Do you ever think about leaving?¡± the little girl asked.

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°Leaving the school. You¡¯re eighteen right? Sanctioned? Couldn¡¯t you go?¡±

    ¡°Why would I want to?¡±

    Linus felt Mabel shrug. ¡°Dunno. See the world. Go to university?¡± She tried to giggle. ¡°Fight crime?¡±

    Linus laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know about that last one. You even heard of a singing superhero?¡±

    Mabel thought about it. ¡°There¡¯s this old Superman story where he teams up with Pat Boone<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Pat Boone is not a superhero. I¡¯m not even sure he¡¯s a singer. As for university¡ªour teachers are great, but I don¡¯t know if I have a high school certificate or anything. And I couldn¡¯t leave the babies.¡±

    ¡°But Chant, Chorus, and Spitfire are yours. You could take them with you.¡±

    ¡°They belong to their mums, too. And all of us, really. I wouldn¡¯t want to leave Ophelia and the kids that are going to be born, either. And¡­ I guess I don¡¯t really know what my life would be like. I haven¡¯t left the valley in six years, I think.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I guess that makes sense.¡±

    Mabel lay there for a while, letting Linus sing softly or read the odd passage from The King Must Die out loud.

    She wasn¡¯t paying attention, though. Her gaze was focused on the shelf where the Institute kept all its medical books.

    ?

    Elsewhere found himself with very little to do after lessons were over. Myriad was mooning over Maelstrom even more than usual, and Elsewhere couldn¡¯t look at him right now without wanting to punch his lights out. Or wanting to¡ªno, just the first thing.

    There were all the other children of the Institute, of course, but Elsewhere felt awkward trying to play with them. They didn¡¯t know what he knew. What he had done to Adam. The weird, broken feelings stupid Maelstrom and his stupid magic eyes stirred up in him. He felt like a leper in a swimming pool.

    So, Elsewhere went in search of Mabel. She wasn¡¯t in the barn, or any of her usual drawing practice hideaways. Eventually, Linus pointed the boy to the library.

    He found the girl at the library¡¯s grand honey-oak reading table, almost obscured from view by siege-towers of books and magazines. A fairy-tale princess and a bespectacled giraffe were working through the piles beside her.

    Elsewhere was surprised. It wasn¡¯t that Mabel was an illiterate child by any means. It was just she tended to value books more in terms of how they could be put to work.

    He pulled up a chair. ¡°What are you reading?¡±

    The princess put a finger to her mouth. ¡°Shush!¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Elsewhere whispered. ¡°What are you reading?¡±

    Mabel answered without looking up, ¡°?ywie¡¯s doctor books.¡±

    Calling the books ¡°?ywie¡¯s¡± was perhaps misleading. While the healer did make a point of buying up medical publications, they were less for her to use than for her amusement. She would go through them page by page¡ªcrossing out lines and adding her commentary:

    Iodine actually destroys cells, dears.

    Trust me, babies feel pain.

    Inducing vomiting will not relieve postoperative vomiting. I¡¯m surprised I need to tell you people this.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Elsewhere. ¡°Why?¡±

    Mabel looked up at him. ¡°Wait, you don¡¯t actually believe the grown ups?¡±

    ¡°Believe them about what?¡±

    Very slowly, Mabel said, ¡°That Adam had an ann-your-lism.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t think it was the Quiet Room?¡±

    ¡°No. That¡¯s stupid. Why would it have only given him the ann-your-lism and not any of us?¡±

    He bit his lip. ¡°So¡ªyou don¡¯t think me putting him in there¡­ made it happen?¡±

    Mabel reached over and took the boy¡¯s hand. ¡°No. That¡¯s stupid.¡±

    ¡°So what does that mean?¡±

    The giraffe snorted, nudging the page it was on with its nose.

    Mabel leaned over to look, nodded, and dispelled the giraffe and princess both. ¡°It means we need to find ?ywie.¡±

    ?

    The Institute¡¯s healer was at work in the veggie-garden. It was still bright out, but the blues and whites of the sky dulled like dried paint. Shadows crept up the trunks of the surrounding trees, towards leaves still lit with gold, as though the sun was pulling the light out of them as it slowly set.

    ?ywie grunted as she bent over one of her walking pumpkins, trying to get a brush into the spines of its mouth.

    The home-bred jack o¡¯ lantern struggled under her grip, its root-tendrils whipping and thrashing, before it finally broke free and scurried off into the bush, troubling the Institute¡¯s cow on its way.

    ¡°Fine!¡± ?ywie shouted after it from the dirt. ¡°Let your teeth rot! See if I care!¡± She thought about running after her creation, but she couldn¡¯t work up the energy. Some family in Northam would be in pumpkin-pie for months.

    She was about to check on the cow when she heard her.

    ¡°Why are you lying about Adam?¡±

    Phantasmagoria and Elsewhere were standing at the allotment¡¯s gate, their faces grim. The girl was holding a book at her side.

    ?ywie got to her feet. ¡°¡­What?¡±

    Elsewhere said, ¡°Phantasma¡¯s been reading about brain ann-your-lisms.¡±

    ?ywie sighed, English teacher again for a moment. ¡°Aneurysms, you mean.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± insisted Phantasmagoria. ¡°What matters is they don¡¯t just happen overnight.¡±

    ¡°Phantasma, aneurysms can go undetected for weeks.¡±

    ¡°You checked us all with the Physician the day before Adam died. How could you have missed it?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI make mistakes, too.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Elsewhere. ¡°You don¡¯t¡±.

    ¡°We told Lawrence Adam was taking away our powers,¡± Mabel said. ¡°And don¡¯t say we were wrong. We know we weren¡¯t.¡± Her voice started to grow ragged. ¡°Then the Physician comes, and the next morning, Adam¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°Seems pretty lucky to me,¡± Elsewhere muttered.

    ?ywie would have smacked the boy if she were close enough. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare say that!¡±

    ¡°Stop lying to us!¡± Mabel shouted back. ¡°Why do grownups always lie?¡±

    ?ywie wanted to scream. Wanted to weep. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    Reverb¡¯s standard morose teenaged voice rang out across the school:

    Dinnertime.

    ?ywie walked out of the allotment, past Mabel and Elsewhere. ¡°You should stop talking about things you don¡¯t understand. Both of you. Be glad you have your powers back. Be glad you were given the ones you have.¡±

    Mabel watched the woman go. ¡°Eliza Winter!¡±

    She stopped in place, not looking back.

    Mabel inhaled. ¡°Did you kill Adam?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±

    Her answer was calm. Almost matter-a-fact. As though she were admitting it more to herself than the children. By the time either of them had recovered enough to say anything, the healer was gone.

    Arnold looked wide-eyed at his friend. ¡°I¡ªwhat¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Mabel. ¡°I really don¡¯t know¡±.

    The pair made their way back to the big house. Silently. Numbly. They kept their distance from any other child they passed. Once they were inside, they followed the overlapping chatter and clinking of cutlery to the dining room.

    Most of the student body had already sat down. David was swirling and fretting the glass of lemon cordial in front of him, much to the amusement of Brit and Allison, while Lawrence pointedly ignored him from the head of the table.

    He looked up at his friends with those new eyes of his, frowning slightly. ¡°You two alright?¡±

    The room had gone quiet. Mabel wondered what she and Arnold looked like right then. She could barely feel her own face, and reading the expressions of others was now beyond her. Like a maths trick she had never used outside of class.

    He loves her, Mabel thought. Everyone did. She did, too. ?ywie, the one who made the hurt go away.

    Then she found Eliza, sitting beside the headmaster. She caught her eye. Eliza looked resolute, but resigned. Like a woman expecting a blow. A witch who wanted to be burned.

    She was going to tell them, Mabel decided. She would tell everyone what Eliza had done. And then¡­ she didn¡¯t know what would happen then. But it was the right thing to do.

    ¡°?ywie¡ª¡± The rest of the words got lost. ¡°?ywie¡­¡±

    ¡°Yes, child?¡± she said. ¡°Is something the matter?¡±

    Arnold tried to pick up for her. ¡°Eliza¡­¡± Now why couldn¡¯t he say anything? ¡°Eliza!¡±

    Lawrence stood from his chair. ¡°Are you two playing a game?¡±

    ?ywie put a hand on the old man¡¯s arm. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°No it isn¡¯t!¡± Mabel blurted. ¡°Eliza¡­¡± The more she tried, the harder it got. It was like a bricklayer was building a wall between her mouth and her brain. ¡°Eliza¡ª¡±

    She burst into tears. Arnold soon joined her.

    ¡°Oh, God,¡± Abalone said. ¡°They¡¯ve gone mad, haven¡¯t they?¡±

    ¡°Now don¡¯t go saying rubbish,¡± Tiresias said as he got up and approached the crying children. He pulled them both in close, feeling them grow placid at his touch. ¡°They¡¯ve been through an awful shock. We all have.¡±

    The esper looked up and down the table. The children seemed to be buying it. But then his eyes landed on Eliza. That corpse-woman. The one with the mirrored mind. She was staring right at him, and those eyes made him feel transparent.

    Alberto clutched the children tighter, hard against his chest.

 Chapter Thirty-Five: The Battle of the Rabbit Hatch

    David Barthe-Venter was being ignored. And it was great. Since the morning Adam died (¡°May he rest in peace,¡± Mrs Gillespie said every time she mentioned him) Lawrence hadn¡¯t acknowledged his old favourite in any shape or form. Not when he spoke, not when they passed each other in the halls, not even when David mentioned the headmaster by name. He suspected that if he barged naked and screaming at the top of his lungs into Lawrence¡¯s office, the old man wouldn¡¯t even look up from his newspaper.

    David had decided Lawrence was trying to guilt him. He also suspected that if he had tried the same trick before he woke up that odd morning it would¡¯ve worked. He probably would¡¯ve begged Lawrence for a thrashing just so he would talk to him again. So that he would tell him he was a good boy again.

    Now, though, it was sheer bliss. David hadn¡¯t been raised with any religion¡ªbesides maybe the belief in his own kind¡¯s destiny¡ªbut he imagined it was like knowing in your bones that God was looking the other way. He knew that would frighten a lot of folks. It would¡¯ve frightened him, too. But now, it meant freedom.

    Okay, so that wasn¡¯t saying much. The other teachers still expected him in class. Even if they hadn¡¯t, David had no real aversion to English or maths or history. Really, very little about David¡¯s day had actually changed. But somehow, he found the world easier to move through, like he had stopped swimming against a riptide. Smiles came more readily. He no longer felt the urge to attack his own hands. Even the pains he sometimes woke with had stopped.

    And that pale smile he saw in his sleep? Gone.

    Whether by her own actions that morning or by simple proximity to David, Allison had become the second target of Lawrence¡¯s one-man ostracism campaign. Basilisk hadn¡¯t called on the girl¡¯s services much lately, nor had the other teachers, maybe out of fear of offending Lawrence, which suited both children just fine.

    The pair lay by the river, in the shade of the tree Mabel laser-blasted the day Arnold and Allison first arrived. Its scorched, blackened arm still hung out over the water.

    Allison was fumbling with a piece of paper¡ªtongue poking out the corner of her mouth¡ªtrying to fold it into a crane. As it turned out, origami was one of the few areas of expertise she hadn¡¯t managed to pick up in nearly nine years.

    She tore a corner and humphed. ¡°Weird,¡± she muttered.

    ¡°Hmm?¡± David was looking out over the river, lifting bubbles of water into the air and watching the little fish within grow frantic at their new, tiny world.

    ¡°I can do paper-airplanes, why not paper birds?¡±

    David shrugged. The fish he captured worked up the nerve or terror to plunge back into the river. ¡°Can plane-mechanics build birdies?¡±

    Allison slumped against the tree.  ¡°Ha. Ha.¡± She squinted at the sun. ¡°What time is it?¡±

    David waved his arm. ¡°Well, my watch¡ªoh, wait.¡±

    Allison rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. ¡°Just guess.¡±

    A quirk of the shoulders. ¡°Half past 10, maybe?¡±

    A humpf. ¡°Lunch is ages away then.¡±

    ¡°You hungry?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    David smiled. ¡°I know where there¡¯s something to eat.¡±

    He led them beyond the obstacle course and the edge of the bush, until they reached an ancient looking rabbit-trap. Opening the hatch and whipping out a rotting storm blanket revealed a pile of packaged junk-food: triple-wafers, tim-tams, and more.

    Allison was impressed. And peckish. ¡°What are these doing here?¡±

    David tossed her a packet of barbecue crisps, ripping open one of the triple-wafer packets for himself. ¡°They¡¯re one of Windshear¡¯s snack-stashes. She thinks they¡¯re all real secret, and I guess they are, but I sorta¡­ float around a lot. You see things.¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t she be mad?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re damn right I will be!¡±

    David and Allison turned to see Windshear standing between Britomart and Haunt, a private wind upsetting her red pigtails. Brit wore a mask of cool professionalism, while Haunt settled for vague semi-interest.

    ¡°That stuff¡¯s mine, Mealy!¡± the youngest girl shouted.

    David sighed. ¡°I prefer Mael, Windy. Or David. Go with David.¡±

    Brit¡¯s eyebrows arched. ¡°Won¡¯t Lawrence be mad?¡±

    It still surprised David how little the idea bothered him. ¡°I think he already as mad at me as he¡¯s gonna get.¡±

    ¡°Wild,¡± said Brit.

    Windshear glared at her chief-minion. ¡°Brit, this is serious!¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry.¡±

    That done, Windshear tried getting back to the intimidation. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Allison said. ¡°I¡¯m sure the grownups are gonna care so much about your racket. I bet you nicked half this stuff from the kitchen anyway.¡±

    ¡°She has a point,¡± said Haunt absently, busy watching what he thought was a wombat bounding through some distant trees. ¡°Pretty sure your thing is against the rules too.¡±

    Windshear scowled. ¡°You¡¯re a real bad employee, Haunt.¡±

    ¡°That would be because I¡¯m not one, Windy. Because you¡¯re six.¡±

    Windshear growled and ran towards Allison and David.

    The boy looked at Allison and grinned, the expression becoming fixed as he went icy. Allison in turn looked straight ahead at the charging little girl and dug her heels in. ?ywie¡¯s biofeedback numbing had finally worn off.

    She almost laughed as Windshear struck them, the dervishes she had conjured hitting David with less effect than a breeze against a glacier, and with even less to herself. And she had already borrowed Brit¡¯s song. She shot through the gale, tapping Windshear against her breast, which still managed to send her tumbling to the ground.

    ¡°Nope, not doing this,¡± Haunt said as he turned into a blueprint of himself.

    Brit sprinted towards David, ice twinkling in the cold air behind her like stars behind an aurora. Faster than he could react, she swung a glowing fist into his head, shattering it.

    The decapitated sculpture of David fell to its knees, made an agonized gesture with its hands, and collapsed to the floor.

    In spite of herself, Britomart giggled. Then a tendril of water threw her into a tree.

    David¡¯s clothes were flattening like the Wicked Witch of the East¡¯s feet, ice-water gushing from his neck hard and fast like arterial blood. It spilt up into the air to form a spectre, halfway between solid and vapour. And it was grinning.

    Windshear was becoming rapidly aware of just how much Maelstrom had been letting her bully him all this time. She¡¯d never admit that, though. Not as long as she lived. She returned her gaze to Allison, and pulled herself to her feet, a miniature twister already forming in her hand.

    Allison laughed as hard as she could at the little girl, laughter that stopped abruptly as Windshear directed her force not against her enemy, but into the ground around her. The earth at her feet exploded with a deafening crack.

    As Allison tried to spit all the dirt and grass out, she saw Brit stagger past her, trying to swat away a cloud of ice-shards¡ªice shards that were cackling in a most un-David-like manner. It was like a swarm of bees crossed with an exploding window. They were striking her skin hard enough to shatter brick, and so felt to her like mozzie bites.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Brit growled, and vented the kinetic energy she had stored back into the air around her.

    Suddenly, the ice that was David wanted very much to be water again. The cloud collapsed like a vertical wave into the dirt.

    Before it could soak in, the water rose and coalesced with a splash back into David, human again. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could make things hot on purpose!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t either.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s neat!¡±

    Britomart blushed¡­ then she swung her fists at David.

    The boy laughed, swerving away from her blows as he stepped backwards right through Haunt.

    ¡°Oh, God,¡± the older boy moaned. He shuddered. ¡°You people are disgusting! You know that?¡±

    David went cloudy, the mist swirling through the air over to where Windshear was advancing on Allison, pooling around her ankles and wrists before freezing solid.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    The ice pulled her skyward, screaming as she drifted over the treetops.

    ¡°Windy!¡± Brit leapt into the air in a flurry of snow, slamming into Windshear and wrapping her arms around the smaller girl. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got you!¡±

    ¡°How are you gonna get us down?¡±

    Brit¡¯s eyes widened.

    ¡°Brit?¡±

    ¡°Crap.¡±

    Haunt was running under the girls, solid again, and openly panicking for the first time Alison could remember¡ª well, aside from that time with the wall. Allison ran a little ahead of him. Backwards. ¡°Keep up!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªyou¡ªthink,¡± Haunt panted, ¡°¡ªhe¡¯s going a bit far?¡±

    Haunt was surprised Myriad could shrug without breaking pace. ¡°It¡¯s David. What¡¯s the worst he could come up with?¡±

    ¡°Have you met his mum?¡± Haunt huffed.

    Surprisingly few students or staff looked up as the girl sailed over the grounds. There were about half a dozen students who could manage a feat like that. They would have been more interested if they knew which one was responsible.

    Soon they found themselves over the river.

    ¡°He¡¯s gonna drown us!¡± Windshear cried.

    Brit tried to reassure her. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The ice-manacles evaporated.

    It wasn¡¯t a great fall. With Brit¡¯s power taking the brunt of it, they slipped beneath the water like feathers from a passing bird. Still, it was bigger in their heads. The two of them floundered as they tried orienting themselves, before a slab of ice shoved them back up into the dry air.

    David was rocking on his heels, hands behind his back, the water supporting him as solidly as stone. His eyes burned green. ¡°So, me and Miri are gonna take the snacks.¡±

    ?

    ¡°You sure they¡¯ll like them?¡± Myriad asked.

    ¡°Sure,¡± said David, blinking at her. ¡°Who doesn¡¯t like sweets?¡±

    With his arms laden with junk-food packets, he shoved the barn door open with his elbow, shouting, ¡°Spoils of war! Snack-shaped spoils of water!¡±

    ¡°Shut the door!¡± Mabel barked.

    ¡°¡­Sorry.¡± David slid the door shut with his back. ¡°Still, snacks!¡±

    Growltiger looked up from where he¡¯d been spinning straw into silver<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°Neat! Where¡¯d you get them?¡±

    Myriad answered, ¡°Me and David won them off Windshear.¡± She smirked. ¡°You shoulda seen her face!¡±

    Growltiger¡¯s tail twitched. ¡°You stole them from a really little kid?¡±

    Myriad shrugged. ¡°She had it coming.¡± She trotted over to where Mabel was laying on her stomach, scratching away at her drawing pad. ¡°You want something to eat, Mabs?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m busy,¡± the other girl muttered. ¡°Practising my shading.¡± Like Adam told her. She grimaced as her pencil pierced the piece of paper. Stupid, sore fingers.

    ¡°You want me to leave you something?¡± Myriad glanced down at the pile of snack-food she was holding. ¡°We¡¯ve got crisps, strawberries and cream, jelly-snakes. The chocolates sorta melted¡ª¡±

    Mabel¡¯s pencil-tip snapped. ¡°Go jump in the river!¡±

    Myriad pouted. ¡°Maybe I will! It¡¯s cool down there!¡±

    While that was going on, David had made his way to the shadowed corner where Elsewhere slouched. ¡°Else,¡± he said, ¡°Arn? I got some jaffers here. I know you like them.¡±

    ¡°Buzz off,¡± the boy said. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna talk to you.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re dumb,¡± Arnold said flatly, before getting back to kneading his fingers.

    David frowned. ¡°No, I¡¯m not!¡±

    ¡°Yes. You are,¡± Arnold growled. ¡°You¡¯re running around like you¡¯re on pixy sticks, all grinning and fighting and acting like nothing¡¯s the matter. You¡¯re just making everything worse.¡±

    David folded his arms. ¡°So you don¡¯t like me being happy? You¡¯ve been weird ever since Adam died. Not even the right weird. Boring, stupid weird.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like you being dumb.¡± Arnold muttered. ¡°I like happy David. I always wanted to see happy David. But you¡¯re being Dumb David. You¡¯re being ¡®Doesn¡¯t give a crap about anybody¡¯ David.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. I care about people! I got you jaffers!¡±

    ¡°But you still kissed me!¡±

    David sat down next to him. ¡°I thought you¡¯d like it. Linus¡¯ song said so. People kiss all the time!¡±

    ¡°Not. Boys.¡±

    ¡°They do on the continent. Mum and Tiresias told me. And so what if boys don¡¯t kiss? Boys usually don¡¯t zap things away, either.¡±

    ¡°Liking you isn¡¯t a superpower though!¡± He went red, but didn¡¯t go back on it, even when he saw Growltiger looking at him with complete confusion. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ weird. I don¡¯t like being weird.¡±

    At that, Mabel shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not that weird,¡± she interjected, flicking some hay at David. ¡°Everyone likes David a little. You¡¯ll grow out of it.¡±

    David glared over at the girl, poking his tongue out at her. She replied in kind.

    He scowled darkly back at Arnold. ¡°Everyone¡¯s always telling me how I¡¯m supposed to act. What I¡¯m supposed to be. You, Lawrence¡­¡±

    ¡°And kissing me was like trying to tell me how to be!¡± Arnold¡¯s eyes started to well. ¡°Couldn¡¯t¡ªcouldn¡¯t you have asked?¡±

    ¡°Would you have said no?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Arnold almost froze when he realized what he¡¯d said, but he shook himself. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know! And you don¡¯t get to make that choice for me!¡±

    ¡°Welcome to my world!¡± David shouted. ¡°Everyone makes my choices for me!¡±

    ¡°And that makes it okay to be mean to the ones who don¡¯t?¡± Arnold yelled. Before the final word had even left his mouth, Mabel¡¯s palm connected with David¡¯s cheek.

    For a moment, the barn was quiet. A jaffa cake fell to the floor, unnoticed.

    ¡°We¡¯re. Not. Lawrence!¡± she shouted, angry tears gathering in her eyes.

    David didn¡¯t speak for a while. ¡°So what am I supposed to do? Just pretend to be all sad and good and behave all the time? Why does everyone else get to run around and be stupid sometimes?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re allowed to be happy!¡± Arnold shouted. ¡°Please. Keep being happy. It¡¯s great! Just don¡¯t be so mean about it!¡±

    David shuffled awkwardly against the wall. ¡°Arn¡ª¡± A flash, and he was outside, talking to the barn door. ¡°¡ªold.¡±

    Half a second later, a dirty jaffa cake landed on his head. Before it was over, Allison appeared beside him with a snap.

    ¡°That¡­ wasn¡¯t great.¡±

    ¡°Shush,¡± David grumbled. ¡°¡­ He didn¡¯t even keep the cakes.¡± He looked down at his feet. ¡°I think I need to talk to someone. Allie?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Could you go get my pants?¡±

    Allison glanced up and down the boy. ¡°Sure, buddy.¡±

    On the other side of the door, Billy turned to the still fuming Arnold.

    ¡°¡­ That would have been easier if he¡¯d been dressed. Wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    He nodded furiously.

    ?

    Dr. Herbert Lawrence sat alone in his office, his business done for the day. The Institute¡¯s various sources of income¡ªEx-Nihilo¡¯s raw material fabrication, Tiresias¡¯ stocks, rent from the family home down in Claremont¡ªwere chugging along nicely. The DDHA were making their annual inspection in December, and as tense as those always were, Lawrence wasn¡¯t letting himself worry. If any of the girls were still expecting by then, Phantasmagoria would animate their portraits and have them keep their distance, same as last time.

    After that, he thought he might try and bring in more musicians for Myriad.

    His slate cleared, the old man was reading an Arthur Machen collection. Currently, he was thumbing his way through ¡°The White People¡±. That story had always amused Lawrence. The idea that people could only react with fear to flowers singing or stone giving rise to blossoms. Had Machen never heard of curiosity? Wonder?

    Lately, though, the idea echoed longer in Lawrence¡¯s head.

    There was a knock at his door.

    ¡°Enter.¡±

    Maelstrom stepped into the office, thankfully dressed and thankfully not screaming. ¡°Lawrence?¡±

    The boy¡¯s teacher looked up at him for a second, then silently went back to his book.

    David tried not to roll his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m here to apologize.¡±

    That got Lawrence¡¯s attention. ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it, Maelstrom. I was beginning to think good sense had abandoned you completely.¡±

    David clenched his fist, but took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about the day Adam¡ª¡±

    ¡°Panoply.¡±

    ¡°¡­He was called Adam then, but yeah, the day Panoply died. Me and Miri didn¡¯t know, but I understand. You were sad, and we were being all happy. I¡¯m sorry we barged in like that.¡±

    Lawrence sniffed. ¡°Not good enough, young man.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t just the context of your behaviour, but the behaviour itself.¡±

    ¡°But we weren¡¯t doing anything bad!¡±

    ¡°Not a very sincere apology I see.¡±

    ¡°What was so bad about what me and Myriad were doing?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not how you¡¯ve been taught, Maelstrom. You need to be an example to your brothers and sisters.¡±

    David swallowed. ¡°You¡¯re not answering me, sir.¡±

    ¡°This again? I shouldn¡¯t have to tell you, Maelstrom, I¡¯m not a ¡®sir¡¯.¡±

    ¡°You are such a sir!¡±

    Without a word, Lawrence went back to his book.

    David shook his head silently. How could a bloke that old be such a baby? And why did he even now still care what Lawrence thought of him?

    He stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

    ¡°Stupid, mean¡ªcan¡¯t even¡ª¡±

    He suddenly found his face in something brown and acrid smelling.

    David staggered backwards, coughing. ¡°Sorry, Basilisk.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Maelstrom.¡± He noticed the look on his son¡¯s face. ¡°But you¡¯re not. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Once his throat was clear, the boy answered. ¡°I¡ªI tried saying sorry to Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°That morning, when Adam¡­¡±

    Basil put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I know whatcha mean. And yeah, that was a bit¡­ jarring. Still, you didn¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I said! But Lawrence said we were bad anyway. That I had to set an example¡­¡± David¡¯s eyes started to sting. He hated them for it.

    His father frowned. ¡°You know, Lawrence is a smart man. Probably the smartest I¡¯ve ever met. But he¡¯s also old, Mael. Old fellas get funny ideas into their heads. I think Lawrence sometimes gets ¡®being a good kid¡¯ mixed up with ¡®being a lost Etonian¡¯. His lot, they¡¯re all about dignity and reserve and all that. But that¡¯s not what being good is.¡± He smiled. ¡°You¡ªyou be as silly as you like, Mael. The fact you even tried to apologise means you¡¯re still a good kid.¡±

    Maelstrom stood straighter than years of Lawrence reminding him of posture could make him. ¡°Thanks, Dad.¡± The word sounded odd in his mouth, but he liked it. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go find Miri. Is that alright?¡±

    Basil¡¯s smiled widened. ¡°Absolutely fine.¡±

    ¡°And do you mind calling me David? More I mean?¡±

    He patted his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Course not.¡±

    Basilisk watched his son run down the hall.

    He¡¯ll be fine.

 Chapter Thirty-Six: Backwards Day

    While he sometimes liked to pretend he didn¡¯t, Dr. Herbert Lawrence always looked back fondly on his time at Balliol College. Getting blind-drunk and gathering by the garden shed to shout the Gordouli over the wall at the neighbouring Trinity college<sup>1</a></sup>; satirical rhymes that had already outlived their context by Lawrence¡¯s day; that sense of radicalism that he felt set it apart from so many other halls of learning at the time<sup>2</a></sup>. And most of all, he cherished his days at the Hysteron Proteron Club<sup>3</a></sup>.

    The Hysteron Proteron Club was a dining society born out of the upper class fad for odd dinner parties. Eating in drag, stitching together chimeras of roast pheasant and pig, slathering your face with shoe-polish and going to North African restaurants<sup>4</a></sup>, that sort of thing. The gimmick of the Hysteron Proteron Club was comparatively modest. Simply put, they took their meals backwards. Liquors and desert would be followed by savouries, and finally conclude with soup.

    ¡°You had to be there,¡± Lawrence told people. ¡°And we didn¡¯t have television back then<sup>5</a></sup>.¡±

    At least once a term, though, the club endeavoured to live the whole day in reverse. And so did the Institute.

    Myriad awoke to the sound of Mrs Gillespie bellowing at the children of Lorikeet dorm to settle down and get to sleep. All around her, children were up and dressing in the most clashing colours they could find. A few were pulling socks over their hands. For once, some of the students were assigned skirts and dresses, but only the boys.

    Rubbing her eyes, Myriad asked, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Backwards Day,¡± Talos buzzed mechanically, the green of his oversized dress standing out like aged copper next to his bronze skin.

    Breakfast was ice-cream, followed by roast lamb with all the trimmings. Myriad didn¡¯t even want to ask how early the teachers woke to set this up. They were all sitting around the head of the table, smoking cigars in dinner jackets, even the ladies. All except for ?ywie. She sat among the children, picking half-heartedly at her plate. Occasionally Basil would glance over his cards at her.

    Tiresias stalked into the dining room, a wine bottle in his hand. He was scowling like he was auditioning for Richard III. He waved the bottle, hissing, ¡°Who did this?¡±

    ¡°Did what?¡± Melusine asked mildly.

    Tiresias pulled the bottle¡¯s cork out with his teeth, before snatching up a child¡¯s empty glass and filling it up. He slammed it down in front of Abalone.

    ¡°Drink it.¡±

    Lawrence smiled wryly. ¡°Now, now, Tiresias. We don¡¯t approve of underage drinking.¡±

    ¡°Lay off, Bertie.¡± Tiresias repeated his demand. ¡°Drink.¡±

    Abalone eyed the glass suspiciously. Tiresias couldn¡¯t have poisoned it, could he? Oh, well, there was always ?ywie. Abalone screwed his eyes shut and gulped it down, before smacking his lips. He grinned up at the psychic with red-stained teeth. ¡°Grape-juice.¡±

    Tiresias¡¯ eyes shot around the table, the hexagons under his cheeks an angry red. ¡°Who?¡±

    Metonymy shrugged grandly. ¡°Backwards Day.¡±

    Laughter.

    ¡°You¡¯ll all die for this.¡±

    ¡°Do you do this every year?¡± Myriad asked over the racket.

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± David answered with his mouth full. On a dare from Abalone, he had mixed some half-melted ice-cream into his gravy. ¡°Since before I was born. Lunch is always a bit disappointing.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Same both directions.¡±

    After that was class. Or what passed for class on Backwards Day. The teachers had prepared a syllabus of artful nonsense. Science with Miss Fletcher consisted of discussing the properties of thiotimoline<sup>6</a></sup>, while Mrs Gillespie lectured at length about a history all of her own:

    ¡°And that was when Mr. Lincoln leapt from his seat, said ¡®Cop this, mate,¡¯ and flung John Wilkes Booth down into the orchestra!<sup>7</a></sup>¡±

    Myriad listened with rapt attention. It was rare for a history lesson not to sound like repeats. Besides, Mrs Gillespie could be very funny.

    ?ywie just sent the children to play outside. ¡°I couldn¡¯t think of anything funny,¡± she said, straining to smile. ¡°I did not think any of you would object to double-recess.¡±

    And so Myriad found herself running through the grass, drifting in and out of the loose, undeclared series of games that formed among her schoolmates like ripples on a lake. The sun was warm on her back, the air thick with pollen and song.

    Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lawrence sitting on the porch, watching his students play with a drink in hand. She hadn¡¯t seen him so at peace in weeks.

    Then the front door opened, Reverb stepping out. Myriad¡¯s new eyes could see a dark patch on the front of her shorts.

    The older girl tapped Lawrence on the shoulder. Myriad couldn¡¯t hear what passed between them, but the old man looked pleased. He stood up, and put a hand on Reverb¡¯s shoulder. Magnified by his student¡¯s power, his voice rang out across the school:

    ¡°Children, I would like you all to prepare to welcome a new member of our family.¡±

    Backwards Day, it would seem, was over.

    ?

    Reverb¡¯s labours outlasted the sun. Myriad knew this wasn¡¯t anything unusual. If anything, Reverb was progressing quickly.

    Not surprising, really. This was her third time at it.

    Dinner hadn¡¯t been served in either order. Bedtimes came and went unnoticed. Most of the children were keeping to the margins, trying to enjoy their unusual license before the grownups remembered they existed.

    Myriad, though, was curled up on the parlour couch. ¡°¡­Three, four, five¡ª¡±

    A clattering cacophony. Screams, almost drowned out by the sounds of vacuum cleaners, power-saws, Lawrence shouting louder than thunder produced by Reverb¡¯s contractions. As with every other sound created by her power, distance did little to dull it.

    Myriad clapped her hands over her ears. On the carpet, Haunt looked up from the game of Cluedo he and Growltiger were playing.

    ¡°She better not be doing that on purpose.¡±

    Woken wasp-nests and hammer-blows.

    ¡°Why would anyone do that on purpose?¡± Billy asked, a little too loud from blocking his ears.

    Haunt shrugged. ¡°Look, if I had to push a kid out of me, on a holiday, I¡¯d want everyone to be miserable, too.¡±

    ¡°Did the other girls do stuff like this?¡±

    ¡°Worse. We had to get the ceiling replaced when Ophelia was born¡ª¡±

    Myriad shouted, ¡°Will you two shut up!¡±

    AU¡¯s voice suddenly rang out. You fuck right off, Lawrence!

    Myriad shrieked, and buried her face in the couch leather.

    She grew aware of a small hand stroking her hair. Even if its owner had stayed silent, the fur gave him away. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Miri, he¡¯s not really here.¡±

    Reverb¡¯s memory of AU¡¯s voice kept going. You¡¯re not talking me into it! It¡¯s sick.

    Haunt was awkwardly patting Myriad on the ankle. ¡°Uh, it¡¯s going to be alright?¡±

    She looked at the older boy, her cheeks stained with tears she couldn¡¯t even feel. ¡°Haunt?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Could you¡­ check?¡±

    ¡°Check what?¡±

    ¡°If Reverb¡¯s¡­ gonna be done soon?¡±

    Haunt frowned. ¡°Aww, gross, Myriad. Can¡¯t you do that yourself?¡±

    She¡¯s like my sister!

    Myriad shook her head. ¡°Please?¡±

    After a long moment, Haunt sighed and glanced up at the ceiling. His pupils went white, and he grimaced. ¡°I guess I¡¯d need a diagram or something to say for sure, but I think she¡¯s closer to the end now.¡±

    The unnatural cries thankfully dissolved back into random clamour, but then the three children heard Lawrence¡¯s voice, all too real. He was arguing with someone.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be so prudish, Basilisk.¡±

    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t think this is the right time. They¡¯re so young, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense! Maelstrom was five years old when he witnessed his first birth.¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°And then he cried about it all night.¡±

    ¡°To be frankly, I¡¯ve been wondering lately if we ought to have toughened that boy up some more. Regardless, this is a valuable learning opportunity, and I will not deny it to our students because of some cultural taboo!¡±

    ¡°¡­You¡¯ll never listen, will you Lawrence?¡±

    It was an odd sound, two sets of footsteps stomping away from each other.

    Lawrence poked his head into the parlour, smiling when he caught sight of the kids. ¡°Ah, Growltiger, Myriad, glad I found you two. Would you kindly follow me upstairs? You can come too if you wish, Haunt.¡±

    Haunt tried to look as impassive as possible. ¡°I think I¡¯m fine Lawrence.¡± No way was he going to see that again if he could help it.

    ¡°Suit yourself. You two, come along.¡±

    The old man led the pair up to the Physician¡¯s office, expounding without looking at them. ¡°I want you two to remember, as intense as birth is, it¡¯s a perfectly natural, life-affirming process. I¡¯d go so far as to call Reverb a heroine. The Spartans certainly would have<sup>8</a></sup>.¡±

    Myriad didn¡¯t hear him. She was too busy listening to Reverb. They were close enough now that they could hear Reverb¡¯s human screams under her powers. They hadn¡¯t taken those from her.

    Elsewhere was sitting cross-legged by the Physician¡¯s office. ¡°Oh,¡± he said, ¡°you found them.¡±

    ¡°That I did,¡± Lawrence replied. He knocked on the door. ¡°May we come in?¡±

    A tired, wood-muffled voice. ¡°Please tell me you brought more towels?¡±

    ¡°Afraid not, my dear. I¡¯ve brought the children to check on you and Reverb.¡±

    A sigh. ¡°Come in.¡±

    Lawrence opened the door, beckoning the children ahead of him. Growltiger and Elsewhere walked in pensively, but Myriad couldn¡¯t move. Her breath was caught in her lungs and her muscles were nailed to her bones. It was as though the air around her had turned to glass.

    She felt Billy take her hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Miri,¡± he said. ¡°Me and Else are with ya.¡±

    Myriad nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Before she could move, Lawrence put a hand to her back, pushing her forward. ¡°Come on, Myriad, we don¡¯t want to take up too much of the ladies¡¯ time.¡±

    ?ywie had Reverb crouching, her fingers white around the Physician¡¯s examination bench, mousy hair darkened by hours of sweat. Most midwives and doctors would¡¯ve had her lying down, but ?ywie knew how helpful gravity was to labour.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, you¡¯re doing great.¡±

    Crying babies, explosions in the night, and underneath it all, a girl screaming at a familiar enemy.

    ¡°I can see the crown.¡±

    And Myriad saw it, too. That child-to-be, hanging on the line between their life and everything before it. And that pain, like claws reaching in and tearing you and half, the girl knew that much. If that¡¯s what it was like for the mother, what about the baby? What was the air and light to something that only knew water and darkness?

    Growltiger covered his eyes. Elsewhere went pale. Myriad, though, just looked at Reverb¡¯s face. But she didn¡¯t see her.

    Electric riffs.

    She vanished. A second later, the door flew open of seemingly its own accord.

    Invisible, Myriad ran. But that night, there was no escaping Reverb¡¯s cries.

    ?

    ¡°You sure she¡¯s this way?¡±

    The beam of David¡¯s torch flickered around till it landed on Arnold. Apparently, David could see without any light at all, but only if he was underwater. Arnold wondered how that worked on rainy days.

    Like most of the other children, the boys had been dispatched to search for Allison. Torch-lights dotted the campus like fat fireflies, while Automata¡¯s toys and Phantasma¡¯s pictures scanned the landscape with eyes of glass and pigment.

    Somehow, both boys had wound up searching along the same stretch of the river.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± David said. He pointed out over the water. ¡°Unless there¡¯s another girl over the river<sup>9</a></sup>.¡±

    Arnold eyed him dubiously. ¡°Can you really tell someone¡¯s a boy or a girl like that?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± David answered casually. ¡°The water¡¯s shaped really different.¡±

    Arnold tried to ignore the implications of that, squinting towards the river¡¯s far shore. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything.¡±

    ¡°Must still be invisible,¡± David replied. He stepped towards the waterline, but Arnold blocked his path.

    ¡°No.¡±

    David frowned, asking flatly, ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If you go over there and talk to her, you¡¯ll just make her happy.¡±

    ¡°¡­And that¡¯s bad?¡±

    ¡°Yes! I mean¡ªyes! You¡¯ll just swim with her or something for a while and then she¡¯ll go nuts again later.¡± Arnold tried to remember how his mother put it once. ¡°We gotta rip off the plaster<sup>10</a></sup>.¡±

    David protested. ¡°I can do that!¡±

    ¡°No, you can¡¯t. You¡¯re not mean enough.¡±

    ¡°I can be mean!¡±

    ¡°Not on purpose. The only thing you¡¯re meaner than is puppies, David.¡±

    ¡°Well, can¡¯t we talk to her together?¡±

    Arnold sighed. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯d listen to you more.¡± He turned towards the dark water. ¡°¡­Um, do you mind helping me across?¡±

    No response. Arnold twisted his head to find David standing there, arms folded.

    ¡°Oh, come on. Don¡¯t be a baby.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± David muttered. His eyes glowed that vivid new green of theirs, but nothing seemed to happen. ¡°Start walking.¡±

    With some trepidation, Arnold stretched a leg out in front of him, toeing the river¡¯s skin. It froze under his sole.

    David shrugged.

    Like a cut-rate version of his mother¡¯s saviour, Arnold set across the river, the water freezing a few paces ahead of his stride, like a carpet unrolling for a prince. The ice caught and reflected the moon and stars; a band of night-sky across the river¡¯s waist.

    It occured to Arnold that David could melt this bridge anytime he wanted. He tried to forget the notion, lest he hear somehow.

    Soon, the boy made landfall. The frozen path begun to break apart as soon as his feet touched solid ground. Arnold had to wonder if that was some sort of challenge.

    He looked around the shore. This length of river was a lot deeper in the rainy season. A bank wall lay exposed in the night, riddled with tree roots. No sign of Allison, though.

    ¡°Allie!¡± he shouted. ¡°Come on! I know you¡¯re here! David used his peeping powers or whatever.¡±

    Silence.

    ¡°Fine! I¡¯m just gonna sit here all night then!¡± He flopped down on the dried mud. As loudly as possible, he tunelessly sang, ¡°La la la by myself la la la la la!¡±

    Allison appeared, her knees under her chin and her arms wrapped around herself. ¡°Go away, Arn.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Green crackled under the girl¡¯s skin. ¡°Yes.¡±

    For a moment, Arnold just looked at her. Then he crackled in turn, and she found her seat vanishing out from under her. She let out a yelp, before falling on her rear in the dirt.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Arnold demanded. ¡°Stop being so mean. Stop being rude. Why can¡¯t you just talk to me?¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m not real!¡±

    Arnold raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a real person!¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± Arnold replied, a little off footed. ¡°I mean, uh, duh. You¡¯re a girl.¡±

    He hoped she would laugh. Or yell at him. Or try to kill him. Instead, she just started to cry.

    ¡°I¡¯m just bits of other people! There¡¯s not anything that¡¯s me.¡±

    ¡°¡­You what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve never learned anything myself! And I think¡ªI think my me¡¯s other people as well.¡±

    Arnold didn¡¯t take nearly as long to reply to that as Myriad had thought he would. It was barely more than a second after she¡¯d finished, in fact, when he cocked his head to the side, and spoke.

    ¡°Well that¡¯s dumb,¡± he muttered. ¡°Why¡¯d you think something as dumb as that¡¯d be true?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ when we saw Reverb¡­ having it, I didn¡¯t know what I felt.¡± The sobs came back harder and stronger. ¡°And it¡¯s happened before, all the time! I don¡¯t know what I feel about the married days! I asked loads of people about it and I still don¡¯t know! And when Adam died, and even before that when the Physician! I don¡¯t know!¡±

    ¡°¡­ So you think you¡¯re not you anymore because big stuff¡¯s scary?¡± Arnold asked slowly, sounding more confused than anything else. ¡°Allison, you uh. You know you¡¯re a doofus, right?¡±

    She glared at him. ¡°But I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s scary! I mean, Lawrence said me and David were gonna have a married day, and I thought that wouldn¡¯t be so bad cuz I like him! But it also made me feel all weird inside! And babies are weird and they hurt and I don¡¯t know which is me.¡±

    ¡°¡­ I uh,¡± he stammered, moving to sit alongside her on the ground. ¡°I¡­ don¡¯t get it. At all. Isn¡¯t it all you?¡±

    ¡°But how do I know? My power takes so much from other people, why not feelings and stuff?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Arnold muttered, understanding. ¡°¡­ Ohhhh. Okay. I get it. That¡¯s kinda scary.¡± For a few minutes, they sat together like that. Then, she felt him punch her in the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re still a dummy, tho. I know who Allison Kinsey is, and you¡¯re totally her.¡±

    Allison huffed. ¡°And who do you think that is?¡±

    Arnold snickered. ¡°Honest? You¡¯re the girl that laughed when I tried one of my dad¡¯s cigarettes and spewed in my mouth. You¡¯re the girl who laughed at my mum¡¯s Bible lunches and tried to get me kicked out of the Christmas play.¡±

    ¡°There were no rainbow lorikeets in Palestine!¡±

    Arnold ignored her. ¡°You¡¯re the girl who used to tie my shoelaces together when I wasn¡¯t looking, and giggled her bum off when I fell on my face. You¡¯re Allison Kinsey, the dumbest, meanest bestie I could ever have.¡±

    Allison stared at him. ¡°That¡ªthat¡¯s horrible.¡±

    Arnold shrugged.

    ¡°Well, who else could you have nicked all that from? Your power only lets you learn stuff that¡¯s right, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±

    ¡°So where could you learn to be so dumb?¡± He stuck out his tongue.

    ¡°There were lots of mean kids at school¡­ and I¡¯m not mean!¡±

    A snort.

    ¡°You¡¯re so mean. You¡¯re Meanie Mc Meanface, mayor of Meanville. No one at school was as bad as you.¡±

    ¡°No, that was you! You¡¯re being mean right now!¡±

    For a minute or two, Arnold just grinned at her. Then, she felt his arm around her ribs, pulling her close.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to feel about married days either,¡± he admitted. ¡°S¡¯not weird. Just¡­ confusing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not just me?¡±

    ¡°Well, duh,¡± he rolled his eyes. ¡°I kinda think it¡¯s just¡­ Maybe Lawrence is kind of a weirdo?¡±

    ¡°But, then, what are we supposed to do? For kids like us?¡±

    ¡°I dunno.¡± Arnold shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re supposed to do anything?¡±

    ¡°That sounds it¡¯s own kinda scary.¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Arnold groaned.

    For a little while, there was only the conversation of crickets and the churn of dark water.

    ¡°You know those feelings a lot of us get in the dark?¡± Allison asked.

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I think I know it is.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Dark water, pressing on her limbs.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s something being born.¡±

    ?

    Breakfast the morning after was a sedate, somewhat slapdash affair. Everyone had slept in, to the point they were practically eating lunch. Reverb sat at the head of the table with Lawrence and ?ywie, her new daughter squirming under a blanket as she nursed. Gwydion had been offered a seat of honour as well, but he politely declined.

    Do you think she will talk? Reverb asked the healer. Her customary voice sounded smaller than usual. Younger.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any reason she won¡¯t,¡±  ?ywie said gently. ¡°Chant and Chorus show all signs of normal speech development.¡±

    Reverb nodded. That¡¯s good. She turned to her headmaster. You thought of a name yet?

    Lawrence swallowed his mouthful of scrambled egg. ¡°My dear, she¡¯s only been on this Earth for thirteen hours. Give a man time.¡± He reached under the blanket, tweaking the baby¡¯s cheek and saying fondly, ¡°Not that she hasn¡¯t provided me with plenty of options.¡±

    It usually took months for a baby¡¯s powers to become clear, but that was before Myriad. With her blearily playing the new arrival¡¯s song before bed, they already knew she had inherited the bones of her father¡¯s power, and her mother¡¯s range. She could project brightly coloured planar shapes to points far away from herself, like a giant child dropping building blocks from the clouds.

    It was this service¡ªand ?ywie¡¯s protests¡ªthat let the girl escape punishment.

    She was sitting further down, between David and Elsewhere, scoffing down marmalade drowned pieces of toast. Turned out identity crises made Myriad hungry.

    ¡°You feeling better?¡± David asked.

    Myriad thought about it. ¡°¡­Not all the way. Still not sure about some things. But Elsewhere helped a lot.¡±

    Elsewhere smiled. David though, blinked.

    ¡°That¡¯s surprising.¡±

    Elsewhere grinned and punched the other boy in the shoulder. ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Dust sprinkled from the ceiling. Across from the Watercolours, Tiresias sighed and set down his cutlery, leaving the table and the room without a word. Nobody noticed.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Mabel asked. ¡°Has anyone seen Basil?¡±

    The ceiling collapsed onto the table, plaster chunks and dust raining down like an avalanche.

    There was screaming, coughing, and the kind of shocked laughter that confusion brings.

    But then the clouds settled, and everyone saw what lay at their centre.

    ¡°Hugo!¡±

    ?ywie clambered onto the table, kneeling over Hugo Venter¡¯s still form. The remnants of a leather belt were tied tight around his neck.

    ¡°No, no no¡­¡± The healer¡¯s fingers rubbed at the white dust covering the man¡¯s face.

    David climbed onto the table beside her. ¡°?ywie? What happened? What¡¯s wrong with Basil¡±

    She didn¡¯t answer him. ¡°This¡ªI can fix this. I have to fix this¡­¡±

    David looked at his father. His blood lay still in his veins, and his chest didn¡¯t rise.

    ¡°¡­Dad?¡±

    There was shouting. Weeping. But it all reached David slowly, like he was underwater. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allison crawl beside him. Her hands were wobbling beneath her.

    ¡°?ywie,¡± she said shakily. ¡°Basil¡¯s song¡¯s gone.¡±

    ?ywie shouted, ¡°I can bring him back! I¡¯ve done it before!¡±

    But she didn¡¯t. All she could do was clutch his chest, her tears mixing with the plaster dust.

    Eventually, David felt aged arms wrap around his waist, lifting him of the table. Mrs Gillespie. ¡°Oh, child,¡± she whispered into his ear, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t be seeing this.¡±

    David didn¡¯t even really know what he was seeing.

    The old woman set the boy on his feet, before laying her hand on ?ywie¡¯s back.

    ¡°?ywie¡ª¡± she said, holding back tears. ¡°¡ªEliza. You need to let him go now.¡±

    David watched as ?ywie threw her arms around Mrs Gillespie, sobbing in a way he had only seen her do once.

    ¡°Hugo¡­¡±

    David reached for his father¡¯s hand, trying to find him in his grip. But he wasn¡¯t there.

 Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Angel of Danzig

    <Merry-Tree Publishing House is proud to present this excerpt of The Long Winter: a Memoir, the long awaited autobiography of long time WA resident and mother of superhuman medicine, Eliza Winter, available this Christmas in print, digital, and neural-pollen formats.>

    It is raining in the Heap. It pours down the solar-paneled roofs of the old Byzantine arcologies, off the shingles of the artfully restored pre-Cacophony homes that dot the hills overlooking the Swan River, and finally down into my streets. It runs through the gutters, slick with the faintest chemical rainbows. The city¡¯s pollution, made beautiful.

    I might have found it perverse, if I weren¡¯t busy trying to shield my fish n¡¯ chips order from the downpour. Mostly, I wish I¡¯d brought an umbrella. At least the sun is still shining between the clouds.

    I make my way through the markets. Old men with animated tattoos and neon hair smile and greet me by name, just as their great-grandfathers had. Fruit-vendors hawk their organically grown produce a little louder when I walk past.

    Unsubtle bastards.

    A clutch of children¡ªmechas, if the haze surrounding them is any hint¡ªare dancing in the rain, catching it on their tongues and eating sunshine through their skin. I hope it¡¯s filling. A busker in a battered top-hat juggles balls of fire behind an open guitar case with hardly any coins. I¡¯m not surprised, the man¡¯s obviously just a pyrokinetic. There is no art to that. Still, I flick a few dollars in.

    I turn off the street and into a grove of trees, heavy with fruit despite the winter air. Most would not recognize them, if they even bothered looking closely. As I walk along the path that cuts and weaves through them, I brush my hands against their trunks, looking for signs of rot, or parasites, or more hopefully, vaccine production.

    Hiding behind the trees is what looks like a time-lost pagoda, complete with an artichoke-leaf roof to ward off evil spirits¡ªor disease, I suppose. Blame the tastes of the architect. On the second story, a wide glassless window overlooks my tiny medicinal forest. The stained glass front doors look painfully out of place, but they were a gift from my nephew: the only part of his house to survive the battle of Cacophony.

    Above them hang the words:

    Hugo Venter Memorial Clinic

    I¡¯m home.

    The waiting room is empty bar Fisher (my receptionist) and Mrs. Suzuhara. Mrs. Suzuhara is about seventy if I remember right, with skin like old paper and long white braids that cover her leather jacket like a poncho.

    She looks up at me from her knitting. ¡°Ah, Eliza!¡±

    I hang my old travelling cloak on the coat rack. ¡°Mrs. Suzuhara.¡± I frown. ¡°Is your sciatica still flaring up? I thought I¡ª¡±

    The lady throws a hand up. ¡°So old fashioned! I¡¯ve told you, El, it¡¯s Katie. And I¡¯m fine.¡± She pulls a wine basket out from under her seat. ¡°Just wanted to drop this off. Some of us clinic ladies chipped in for it. It¡¯s your birthday this week, innit?¡±

    I nod.

    Mrs. Suzuhara smiles slyly. ¡°How old?¡±

    I sigh. ¡°Two hundred.¡±

    Mrs. Suzuhara walks past me, patting my shoulder. ¡°Looking good, honey.¡±

    I watch her got out the door. I¡¯ve been treating her since she was a twelve year old social media influencer with scars on her wrists.

    I send Fisher home for the evening. One member of his family or another has been working here for over forty years. It feels borderline feudal, but they are a constant. Finally, I head up to my apartment, feed the pumpkin-cat, and settle in with my soggy dinner.

    ¡°Open file memoir_1 for dictation.¡±

    The computer console in the corner whirs to life. No more procrastinating. It¡¯ll already be long enough as it is.

    ¡°When you get to be my age, you must learn to live with your mistakes¡­¡±

    ?

    ¡°Two funerals in the same month,¡± Therese Fletcher muttered. ¡°What¡¯s happening to us?¡±

    ?ywie didn¡¯t answer her fellow teacher. She was too busy watching Maelstrom at the other end of the crowd. Melusine had her arms around him, but if anything she looked more grieved than her son. Maelstrom¡­ Maelstrom just looked confused.

    He had only asked one question the day of the suicide:

    ¡°Where are we gonna bury Dad?

    Mary Gillespie had fielded that one. Neither Lawrence nor ?ywie could bring themselves to answer.

    Mary knelt so she was at Maelstrom¡¯s eye-level. ¡°A long time ago, honey, your father he¡ª¡± She put her hand to her mouth, swallowing tears. ¡°¡ªHe told us he didn¡¯t want to be buried. Said he was worried about his¡­ fluids affecting the soil. He was drunk, but it was a good point, and he didn¡¯t have a will or anything written up, so we¡¯re having him cremated. We¡¯ll spread the ashes over the river.¡±

    Maelstrom¡¯s only response was to nod. ¡°He¡¯d like that. I¡¯d like that.¡± He looked to his mother. ¡°Then he can stay with us.¡±

    Melusine didn¡¯t quite make eye contact with him. ¡°Yeah, he can.¡±

    Maelstrom left to try and comfort Phantasmagoria and Myriad. They were both crying more than him.

    ¡°I will say this,¡± Lawrence said when the boy was out of earshot. ¡°He¡¯s handing this very maturely.¡± The old man sounded almost impressed.

    ?ywie didn¡¯t know what to think. Part of her wanted to shake Maelstrom by the shoulders and scream that his father was dead. Her Maelstrom¡ªthe boy she delivered, taught to read, and comforted when neither of his parents could¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t have been so calm and collected.

    But then, ?ywie¡¯s Maelstrom¡ªLawrence¡¯s Maelstrom¡ªwas hardly ever happy. He took after his father that way. And what kind of woman would wish this emptying, dizzying grief on a little boy?

    Mary asked, ¡°Should we tell him what we found in Basil¡¯s room?¡±

    Aside from the noose, the only thing out of place in Basil¡¯s room was a pile of half-melted stationary. On his desk was one abandoned letter:

    Dav

    A ruined biro lay next to it.

    There was a new cenotaph next to Adam¡¯s now: a chess knight carved from solid jade that came up to Lawrence¡¯s waist. ?ywie was just glad it wasn¡¯t a serpent.

    How many of those will line the river? She found herself wondering. And that name gilted in silver on the horse¡¯s brow: Basilisk. It was like putting ¡°eczema¡± on a man¡¯s headstone.

    Lawrence was giving his eulogy. ¡°In many ways, Basilisk was the glue that held our community together. He was a teacher, an administrator, and our handyman. An impressive feat, given the sharp edge of his gift.¡±

    ?ywie was having a hard time remembering what the supposed point of Basil¡¯s ¡°gift¡± was. To her, it seemed more like a knife with no handle.

    ¡°But above all else, he was one of us. Our friend. And to the first child born to us, he was a father.¡±

    Mostly without realizing it, gazes flickered like candle flames in the wind towards Maelstrom. To ?ywie¡¯s surprise, he did not shrink from the attention.

    She tried to count all the times she¡¯d heard David call Hugo ¡°Dad.¡± Then she tried to remember the times Lawrence hadn¡¯t chastised him for it.

    ¡°We¡¯ll likely never know why Basilisk took his own life.¡±

    ?ywie had to flood her body with endorphins not to scream. It should¡¯ve been obvious to anyone with eyes to see, or even just a heart that loved.

    Lawrence¡¯s words began to stumble. ¡°I¡ªI always knew intellectually that you children would have to deal with death someday. It comes for all of us. I just thought I would go first. That¡¯s the the natural order of things. An old man shouldn¡¯t outlive young, strong people.¡±

    The old man started to weep. ?ywie had no doubt his tears were genuine, just as they had been for Adam.

    Were they being punished? They dispose of a boy out of inconvenience, and the fates take someone they loved?

    Melusine went to gently pull Lawrence aside. ¡°Shhh, it¡¯s alright,¡± she whispered to her teacher. ¡°We can let other people talk now.¡±

    Unlike at Adam¡¯s memorial, there was plenty of people who wanted to say something for the deceased. Tales of soothed homesickness and movie nights and maths made almost miraculously bearable. A few tacit apologies for some off-colour jokes. Even Tiresias got up to speak:

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen inside a lot of people¡¯s heads over the years. Basil wasn¡¯t the first who topped himself. A lot of religions, Catholics, Protestants, probably more, they say God punishes people who kill themselves. Calls them sinners, or weak. Well, that¡¯s because dead people can¡¯t tithe. I¡¯ll tell you this, Basil never did anything to try and make another fella¡¯s life worse. That¡¯s more than I can say for most. If God feels like screwing around with Hugo because he wanted to stop hurting¡ªand he was hurting for a long time¡ªthen he should go hang.¡±

    Melusine didn¡¯t speak. ?ywie couldn¡¯t bring herself to be angry right then. That could wait.

    Myriad picked up from the psychic. ¡°I was Basil¡¯s assistant pretty much all the time I knew him, but he never bossed me around or didn¡¯t let me play less than the other kids¡­ he was just nice.¡±

    By some unspoken agreement, David went last. Lawrence almost had to push him out front.

    The boy looked around at his teachers and schoolmates. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you want me to say. I¡¯m sad. Of course I am. But¡­ I¡¯m glad my dad doesn¡¯t have to be sad anymore.¡±

    The Institute dispersed after that. There was a lot more that could¡¯ve been said, but if it had the funeral would¡¯ve gone on forever. Most funerals worth having are like that.

    ?ywie watched Tiresias slouch his way towards what she assumed was some secret boozy hideaway. She started after him. Tiresias seemed to notice, his stride becoming herky-jerky and hurried.

    ?ywie was soon upon him, grabbing the thin man by the shoulders and spinning him around to face her. His face went pale.

    ¡°What the hell, Z?¡±

    ¡°You knew.¡±

    Tiresias blinked. ¡°...Wait, you mean about Hugo?¡± He seemed relieved by something. ¡°Yes, I did. Obviously.¡±

    ¡°You could have warned us!¡± ?ywie roared. ¡°Hugo¡¯s dead and you could¡¯ve stopped it!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re talking like he was murdered, or that an anvil fell on his head or something. But Hugo did it himself, Eliza. He wanted to go.¡± The esper shrugged. ¡°Who was I to stop him?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ?ywie dug her fingernails into his arms, making him wince.

    ¡°He clearly wasn¡¯t in his right mind!¡± She let go of Tiresias, going limp. ¡°We could have helped him.¡±

    Tiresias¡¯ nose wrinkled. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure you could have.¡±

    ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be dense, Eliza. We all know you could¡¯ve fixed Hugo.¡±

    She shrunk back from him. ¡°I told him I couldn¡¯t! The structural changes!¡±

    Alberto laughed joylessly. ¡°You give pumpkins fucking teeth! You¡¯re telling me you couldn¡¯t have made Hugo sweat saltwater? Pull the other one.¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I have helped him if I could?¡±

    Alberto hissed, ¡°Lawrence. What would he have thought about you removing his student¡¯s ¡®gift¡¯? I mean, it made Hugo suffer all the time, but it made him a new human.¡±

    He turned away from ?ywie, continuing towards his wine stash. ¡°I meant every word I said about Hugo, Eliza. Hell, I respect him. He and Chen had more guts than any of us.¡± He glanced back at the healer. ¡°They left. They don¡¯t have to rot here until Tim realises how much much of a pervert the bossman is and packs us off to Victoria Land to hang out with the penguins.¡±

    Eliza¡¯s heart skipped a beat, as if someone had wrapped their hand around it. ¡°Have you been talking to someone?¡±

    Another hard laugh. ¡°Why the fear? You don¡¯t think we¡¯re doing something wrong, do you?¡±

    ¡°...You knew, didn¡¯t you?¡± Eliza asked quietly. ¡°About Adam. What would happen if he came here.¡±

    Alberto stopped again. ¡°What you¡¯d do to him, you mean?¡±

    Eliza wasn¡¯t even surprised he knew. She¡¯d always suspected Lawrence¡¯s mind was less secure than he claimed. ¡°Why? Why did you tell us about him?¡±

    ¡°To be honest, boredom. And having a power-blocker walking around didn¡¯t make me any more comfortable than it did Bertie.¡± He started walking again. ¡°And you needed a reminder of what you¡¯re capable of. You¡¯ve been getting a bit high and mighty lately. Although, I¡¯m pretty sure Adam got off easier than some of those Polish kids, Angel of Danzig.¡±

    Tiresias left Eliza standing there, alone but for unwelcome memories. She tried to remember when that nickname hadn¡¯t been so bitter.

    ?

    I was born in a German city on a Polish shore. I think that most of all is what made monsters of us in the end. Today it is called Gda¨½sk, but when I was a child, it was the free city of Danzig¡ªnot quite a part of Poland, not quite a nation itself¡ªunder the protection of the League of Nations, for all the good that did anyone. A bit like Perth today, really.

    The city rested by the Baltic Sea. The clearest memory I have of my mother is her opening the kitchen window every morning to let in the salt-breeze. Apart from that, it was also the source of all our prosperity. Once, we were Poland¡¯s greatest sea-port, all the ocean¡¯s wealth and trade flowing through us into the country.

    Once.

    If any family in Danzig depended on the sea, it was the Winters. My father was a shipwright. You wouldn¡¯t guess it from looking at him. Daniel Winter looked like a caricature of a psychiatrist, or maybe Lawrence standing sideways. He was thin, with a neatly trimmed philosopher''s beard and large, owlish spectacles, that in my memory always seemed to be fogging over. And yet, every night he came home reeking of sweat and sawdust, with wood chips and flecks of steel under his fingernails. It was like all his strength lived in his bones.

    My father loved his work. Wedding wood and steel, he called it. Amouring ships against the scratching fingers of the sea.

    ¡°It¡¯s not just building the thing that¡¯s the victory,¡± he told me once. ¡°It¡¯s knowing how long it will last after you let it go.¡±

    I like to think of medicine that way.

    I¡¯m not sure when I realised how unusual the degree of control I exercised over my body was. I can¡¯t even remember how I discovered I could extend that control. I would guess flies or cockroaches, or maybe plants. I¡¯ve always had an affinity for those. Fran?oise and the other girls at the Institute used to wear my Tudor roses in their hair.

    I won¡¯t deny how much fun I had with with my power as a little girl. I used to terrify my brothers and sisters by slowing down my breathing and heartbeat till they thought I was dead.

    It was surprisingly relaxing. Like sitting at the bottom of a cool, deep pool in the dead of night, with nothing but the sound of blood flowing in my ears to disturb me. It was the only time the dark did not frighten me. Maybe that was why I enjoyed it so much. Jasper or Isobel would be shouting at my faces or trying to slam my lungs back into working order, and it would be like someone dropping in pebbles far above.

    Sometimes, though, I found myself wondering, would I be able to make it back to the surface? Would I forget which way was up? Would the water weigh me down and¡ª

    ...Those were the times I hugged my siblings and meant it.

    My other hat-trick was playing sick. Whenever the prospect of church or school was too much, I would stoke a fever inside myself, retch up my breakfast, maybe raise some hives if I was feeling dramatic, and spend the rest of the day reading or listening to the English pop-stations that strayed over the sea.

    But that was the thing, I assumed everyone could do that. Maybe not as well as I could, but to some extent at least. I thought that illness was, essentially, a polite way of excusing yourself from the world for a little while. I think that was how I contextualized the scorn people around me heaped on the chronically infirm: they really just were work-shy. It would explain why Jesus sometimes seemed so impatient with the lepers and cripples who came to him.

    What shattered that illusion was when my youngest sister came down with meningitis.

    I don¡¯t suppose many of you reading will be terribly familiar with meningitis. Most of your grandparents would have been genetically inoculated against the germs responsible, and for those who aren¡¯t, there¡¯s the swarms of my changed mosquitoes and horseflies and everything else that bites.

    I must have seemed like the most callous child alive. Stomping around, wondering why my parents and the doctors they dragged into our apartment were fussing over Ella¡¯s stupid cough. Why they all insisted on whispering. The air was tangling itself in knots and I didn¡¯t know why.

    ¡°Papa,¡± I asked. ¡°When will Ella get better?¡±

    Oh, God, I sounded so impatient.

    I remember my father being silent for a very long time. ¡°God will look after Ella, Eliza.¡±

    Good answer, I suppose.

    I marched down the stairs, pushed and shoved past my brothers and sisters, and barged into the room they left my sister to die in.

    My mother was leaning over my sister¡¯s bedside. She had clearly been holding back tears, and the sight of me broke the damn. ¡°Eliza, you can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Ella won¡¯t be contagious,¡± the doctor told her. ¡°Not by now.¡±

    ¡°But she shouldn¡¯t see this.¡±

    I ignored both of them, striding over to my sister¡¯s side.

    Her breath was shallow. Hollow sounding. Sweat glistened off skin marred by an almost royal purple rash. Her fingertips were turning black, and the smell of rot lingered around her.

    I placed my hand on her brow. A lot of people tell me how my power feels to them. Worms or wires; being filled with hot or cold water. They rarely ask how it feels for me.

    It was like Ella¡¯s body was part of my own. I had two hearts, eight limbs, and four eyes. I could hear my own breathing, feel my own hand on her forehead. If Ella¡¯s eyes had been open, I would have seen my own face.

    I got to work. I made her sweat the filth from her blood, ordered the cells in her fingers to begin regenerating. I bullied the virus killing Ella into strengthening and fortifying her, to become a companion instead of a parasite.

    My mother tried pulling me off Ella. She stopped when she saw the rash fade from her face, and the pink slowly return to her fingers.

    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle.¡±

    Yes, I suppose it was.

    After that, everything changed. My mother and father started spreading the word of their daughter¡¯s healing hands. And people came. I mended the crippled and the asthmatics, the blind and the deaf. I banished consumption, vanquished polio, and lice-proofed a whole generation of Danzigers.

    My parents charged, of course. It might have seemed exploitive, and maybe it was, but I loved the work. The people I healed were like pages in the greatest medical textbook ever written. They taught me the language of cells, of growth and heredity. They also taught me how rough a draft the human body was. In time, I would correct this.

    Personal satisfaction aside, we also needed the money. The port was the heart of Danzig. Poland allowed us to exist entirely because of it. And yet, almost as soon as the free city came into existence, they started building a whole new port. By the time I was born, Gydnia was doing more sea-trade than us, but Poland still held tight to the rights they claimed from us.

    My father would rant about it often. ¡°Polack swine! Bloodsuckers!¡±

    I¡¯m sorry to admit that most of the people I treated in Danzig blur together for me. I remember them as torn spines, wet lungs, or novel genes. It¡¯s a common vice among the medical profession. But there is one I remember very clearly.

    It was noon when we they knocked on our door. By then my parents had started teaching me at home to fit more healing in. My papa opened it to find the Wallachs standing in the hallway. Frau Wallach held a wan looking toddler in her arms.

    ¡°Your daughter, the healer. Can she help our Abhy?¡±

    Herr Wallach was a clockmaker. I¡¯d seen him and his wife around since I could remember. But besides glimpses on the street and the odd mindless greeting, they were strangers to my family. Mostly because they were screamingly Jewish.

    Jews weren¡¯t the most popular folk in Danzig. It was 1938: I¡¯m not sure where they would¡¯ve been back then. There was all the usual Christ-killing, usuraring, xenophobic nonsense. But on top of that, we were German. There were always people muttering about who exactly lost us the Great War¡­

    Frau Wallach did not wait for my father to answer. ¡°The doctors all say it¡¯s Tay-Sachs.¡± The woman bit her lip, trying not to weep. ¡°That they can¡¯t do anything for her.¡±

    Papa nodded slowly. ¡°I see,¡± he said. ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me, I need to discuss this with my wife.¡±

    He and Mother retreated to the kitchen. Neither invited the Wallachs in.

    I could hear them debating whether or not to let me heal the girl. I don¡¯t doubt the Wallachs heard them, too. It is an odd trait of bigots to assume the people they hate are deaf. I like to think it made me uncomfortable even then, but that might just be my memory being charitable.

    I do know that I lay sprawled on our couch, kicking my feet in the air as I examined the family with probably embarrassing intensity. I hate to imagine what it was like for that poor couple, being peered at by some ignorant gentile child while her parents decided their daughter¡¯s fate.

    It was Frau Wallach who broke the silence. ¡°So you¡¯re the Angel of Danzig?¡±

    I don¡¯t remember if that nickname came about on its own or from amateur marketing. ¡°Uh huh. I mean, I guess so.¡±

    Abhy Wallach twitched and jerked in her mother¡¯s arms. She did that a lot.

    ¡°Honestly, we didn¡¯t know if you were real,¡± Herr Wallach said. He was trying to sound embarrassed. Better than letting the pain bleed into his voice. ¡°But then we saw Herr Gerber. He had new fingers!¡±

    ¡°Fingers are easy.¡±

    My parents emerged from their deliberations. ¡°Our daughter will do her best for you,¡± my mother said. ¡°...Do you have money?¡±

    Herr Wallach nodded sharply. ¡°Yes, of course.¡±

    My father smiled. ¡°Of course, why did I even ask?¡±

    It would be years before I understood the look that passed over the Wallachs¡¯ faces.

    They laid Abhy out on the sofa. She was a sweet looking little thing. Very blonde curls. I hope they were helpful to her.

    Taking her hand in mine, I made her a part of myself. Not only did I have to mend months and years of neural damage, I had to instruct every cell in the poor girl¡¯s body to change without making them give up and die. Today, it would¡¯ve taken me fifteen minutes, and most of that would¡¯ve been waiting for the kettle to boil. Back then, it took me hours, not that I was aware of time in that state.

    Eventually, I found myself sprawled on the floor, hungry and exhausted. Frau Wallach was pulling me into a hug.

    ¡°God bless you, God bless you!¡±

    Abhy was sitting up, looking around and blinking like a child risen from a very long sleep.

    My mother soon separated us. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± she said, a little too quickly.

    As she fussed over me, holding water to my mouth and checking my eyes for whatever reason, I watched the Wallachs. They were clutching their daughter like they¡¯d just pulled her from the ocean.

    They gave us a grandfather clock. It was a lovely piece of work, dark wood and gilded hands. Sometimes I wonder what happened to that clock. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the Wallachs.

    ?

    ?ywie sat with Lawrence in his study, gripping a tumbler of scotch like she was trying to shatter it. Normally, she could metabolize alcohol faster than it could reach her brain, but tonight she wanted to be numb.

    Lawrence often invited the healer for after-dinner drinks, far more often than Melusine, or even Basilisk.

    When she¡¯d been much younger, it had made her feel very important.

    Lawrence had already drained his glass, and the one before that. ¡°I think we ought to consider the November birthday party.¡±

    ?ywie sighed. One custom the New Human Institute borrowed from other Australian care homes was celebrating all a month¡¯s birthdays with one party. As some of the children always grumbled, Lawrence was rich enough to throw a party for every student, but the headmaster liked the communal feel of it. Plus, somehow they had managed to acquire seven students whose birthdays fell in June, and that was just excessive.

    ¡°Lawrence, after everything that¡¯s happened, are you sure the children would even want a party?¡±

    The old man raised his hand defensively. ¡°I know, I know, it sounds ridiculous. Maybe even vulgar. But life must go on, ?ywie. Our children are still living and growing. Basilisk wouldn¡¯t want the children to deny themselves some joy on his count.¡± He closed his eyes. ¡°Especially not Maelstrom.¡±

    No, he wouldn¡¯t.

    ?ywie nodded. ¡°Maybe we do need this. Help the sun rise over this month.¡±

    Lawrence went on. ¡°I was considering barring Maelstrom from the party, given his recent behaviour, but with Basilisk¡¯s passing¡­¡± The old man almost squirmed. ¡°He¡¯s been handling it so well.¡±

    ?ywie still wasn¡¯t sure about that. When she looked at Maelstrom¡¯s new eyes, she couldn¡¯t tell if she saw acceptance, or repression hiding in the green. Still, she couldn¡¯t argue the point tonight. ¡°Yes, he has. I¡¯m glad he can share the day with Myriad.¡±

    ¡°That reminds me. I was thinking. As important as maintaining normalcy for the children is, we also need to look to the future.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Perhaps it¡¯s time to talk to Melusine about having another child.¡±

    ?ywie suddenly found herself picturing a lilac triangle very hard. She sipped hard from her glass. ¡°So soon after Basil?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°Not immediately, of course. But soon. If Basilisk¡¯s passing can teach us one thing¡ª¡±

    Teach? Teach us what? He killed himself!

    ¡°...It¡¯s that we must seize our opportunities while we have them.¡±

    ?ywie tried to work out how to respond to that. She settled on a question. ¡°Who would be the father?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t quite decided. It might be high time for us to see what she and Tiresias could produce.¡±

    That image was bad enough, but Lawrence kept going:

    ¡°Of course, there¡¯s also Linus. Or even Gwydion.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªthey¡¯re so young.¡±

    Lawrence tutted. ¡°The age-gap between Linus and Melusine is less than ten years. And we¡¯ve discussed this, ?ywie. Those taboos don¡¯t serve any purpose for your kind.¡± The man¡¯s expression became solemn again. ¡°I was also thinking about Panoply.¡±

    ?ywie felt something inside of her teeter, like a glass on the edge of the table. ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Could you, if you tried, remember that poor boy¡¯s genetic code?¡±

    ?ywie nodded. She could have tapped Adam Sinclair¡¯s genes out on Lawrence¡¯s desk.

    ¡°Could you recreate it?¡±

    ¡°...Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, perhaps then you could synthesize his¡­ well, his seed.¡±

    ¡°...What would we do with it?¡±

    ¡°What better memorial to the boy than allowing him to contribute to the next generation? I¡¯m sure Myriad would make an excellent mother for his child someday. I think we need to become more ambitious with our stirrupculture.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well, we could be more creative with our couplings. And perhaps we¡¯re too cautious? Fourteen, fifteen, yes, that¡¯s a good baseline, but there are Amazon tribes where young women give birth at twelve without issue. I feel it¡¯s important we think about how much our standards are still being influenced by cultural conditioning, you understand?¡±

    The healer looked down into her whiskey glass, her reflection gazing up from the gold pool at the bottom. ?ywie. Eliza.

    ¡°I think I do, Lawrence.¡± She got up from her chair. ¡°I think I¡¯ll head to bed now. Will you be alright here?¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Of course, my dear.¡±

    Before she was out of the room, her teacher said one last thing:

    ¡°You¡¯ve been very brave this last month. I don¡¯t think I would have made it without you.¡±

    She rested her hand on the doorframe. ¡°Thank you, Lawrence.¡±

    As soon as Eliza reached her bedroom, she locked the door behind her, dropped the needle on one of her old Billie Holiday records, buried her face in her pillow, and wept.

    ?

    Bertrand Russell once said that hate was always foolish, and love was always wise. A beautiful sentiment, but one experience has not born out for me. Hate can only destroy, but unwise love, that can do far worse.

    It can change you.

    That was the night I realised what Lawrence¡¯s love had done to us. Or maybe when I could finally admit it to myself. We weren''t his students anymore. I¡¯m not even sure we were people. We were mules for DNA. Vessels for the power.

    That was the night I realized I had to leave.

 Chapter Thirty-Eight: By These Hands...

    A lot of you reading won¡¯t be very familiar with Adolf Hitler. If you are, he¡¯ll likely just be some old warlord trampling through your history books, no more present or real today than Genghis Khan or Napoleon. This is natural, and perhaps in some ways necessary. If every tragedy or atrocity remained fresh in the world¡¯s memory forever, the weight of history would crush us all. But I can tell you now, such forgetfulness did not seem possible when I was young.

    I met the man once. It was no great encounter. A diversion during a tour of the Greater Reich.

    He seemed so small. I had been hearing his speeches on the radio for years¡ªlike fire in broadcast form. Everything I had ever read of the man spoke of this great Wagnerian hero. But here he was, reeking of barbiturates, hands trembling by his sides, coddled by aides and doctors. Stripped bare of his pomp and loudspeakers, the man was a ghost of his own persona.

    My minders had me turn a rose-bulb blue for him. A paltry trick to be sure, but more appropriate for an audience with the F¨¹hrer.

    ¡°A true testament to our strength and vigour.¡±

    Even if that meant anything, he didn¡¯t sound convinced. I can imagine why. I was a knobby-kneed ten year old girl, with frizzy brown hair that devoured combs and an awfully Jewish nose. I have to assume questions were raised about my ancestry.

    ¡°Pure German going back five generations, sir,¡± my father told the SS officer who took me away.

    Maybe so¡ªI was no more or less a mongrel than all other human beings¡ªbut still, I was never going to grace a propaganda poster. I was a tool¡ªa scalpel whose edge Auschwitz and Dachau honed sharp.

    I spent most of my life in the camps cooped up in the commandant¡¯s quarters, trying to play or study under the wary eye of their wife or whoever else they set to watch me. I would try describing these women, but their features flow together in memory. Sometimes they wear my mother¡¯s face, or even Mary Gillespie¡¯s.

    Two or three times a day, guards would escort me to the camp¡¯s clinic, where soldiers lay waiting for my touch. These were not the breaks and scrapes of everyday life I had made my bread and butter in Danzig, but the carnage of war. Bullet-shredded flesh, lungs rotted by mustard gas, eyes burnt out by flashbangs and ears blasted deaf by the endless chitter of gunfire.

    But normalcy hadn¡¯t completely abandoned me. Soldiers and guards still dropped things on their toes or came to me with coughs and colds. Men at Dachau would pay me penny-candy to rid them of the clap. The only things war cannot kill are common misfortune and carelessness.

    All these I mended while men with white coats and clipboards slowly figured out what I had already told them. I feel like Allison Kinsey would have sympathised if I had ever told her of this.

    Then there was what they had me do to the prisoners.

    At first, I suspect those poor souls thought me a saviour. The Angel of Danzig¡¯s legend had spread far throughout Poland and beyond by that point. Not only that, but those prisoners who were destined to meet me often received special treatment. Their barracks were kept free of filth and vermin, they were well fed, and were spared both hard labour and the harshest cruelty of the guards.

    Disease, malnutrition, and injury would have tainted the results.

    I remember the first boy I killed. He was a Polack, with curly brown hair and a port-wine stain on his shoulder. I¡¯m not sure if I wish I knew his name. They laid him out on the examination bed, and the supervising physician pulled out a needle, its tip wet like a wasp¡¯s stinger.

    ¡°Now this injection is to keep you safe from typhus.¡±

    The boy looked at me, standing silent in the corner. ¡°Couldn¡¯t the Angel do that?¡±

    The doctor was quick with an explanation. ¡°Yes, she could. But she also wants people to be safe when she isn¡¯t around. You can help her.¡±

    The boy nodded, as if he had a choice.

    And so, the doctor injected the boy right in the heart. The phenol made him gasp and shudder, and soon he was still.

    I moved towards him, but the doctor held a hand up. ¡°Not yet, dear.¡± He pulled out a stopwatch, and clicked.

    For five minutes, we stood there and let nature do what it does to unpreserved meat.

    After what felt like hours, there was a click.

    ¡°Alright, resuscitate him.¡±

    That part was easy. Just restarting his heart and sparking his neurons.

    He screamed like a newborn. No, less than that. It was a cry of animal suffering. His eyes darted around the room, uncomprehending. He was making noises I had never heard from a person.

    The doctor strode over then and started poking and prodding the child, taking notes with one deft hand as he examined our handiwork. ¡°Subject appears to suffer significant cognitive impairment after five minutes without oxygen flow to brain.¡±

    The boy stared at me. I don¡¯t know if he still recognized me, or if he simply was looking to the only person who wasn¡¯t hurting him.

    The doctor eventually pulled away from the boy, seeming to disregard him as soon as he wasn¡¯t looking at him.

    ¡°Doctor, should I¡­ turn him off?¡±

    ¡°Hmm? Oh, right, yes. Do try to preserve the brain, we¡¯ll need it for autopsy.¡±

    ¡°Preserve¡± I thought was an odd word to use, after what we had done to him.

    As gently as possible, I took the little boy¡¯s hand. A few moments later, he was asleep. It seemed less cruel that way. Like a boat on a dark shore, I pushed him out onto a deep, black sea.

    They had me infect Jews with typhus, or turn their women¡¯s ovum cancerous. They poisoned, electrocuted, and drowned people, then had made me bring them back so they could give their testimony. Children were beaten in front of their mothers and fathers, while I kept them in states of chemical ecstasy. Autopsies were replaced by a brush of my hand.

    I let myself sleep for a long time. It was the only way I could cope. Every experiment¡ªevery touch¡ªreminded me how pointless it all was. The truth was imprinted on every poor soul¡¯s cells.

    I first encountered another superhuman at Auschwitz. I had known for a long time that there were others like me, of course. The whole Wehrmacht was terrified of meeting the Crimson Comet, who they said could shrug off tank-fire like rain on his shoulders. As for our lot, we had Hel and Baldr: the man who couldn¡¯t die. But they were always distant, absent figures. And their deeds always seemed so far removed from mine. So much more noble.

    He wasn¡¯t one to start with. They had scheduled me for an experiment involving¡­ I want to say fertility, and my subject was already strapped into the chair when I stepped into the clinic.

    The old man was gagged, but I still heard his scream batter against the mouth guard when he caught sight of me. I had a new legend by then. The Angel of Danzig had become the Angel of Death.

    The man thrashed and tried to tear his way free, but the metal chair and the leather-straps held tight. The guards on either side whipped him with the butts of their guns. They weren¡¯t supposed to treat my ¡°patients¡± so roughly, but guards at Auschwitz either crumbled, or more commonly, made cruelty a habit. Like smoking.

    ¡°Stay still!¡±

    I held out a hand, walking towards the man. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯ll be alright.¡± I don¡¯t know why I still lied to them.

    As I drew closer, I noticed something in the man¡¯s eyes. They were wide, staring, but not at me. Like there was someone standing behind me¡­

    I felt a cold wind whip at my back. The man was trying to say something I couldn¡¯t make out. Though looking back, I think I can guess.

    ¡°There¡¯s a man¡ª¡±

    A giant soap-bubble appeared in front of the man¡¯s face. At least, that¡¯s what it looked like. Once the guards were done shouting and swearing, they gawked and batted at the orb with something between awe and bemusement. One of them glanced in my direction.

    ¡°This you?¡±

    The bubble slammed into the soldier, grinding his head against the wall till only a red stain was left. His comrade was luckier, only being shoved into the wall cabinets.

    I was running for the door by then, but I tripped, my face slamming against something curved. A bubble had formed around me. And it was shrinking.

    I scrambled around to face my captor. He was still strapped into the chair, still gagged. He couldn¡¯t or hadn¡¯t figured out a way to free himself. All he could do was lash out.

    I was screaming, crying, imagining myself reduced to a slurry of broken bone and meat. I begged for my life, the way so many like him had begged me.

    The man could¡¯ve been a grandfather. How many of his family had passed through my hands? Or been consigned to the gas and the fire?

    And odd look played on his face. Angry, but sad. Considering.

    I think it was mercy. It was not something I had much experience with back then.

    There was a bang, and the old Jew jerked forward. There was a hole in his head.

    The bubble popped out from under me, sending me sprawled onto the ground. The surviving guard was breathing heavily, his still raised in front of him.

    ¡°The hell was that?¡±

    I didn¡¯t answer. For the first time in my life, I had faced death.

    And I knew I deserved it.

    ?

    In the dark, dead time between night and morning, Eliza Winter sat alone in her office, reading over her latest attempt at a letter. A ball of rejected drafts lay in the wastepaper basket. She didn¡¯t know why she was bothering with tidiness at this point, but it was a reflex.

    The healer set the paper down, smoothed it out, and sighed. It didn¡¯t say nearly enough. But then, what could?

    She slipped the latter inside an envelope, sealing it with the one of the Institute¡¯s wax pebbles. The ones with the little finches Lawrence had custom made. Eliza used to enjoy them. Now, they just seemed pompous.

    She had to move quickly.

    ?

    Alberto had always preferred the night. Dreams were quieter than waking thoughts. Easier to get some reading done. And to wish they had a bloody television.

    There was a knock on his bedroom door. The lack of lights behind it was a dead giveaway. ¡°You might as well come in, Eliza.¡±

    She did. ¡°Evening, Alberto.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so we¡¯re using people names tonight?¡±

    ¡°I suppose we are. Could I sit down?¡±

    Alberto reached from his chair to pat his bed, hiccupping, ¡°Might as well.¡±

    Already drunk. That would make things easier.

    As she sat down, Eliza asked, ¡°What are you reading?¡±

    Alberto looked at his book and jerked backwards, like he had forgotten he was holding it. ¡°Oh, this? Odd John. It¡¯s this book about a trumped up little superman telling us how great he is.¡± He chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s like finding a road-map for Bertie¡¯s mind!¡±

    Eliza nodded. ¡°Yes, I remember Laurie suggesting that for my English class. I thought it was a touch racy.¡±

    ¡°No shit, the kid sleeps with his mum.¡± Alberto threw his head back, his eyes closed. ¡°What are you doing here, El? You been thinking about what I said.¡±

    ¡°I have.¡± Silence. ¡°Alberto, have you been¡­ manipulating us somehow?¡±

    Eliza tensed her muscles, waiting for the esper to try and make a break for the door.

    Instead, all he did was sigh. ¡°Shit. I knew you¡¯d figure it out sometime. Surprised it took ya this long, honestly.¡±

    ¡°You¡ªyou admit it?¡±

    ¡°Why not? Not like I was going to convince you otherwise. Hell, you¡¯re the only person here I couldn¡¯t convince otherwise.¡±

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°What¡ª¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°How long?¡±

    ¡°Pass me the wine.¡±

    Almost automatically, Eliza obeyed. The psychic swigged from the bottle hard.

    ¡°Not at first. Bertie used to find the whole idea of me terrible. What I can do. That¡¯s why he got poor old Hugo to get with Fran when Chen scarpered.¡± He frowned. ¡°Old bastard was fine using me to get them in line, but he wasn¡¯t going to have another of me in the world...¡±

    Eliza¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Let me guess, you weren¡¯t happy about that.¡±

    Alberto tilted his head at her. ¡°What? You talkin¡¯ about Ophelia? She was Bertie¡¯s idea.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t feel like arguing.¡±

    ¡°But you said¡ª¡±

    A cold, pale smile. ¡°You can¡¯t say Lawrence hasn¡¯t gotten a bit wacky in his old age.¡± He went on. ¡°I mean, first he just needed me to make Hugo and Fran think they were alright going to bed together¡ªgive or take bamboozling a customs agent or a reluctant parent.¡± He laughed again. ¡°But then he got it into his head the kids needed to go forth and multiply. It wasn¡¯t just them I needed to fiddle with! Mary was fine with the whole thing back when she thought it was all just consenting adults doin¡¯ it for science or whatever. But kids¡­¡± A gulp. ¡°That took some doing.¡±

    Eliza just sat there, listening. Alberto was destroying what was left of her life like he was down the pub complaining about his boss.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell ya, it isn¡¯t always easy. So many kids running around, so many reasons for them to pissed off. And Fletcher and Cormey! Everyone else I got to ease into it, but them¡ªTherese was never Boudica or anything, but put it this way, she wasn¡¯t always such a lush.¡± Alberto sighed. ¡°Chen was always hard to bend. Maybe it was an alchemy thing, I don¡¯t know.¡± A sad smile. ¡°Fran used to be too, when we were little. Before we domesticated her. Davey-boy¡¯s been getting harder since his eyes changed...¡±

    Eliza finally spoke, ¡°And what about me?¡±

    Alberto snorted. ¡°You¡¯re not getting off that easy, El. I wasn¡¯t lying when I said you were impervious to me. Even if you weren¡¯t, do you think I was hiding under Mengele¡¯s lab coat?¡±

    And with that, the last strand of hope inside Eliza snapped.

    ¡°So, it¡¯s all out in the open. If it¡¯s any comfort, this whole shitshow will be over soon. Maybe I should¡¯ve taken the Americans¡¯¡ª¡±

    Eliza clapped her hand over Alberto¡¯s mouth. The psychic thrashed, tried to pry the healer off of him, but his limbs were heavier than lead and riddled with twitching worms.

    Eliza watched the panic in his eyes fade to drowsiness. He probably believed this was death, she thought.

    Once he was under, she picked up the wine bottle, drank deep, and left Alberto to his dreams.

    ?

    I should have killed him.

    ?

    Before we go on, I must talk about one of my greatest sins as an educator¡ªsuch that I was.

    It was not long after Chen¡¯s return, but before Adam Sinclair, before the end. I was in my office doing something the centuries have discarded from memory, when Hugo, Fran, and Mary came barging through my door.

    ¡°Hey, hey, hey! I thought we knocked here!¡±

    It was Hugo who started, breathless, ¡°It¡¯s David.¡± He swallowed. ¡°I mean Maelstrom¡ª¡±

    Fran?oise rolled her eyes. That pretty much knocked all the steam out of poor Hugo. Mary picked up for him:

    ¡°Maelstrom¡¯s¡­ having an episode.¡±

    ¡°What exactly is an ¡®episode¡¯?¡± I asked.

    ¡°David¡¯s in the vegetable garden,¡± Fran said. ¡°He¡¯s screaming and blowing things up.¡± She paused, like she had to psyche herself up to keep talking. ¡°He won¡¯t let any of us near him. Won¡¯t let me near him.¡± She sounded wounded.

    ¡°We were hoping you could calm him down a bit,¡± Mary said. ¡°Preferably before Lawrence catches wind of this. I don¡¯t think his reaction would be¡­ helpful.¡±

    Mary really was too good for us.

    I could see why they asked me. David¡¯s parents weren¡¯t always reliable sources of comfort. Fran?oise was in many ways still a child herself. Or at least still learning how to be a person. As for Hugo, guilt and black moods kept him distant. So that just left me. Auntie ?ywie.

    In my ugliest, bitterest moods, I sometimes thought that made me more of a mother to David than anyone else.

    I arrived in my garden to find David stomping around naked in the allotment. His eyes, still Barthe blue then, were blazing white. Storm clouds swirled over his head, while tears sizzled down his cheeks before freezing solid.

    All around the boy, my pumpkins, melons and artichokes snapped and hissed, trying to launch themselves at him with their whipping, thrashing roots. Before they could even get close, they burst, their pulpy flesh and juices spraying over the grass. Our cow was mooing in fright.

    ¡°Shut up, Bessy!¡±

    I hadn¡¯t seen David this angry in years, but it wasn¡¯t a great surprise. The boy was like a kinked hose. Years and years of bottled up rage and need. Usually it just trickled out in tears and night-terrors, but sometimes he erupted like a geyser. Not unlike his mother.

    I approached him without fear. Even if I thought David could bring himself to hurt me, his powers couldn¡¯t touch the water in my body. ¡°David, David, honey. What¡¯s the matter.¡±

    He swung around to face me. Somehow, his eyes managed to burn even brighter. ¡°Liar!¡±

    I stopped. ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°You lied to us!¡± He had his fists balled at his sides, and his teeth clenched like he was trying to keep something from escaping his throat. Then he screamed and made another cantaloupe explode.

    ¡°Lying about what, little one?¡±

    He looked me right in the air. It was like being glared at by stars. ¡°Your power works on you.¡±

    All the times I had imagined someone saying that should have prepared me. ¡°I¡ªI¡ª¡±

    ¡°Allie told me! She¡¯s been doing stuff to herself for ages! Stuff she got from you!¡±

    That woke up the doctor in me, and at least for that moment, she was stronger than the worst of me. I grabbed David by the shoulders, almost shaking him. ¡°What¡¯s she done? Is she alright?¡±

    He threw his hands off me. ¡°You just never wanted to have a baby, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    I think my face had all the answer he needed. His shoulders slumped slightly. The ice in his eyes melted. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just tell Lawrence?¡±

    I threw my arms around him, lifting him off his feet and weeping into his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you wanna make a baby? You¡¯d be good at it.¡±

    ¡°David. I¡ªpeople like me don¡¯t deserve to be mothers. I¡¯ve done¡­ bad things to children.¡±

    ¡°When?¡± David asked me. ¡°You¡¯re nice.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªplease. You can¡¯t tell anyone about this.¡±

    I felt him nodding against my cheek. ¡°Okay.¡±

    I had no doubt he would keep my secret. David had his father¡¯s kindness. And he was used to keeping secrets. From new students, from inspectors, from the few outsiders Lawrence ever deigned to let into his presence. He kept secrets from Lawrence, too. And he kept himself a secret from everyone.

    I had put yet another burden on David¡¯s shoulders. I had failed him. Just like every other adult in his life.

    ¡°You alright, mate?¡±

    Except for one.

    I turned to face Hugo, still holding David.

    ¡°He feeling better?¡±

    I nodded.

    ¡°I am, yeah,¡± David said quietly. ¡°Me and Miri sorta had a fight.¡±

    Hugo took the boy gently from my arms. I suppose that was one advantage of his present state: his father didn¡¯t have to worry about melting his clothes.

    ¡°You want to talk about it?¡±

    ¡°...Not yet?¡±

    Hugo didn¡¯t press. ¡°That¡¯s alright. You wanna go get dressed?¡± He smiled. ¡°Maybe we can find something to eat?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be nice.¡±

    Hugo looked at me. ¡°You¡¯re a lifesaver, ?ywie.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no problem.¡±

    I watched them walk back towards the house. The New Human Institute was a spider web of tragedies, and one of them was that Hugo so rarely let himself be a father. That we didn¡¯t let him. He was the only one of us that didn¡¯t ask anything of David.

    That wasn¡¯t what I was thinking about then, though. I was wondering how much he had heard.

    I never found out.

    ?

    ¡°You were so loud when you were born. Hungry for life. I don¡¯t know how we managed to keep you so quiet.¡±

    Eliza brushed David¡¯s hair, the sleeping child twitching at the touch. She knew she was being foolish. She ought to be putting as many miles between her and the Institute as she could before sunup. But she couldn¡¯t leave without saying goodbye¡­

    ¡°I wish I could take you. Just a week ago I would¡¯ve worried about you crying, or trying to stop me. But now, I think you wouldn¡¯t leave unless we could take everyone. You¡¯re strong, David. I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve finally realizing that.¡±

    She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. ¡°You¡¯re clean. Your father made sure of that.¡±

    The healer looked around the dormitory. So many children. So many children she had mended, taught, and cared for. So many children she had hurt. Lawrence was right about one thing. These kids deserved the world. They deserved more than this farm, more than some old man¡¯s fantasies.

    ¡°I love you. I love you all.¡±

    When Eliza opened the door to leave, she found Artume standing on the steps.

    ¡°Oh, hi ?ywie.¡±

    Eliza froze. How could she have forgotten Artume? ¡°Uh, good morning Artume. What brings you to the dorm.¡±

    The girl shrugged. ¡°Saw you come down here, thought something was up.¡± She bent sideways, trying to look past her teacher. ¡°Is everyone alright in there?¡±

    Eliza looked at Artume. She was so small, her blonde hair still so child-bright. She was also just starting to show.

    ¡°I am so sorry, Sheilah.¡±

    ¡°Wha¡ª¡±

    Eliza put her hand under the girl¡¯s chin, catching her with the other when she fell asleep.

    As she carried Sheilah to her hammock, she considered ridding the child of the pregnancy. It was early enough that it would take minimum fuss. She would feel no pain. Terminations were something she had much practise with from the camps.

    No, she decided. Eliza had already taken away too many of her choices. And no doubt Lawrence would have had her go through it again.

    ?

    As I finally left the dormitory, I found my eyes lingering on Allison Kinsey. Strange, strange little girl. All that knowledge, and yet none of it made her any less a child. With the bio-mods she copied off me, she might have been the closest thing to a daughter I will ever have.

    I should¡¯ve taken her. Far away from the Institute; far away from any other super.

    ?

    I was twelve when Josef Mengele arrived at Auschwitz. My handlers had me meet him and his wife at the camp gates. As soon as he saw me, he took my hand and kissed it.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been very much looking forward to working with you, Miss Winter.¡±

    I have no doubt he had. As I gathered over the months and years to come, Mengele¡¯s assignment to Auschwitz was something of a reward for the doctor. He was both a war-hero, and more importantly, a good Nazi.

    Nobody took to Auschwitz like Mengele did. The atmosphere of ash and death drove most either into slumbers like mine, or warped them, made them crueler to the point of irrationality. In a rare few, it awoke bravery and kindness.

    Mengele, though, always wore at least a faint smile. He sung and whistled while he worked, and was always asking for extra duties. He was like a fish permitted to swim for the first time.

    He was also a terrible scientist. The experiments I had participated in before had been cruel, and often performed without full rigour, but they always at least had a clear point. To measure my talents, or to better figure out how to kill and rend. Mengele was more like a little boy taking a fly to pieces. He destroyed because the pieces amused him more than the whole. That was his great contribution to Nazi science. He provided thousands of samples to other researchers in the Reich. Calling him a butcher is more appropriate than some realize.

    After his arrival, Mengele rarely let me out of his sight. He would talk to me like you would to a baby or a dog:

    ¡°What about this, Eliza?¡±

    ¡°Have you ever wondered, Eliza¡­¡±

    ¡°I think little Eva and her brother would react well to the drops, don¡¯t you Eliza?¡±

    Sometimes, Mengele even took me to the ramp.

    The ramp was where the trains disgorged our victims. Jews, Roma, Slavs, and everyone else my people despised were herded out of the carriages, so the SS could decide who would immediately be destroyed, and who would be put to work fuelling the machine that would kill them. Children, the sick, and the very old were almost always disposed of quickly.

    Even among the most callous, it was considered a stressful, trying duty. Not so for Mengele. He volunteered for the job.

    He would lean down and whisper in my ear:

    ¡°So, who do we pick?¡±

    I would look at the huddled, frightened, doomed people, the fathers trying to hold back tears as their families were led to the crematoria, the mothers clutching their children, and then I would choose.

    I felt like God. I also understood why God does not walk amongst us.

    Many of the children who lingered in the camps did so because of Mengele. They were the subjects of his own private kingdom. He had a kindergarten established for them in the barracks, even a playground. He would visit them with his pockets bulging with sweets, fuss over their health and the particulars of their lives, and a few hours later take a knife to them.

    I find it baffling at the time. Less so in the years to come.

    The man had a fascination with twins. On a certain level, it made sense. In a world without ethics at least, identical twins are nature¡¯s control group. Even fraternal twins share a fetal environment. But for Mengele, I think there was something more to it.

    Once, he had me create him conjoined twins. Perfectly healthy children¡ªsometimes of not even of the same sex¡ªfused head-to-head or at the pelvis, down to their very blood vessels. It was gruesome, but at less so then when he did it himself. Another night, he had me stop the hearts of fourteen pairs of twins, and he stayed awake till dawn dissecting.

    In some solipsistic way, I think he saw me as an extension of himself. His imagination made physical, maybe. But he used my power less than you might think. One of his most common experiments was injecting the children¡¯s eyes with whatever chemicals he fancied, trying to turn them blue. The children went blind, more often than not. I didn¡¯t know why he didn¡¯t have me do it. Even back then I could change pigmentation as I pleased.

    What confused me even more was why he would do such a thing. I even asked him as much.

    ¡°It¡¯s a simple idea, Eliza,¡± he explained patiently. ¡°If we can figure how to control eye and hair colour, and increase the incidence of multiple births among our women¡±¡ªFertility was yet another of his bugbears¡ª¡°that¡¯ll mean a lot more Aryan babies.¡±

    ¡°But blue eyes don¡¯t see any better than brown ones.¡±

    Mengele¡¯s smile dimmed. ¡°It¡¯s a sign of superiority.¡±

    ¡°So if we did manage to turn a gypsy''s eyes blue, would they be more Aryan?¡±

    He chuckled at that. ¡°Of course not.¡±

    It was like a drunk wizard¡¯s logic. Eye-colour could mean nothing and everything at the same time. The entire Nazi-logic was like that. I knew what DNA was while Rosalind Franklin was still a university student. I knew a Jew and a German could be more similar to each other than their own neighbour. I could have told Mengele and his ilk exactly why some men were born brilliant, and others stupid. Why some were strong, and others sickly. I could have ensured every one of our children was born healthy. While they killed and burned cripples, I could have made them walk!

    But I said nothing. If Mengele had taught me one thing, it was that our masters did not value the truth. They didn¡¯t even value skill, if it disagreed with them. Auschwitz and its brothers had rendered down plenty of brilliant men and women who did. And their families.

    Reading this, you might wonder how Lawrence ever managed to win me over on his ¡°stirrupculture¡± given what I had seen of eugenics. But the Nazis bred only for homogeneity, for a banal sameness of features, while destroying anything that did not match it. Lawrence promised to only add to the beauty of the world, taking nothing from it. And maybe those babies were beautiful. But he did not keep his second promise.

    It had to end eventually, the camps. All fires burn themselves out eventually, or are drowned by the rain. By 1945, the Red Army was marching across Poland. Rumour had it the Anglos had lent them the Crimson Comet himself, and some strange, terrible magic that pulled the gold out of people¡¯s teeth.

    The killings sped up. Mostly I think out of a desire to destroy the evidence, but also I think as one last spasm of hate. Perhaps even just to feel like it had accomplished something. Me and Mengele were bundled into a truck bound for another concentration camp in Gross-Rosen. He brought with him two boxes of child-parts and the only records of his experiments to be spared the fire. His wife and son were in another truck. I feel this says something about the man.

    I remember the bumps in the road. Mengele clutching his briefcase to his chest like his newborn. I think it was the first time I had ever seen him scared.

    ¡°They say we¡¯re on the ropes.¡± He forced a smile. It looked strange on him. ¡°Bah. We¡¯ll go abroad, regroup. You and me? We¡¯ll keep on going.¡±

    I wondered if Josef thought I would be following him forever. He may have been one of the Reich¡¯s favoured sadists, but there were plenty of those, and only one of me.

    There were screams from the front of the cabin. Mine and Mengele¡¯s joined them, as something shot out of his mouth and pinged and whizzed around the truck-bed. We swerved, topped over. For a few seconds, the world spun around us.

    When it stopped, the truck was upside down. I could hear the wheels still spinning, the ending sputtering.

    Mengele was dead, his neck snapped and his head bent to the side. It was almost comical. If it had happened to anyone else, I¡¯m sure he would have thought so.

    Before I could process this, the side turned ceiling tore open. A giant was staring down at me.

    I screamed, cowering in his shadow against the night. He was clad in red, his shoulders powdered with snowflakes, with one wing sprouting from his back. I knew him immediately. The terror of the Reich. The stormer of France. The Crimson Comet.

    He watched me for some time as I whimpered and tried to shrink ever further into the corner. But there was no anger in those solid features. No hate. Eventually, my fear ran out of fuel. All that was left was a quiet ache. I didn¡¯t even resist when he lifted me out of the truck.

    He left Mengele where he lay.

    The Comet carried me through the snow to a group of Red Army soldiers, the red on their shoulders standing out against the dull green of their uniforms. I shrieked at the sight of them, and they pointed their guns at me. A raised hand from the Comet lowered them again.

    ¡°Lawrence, I think this is the girl we¡¯re looking for.¡±

    The soldiers parted for a broad man in a SS officer¡¯s coat, though his beard was redder than I¡¯d ever seen on a German. At his side was a Chinese boy, about my age. I¡¯d never seen an Asian up close before. I hope it didn¡¯t show too much.

    ¡°G¡¯day,¡± the boy said. ¡°Sorry about the toss-about.¡±

    The man said, ¡°Could you please set her down, Comet?¡±

    I didn¡¯t speak English. I had no idea what either of them were saying, but the Comet lowered me to my feet.

    Then, the man knelt, pulling off his gloves. His hands were crisscrossed with little white scars. Slowly, gently, he folded them around mine.

    ¡°I know what you are,¡± he said in German. ¡°What you can do.¡± He squeezed my hands. ¡°Hands that heal. It¡¯s like something from the Bible.¡±

    Lawrence had to have been told that my powers worked by touch. He was so sincere, once.

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you did such things of your own free will. Someone born to heal wouldn¡¯t think of it. Come with us. You can use your hands for what they were clearly made for.¡±

    I nodded.

    Herbert Lawrence gave me my life back. One day, I had to steal it back.

    ?

    Eliza strapped the last of the babies into the back of the ute. There weren¡¯t enough car-seats for all of them, so she¡¯d have to hold Reverb¡¯s still nameless daughter between her knees. At least Ophelia was practically indestructible. At least she could keep them all asleep for the time being.

    It had been Therese Fletcher¡¯s shift in the nursery. She didn¡¯t put up much resistance, God bless her. Whatever happened, Eliza hoped she and Cormey wouldn¡¯t go down with the ship.

    She could do this, she told herself as she climbed into the driver¡¯s seat. She had connections. Movers and shakers she had healed over the years, Timothy Valour, maybe even Ralph Rivers if it came down to it. Hell, the new queen still owed her a favour and a half for fixing up her father. She even had money. Her salary was surprisingly generous for someone who rarely ever left the farm.

    She could do this. She had to do this.

    Eliza looked behind her. The babies were still sound asleep. There was a crack in the night. Soon tomorrow would spill out across the sky.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back,¡± she said to herself. ¡°I don¡¯t know what will happen then, but I will come back.¡±

    And so, Eliza Winter left the Institute, and ?ywie, far behind.

 Chapter Thirty-Nine: Heal Thyself!

    It can¡¯t be put off any longer. It¡¯s time to talk about the night Adam Sinclair died1.

    John Smith had laid the facts bare for us. He shouldn¡¯t have needed to. Literal small children had already figured out the cause of the power-loss afflicting the Institute. You must understand, we were hopelessly naive about the source and intent of superpowers. The idea that a super could have powers that opposed all other supers was practically satanic to us.

    Not only that, John had issued us an ultimatum: hand over Adam, or be exposed. It was strange. Usually, John seemed so disconnected from us, so willfully ignorant of anything human, but he always knew just enough to bend or destroy us.

    You might think he was offering us a way out, if you knew nothing about the Physician. And Lawrence had his own solution:

    ¡°You¡¯re asking too much, Lawrence!¡±

    I was weeping. What Lawrence had just suggested to me, I never thought I¡¯d hear it from his lips.

    ¡°It¡¯s pure necessity, ?ywie.¡±

    ¡°You promised me I¡¯d never have to hurt anyone again!¡±

    Lawrence sighed. He¡¯d been crying, too. ¡°I know, and I am so sorry. But this is nothing like at the camps. The Nazis, they were windmill chasers. They aimed you at enemies that only existed in their imaginations, at problems they created for themselves. But Adam¡ªthrough no fault of his own¡ªis a threat to your entire race.¡±

    I moaned. ¡°He¡¯s just one boy¡­¡±

    ¡°Today he might be. But what if the Physician figures out how to replicate¡­¡± He hesitated, like Adam¡¯s powers were a demon he hardly dared name. He settled on, ¡°¡­his affliction. Imagine if every asylum and prison camp in the country¡ªthe whole world even¡ªhad some device or stunted homunculus to suppress posthuman gifts.¡±

    He moved closer to me, till I could feel the breath behind his words. ¡°There is a reason the cells of McClare and Roberts mostly house children, or those with the gentlest talents. If they could restrain all of you, I have no doubt they would move from containment to extermination.¡±

    ¡°¡­Nobody¡¯s talking about extermination.¡±

    Lawrence ran his hands down his face, as though he were struggling to explain something to a child who ought to know better. ¡°?ywie, when you were a little girl, did they ever talk about it?¡±

    ¡°Even if you¡¯re right, John isn¡¯t stupid. You think he won¡¯t figure out what happened if Adam¡­¡± I couldn¡¯t finish the sentence.

    ¡°I know the Physician, ?ywie. He¡¯s not like us. He doesn¡¯t hold grudges. He won¡¯t be happy, but he wouldn¡¯t throw you away for revenge.¡±

    Lawrence wasn¡¯t being logical. If the Institute was shut-down, the children would just go into DDHA custody. If anything, John would have had even easier access to them. But panic and fear left no space for reason, or what little there was to be found at the Institute.

    Lawrence made for the office door. ¡°Come with me.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do it!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to see Adam, ?ywie.¡±

    Instead, we went to Hugo¡¯s room.

    ¡°Just got the kids down to sleep,¡± he told us with a battler¡¯s smile. ¡°Still, a good night kiss won¡¯t do them any harm.¡±

    I tread softly into the dark room, over to the bed. David and Allison were clinging to each other like little castaways in the sea. The boy I delivered and the girl I changed. Even in that dim light, David¡¯s skin had a grey tone.

    I briefly brushed my hand over them. They were both swimming in stress hormones. Not even their dreams were an escape.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright. I promise.¡±

    Lawrence and I bid Hugo goodnight, and left him to tend to his charges.

    ¡°You can see it, can¡¯t you?¡± Lawrence asked me in the hallway. ¡°Children like them, cut off from everything that makes them special, everything that could let them fight back, clutching one another in the dark as they wait for the gas or the bullet. If they are even allowed that comfort.¡±

    ¡°Please, leave me alone, Lawrence,¡± I said. ¡°I need to prepare.¡±

    Hate can only destroy. But so can love.

    I made my way to the Lorikeet Dormitory, late enough that dawn was pushing against the night. I hadn¡¯t believed in God for a long time, but I still felt watched.

    When I opened the door, I immediately saw two things. First was that Sheilah Brown was asleep. That was helpful.

    Second was that Adam was awake.

    The boy looked towards me. ¡°?ywie?¡±

    I am two hundred years old. I have had to forget more than most people ever experience. There are whole years¡ªdecades even¡ªI only remember in summary. I can¡¯t recall my mother¡¯s voice, or the faces of my brothers and sisters.

    I remember Adam¡¯s, face, though. Every freckle, the muddy green of his eyes. Those eyes were sore red then. He¡¯d been crying. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    Is something else wrong, he meant. ¡°Can¡¯t sleep, Adam?¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªit¡¯s hot.¡±

    ¡°Certainly is. Would you like to come for a walk with me?¡±

    He nodded.

    We walked along the river. It was still writhing, frothing white in the moonlight as it tried to crawl out of its bed. I noticed it grew more torrid as we passed. An old god¡¯s rage for his daughter and grandson.

    We both mostly kept silent. Sometimes Adam would tell me how this or that child was coping with the blackout, and I would nod or tell him he was a big help, all the while wondering how I could do what I thought needed to be done. I was worried the sun would rise over us and burn away my resolve. God, I wish it had.

    But then Adam said something:

    ¡°I¡¯m not stupid, you know.¡±

    I stopped. ¡°Of course you¡¯re not stupid, Adam. Why would you say that?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m the one making everyone¡¯s powers not work, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Sobs. ¡°I knew it. Everyone¡¯s powers came back on when I was in that room, and¡ªand¡ª¡± Adam¡¯s tears overwhelmed him. He threw himself into my side, clinging tight. ¡°They¡¯re gonna be so mad¡­¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    This at least was something I knew how to handle. So many homesick, lonely, scared children. ¡°Shhh, shhh, they won¡¯t be. I know you¡¯re not doing it on purpose.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying to make it stop, but it¡¯s¡­ big. Too big to listen to me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Adam.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to fix this.¡±

    ¡°You promise?¡±

    My fingers found his neck. ¡°I promise.¡±

    I put him to sleep first. Like a boat on a dark shore, I pushed him out onto a deep, black sea.

    I carried Adam back to his hammock. I¡¯d carried so many sleeping children to bed before, but this felt different. Adam felt different. No breath. No rush of blood beneath his skin or subtle movement of bones. Dead weight.

    I was ten years old again. Half asleep and numb. An old sepulchre full of a dead woman¡¯s bones.

    Lawrence was pacing in his office, as I knew he would be.

    ¡°Is it done?¡±

    ¡°Yes. He felt no pain.¡±

    He embraced me close. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, ?ywie.¡±

    People have been making excuses for me for centuries. They say my childhood couldn¡¯t have taught me right from wrong. They talk about the sway Lawrence must¡¯ve had over me. They say I did it for my family.

    I was a grown woman. I had seen where fanaticism like Lawrence¡¯s led. I could kill and reshape life with a touch. I should have been able to stand up to an old man.

    ?

    I have to thank Timothy Valour for the exile he found for me and the babies. Better than I deserved, after I told him about what Lawrence and I had done. Gove Peninsula, the Northern Territory. It was probably the wildest place left in all Australia, and so unlike Western Australia. In the NT, the air was so saturated with humidity, you felt like you were drowning in a warm sea. The beaches and waterways were haunted by box-jellyfish and crocodiles, and clouds of mozzies swarmed any exposed flesh that wasn¡¯t soaked in insecticide. Even the dirt was a different vintage up there, less red than back home. There were only two seasons in the NT: wet and dry; three if you counted the build up. The sun burned too hot for anything more nuanced.

    I was technically on attachment with a mission to the Yirrkala people, at least until I got tired of the Anglican busybodies and set up shop myself. It was not a good time for the locals, though little of the last three hundred years has been. In 1963, while the world was panicking about broken bombs, much of their land had been handed over to the Nabalco mining corporation for exploitation. The Yirrkala had sent two petitions framed in painted bark to the government, asserting their ancient claim to the land. It was the first time the Australian Commonwealth even acknowledged an Aboriginal system of law, but it did them no good. For impoverishment, confiscation of territory and children, and dehumanization in the eyes of the powers that be, there was nothing super to be done. But at least I could help close the health gap just a little.

    It was a week or so before Christmas, in the late evening. I was sitting on my porch, nursing a cup of tea and reading We of the Never Never, when I heard Old Bev calling my name.

    ¡°Miss Winter, Miss Winter!¡±

    The old woman came running out of the dark, her long floral dress whipping around her heels.

    I shot out of my chair. Bev was one of the first locals I had met in Arnhem Land. She was about seventy years old¡ªnot even she knew her precise birthdate¡ªhad spent much of her youth in mission schools and cleaning up after white folks, and seen three of her grandchildren taken by the government. She did not frighten easily. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Bev? Is someone hurt? Sick?¡±

    She took me by the arm, pulling me down the front steps. ¡°No.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Not yet, I mean. There¡¯s a crazy flying white fella down on the beach6.¡±

    ¡°Flying¡ªyou mean a super?¡±

    Bev rolled her eyes, her stride quickening. ¡°Yes!¡±

    ¡°What do you want me to do about it?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s your mob! You can tell him to clear off. Or least not make any trouble.¡±

    ¡°¡­You think I¡¯m a super?¡±

    Bev smirked at me. ¡°You are a very bad fake-doctor.¡±

    To be fair, neither was my only competition in that area. I reminded myself never to assume I was smarter than these people.

    Bev led me down to the edge of the beach. I spotted him immediately.

    I imagine none of you reading will remember a sky without him. The marshal of powers, the man of steel, the first utopian.

    There, on the sands, stood the Flying Man.

    ?

    Eliza crept slowly towards the Flying Man, leaving Old Bev to watch from the trees. She couldn¡¯t imagine he didn¡¯t already know they were there, but she was hardly going to stroll up to him, was she?

    She was a little surprised. She had always assumed on some level that the Flying Man would be gigantic, like Ralph Rivers, but he was simply¡­ tall. Quite tall, but just tall. He wasn¡¯t even bulky. His body was beautifully put together, she could see that, but it was a very Greek kind of beautiful. For a moment, Eliza was unsettlingly reminded of old propaganda about the Aryan ideal. Except¡­ his hair was so curly. Like gold ringlets. And were those white bell-bottoms he was wearing?

    ¡°Good evening, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Eliza froze mid-step, like she was a cat-burglar from a bad cartoon caught in the act.

    The Flying Man didn¡¯t appear perturbed by the healer¡¯s behaviour. If anything, his attention seemed mostly devoted to the dark waves pawing at the shore, and the distant lights of some ship straddling the horizon.

    ¡°Uh, hello? The Flying Man, right?¡± The nickname sounded like an insult as soon as it left Eliza¡¯s mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI mean¡­ what do you like to be called?¡±

    The Flying Man smiled, extending a hand. ¡°Joe.¡±

    Despite herself, Eliza found herself smiling. ¡°Joe? Why?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just my name. Well, one of them. The other one would make your teeth hurt, sorry.¡±

    He sounded American, but¡­ off. Eliza took his hand and shook it. She wondered if her power would work on him. It couldn¡¯t be that easy, could it? ¡°Eliza Winter, pleased to meet you. So, what brings you to Arnhem Land?¡± She looked about the beach. ¡°There isn¡¯t a supervillain around, is there? Tidal wave heading our way?¡± She wasn¡¯t sure if she was joking.

    The Flying Man (Eliza couldn¡¯t think of him as ¡°Joe¡±) shook his head. ¡°Far as I know, you¡¯re good. I just got done pulling a submarine out of the ocean,¡± he said it like it was nothing, ¡°thought it time for a break. And Australia is very tectonically stable.¡± He tapped his purple booted foot in the sand. ¡°It¡¯s nice not feeling the earth move so much under your feet, you know?¡±

    Eliza did not in fact, know that.

    The Flying Man squinted at her. ¡°You a super?¡±

    Eliza found herself blushing. ¡°How do people keep figuring that out?¡±

    The Flying Man shuffled his feet, fingering the hem of his cape. ¡°Oh, sorry. I can see¡­ a lot.¡±

    Suddenly, Eliza thought he seemed a lot more like a Joe.

    It also seemed he couldn¡¯t help himself. ¡°Something to do with biology?¡±

    She nodded. ¡°I heal. Other things, too, but that¡¯s what it boils down to.¡±

    Joe sat down in the sand. ¡°You the doctor around here?¡±

    Eliza joined him. ¡°That I am.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°People around here don¡¯t have very much. A lot of folks with powers like yours would only heal millionaires¡ªpeople who could pay your worth. It¡¯s good seeing a super use their powers this way.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know me. It¡¯s all fake.¡±

    And so, Eliza explained herself. She explained Danzig, the camps, Mengele, the Institute and stirrupculture. She even explained poor Adam Sinclair.

    By the time she was done, Eliza was heaving against the Flying Man¡¯s diamond, his wine-coloured cape around her shoulders. There were tears she hadn¡¯t noticed running down her cheeks.

    She looked up into the Flying Man¡¯s moss green eyes. She had been expecting to find anger there, or disgust.

    Instead, Joe just looked sad.

    ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯ve suffered. Terribly.¡±

    Anger rose in Eliza. She clutched at the white fabric of the Flying Man¡¯s stupid costume, growling, ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening? All those things I¡¯ve done. The people I¡¯ve hurt.¡±

    ¡°Tragic, yes. But it still only made you miserable.¡±

    Eliza stood up, walking away from the man. ¡°But that¡¯s the thing! Ever since I left, since I arrived here¡­ I¡¯ve been happy! I¡¯ve made friends! I like my work! Even looking after five bloody babies! I don¡¯t deserve it.¡±

    She felt a hand on her shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯ve made mistakes, too, Eliza. I¡¯m not going to disrespect you or Adam or any of the others you¡¯ve told me about by saying they¡¯re the same as yours, but I know what it feels like. To want to crawl into some dark hole and never be happy again. But I¡¯ll tell you what, that helps no one. You¡¯re out here, making people¡¯s lives better. That¡¯s a damn sight better than you rotting in a cell somewhere.¡±

    ¡°A few good deeds don¡¯t make up for a life.¡±

    ¡°But one sin¡ªeven a thousand of them¡ªdoesn¡¯t erase the good.¡±

    Gently, the Flying Man turned Eliza around to face him. ¡°Eliza, you told me you expected to live a long time. Looking at you, I believe it. You know what immortality means? It means a lot of chances to screw up. My advice, Miss Winter: keep doing what you¡¯re doing. Grab onto whatever happiness you can find. You¡¯ll last longer if you do¡ªhelp more people. And you deserve a bit of that for you¡¯re own sake.¡±

    Eliza looked at that earnest young man¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± she finally said. ¡°If you make me a promise.¡±

    ¡°Anything.¡±

    ¡°Go to the Institute. Help those children. I can¡¯t trust the state to do it. Not after what I¡¯ve seen. Timothy Valour is a good man, but he¡¯s up against politics. And Lawrence¡ªI don¡¯t know what he¡¯s capable of anymore. I thought, maybe, if I wasn¡¯t there to clean up for him, he might step back a bit, but I don¡¯t know.¡± She took his hand. ¡°Those children deserve better Joe.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to ask.¡± He started walking towards the sea. ¡°Keep your kettle filled, Eliza. I expect I¡¯ll be back soon.¡±

    ¡°Joe,¡± Eliza said. ¡°Before you go, could I ask you one thing?¡±

    He looked back at the woman. ¡°All ears.¡±

    ¡°¡­What¡¯s that diamond on your chest mean? I¡¯ve been wondering that for years.¡±

    Joe¡¯s eyes darted down at his insignia, then back up at Eliza. He laughed. ¡°Absolutely nothing. I thought it looked neat.¡±

    He took off, the flutter of his cape like the beating of wings.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ?

    He was too late.

 Chapter Forty: Damnatio Memoriae, or, True November

    It was Mary Gillespie who shook Lawrence awake.

    ¡°Lawrence!¡¯

    The old man stirred groggily, his nightcap draped over his face.

    Mrs Gillespie shook him again, shouting ¡°Laurie!¡±

    He jerked awake, blinking at his colleague before smiling bashfully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, my dear. Did I sleep through my alarm clock?¡±

    Mary still had her hair-curlers in. She was also very pale. ¡°?ywie¡¯s gone.¡±

    Lawrence squinted. ¡°What? Where?¡±

    ¡°And she¡¯s taken the babies.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    Therese Fletcher sat wrapped in a blanket at the bottom of the stairs, trying to clutch a mug of scotch coffee in trembling hands as she told the Institute¡¯s staff and young parents what had happened in the night. ¡°She was just rocking the new baby. I asked her if anything was the matter, and she just said she was sorry. I could smell booze on her breath, I think she was drunk.¡± She took a long, unsteady sip. ¡°Then she grabbed me by the throat, like she was choking me! I couldn¡¯t stay awake. I thought I was dying¡­¡±

    ¡°I think she did that to Artume as well,¡± Linus said, trying to keep his face very still while he looked down at his folded arms. ¡°She was in her hammock when Laurie and Mary woke me up. She¡¯d slept just a couple days ago.¡±

    ¡°Tiresias too, I¡¯ll wager,¡± Bryant Cormey added from beside Miss Fletcher, his arm drawn protectively around her shoulders. ¡°We couldn¡¯t even wake him up.¡±

    Maybe he¡¯s¡­ you know¡­  Reverb mimed swigging from a bottle.

    Cormey shook his head. ¡°I screamed in his ear. He¡¯s completely out of it.¡±

    Lawrence just stood there, trying to fit what his students and staff were saying into his reality. His ?ywie, assaulting her fellow new humans, stealing their children¡­

    Ex-Nihilo, on the other hand, did not just stand there. She pushed past everyone, yanked Therese to her feet, and shouted, ¡°How could you let her take them!¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry,¡± Miss Fletcher sobbed. ¡°I didn¡¯t know¡­¡±

    Bryant tried stepping between the woman and girl. ¡°You¡¯re being way out of line, young lady¡ª¡±

    Ex shoved him back, ghostly orbs circling her hands. ¡°You don¡¯t get to call me that when my bloody kid¡¯s been taken.¡±

    Stratogale put a hand on the other girl¡¯s arm. ¡°Lana, do you really think Miss Fletcher could¡¯ve stopped ?ywie? Or that any of us could have?¡±

    Lana looked at her sister. Dried trails of tears streaked the other girl¡¯s face. ¡°No,¡± she sighed. ¡°We couldn¡¯t have.¡±

    ¡°What should we do, Lawrence?¡± Mary asked him. ¡°The other children will be waking up soon. I can¡¯t even begin to figure out how we¡¯ll explain this¡­¡±

    ¡°Can we please hold off on that, Mary? At least for an hour? I need to call¡­ someone. Valour, the police, I don¡¯t know yet.¡±

    Mary nodded. ¡°Of course, sir.¡± Gently, she suggested, ¡°Maybe you go think that over while I keep an eye on this lot?¡±

    ¡°That seems wise. I¡¯ll get to it.¡±

    Lawrence climbed the stairs to his study. He tried not to look at the founders portrait as he entered.

    Almost half of us gone¡­

    Lawrence stopped still when he saw the letter lying on top of his desk. He had no doubt who it was from. He regarded the envelope like it was a dark totem: a paper prison for evil spirits.

    Lawrence approached it slowly, the way a man would a sleeping lion. He didn¡¯t know what he thought he would find inside the envelope. Guilty madness over Panoply¡¯s death? The manifesto of some new, secret ideology brought to the surface by this awful month? A murder-suicide note?

    Instead, he found this:

    Dear Laurie,

    First, I must assure you the little ones will not be harmed. I do not know yet if I will be able to find anyone better equipped to look after the children, but I will care for them as long as they still need me.

    It is a cruel thing I am doing, I know, taking them from their mothers and fathers like this. But they were the ones I had to save from you first.

    A long time ago, when David (and yes, that is his name) was still just an idea, I asked how what we would be doing was different from my old masters had dreamed. You told me we would only be adding to the beauty and diversity of the next generation. That we did not destroy.

    Except things didn¡¯t turn out that way, did they? We have destroyed childhoods, and taken away the choices of our students. We shut out the world, and told the children this farm was all they had. You may say we didn¡¯t coerce the girls we made mothers, or the boys we forced on them, but I¡¯m not sure how you can believe that anymore. Even if we didn¡¯t, they were children. How could they have said no?

    We destroyed Adam Sinclair because he was an inconvenience. Because he separated you from the powers. But those children are precious and irreplaceable, even without their powers. Adam was precious. We are more than what we can do. I¡¯m not sure when you forgot that. Maybe when you decided Hugo had to be a superman to be part of our family, no matter how much pain it caused him.

    There¡¯s still time, Lawrence. We can both still do the right thing. Stop the stirpiculture; turn yourself in; let the children be children; stop trying to make them the future you dream of. Maybe then, when all lights fade for us, we can go into the shadows without this on our shoulders.

    If you love us, let us go.

    Eliza.

    Lawrence screwed up the note. He never wanted to look at it again. He reached for his phone, but he stopped just short.

    What would happen if clumsy, human authorities caught up with ?ywie? Policemen or soldiers pointing their guns in the faces of scared, new human infants. The thought made Lawrence shudder.

    That somehow wasn¡¯t the worst outcome. What if ?ywie was captured? Interrogated?

    Lawrence gripped the edge of his desk, breathing slowly.

    No, the risk was too great.

    ¡°Have you called someone, Dr. Herbert?¡± Mrs Gillespie asked from the doorway.

    Lawrence swallowed. Mary rarely used his title out of earshot of the children. ¡°Yes. I gave the DDHA a message to pass along to Timothy. I can¡¯t imagine the urgency escaped my voice.¡±

    Mary nodded. ¡°I hope he handles this gently. The police?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°No. I decided that wasn¡¯t  prudent. We don¡¯t want a mob of scared Northamites trying to hunt down our ?ywie.¡±

    Mary inhaled. ¡°The odd thing is, I can¡¯t even be angry at her. What must be going through that poor girl¡¯s head.¡±

    ¡°Hopefully, she¡¯ll be able to tell us soon. Grief, maybe? We both know what too much death does to people.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯ll go check on Tiresias. See to breakfast. We can¡¯t let things fall apart.¡±

    Once Mary Gillespie was out of sight and the door closed, Lawrence let go of the crumpled stationary he had been gripping. He hated lying to Mary more than anyone, but she would understand once it was all sorted out.

    This was the right way to handle it, Lawrence was sure. Once ?ywie had time to think about what she was doing, she would come home. There was no chance of her going to the authorities. Not with the part she had played in the stirpiculture, or Adam¡¯s demise.

    It wasn¡¯t the first time Herbert Lawrence underestimated Eliza Winter¡¯s basic decency, but it would be the last.

    ?

    ¡°Why do you think she did it?¡±

    Nobody in the barn had an answer for David. Last night, ?ywie had seemed like one of the unchanging facts of the New Human Institute. Now, she was gone. Gone in a way somehow deeper and more frightening than even Basilisk. Basil had wanted to be gone from the world altogether. ?ywie, it seemed, just wanted to be gone from the Institute. Away from all of them.

    Except, not quite.

    ¡°Why did she take the babies?¡± Mabel wondered. A bedraggled magpie sat perched on her hair, trying fruitlessly to dry sodden wings. ¡°I mean, what¡¯s she doing with them?¡±

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re her¡­ guns?¡±

    The other four Watercolours all looked at Elsewhere. The attention made him squirm. ¡°So, if the coppers catch up to her, she could make Ophelia clap and¡ªyeah.¡±

    ¡°I guess,¡± Mabel said. ¡°I just don¡¯t get why she didn¡¯t take anyone bigger. Like one of us¡­¡±

    Growltiger broke the silence that followed. ¡°I liked ?ywie.¡±

    David shot the other boy a questioning look.

    He shrugged. ¡°I just wanted to say, she was always really nice.¡±

    Mabel nodded. ¡°Yeah. I never knew my mum, but I think ?ywie was nearly as good.¡±

    ¡°She made me strong.¡± Myriad added.

    Nobody but David really got that. Arnold at least didn¡¯t question it. He¡¯d had years to get used to Allison saying things he didn¡¯t understand.

    ¡°And her classes were fun,¡± Billy said, adding solemnly, ¡°Even if she didn¡¯t like Famous Five.¡±

    David found himself giggling. ¡°Oh, she hated those books.¡± He hopped to his feet, launching into an impressive mimicry of his English teacher. ¡°Can you blame me? Those books hate independent girls and anyone from east of Sussex. And well¡­¡± He pointed grandly at himself. ¡°Mich selber.¡±

    The others laughed. David did, too. Then, for the first time since his eyes changed, he cried.

    ?

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re still doing this,¡± Melusine said as she watched Lawrence straighten his tie.

    ¡°This?¡± he replied, playfully waving the purple strip at the nereid. ¡°I know it¡¯s stuffy, but it¡¯s tradition.¡±

    Melusine shook her head in disbelief. ¡°This party! After everything that¡¯s happened!¡±

    Lawrence frowned. ¡°I know this month has been trying¡ª¡±

    Melusine shouted, ¡°Trying? We¡¯re in mourning! ?ywie kidnapped some of our kids half a week ago! And you want us to celebrate?¡±

    ¡°And how will sulking fix that?¡±

    ¡°Tiresias hasn¡¯t woken up in three days. He needs to see a doctor.¡±

    ¡°Mrs Gillespie is keeping him fed and hydrated. You really think human medicine can undo ?ywie¡¯s efforts?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t know. It¡¯d be better than just leaving him in his room and spooning him baby food!¡± Melusine¡¯s voice grew quiet. ¡°And the girls will be needing checkups. And a midwife, now that ?ywie¡¯s gone.¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°Too much of a risk. A midwife would ask questions.¡±

    Melusine glared. Lawrence didn¡¯t notice the contents of his liquor cabinet starting to bubble in their bottles. ¡°And that¡¯s more important than the girls? Or their babies?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so melodramatic, Melusine. ?ywie left our mothers in top shape. And women have been giving birth unassisted for thousands of years. Why, the ?Kung<sup>1</a></sup>¡ª¡±

    ¡°We are not African bushmen, Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°If complications arise, we could have Haunt phase out the children. A posthuman solution to an age old problem. Much preferable to a caesarean, I should think.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Melusine gave the incongruously empty space on the study wall a long, hard look. The portrait artist had completely botched her eyes. ¡°You know, I¡¯m beginning to wonder if it¡¯s time to move on from the Institute.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s fingers froze. ¡°Are you sure that would be wise, Melusine?

    Melusine very deliberately quirked her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m sanctioned, and a citizen. I can go where I like.¡±

    ¡°And you would be willing to leave Maelstrom behind?¡±

    Melusine blinked. For a second, her eyes were white. ¡°David would be coming with me.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s as much our child as he is yours, Melusine.¡±

    Fran?oise stalked towards the office door. ¡°I¡¯m his mother. And the only other person here with any claim to him is gone.¡±

    She slammed the door behind her.

    Lawrence sighed. He was counting out the seconds so he and Melusine wouldn¡¯t run into each other on the stairs when his phone rang.

    ¡°New Human Institute, Dr. Herbert Lawrence speaking.¡±

    Timothy Valour¡¯s voice crackled over the line, ¡°Hello, Lawrence.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s breath caught in his chest, but he recovered fast. ¡°Ah, good to hear from you, Tim. Is this about the inspection? Still on the 10th, correct?¡±

    A breath hissed down hundreds of miles of wires. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t. Me and the wife had a visitor last night. Six of them, actually. Eliza dropped in.¡±

    Lawrence couldn¡¯t speak.

    ¡°We had a lot to talk about, Laurie. Some developments at your school I wasn¡¯t made aware of. If half of what Eliza says is true¡­ I¡¯m not sure I have the words.¡±

    ¡°¡­Where is she? What have you done with her?¡±

    ¡°You¡±¡ªthe word was sharp, sudden, followed by a short silence as the man forced the calm back into his voice¡ª¡°don¡¯t get to ask that sort of question, Lawrence. Not anymore. Eliza is fine. She and the children are on their way somewhere quiet and safe. And far away from you.¡±

    Even over the old phone-line, Lawrence couldn¡¯t mistake the quaver in the old soldier¡¯s voice. That shaky self-control that was probably more exhausting than running a marathon, and likely the only thing keeping Valour from throwing something, if he hadn¡¯t already.

    ¡°You know, Lawrence, I always knew you were an odd bloke. But I also thought you cared about those kids. Loved them, even. This¡ªit never even occurred to me you could think of this. All those kids I let you take on. I thought they were going somewhere better¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡ªlisten¡ªI¡ª¡±

    ¡°There it is!¡± Valour barked. ¡°You can¡¯t even deny it! I wanted to believe Eliza was lying. I didn¡¯t know why she would make up something like this, but I still hoped. But those babies. Where else could they have come from? One of them flies, Lawrence, just like Sadie. The birds in our garden kept landing in her little hands¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s more than you understand, Tim¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve listened to enough of your speeches, Lawrence. There¡¯s nothing you can say that¡¯ll make this alright. All these years, you¡¯ve looked down on me for doing my best, while you molest your girls just to see what happens! Enough, Lawrence! The New Human Institute is done.¡± He spoke the school¡¯s name like it had curdled in his throat.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re finished, Lawrence. The inspector will be assessing the students for transport to a new facility come New Year¡¯s.  They will be cared for, trained humanely, and not treated like cattle by some old bastard with too much Wells on the brain. If you care at all for them, I suggest you don¡¯t make it any more traumatic than you already have. Given what Eliza told me, I¡¯m not sure what we¡¯ll be doing with Moretti and your staff. You, you should be glad they¡¯re phasing out hangings. I for one know that if I weren¡¯t a civil servant, I¡¯d be heading across myself. To see for myself or to shoot you, I don¡¯t know. Thank God Eliza¡¯s conscience woke up. Goodbye, Lawrence. I¡ªI wish I had known your heart better.¡±

    The long full stop of the disconnect tone.

    Lawrence¡¯s hand was shaking when he put the phone back on its reciever. Fumbling, he managed to open his liquor cabinet and pour a drink, drops of amber spilling onto the dark wood of his desk. Two full measures. Then another.

    He gulped it down. Then, he put Timothy Valour¡¯s call away, in the same dusty place he had already hidden Eliza, Tiresias, Adam Sinclair, and a hundred other things. He had a party to go to.

    ?

    The November birthday party was waiting for Lawrence when he emerged grinning from the Big House. Children in intermediately formal outfits milled about white-sheeted snack tables overseen by Miss Fletcher and Mr. Cormey while Linus manned the barbecue. Mary Gillespie, saint that she was, was up in Tiresias¡¯ room, watching over his sleeping form.

    One table was heavy with presents. They weren¡¯t so much gifts for the individual birthday celebrants as they were for the whole student body, but Lawrence stood by the ritual.

    Behind that table stood three high backed chairs, in which sat Myriad, Maelstrom, and Artume: two newly minted nine year olds and a fifteen year old, plus the child growing within her.

    There would have been four, if little Chorus was still here.

    The birthday children were all dressed in white, like on the naming days, with flowers braided in their hair. Lawrence liked to think Graves would have been chuffed by that<sup>2</a></sup>.

    As he walked over to them, though, Lawrence couldn¡¯t help but notice most of his students were still in poor spirits. They listlessly chewed junk-food and carried on grunted half-conversations amongst themselves.

    He passed Windshear lying on her belly in the dirt, absently sending tiny dervishes sporting through the dust while Haunt¡¯s blueprint floated lazily in still tides of earth. Britomart was using a chunk of brick as a stress-ball. Metonymy in particular looked very out of sorts, sitting all hunched in on himself. The only children who appeared to be making an effort were ¨¥¨­s and Growltiger, the former creating elaborate tunnels of light for the marbles that rained from the other¡¯s silver cloud.

    Frankly, Lawrence was disappointed in them. All the effort he and the other teachers had put in for today. And who knew if there would even be¡ªno, he wouldn¡¯t let Valour¡¯s threats pollute things. Not today.

    The old man slapped Maelstrom on the shoulder, asking, ¡°So, did you three feel any different when you woke up?¡±

    Maelstrom shrugged, white petals shaking in his black locks. ¡°My birthday was a week ago.¡±

    ¡°Two days before that,¡± Myriad added, before poking her tongue at Maelstrom. He didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    ¡°Second of the month,¡± Artume said.

    Lawrence frowned, but his smile reasserted itself quickly. ¡°You know, we in the west are actually in the minority celebrating the passage of age on one¡¯s actual birthday.¡±

    The children didn¡¯t respond.

    Suppressing a mutter, Lawrence turned to the milquetoast crowd and cleared his throat.

    No response. Lawrence did it again, louder.

    It was less that the students and staff turned their attention to Lawrence and more they took the excuse to cease what little activity they were engaged in. Still, he launched into his speech:

    ¡°The most wonderful and tragic thing about childhood is its finity. With Maelstrom, I have at least had the privilege of watching his journey from the very beginning.¡±

    The boy shuffled in his chair.

    ¡°As for Myriad, I have been less fortunate. I have known her for less than a year, and already she is growing up before my eyes.¡± He turned to address the two nine year olds directly. ¡°In some cultures, ten marks the beginning of adulthood. In a way, for you two, this is your last year of true childhood.¡±

    Myriad felt queasy.

    ¡°And you, Artume.¡± He took the teenager¡¯s hand. ¡°We don¡¯t celebrate just a girl¡¯s birthday, but a woman¡¯s. A woman truly unique in the history of this world, helping make the next generation of her kind even more beautiful.¡± Still holding Artume¡¯s hand, Lawrence looked back at the crowd and smiled indulgently. ¡°Not without the help of our Metonymy of course.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    The word was quiet, but in the hot summer silence, everyone heard it.

    ¡°¡­Pardon?¡± Lawrence asked.

    Metonymy stood up. His eyes were welling, while his whole body shook like he was at the centre of a private earthquake. ¡°Don¡¯t talk like this is great! Sheilah¡¯s pregnant.¡± He shouted, ¡°Because I raped her!¡±

    There were gasps. ¨¥¨­s looked questioningly at Growltiger. ¡°What¡¯s ¡®rape¡¯?¡±

    The other child shrugged. He didn¡¯t know either. Sounded bad, though.

    There was no wind to blow the words way. They hovered in the air between Metonymy and Lawrence like tense wasps. No one dared speak.

    Lawrence stammered. ¡°I¡ªyou¡ª¡±

    He was interrupted by Artume pulling her hand back. ¡°Bran, you didn¡¯t rape me.¡± She walked over to his side, pulling him into a hug. ¡°You¡¯re my best mate. You¡¯d never do something like that.¡±

    Lawrence was relieved. Name-slip aside, at least Artume was talking sense.

    She glared at him. ¡°He raped us.¡±

    Lawrence felt over two dozen pairs of eyes on him. The children, it seemed, were finally eager to hear him speak.

    ¡°I¡¯ve never forced you children into anything,¡± he lied, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. ¡°You¡¯ve always had a choice.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t make it sound like a choice,¡± Myriad mumbled from her seat of honour. ¡°That night in the nursery, you said ¡®One day, your children will sleep here.¡¯ And you didn¡¯t say ¡®if you want to have them.¡¯¡±

    ¡°That¡ªI will admit, I could have worded that better. But have I ever said you children had to take part in stirpiculture?¡±

    ¡°Laurie, mate, you didn¡¯t have to.¡± Linus had abandoned his post at the barbecue. Lawrence could already smell the sausages and steaks burning. ¡°Most of these kids were in the asylums before you came along. I was on the streets. I don¡¯t even wanna talk about some of the others. We¡¯d have done anything to not go back. To not disappoint ya.¡±

    Lawrence looked at the young man. He didn¡¯t look angry. If anything, he just looked sad. ¡°Laurie, would you really have let it be if I said no? If Met or Gwydion said no?¡±

    ¡°¡­Of course I would.¡±

    ¡°Do you think you could still say that if I was singing? Really singing?¡±

    The headmaster straightened himself. Clearly the children were losing perspective. ¡°I can understand your feelings, Linus. But you boys can¡¯t pretend you didn¡¯t show some¡­ enthusiasm for the job.¡±

    Linus sighed.

    ¡°What?¡± said Bran. ¡°You mean it felt good? Well, yeah, it kinda did. It kinda felt really good for one second. Sheilah is pretty and that¡¯s just what happens. But that doesn¡¯t mean you don¡¯t feel rotten inside. It makes it worse.¡±

    Artume¡¯s grip around her friend tightened, but her eyes were still fixed on Lawrence. ¡°You know, Bran, I think the married days are how he gets his jollies. Is it, Laurie? Do you think about us at night?¡±

    Right. Lawrence stalked towards the drinks table, picking the silver ladle out from the punch-bowl. He never liked using metal, but this needed to be immediate.

    He ran towards Bran and Sheilah, unable to contain a yell. The children braced themselves, still holding onto each other.

    There was a blast of cold air, and the blow didn¡¯t come.

    David, bare and icy, stood between the man and his schoolmates, a small, carved hand holding onto Lawrence¡¯s wrist.

    ¡°Knew he was going to do something dumb,¡± Allison said archly from her throne. ¡°His song sounds like glass breaking.¡±

    It took Lawrence a moment to realize who the girl was talking about.

    David resumed flesh and blood, making his teacher stumble backwards, if only from surprise.

    ¡°No more,¡± the boy said, his voice calm and steady. ¡°No more hitting. No more making us feel bad all the time. No more ¡± He looked around at the other children, asking, ¡°You know what the really dumb thing is? The thing I should¡¯ve realized ages ago?¡± He pointed at Lawrence, frowning with a kind of disdain the old man had before only seen from his mother. ¡°He can only hurt us because we let him. He¡¯s just a man. A mean, old man with a stick.¡±

    Lawrence glanced towards Melusine, standing at the snack table between the human teachers. ¡°Rein in your son.¡±

    Fran?oise smiled, the way a lioness watching her cub stalk a gazelle might have. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Laurie. That sounds very old human.¡±

    Therese looked wide-eyed at her. Cormey was glaring. ¡°Mels, you aren¡¯t seriously suggesting¡ª¡±

    Fran patted her and Cormey on their shoulders. ¡°Come on, you two.¡± She began to lead them towards the Big House. ¡°The three of us are going to have a glass of wine, and leave the children to sort this thing out with Laurie.¡± She looked back at him. ¡°That seems like the posthuman way to go about it.¡±

    Right, thought Lawrence. If Maelstrom¡¯s mother won¡¯t remind him¡­

    He made to swing again, but the ground turned to air beneath him, and Lawrence was buried up to his shoulders like an angry Oxfordian mo¡®ai.

    Haunt was looming over him. ¡°Huh. Twice in two months. Shit luck, innit¡¯ Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°Haunt, I implore¡ª¡±

    He almost choked on the mouthful of dirt Haunt kicked in his face.

    ¡°It¡¯s Tom, mate.¡± He knelt down, and began to talk loud enough everyone couldn¡¯t help but hear him. ¡°You know, Laurie, I¡¯ve been thinking about ya lately. I¡¯ve also been thinking about the mob up at Wandering. A lot in common, you and them.¡±

    Lawrence spat out enough soil to retort, ¡°Haunt¡ª¡±

    ¡°Tom.¡±

    ¡°¡­My boy, you can¡¯t possibly be comparing me to those racist, chauvinistic¡ª¡±

    ¡°But I am, Lawrence! You¡¯re all just a buncha old, rich whitefellas telling anyone who ain¡¯t as old, rich, white, or fella as them what to do!¡± He leapt to his feat, asking his peers, ¡°And how much sense does that make? We¡¯re meant to be the next step in evolution! Supers! We¡¯ve all read comics, haven¡¯t we?¡±

    A loud, raucous melody of ¡°yeah!¡± and ¡°yes!¡± in a dozen different pitches and rhythms.

    ¡°Does Superman have some old git telling him if he can go out with Lois Lane?¡±

    ¡°No!<sup>3</a></sup>¡±

    ¡°Does Captain Marvel need anyone¡¯s<sup>4</a></sup> permission to say his magic word?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± interspersed with a few shouts of ¡°SHAZAM!¡±

    ¡°Does Batman¡¯s butler set his bedtime?¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± Mabel chimed in, ¡°Batman doesn¡¯t have any superpowers.¡±

    Haunt¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Doesn¡¯t he? Well, does Wonder Woman let a man tell her what to do?¡±

    The girls shouted the loudest. ¡°No!¡±

    Satisfied, Haunt bent back down, hovering his index and pointer fingers just in front of Lawrence¡¯s forehead. ¡°You know, I could stir your brains around a bit. Don¡¯t know if it¡¯d kill ya, but you¡¯d definitely not be you afterwards. Have to be an improvement.¡±

    Lawrence remembered Eddie Taylor. ¡°Ha¡ªTom¡ªyou can¡¯t!¡±

    Haunt¡¯s fingers drifted closer to Lawrence¡¯s skin. ¡°I dunno, Laurie,¡± he said, almost soberly. ¡°Couple of years ago I didn¡¯t think I could walk through walls¡­¡±

    Images of himself sprawled drooling in his office chair rushed past Lawrence¡¯s eyes. Those were the pleasant ones. The other children had started shouting again, jeering:

    ¡°Do it!¡±

    ¡°Stir him up good!¡±

    ¡°Me and Windy can braid his beard!¡±

    Lawrence screamed. Screamed until he thought his throat would bleed. He thrashed, trying to extricate himself from the heavy soil while he fruitlessly tried to sway his head out of the way.

    The boy¡¯s fingers brushed his skin and¡ª

    Haunt snatched his hand back. He was grinning. ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    Lawrence felt numb. He couldn¡¯t even feel the tears he was weeping. He was now almost glad most of his body was buried out of sight. All that was left inside him was fear of the fear itself.

    And the children were all laughing. Maelstrom was laughing at this.

    What Reverb said next barely registered after that:

    You should do it for real.

    All the children looked at the songstress. She looked more serious than death.

    ¡°No!¡± cried Billy. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ baddie stuff.¡±

    ¡°Be real messy,¡± Haunt said absently.

    Reverb¡¯s voice was like lightning in cold water. I¡¯m eighteen bloody years old, I have three babies! There are literal broodmares with less kids than me! And Laurie down there couldn¡¯t even keep his favourite from stealing one! That sounds like baddie stuff to me!

    ¡°Mavis, do we really wanna turn into murderers just to hurt Laurie?¡± Linus asked. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s already looking pretty miserable.¡±

    ¡°And he can¡¯t hurt you guys anymore,¡± David pointed out. ¡°What¡¯s he gonna do?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not prove some completely different set of dickheads right,¡± Stratogale added.

    ¡°The inspector¡¯s coming in ten days,¡± David said. ¡°If Lawrence is still around, we can tell him what he¡¯s been doing. Then, he¡¯ll be the one in trouble, and we won¡¯t have done anything wrong.¡± He looked down at Lawrence. He was still in shock, with tear-cut paths winding through the grime on his face. ¡°Okay, maybe a little. Still a lot less than him.¡± The boy smiled at the eldest students. ¡°We¡¯ll be free.¡±

    Reverb regarded the water-sprite. There was an unfamiliar ease in the boy¡¯s shoulders. As though, for once, he wasn¡¯t expecting a blow or a lecture.

    Fine. Reverb turned to Ex Nihilo. You alright with this, Lana?

    ¡°Sure,¡± she said. ¡°Now we don¡¯t have to dig a hole¡­ do we have to pull Laurie out right now?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± David said. ¡°He¡¯s fine there.¡±

    ¡°What if the inspector tries to haul as back to the asylums?¡± asked Gwydion.

    David shrugged. ¡°They can try.¡± The boy bounded over to Mabel, taking her hand. ¡°Me and Mabs are gonna go play in the river.¡± Briefly remembering his manners, he blinked at his friend. ¡°If you¡¯re up for it.¡±

    Mabel smiled. ¡°Sure, Dave.¡±

    Most of the children followed David and Mabel, even Windshear. Not Allison, though. She tugged on Arnold¡¯s arm.

    ¡°You wanna come smash up the Quiet Room?¡±

    Arnold thought about it. Thought about Adam. ¡°Sure,¡± he finally answered. Then he grinned. ¡°Race you there!¡±

    Allison slowed as they passed Lawrence. She was willing to forgo her massive lead.

    The buried man looked at her, pleadingly.

    There was a time, Allison recalled, when she was deathly afraid of a dark shape in the clearing beyond her bedroom window. It was like a great, shadowy octopus, lurking in the long grass. Eventually, her father had hoisted her under his arm, and dragged her kicking and screaming to confront the beast: a rotten tree trunk with its roots pointing towards the sky. She could never fear that old lump of wood after that.

    She swung her foot towards Lawrence, laughing as he flinched.

    You couldn¡¯t blame him for that. He was only human. And she was not.

 Chapter Forty-One: The Sleeper Awakes

    It didn¡¯t happen all at once, waking up. First there were twilight half-dreams, where either he almost broke the surface, or the waking world snuck across the border of sleep. Washed out, overlit snapshots of his bedroom, or the old lady watching over him like a fretful gargoyle. Bright, technicolour repeats of childhood were contaminated by the feel of cold water at his lips, or pressure on his bladder.

    Worst of all was when he managed to wake up completely¡­ except for his body. He would lie there, his waking mind a panicked pearl of awareness wrapped in a living statue, while an orange clad witch crouched atop his chest, smothering his screams with long, sharp fingers.

    But eventually, Alberto Moretti escaped his dreams.

    He was woken by the sounds of his door slamming shut and fading giggling. The salt sting of stale sweat and piss clawed at his nostrils. Fresh, afternoon sunshine was pouring in through his bedroom window, revealing the beginnings of dust forming over every surface.

    Alberto felt like his blood had turned to syrup. He tried to stretch, and winced at the protest of stiff bones and screaming skin. He felt under his singlet.

    Fucking bedsores? How long¡ª

    He couldn¡¯t remember going to bed. That itself wasn¡¯t so odd. If anything it was the norm. Except when that happened, he usually came to in his chair, or more occasionally on the roof, or even sometimes next to Fran?oise.

    It was then Alberto noticed the hard lump of warm metal wedged between his thighs. He peeked under the duvet.

    A bedpan. A goddamn bedpan. Why did they even own a bedpan?

    Alberto managed to clamber out of bed, groaning as his ulcerated skin stretched over his ribcage. He thought for a moment that he¡¯d have to suck it up and go see Eliza about it, but some muffled, insistent instinct told him that was a very bad idea.

    He also realized how thirsty he was. And not even for wine. For the first time in years, he was parched for water. Quickly pulling on some pyjama bottoms, he stepped out into the hallway.

    As Alberto made his way down through the Big House, the Institute¡¯s psychic landscape opened back up in his head. It took a few tries to get a clear view¡ªhis third-eye was full of sand.

    It was strange. On the grey sea of unconscious matter, a tiny convoy of aging ships floated in the shadow of a bright, young lighthouse. The adults were holed up together in a corner of the house, with the lone exception of Fran¡¯s sky-blue signal. She was lost in the children¡¯s constellation, girding the river like Orion¡¯s belt. He could also swear the baseline lights were flickering, but trying to focus on any of it made Alberto¡¯s head throb.

    Water. He needed water.

    The Institute¡¯s mental topography wasn¡¯t the only thing out of order. Alberto kept passing graffiti on the walls, drawn in crayon and texta or paint:

    AU WAS RIGHT!

    TALOS WAS HERE!

    Someone had tried to clean them off. Except for one message:

    BASIL LIVES!

    Woozily, Alberto said, ¡°Well that¡¯s just a lie.¡±

    The kitchens were a mess. Melted ice-cream stained the countertops; cupboards and pantries were flung open, their pots and pans scattered across the traffic-scratched wood floor, along with a newsagent¡¯s worth of sweet wrappers. Alberto didn¡¯t care, though. All that was on his mind was the sink.

    Alberto stuck his head under the running tap, slurping from it greedily. He felt like he had been waterboarded by the time he had had his fill, but his headache was already fading. But that left space for a realization.

    His connections were gone. The strings connecting him to almost everyone at the Institute had rotted in his sleep. He wasn¡¯t the boss of anyone anymore.

    Alberto was rooted to the spot. His fight or flight response was having a seizure. His skeleton felt like it was trying to escape.

    After a few seconds of that, though, he managed to get a hold of himself long enough to take stock. Judging by those bastard bedsores, he had to have been out for a few days, at least. And unless he was mistaken, he hadn¡¯t been beaten to death in his sleep. So either everyone felt really forgiving regarding the years of mind control and Alberto¡¯s night-time hobbies, or they didn¡¯t know yet.

    He could still salvage this. All he needed to do was give a lot of kids high-fives.

    Alberto caught his reflection in the sink. Grimacing, he scratched at his cheeks. He had a beard. Not only that, but some little shit had drawn a monocle around his eye. He looked like his dad.

    There was a point of light strobing through every colour of the rainbow (and more besides) in one of the bathrooms.

    There she is.

    Alberto sidled up to the bathroom door. The girl was definitely in there, and he could hear water running. His telepathy had recovered enough he could make out some of her surface thoughts:

    Meanie Cormey¡­ quiet juice¡­.

    Alberto opened the door to find Allison Kinsey shaking her hands dry. She was bare chested, her face and torso covered in elaborate if childish mock-tribal paint. To the esper¡¯s eyes, they clashed badly with the markings of her Socii. Maybe it was her attempt to replicate a tan. Whatever she had washed off herself had stained the water and soap-suds baby-blue.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    Before Alberto could get another word out, Allison had him backed against the wall, a sharp stick poking against his Adam¡¯s apple.

    ¡°The giant has awoken!¡±

    Alberto gulped. The lights behind the girl¡¯s eyes looked green and playful, but Alberto could never be sure with Allison. So many of her thoughts began in other people¡¯s heads. Her mind was like those ransom notes assembled out of magazine clippings: far from impossible to read, but sometimes Alberto had to squint. He decided to play it safe, wait for an opportunity to touch her.

    ¡°Uh, sure.¡± The spearpoint lowered, a good sign. ¡°How long was I out?¡±

    Allison bit her lip. ¡°Mmm, ¡®bout a week?¡±

    ¡°Christ.¡± He pointed to his marker made monocle. ¡°You do this?¡± he asked, trying and failing to keep the annoyance from leaking into his voice.

    Allison nodded. ¡°Yup.¡±

    ¡°You saw a fella in a week long coma, so you drew on his face¡­ why?¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°Dunno. Wasn¡¯t hurting anything.¡±

    Sure¡­

    ¡°So,¡± he scratched his face. ¡°Can I shave this off?¡±

    Allison drew her spear to her side, closing her eyes and nodding magnanimously. ¡°You may. Then I have to present you to the Queen.¡±

    Well, why not?

    Allison mushed Alberto out of the house and through the grass; technically at spearpoint, but that ended up being her pointing it forward while walking five feet behind him. Not that Alberto thought she couldn¡¯t mess him up badly from that distance. She had also insisted he preserve the monocle as much as possible.

    As they walked, Allison absently explained goings on at Institute in that frustrating, jabbering way children do¡ªtalking as though you already knew everything they did:

    ¡°¡­So David was all ¡®Rauugh, no more hitting!¡¯ and that was when Haunt put him in the dirt¡­¡±

    Alberto had a hard time believing Mealy of all people doing any of that, even after getting his eyes limed, but the snatches of memory Allison was throwing off bore it out.

    ¡°Wild.¡±

    They passed a rose-quartz statue of a terrified, bearded man buried in the ground up to his shoulders.

    ¡°Who did that?¡± Alberto asked.

    ¡°Me and Lana. We started after the real thing dug himself out.¡±

    ¡°Is it just a bust, or did you do the whole Lawrence?¡±

    ¡°The whole Lawrence,¡± Allison answered proudly. ¡°I know nobody but Haun¡ªTom can see the legs and stuff, but I¡¯d feel weird knowing they weren¡¯t there.¡±

    Alberto found himself smiling. ¡°Bet the old bastard didn¡¯t think his statue would turn out like that.¡±

    Allison giggled.

    Alberto had half-expected the other children to have all devolved into painted savages like his ¡°captor¡±. But most of the children playing by the river seemed as civilized as they ever were, if a bit grimy. After all, nobody was making them bathe. Linus perched on a raised chair like the one he had commandeered during the blackout, strumming his guitar and singing.

    ¡°In the summertime, when the weather is dry, you can stretch right up, and touch the sky<sup>1</a></sup>¡ªhey Ti¡¯s back!!¡±

    Alberto was surprised by how happy Lucius looked to see him. It wasn¡¯t even just him. A lot of the kids waved as the esper walked by. A few even ran up to say say hello, like Windshear:

    ¡°Hi, Ti!¡± The little girl staggered, only saved from falling on her face by a well timed gust of wind. She laughed. ¡°I thought you were deaaaaaad!¡±

    ¡°He was asleep, Windy.¡±

    Windy hiccuped. ¡°Same thing but with breaks!¡± She sucked on her bottom lip, before toppling over onto the grass. Curling up, she decided to stay there. ¡°I am the windy-queen¡­!¡±

    Snores.

    ¡°¡­Is she drunk?¡±

    ¡°Yup,¡± said Allison. ¡°She and Arn got into Laurie¡¯s liquor cabinet while he was in the ground. They mixed it with cordial, called it ¡®funny juice¡¯ and started selling it.¡± She poked Windshear with a toe. ¡°¡­And drinking it.¡±

    Alberto spotted Arnold Barnes walking with Talos. The other boy was in his machine form, painted to the gills with flames, dragons and other monsters. He looked like a race-car with legs.

    ¡°Listen,¡± Arnold was slurring. ¡°Captain Marvel could deafen¡­ could definil¡­ look, he could so beat up Marvelman.¡±

    Talos¡¯ synthesized voiced stuttered and buzzed like a broken record-player, elongating syllables and constantly alternating pitch<sup>2</a></sup>. ¡°You¡¯re ly-ly-lying ARNOLD. Captain Mar-Vell all fake magic, but Marvelman¡¯s got ATOmic powers. That means he¡¯s moreee real, so he would win!¡± The boy-robot¡¯s yellow glass eyes were flickering like broken bug zappers.

    Arnold frowned, swinging his arms wildly. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s it, you¡¯re toa¡ª¡±

    There was a green flash, and there was suddenly a pit where the teleporter had been standing.

    ¡°I¡¯m okay!¡±

    For the first time, Alberto felt true kinship with his people. Plus, they weren¡¯t pilfering his booze this time.

    The queen as it turned out was Mabel. She reclined on a storybook throne, waited on by nymphs and centaurs while doves held a laurel crown above her head.

    ¡°I kinda thought you were never going to wake up.¡±

    ¡°Well, here I am. So, you¡¯re the queen. How¡¯d that happen?¡±

    ¡°I said I was the new queen and beat up anyone who said I wasn¡¯t. Yesterday it was Windy. Before that, Allie I think.¡±

    Alberto raised an eyebrow. ¡°Windshear managed to beat Myriad?¡±

    Mabel waved her hand. ¡°Not really, she just kinda got bored and stopped saying she was queen. Not really a person kinda person.¡±

    ¡°Any reason she¡¯s the only one done up with paint and all that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Allie¡¯s weird. I think she¡¯s trying to be like David or something.¡±

    ¡°No arguing here¡­ hey, speaking of Mealy¡ª¡±

    ¡°David.¡±

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°¡ªDavid. You seen his mum anywhere?

    ?

    William ¡°Growltiger¡± St. George kicked and thrashed in the water, trying to keep his head above the river¡¯s grasp.

    ¡°Come on, Billy, you¡¯re doing great!¡± David said, sitting cross-legged on top of the water.

    Billy never should have told the other boy he couldn¡¯t swim.

    Fran?oise surfaced behind him. ¡°You need a break, sweetie?¡±

    Billy tried to nod without slipping under. A second later, a slab of ice floated up from under him. Instinctively, the boy shook the excess water out of his fur. ¡°What am I doing wrong?¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± said David as he slipped under the river¡¯s skin. ¡°You move your arms and legs a lot.¡±

    Billy supposed his friend was right. David and Fran¡¯s stroke was very heavy on full-body undulations. Dolphin-like, in a way. Effortless. The mother and son insisted it was learnable by rootstock humans. A less charitable boy than Billy might¡¯ve asked what business either of them thought they had teaching anyone how to swim.

    ¡°I guess. Least you and your mum don¡¯t have fur being all draggy.¡±

    Fran pulled herself onto the ice-platform beside Billy. ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that. You know what else have fur? Seals. They¡¯re fantastic swimmers.¡± She smiled wistfully. ¡°I used to race them when I was little.¡±

    She spotted a man on the shore. Tiresias. Alberto. ¡°Say, David. Why don¡¯t you show Billy the old pirate ship the big kids sunk?¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    ¡°But I want be able to breath.¡±

    ¡°David can make an air-bubble for you. Bit like Moses.¡±

    Billy¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Wow.¡± As primly as possible, he then proceeded to divebomb back into the water. David dipped after him.

    Fran smiled to herself. It wouldn¡¯t help Billy learn to swim much, but hopefully it would remind him why he had wanted to.

    She swam back to the riverbank. As she grew close, Alberto turned around.

    ¡°Are you going to explode me if I look at ya?¡±

    Fran chuckled, which did little to assuage the psychic¡¯s nerves. ¡°Eh, nothing you haven¡¯t seen before.¡± Despite that, when she stepped out of the water, ice-crystals hung off of her like a gown. ¡°I mean, remember your swimming lessons?¡± A wry grin. ¡°To start with, I mean.¡±

    Christ, they¡¯d been so young¡­

    Fran?oise hugged him. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re awake.¡±

    Alberto was almost too taken aback to slip his hooks in. ¡°Thanks. Glad you cared¡­ please let go, this is hell on my bedsores.¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry.¡±

    Once free, Alberto sat down. ¡°Things went a bit nuts while I was out, didn¡¯t they?¡±

    Fran?oise nodded, joining him on the ground. ¡°Yeah. I think we were due for it.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t say it isn¡¯t satisfying to see. Bet the old man¡¯s freaking out.¡±

    Fran laughed. ¡°He definitely is. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s left the house since the birthday party.¡±

    ¡°¡­Ophelia¡¯s gone, isn¡¯t she? Eliza took her.¡±

    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t really news to Alberto. Allison had mentioned what Eliza did like it was a footnote in the saga of David and Lawrence. Like his kid didn¡¯t matter. Or he wouldn¡¯t care. Even if Allison hadn¡¯t had explained, Ophelia¡¯s light was gone. A candle extinguished.

    Fran put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine what it must be like for you and Sadie. For any of you.¡±

    Of course she couldn¡¯t, Alberto thought. Eliza hadn¡¯t stolen her kid. Why hadn¡¯t she? She¡¯d taken all of Lawrence¡¯s other pet projects. Was it some kind of favouritism? Eliza showing her contempt for him? He wouldn¡¯t put it past her.

    ¡°I hope you see her again.¡±

    ¡°Me too.¡±

    He really did: not only his daughter, but also that thieving, Nazi witch, tied to a burning stake.

    Alberto groaned, his sores flaring up again.

    ¡°Want me to fix those?¡±

    David was standing on the dried mud, Billy drying himself off with a towel behind him.

    Alberto blinked. ¡°You can do that?¡±

    ¡°If you like.¡±

    Alberto folded his arms. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m game.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Take your shirt off.¡±

    Alberto really hoped this wasn¡¯t some weird revenge on David¡¯s part.

    The boy¡¯s eyes went milky. Long fingers of water rose from the river, reaching towards Alberto. He resisted the urge to flinch as they lapped at his sides, only to grunt when they tore themselves away like a plaster made of thorns.

    The pain left as soon as it came. It took the sores with it, leaving perfect, unblemished skin in their place.

    Billy oohed.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± Alberto said. ¡°How¡¯d you even do that?¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°I turn water into people all the time. How¡¯d you think I fix myself?¡±

    Fran?oise looked in awe. ¡°When did you figure that out?¡±

    ¡°While I was home.¡±

    ¡°Could you teach me?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Hi David!¡± Allison called from a hill, skipping down. ¡°Whatcha doing?¡±

    ¡°Teaching Billy how to swim.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re probably doing it wrong,¡± Allison said matter-a-factly. ¡°Want me to try?¡±

    Billy nodded slowly.

    As David went to join the other children in the water, he looked back at Alberto. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, about Ophelia. I was kinda looking forward to being a big brother. I¡¯ll miss her.¡±

    ¡°I know the feeling¡­ still, thanks.¡±

    Fran and Alberto sat together for some time, watching as the boys were subjected to Allison¡¯s collected knowledge of both water and pedagogy.

    ¡°You know,¡± Fran said. ¡°David could¡¯ve been our son.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you say that to Chen?¡±

    ¡°Well, he could¡¯ve been Chen¡¯s, too.¡± She smiled to herself. ¡°God, what kinda kid would we have had?¡±

    Alberto thought about it. ¡°¡­Namor, the Sub-Mariner!¡±

    They both laughed. In the distance, Linus started another song.

    ¡°Want to go get some funny juice?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d like that,¡± the psychic answered.

    Alberto had one of the best times of his life that night. It scared the shit out of him.

    ?

    ¡°This is getting ridiculous,¡± Bryant Cormey said.

    None of the other teachers sitting around the library table could disagree. Especially with the glowing blue bottles dangling around their necks.

    ¡°What the hell is the inspector going to think when he arrives?¡±

    Herbert Lawrence was trying very hard not to think about that.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s that dire,¡¯ Miss Fletcher said with the shaky optimism that betrays the truly terrified. ¡°Sometimes kids get a bit feisty. We¡¯re teachers, we¡¯ve all seen this before.¡±

    Bryant scowled. ¡°Feisty? Therese, it¡¯s like Lord of the Flies out there! Except instead of starting fires with a fat kid¡¯s glasses, they set us on fire with their eyes!¡± He fingered his bottle-amulet. Unlike everyone else¡¯s, it was only half full. ¡°Myriad was harassing me today. Had to chuck some quiet-juice on her.¡±

    Lawrence rubbed his temples. ¡°Is that really what we¡¯re calling it?¡±

    ¡°No more pouncey sounding than ¡®null-fluid¡¯, Laurie.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie folded her hands diplomatically. ¡°I feel like that was excessive.¡±

    ¡°She was baring her teeth at me!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a nine year old girl, Bryant, not a dog.¡±

    Bryant sniffed. ¡°I think the difference gets a bit academic when the kid has nearly thirty superpowers. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I believe in these children¡¯s potential as much as anyone here. But they need to be tamed before they can be great.¡±

    Therese rubbed her fingers. ¡°Oh, I mean¡ªisn¡¯t that a bit¡­ cynical?¡±

    ¡°Maybe, but so is history. Do you think our ancestors preferred toiling on farms to wandering through the forests? Breaking their bodies to grow food for kings and clerks? Of course they didn¡¯t. But if those kings and clerks hadn¡¯t reined them in, made them work against their impulses, we¡¯d still be huddling in caves.¡±

    Mary wrinkled her nose. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s the most¡ª¡±

    ¡°I agree with Bryant,¡± Lawrence declared.

    Everyone looked at the old man. Except Bryant. He just looked pleased with himself.

    ¡°It¡¯s our job to mold the children into the future. To make them what we ought to  have been. If we give into this tantrum, or in any way let ourselves appear weak¡ª¡±

    Mary ran her hands through her hair. ¡°Oh, Doctor, the children know we¡¯re weak. They¡¯ve seen through the curtain! They know there¡¯s nothing we can do to them. We can¡¯t smack them, and we can¡¯t force them to do anything they don¡¯t want. Even the blasted Quiet Room is out of the picture now!¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± interjected Therese, trying to be helpful. ¡°We still have its¡­ fuel?¡±

    ¡°If we have to walk around with bottles of tranquilizers around our necks,¡± Mary explained as patiently as possible, ¡°I think we should reconsider our vocation.¡± She tugged at her bottle¡¯s twine. ¡°I wish you wouldn¡¯t insist on us wearing these, Lawrence. It¡¯s humiliating.¡±

    ¡°For everyone¡¯s safety¡ª¡±

    ¡°The children won¡¯t hurt me. I¡¯d bet my life. And I don¡¯t think this is a tantrum. It¡¯s deeper than just moaning about eating their greens or going to bed when the sun¡¯s still up. The kids are unhappy. And they¡¯re only going to listen to us if they feel listened to as well.¡±

    ¡°Bloody ungrateful¡­¡± muttered Cormey. ¡°After everything Lawrence has done for these kids, they go wild because we ask them to go along with a perfectly natural process. Would they rather be back in the asylums?¡±

    Mary treated the young man to a proper schoolmarm glare. ¡°Problems, Mr. Cormey, don¡¯t stop being problems just because someone has it worse.¡±

    The old lady¡¯s words sparked in Cormey¡¯s mind. ¡°Actually, there¡¯s an idea. We could always tell the children we have the asylums on dial. Hell, maybe that is the place for some of them. I mean, are all the children really that indispensable to the project?¡±

    The room suddenly became a lot stuffier. Everyone keenly felt the sweat under their shirts.

    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Lawrence rumbled. ¡°Every one of those children is ¡®the project¡¯ in its entirety! There are no tiers. We do not grade members of our family. How could we even look them in the eye after making such a beastly threat?¡±

    Besides, the DDHA wasn¡¯t taking their calls anymore.

    Cormey shrank like a flower in the shadow of a great oak. ¡°Y¡ªyes, Lawrence. I¡¯m shouldn¡¯t have even suggested it.¡±

    Mary nodded. ¡°Glad you realise that, Bryant.¡± She got up from her chair, not looking very hard at Cormey. ¡°I¡¯m going to fetch us some more tea.¡±

    As Mary made her way to the kitchen (she really needed to tidy up in there, she reminded herself) she heard the front door clatter open and shut. A slurring, Italianate voice was singing:

    ¡°I am, you¡­ we¡­ you are Australiaaan¡­¡±

    ¡°Tiresias!¡±

    Alberto found himself crushed against the old woman¡¯s chest. ¡°Oh, my boy, we were so worried. Are you alright? Did you speak to the children at all?¡±

    Alberto tried not to breathe, lest his lungs impale themselves on his ribs. Mary hadn¡¯t hugged him like that since he was twelve. He still reckoned the bruises had only just started fading.

    Lawrence and the other teachers were drawn out by the commotion. Soon Alberto was bombarded with questions: ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us you were awake?¡± ¡°Did Eliza say anything to you?¡± ¡°What are they plotting out there?¡±

    ¡°Ease up, ease up, I tell ya, but first¡­¡± The psychic shook Cormey¡¯s hand. ¡°Good to see ya, Bryant.¡±

    Cormey was surprised. Usually he assumed Tiresias didn¡¯t know he existed.

    Alberto proceeded to kiss Miss Fletcher¡¯s hand. ¡°Incantato as always, Therese.¡±

    The young woman blushed.

    ¡°Anyway, yes, I¡¯m fine. The kids are fine, too. There¡¯s daily political violence, Linus has written a bunch of protest songs<sup>3</a></sup> (all bangers by the way), Maelstrom seems to have given up on clothes all together and taken up therapeutically drowning Growly, and half the children are drunk. Still, good day, really.¡±

    Mary couldn¡¯t quite process all that at once, so she went back to fussing over her ward. ¡°How are those bedsores, love? I am so sorry, we should¡¯ve turned you more, but with everything that was going on¡­¡±

    The poor woman sounded so contrite. Alberto raised a hand, ¡°It¡¯s fine, Mrs. G. Mealy fixed me up anyway.¡±

    Mary and Lawrence looked at each other, their eyes alight with scientific curiosity.

    ¡°Melusine talked about her father doing something similar,¡± Mary said, ¡°but I¡¯ve never seen it done.¡±

    ¡°Did her and Melusine display any other new powers?¡±

    ¡°All I know is they¡¯re both good at mixing cocktails,¡± answered Alberto. ¡°It¡¯s been a long day. Lawrence, do you mind if we talk in private?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Mary said. ¡°It¡¯s high time we retired for the night anyway.¡±

    Alberto and Lawrence started up the stairs to his study. As soon as they were out of earshot, the young esper whispered, ¡°The fuck have you gotten us into?¡±

    ?

    ¡°So, this is what made the Quiet Room work?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s bottle sat on his desk next to the fruit-bowl, the blue fluid within still glowing even under his office¡¯s bright yellow lights. Looking at it bugged Alberto. Somehow, it had less thought and wit than the average glass of water. It stirred up memories of his own stints in the Quiet Room: buried alive, crying in the dark¡­

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Lawrence. ¡°Did John Smith ever tell you where he got this?¡±

    ¡°Nope. Or I wasn¡¯t listening, take your pick.¡± Alberto generally tried not to notice the Physician as much as possible. The creature thought with every cell of his body, it was very disorientating.

    Lawrence slipped into his lecturer mode. ¡°Enlil, Tiresias. The world of your forebears. Every higher life form is psionically active<sup>4</a></sup>. The humans who were settled there had to become so just to keep up. A whole biosphere of creatures attempting to psychically subvert each other.

    ¡°There is one exception, though. An apex-predator, whose blood negates almost all of what we call powers. The Quiet Room has a heart that pumps the stuff. Myriad and Elsewhere didn¡¯t manage to vandalise that at least. The effect is much weaker without the intact chamber, but it¡¯s better than nothing.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating,¡± Alberto said flatly.

    ¡°While you were¡­ frolicking outside, did you manage to touch any of the students? Melusine?¡±

    The esper shrugged. ¡°A fair few.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you already know how¡­ urgent our situation is.¡± A nervous, nigh-hysteric smile. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine it¡¯s not clear from my thoughts. They¡¯re coming for us, Tiresias. Coming to break our family apart. Help us.¡±

    Alberto sat there, pondering. ¡°Lawrence, get your gun.¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°I said, get your gun.¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t feel any force acting upon him. It wasn¡¯t like there was anyone holding onto his arms. As steadily and smoothly as he would have poured himself a drink or picked up a pen, he pulled his desk-key from his pocket, unlocked the second drawer, and removed the Smith & Wesson Victory Model he kept there.

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Load it. One bullet.¡±

    Lawrence obeyed.

    ¡°Now put it against your temples.¡±

    He did, with no hesitation.

    ¡°You know what it¡¯s like, Lawrence? Being six years old, being used as long as you can remember, for reasons you don¡¯t understand. And then, you¡¯re taken from your home, your family, from everything you¡¯ve ever known. And then you realise, the bloke who did it, he doesn¡¯t even like you.¡±

    Lawrence couldn¡¯t scream. The best he could manage was an even, ¡°Tiresias, you can¡¯t possibly think¡ª¡±

    Alberto growled. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me! I can see your heart, Laurie! How can you possibly think I didn¡¯t know? Pull the trigger.¡±

    Lawrence did. An empty, stomach-churning click.

    ¡°You never liked my powers. Which is a shame seeing as that¡¯s pretty much all you see in us.¡± Alberto launched into his best pantomime of Lawrence, ¡°Telepathy is only good for subverting and controlling others. It has no place in a mature posthuman society.¡±

    ¡°I never said that!¡± protested Lawrence. Without being told, he pulled the trigger again. Another click.

    ¡°You never said it out loud, but I lost count how many times you thought it.¡± He laughed. It sounded like weeping. ¡°I was basically the prototype for Adam Sinclair, wasn¡¯t I? But you had a use for me, didn¡¯t you? When your perfect ones weren¡¯t behaving like good little posthumans should, I brought them into line!¡±

    ¡°You helped them see past their biases. Their doubts.¡±

    Alberto cackled. ¡°Oh, my God. You actually believe yourself when you spew that bullshit! I should write to Psychology Today or something. They¡¯d do a whole series on you. Pull the trigger.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s fingers felt like they were breaking. Click.

    ¡°I¡¯m still not sure how Ophelia happened. Not sure how that¡¯s possible, but I don¡¯t. Maybe you thought my powers would be more acceptable watered down with something pretty like talking to birds or flying. I¡¯m glad she did happen, though. That girl, she¡¯s something else.¡± A smile, warmer than usual, breaking into rage. ¡°And you let the kraut take her away from me! Pull the trigger.¡±

    The click brought Lawrence no relief. It just meant the bullet was rolling closer.

    ¡°That girl was the one part of me I liked, and she slipped right through your fingers. Christ, Laurie, three days without me, and you let everything fall apart.¡± He looked at the gun. ¡°You know what, we should play fair. Point it at me.¡±

    Lawrence aimed the pistol at Alberto¡¯s heart.

    ¡°God, so many warring impulses. If you shoot me, you¡¯re fucked, but at least you¡¯re fucked with honesty. No more lies, no more doublethink. Simple, complete doom.¡±

    ¡°Tiresias, we don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°My name is not ¡®Tiresias¡¯, Laurie. Pull the trigger.¡±

    Lawrence tried to close his eyes. He couldn¡¯t. He squeezed.

    Empty.

    ¡°Well, shit, I don¡¯t know whose luck is worse here. Put the gun back.¡±

    Lawrence knew what his student meant. He jabbed the barrel back against the side of his head.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve never felt a mind die. The blackshirts always took the poor bastards out of my sight when they topped them. Frankly, I¡¯ve never kept an ear out for it. Should be interesting.¡±

    Tears were blurring Lawrence¡¯s vision. Apparently mind control couldn¡¯t stop those. ¡°Alberto, please¡­¡±

    ¡°Pull the trigger.¡±

    Lawrence smushed the banana against his hair.

    ¡°Wha-what¡­¡±

    ¡°You know what the sad thing is?¡± Alberto asked. ¡°You know I can do this to you¡ªfor real¡ªbasically whenever I like. But I bet you¡¯re still going to ask for my help. Beg for it even. Just for the slightest chance I can see us through this.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s breath was like a storm forced through a wind tunnel. ¡°¡­Could you? Could you save us?¡±

    ¡°Maybe. I can see the path forward. It¡¯s not an easy one, Lawrence. It¡¯ll cut at your ankles and lead you through dark forests.¡± He leaned forward. ¡°But first, Lawrence, you¡¯ll have to say please.¡±

    Lawrence dropped the banana. ¡°Please, Alberto. Please show me the way.¡±

    Alberto stood up. ¡°Fine.¡± As he headed for the door, he said, ¡°Just so you know, that whole nightmare you just lived through? That¡¯s basically what you¡¯re asking me to do to all your ¡®children¡¯.¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t answer him.

    Alberto headed for the spare bedroom. He didn¡¯t want to have to deal with the bedpan or the sick scent permeating his room that night.

    He¡¯d lied, of course. In the storm of futures, the ones where the Institute outlived the year were so outlandish, they were in danger of being trampled by unicorns. But there were futures where he contained the situation¡ªwhere he impressed the DDHA enough that they decided he was an asset. Realpolitik could forgive a lot. It had forgiven Eliza, after all.

    Alberto honestly didn¡¯t like the idea of screwing with the others. Not anymore at least. He liked them more than they probably knew. More than he had known till today. Definitely more than he did bloody Laurie.

    But he liked his daughter more.

 Chapter Forty-Two: The Gold Rush

    ¡°So,¡± said Bryant Cormey, ¡°how do you think we should handle the kids?¡±

    Tiresias sat at the head of the dining table, nursing a flute of white wine. ¡°Glad you asked, Bryant.¡±

    It was strange, Cormey thought, having to treat the esper like an authority¡ªor at least an equal. He¡¯d always had mixed feelings about Tiresias. On the one hand, he dearly believed espers would be the true germ of the coming race¡ªan effortlessly cooperative and empathetic society. On the other hand, Tiresias.

    He then remembered who he was thinking about, and desperately tried to un-think that entire last paragraph.

    Cunt, Alberto thought, just loud enough for Cormey to hear him. He looked at Mrs Gillespie. ¡°Mrs G, how¡¯s the grocery situation?¡±

    Mary¡¯s expression was grave. ¡°Not good, I¡¯m afraid. Between poor Panoply and Basil, Eliza and the babies, and everything else going on, we haven¡¯t exactly found time to go food shopping. Plus, we still need to replace the truck.¡±

    Alberto shook his head, taking a sip from his flute. ¡°Wrong on both counts.¡±

    ¡°¡­We¡¯re not running out of food?¡±

    ¡°No¡ªI mean¡ªthis can work to our advantage. We all remember Gandhi, right? His big hunger strikes?¡±

    The teachers nodded.

    ¡°Well, his big mistake there was not making everyone else hungry.¡±

    Therese raised her hand like she were one of her students. ¡°Um, didn¡¯t Gandhi win out in the end?¡±

    ¡°Well, he would¡¯ve won faster if he did it my way.¡±

    ¡°What exactly are you suggesting, Tiresias?¡± Lawrence asked.

    ¡°These are little kids we¡¯re talking about. They¡¯ll fold as soon as the hunger pangs start.¡±

    Bryant nodded. ¡°Good point. It¡¯s a shame this didn¡¯t happen in the winter, really. The kids would all be huddled around the fireplace by now.¡±

    ¡°I reckon we take what¡¯s left in the fridges and cupboards, bag it all up, and dump it in the quiet juice puddle. We ought to gather up Windshear¡¯s snack caches, too.¡±

    ¡°Are we sure this is¡­ humane?¡± Miss Fletcher asked. ¡°I mean, these are growing boys and girls. And there¡¯s also the¡±¡ªfor whatever reason, she whispered¡ª¡°mothers to consider.¡±

    ¡°Again, little kids and teenagers. I doubt they¡¯ve got the willpower of holy-men and suffragettes, you get me?¡± Tiresias countered.

    ¡°I guess so¡­¡±

    Mary sighed. ¡°I still think we should just talk to them.¡±

    Tiresias took her hand. ¡°I do too, Mrs G. This will just make it happen faster.¡±

    ¡°He has a point,¡± said Lawrence. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s natural that the children are straining our authority. I certainly did as a boy.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that more of a teen thing?¡± asked Cormey.

    Lawrence shrugged. ¡°Posthuman abilities magnify many things, adolescent rebellion included, perhaps. Besides which, this was started by Metonymy and Artume. Teenagers.¡±

    Cormey was drumming the tabletop. ¡°One question: how do we feed ourselves?¡±

    ¡°I would hope adults in their prime could outlast children, Bryant.¡± Tiresias gulped the rest of his wine. ¡°Besides, booze has plenty of calories¡±.

    As the teachers dispersed into the hallway, Lawrence caught up with his former student. ¡°What are the odds of this working out?¡± he muttered. ¡°Can you tell me that?

    ¡°Hmm, seventy, eighty percent? I don¡¯t know, I¡¯m eyeballing it.¡±

    Alberto smiled to himself.

    Odds of the Fearsome Three coming to the Avon Valley, dead cert.

    ?

    Bella ¡°Windshear¡± Wilson flung the cupboards open, glaring angrily at the dust and emptiness she found within. ¡°There was a packet of tim-tams here!¡±

    Louise ¡°Britomart¡± Michelson meanwhile was busy interrogating one of the kitchen¡¯s red, frighteningly angular refrigerators. ¡°All the leftover chicken¡¯s gone, too!¡± She stamped her foot, cracking the dark wood. ¡°Has someone been having midnight feasts?¡±

    ¡°You mean aside from everyone?¡± Tom ¡°Haunt¡± Long asked mildly from the island bench.

    ¡°I bet it was the ¡®Queen¡¯,¡± Bella muttered. ¡°Bet she scoffed our stashes, too.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be crappy, Bell. Mabel beat you fair and square.¡±

    ¡°And you only got to be queen because Allie wandered off,¡± Louise pointed out.

    ¡°You guys are bad friends sometimes, you know that?¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± said Tom.

    Bella folded her arms, her tongue curled at the corner of her lip. ¡°Maybe someone¡¯s hidden all the food. So they can boss us.¡± She looked at Tom. ¡°Could ya take a you-look?¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡±

    The boy¡¯s eyes went white as he scanned around the Big House. He saw wireframe sketches of Miss Fletcher and Mr. Cormey pashing in the spare bedroom. He wasn¡¯t sure whose taste to question. Mrs Gillespie was writing in her room. The old woman kept copious diaries of life at the Institute. As tempted as he¡¯d been at times, Tom had never peeked.

    He tried very hard not to look at Basilisk¡¯s room<sup>1</a></sup>.

    Alberto was (honest to God) dancing in his room. Tom reminded himself to never forget that. Lawrence meanwhile was lounging in the library, idly flicking through an old hardback<sup>2</a></sup>. It was odd seeing him so unguarded.

    Finally, he saw it:

    ¡°What the hell?¡±

    ?

    The three children stood before the entrance of the ruined Quiet Room. Chunks of the marble walls were now dust and rubble, revealing sparking wires twined through shredded muscle. The whole chamber was wheezing and squeaking.

    The back wall had the largest gap. A misshapen heart the size of a well-grown child pumped sweet-smelling, fluorescent blue blood onto the still warm floor. All over the sacks of food that lay there.

    Louise regarded them the way most humans do open flame. ¡°Someone gonna pick them up?¡±

    ¡°Tom should,¡± said Bella. ¡°You¡¯re the biggest.¡±

    Tom shook his head vigorously. ¡°No way, man. I bet that stuff gives you cancer or something.¡±

    ¡°You were the one who found them!¡±

    ¡°Because you asked!¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t worry, children. John Smith tells me null-fluid is completely non-toxic to earthly life.¡±

    The trio turned to see Lawrence leaning by the Quiet Room, turning the bottle around his neck over and over in his hands.

    Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Laurie, what are ya doing, mate?¡±

    Lawrence straightened himself. ¡°With the growing food shortage, and our present lack of transportation, I and the rest of the staff decided to store all the supplies somewhere safe.¡±

    ¡°¡­Covered in quiet juice,¡± said Louise.

    Lawrence smiled benignly. ¡°You can¡¯t deny there aren¡¯t some children who¡¯d try to take advantage of the situation.¡±

    Bella scowled. ¡°You guys stole our snacks!¡±

    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that those were all paid for by me, Windshear. I figured with your newfound independence, you children would rather feed yourselves.¡±

    The little girl growled. A cold wind began to pick up in the hallway.

    With a flick of his wrist, Lawrence splashed his quiet juice on Bella.

    The atmosphere coughed. The wind died. Its mistress wailed.

    ¡°Get it off, get it off meeee!¡±

    Louise and Tom fell upon their little friend, trying to comfort her without hesitation, despite the poison she was soaked in.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, baby,¡± Louise cooed. ¡°It washes off I promise.¡±

    Tom glared at Lawrence. ¡°You¡¯re a real dickhead, Bertie.¡±

    ¡°Language, Haunt.¡±

    Tom shouted, ¡°Blokes who make kids screw don¡¯t get to tell me off for ¡®language¡¯!¡±

    Lawrence was walking away by then. He¡¯d always hated the idea of stripping the children of their powers, even on a temporary, punitive basis. And yet, part of him felt good.

    ?

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    The famine that fell over the Institute wasn¡¯t a complete one. The adults may have successfully emptied the larders and Windshear¡¯s caches, but they couldn¡¯t touch the snacks and fizzy drinks squirreled away in Sheilah Brown¡¯s darkness. And with Bran around, those stocks could be endlessly replenished.

    Problem was, even small children can only stand so much chocolate.

    As the day¡¯s last light withered, a bright orange ribbon stretched across grey-blue, most of the children gathered around a new fire.

    ¡°Anyone want another Kit-Kat?¡± asked Sheilah.

    Billy growled from where he was splayed on the grass, chocolate residue clinging to the fur around his lips. ¡°No more¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sick of lollies,¡± Arnold said, clutching a Barthe provided ice-pack to his head. He was also a bit sick of funny juice. ¡°Especially the same lollies.¡±

    The was one issue with the Sheila-Bran recycling scheme. Whenever Bran recreated a piece of candy, it was precisely identical. The exact same honeycomb, the exact same lumps and imperfections in the chocolate coating, everything. The sort of things you¡¯d start notice if you ate it dozens of times. Which many of the children had.

    Sheilah huffed. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be so bad if you guys would stop finishing them.¡±

    ¡°Fucking Lawrence,¡± said Lana.

    I don¡¯t know, said Mavis. Just gives us more ammunition for when the inspector comes. Laurie¡¯s not just a pervert, he¡¯s a pervert who starves kids.

    ¡°Easier for you to say,¡± Lana replied. ¡°You¡¯re not eating for two anymore.¡± She realized what she had just said. Remembered Chant, Chorus, and that missing, nameless daughter. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean¡­ sorry.¡±

    I get ya.

    ¡°Maybe we could eat Bessie,¡± Rob Carroll (formerly Gwydion) said, trying to smile.

    Everyone looked at the young teen.

    ¡°We¡¯re not eating Bessie,¡± Linus said from the log he was sitting on.

    ¡°I was joking!¡± Rob cried. ¡°Okay, what about the veggie garden?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said David, very firmly. ¡°It¡¯s all we have left of ?ywie.¡±

    Rob rolled his eyes. David hardly seemed affected by the hunger or the monotonous diet. He wasn¡¯t even sure if the Barthes needed to eat.

    ¡°Also,¡± said Mabel, ¡°would we even be able to beat the pumpkins?¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± said Rob. ¡°We still need some better nosh. I feel like my teeth are gonna rot in my head.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± David said. ¡°The inspector will be here in five days. And mum¡¯s in the river right now getting us fish.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t like fish,¡± Dawn Brown whined.

    Her older sister sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry sweetie, but if you want something different, that¡¯s what we have.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we could go grocery shopping,¡± Bran joked.

    Nobody spoke. The only noise was the fire¡¯s popping, crackling commentary.

    ¡°¡­Wait, could we?¡±

    Murmurs rippled through the children. Linus was nodding. ¡°I can¡¯t see an issue. We¡¯ve all been into town before, we¡¯re sanctioned. Bit of a walk, but you know, supers.¡±

    ¡°I could make us a ride!¡± offered Mabel. Her voice was rattling with excitement.

    ¡°What would we pay with?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°Pay?¡± Troy Willes said. He was in his mechanical form. It felt hunger less. ¡°Why should we pay them?¡± He got his feet, his eyes glowing bright. ¡°People like them are the reason we¡¯re stuck here! They pretty much gave us to Mad Laurie. We should just take the food.¡±

    David folded his arms, glaring at Troy with sea-fog eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think that means we should turn into super-Vikings. Especially with the inspector coming¡±

    Troy remembered the calcio fiorentino game in the rain. He reverted to humanity, glancing down at his feet. ¡°I guess.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence and the teachers all have cash stashed around the place,¡± said Tom. ¡°We could take that.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Sadie said.

    Mavis looked at the flyer. Why not? They have it coming.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Sadie answered. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ this whole food business. It¡¯s Laurie trying to show us we need him. That we can¡¯t cope without him. Without his money.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± said Lana. ¡°We still need something to pay with if we aren¡¯t just knocking the town over.¡±

    Allison looked up from the dandelion she had been toying with. ¡°Ooh!¡±

    Accordions.

    She stretched the patch of grass she was sitting in till it touched the barn, before stepping through. Searching, she pulled a velvet pouch out from a pile of a hay.

    With a crack, she returned to the gathering. ¡°Linus, Linus, look at this!¡±

    She opened the bag under the older boy¡¯s nose. It was filled with pound notes and coins, all transmuted into solid gold.

    Linus whispered, ¡°Did Chen give you this?¡±

    Allison flinched. She almost expected Lawrence to appear and smack her out again. ¡°Uh huh.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s definitely a start.¡±

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°What do you mean ¡®a start¡¯?¡± She threw her arms wide, like she was trying to draw in the whole school. ¡°There¡¯s gold everywhere.¡±

    Linus plucked the girl up, hugging her and laughing. ¡°God, Allie, you¡¯re brilliant sometimes.¡± He looked around at all the gathered children. ¡°Get some sleep everyone! We¡¯re going mining tomorrow!¡±

    ?

    Gold glinted in the sun. Four-armed, olive-skinned tharks stacked it in piles like Mayan pyramids. Children ran back and forth with their shirts full of bright metal. Occasionally, huge nodules of gold would explode from the earth like boulders from an erupting volcano, or emerge transparent like ghostly icebergs from the sea. Strains of ¡°The Old Palmer Song<sup>3</a></sup>¡± in Linus¡¯ perfect voice echoed across the landscape

    All this, Lawrence watched from the end of his brass telescope, peering out from his bedroom window. ¡°What on Earth are they up to?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an offering,¡± Cormey said. ¡°They¡¯re going to give this gold to AU when he comes back.¡±

    Mary scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Bryant. Chen doesn¡¯t need small children to dig up gold for him.¡±

    ¡°Well, what are they doing then?¡±

    Mary shook her head. She felt like part of a pack of school kids spying on another gang¡¯s tree-fort. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Killing time, maybe? Children do strange things when they¡¯re bored; these children especially.¡±

    ¡°Pass me the telescope?¡± Therese asked.

    Lawrence did. The young science teacher scanned the landscape.

    Stratogale, Britomart, and Talos sat together pulling apart lumps of gold like it was taffy. Once it was in enough pieces, they chucked it into Growltiger¡¯s mirrored mist, which rained fine gold dust down into a bucket.

    On the other side of the field, Myriad gnawed at a caramello bar while white bells of liquid gold hung in the air. Blazing salamanders crouched below them, stoking the gold with their hot, shimmering breath. Miss Fletcher could no more look directly at the scene then she could the naked sun.

    As she lowered the telescope, she saw the bells move over to a set of large ceramic trays resting on the ground, pouring their contents¡ªtheir entire substance, it seemed¡ªinto slots cut into the substance.

    Therese grinned. ¡°They¡¯re refining the gold! Processing it with their powers!¡±

    ¡°It is certainly a triumph of posthuman ability,¡± admitted Lawrence. ¡°Still, I would be more comfortable knowing what the point of all this is.¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s still impressive.¡± She handed the telescope to Cormey. ¡°Take a look, Bryant.¡±

    By the time the civics teacher had the telescope to his eye, Maelstrom was standing by the trays, a personal storm cloud lurking above them both.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be standing so close to molten metal without my trousers on,¡± Cormey muttered.

    As he watched, the water-sprite¡¯s eyes went white, and the cloud became a wave, before finally billowing back into the air as steam. Cormey couldn¡¯t hear the hiss at that distance, but imagination more than made up for it.

    ¡°My turn,¡± said Mary.

    Maelstrom and Myriad were admiring their latest batch of gold bars when Elsewhere stalked up to them. He said¡­ something to the other two, pointing wildly at a pile of raw gold Talos was hefting¡ªbefore a sheet of green lightning snatched most of it from his arms.

    A dozen perfect bars and ingots fell on Maelstrom and Myriad¡¯s feet, Elsewhere just shaking his head.

    Mary chuckled. ¡°Too clever by half sometimes.¡±

    Lawrence slipped out of the room. He couldn¡¯t stand it, his colleagues treating all this like a sideshow. And yet, and yet¡­ Pride was biting as his fears, too. His children were recreating a whole industry with just their imagination and force of will.

    But imagination needed to be tempered.

    He found Tiresias in his room. ¡°What are they doing out there?¡±

    The psychic looked up from one of Reverb¡¯s old Woman¡¯s Weeklys. ¡°What? Oh, the gold thing? Yeah, they¡¯re going shopping.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Tiresias spoke very slowly, like he was explaining things to a very slow child. ¡°The kids are going to take the gold and go food shopping in Northam. Also, I¡¯m going with them.¡±

    Lawrence sputtered. ¡°You¡ªI¡ªthat defeats the whole point of this!¡±

    Alberto raised an eyebrow. ¡°Does it? I figured you wouldn¡¯t want them leaving the Institute without someone you trust¡ªor whatever it is we have¡ªkeeping an eye on them?¡±

    ¡°I suppose¡­¡±

    ¡°Especially someone who might let it slip that the kids are trying to pay with cursed AU gold¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­Cursed?¡±

    ¡°Country rubes, Bertie. The way I see it, this little excursion is a great chance to remind the kids how hateful and shitty normal folks are.¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Ah, I see your point.¡±

    Tiresias went on. ¡°After that, there¡¯s a decent chance they¡¯ll decide a bucolic paradise and sex with eugenically perfected superwomen isn¡¯t such a bad deal.¡±

    Lawrence winced. He hated the way the esper talked. He made everything sound so base.

    ¡°Might be willing to play nice when the inspector comes. Have Mabel whip up some decoys for Stratie and Ex, and you won¡¯t see the inside of your very own Quiet Room.¡±

    Lawrence sighed. ¡°Alright, Tiresias, I¡¯ll allow this. But for the love of God, be careful out there.¡±

    ¡°My hand to God.¡±

    Alberto went back to his magazine as soon as the door shut behind Lawrence.

    Sucker.

    ?

    Belinda Waites looked at Eddie Taylor over their shared milkshake, their pink and green crazy straws pointed at them like microphones. ¡°My, Mr. Taylor, you¡¯re dressed to the nines. What¡¯s the occasion?¡±

    He really was. The electrician¡¯s apprentice practically slept and showered in his work overalls, but today he was wearing the indigo suit he saved for christenings and Anzac Day. He even had pomade in his hair. Had he grown it out especially? Just for lunch at the Camel Stop Diner?

    Eddie tugged at his lapels. ¡°Can¡¯t a bloke dress flash for a change?¡±

    Belinda smiled slyly. ¡°Not this bloke.¡±

    ¡°Slander! Slander I say! You¡¯re not exactly looking casual over there, either.¡±

    Belinda looked down at her orange sundress. She hoped her rouge wasn¡¯t too obvious. ¡°I always dress this way.¡± Her hand found his, her thumb massaging his wrist. ¡°Come on, you¡¯re planning something. Tell me.¡±

    Eddie grinned. ¡°Maybe I am.¡±

    The diner door jangled open, Bazza striding through in all his tye-dye glory. He spotted his friend. ¡°Ed! Belinda!¡± He marched over to their table and plonked himself down in a spare chair. ¡°Either of your pets been acting odd today?¡±

    Eddie shook his head. ¡°What are you on about, Bazza?¡±

    ¡°Actually,¡± said Belinda, ¡°my Guinea-pig was launching himself at the side of his cage this morning. We had to sticky-tape a little pillow to the bars.¡±

    Bazza nodded. ¡°My cat¡¯s been yowling and scratching at everything all day. I thought it might just be heat, but is that the right time of year for that? Is there a time of year for that?¡±

    Eddie groaned. ¡°I swear to God, Bazz, one day i¡¯m hanging you on my wall.¡±

    Belinda laughed. ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be like that, we love Bazza.¡± She stood up. ¡°Back in a sec, have to powder my nose. She leaned down and kissed Eddie on the cheek. ¡°You keep thinking about whatever you¡¯re planning.¡±

    As soon as Belinda was out of earshot, Bazza asked eagerly, ¡°You gonna pop the question?¡±

    ¡°I was until you started yammering on about your horny cat.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that about Bazz¡¯s cat?¡± Aleister Johnson asked as he sat down between his mates.

    Eddie¡¯s smile returned. ¡°Hey Al. You on break?¡±

    Al removed his white cap. ¡°Am now.¡±

    ¡°Eddie¡¯s about to propose.¡±

    Aleister looked back and forth between the two. ¡°Well, I hope you¡¯re happy together.¡±

    Eddie punched him in the arm, laughing. ¡°Piss off!¡±

    ¡°Wait, seriously? You got the ring?¡±

    ¡°Yep! I¡¯ll pay you back, man, swear to God.¡±

    Aleister smiled. ¡°We¡¯re mates, if ya pay me back ya pay me back.¡± He also tried not to think about who that money had come from¡­

    People in the diner were getting up from their seats, streaming out the door or pressing against the windows.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on out there?¡± Al asked, even as his friends were heading outside.

    There was an eight-wheeler truck parked in the middle of the road. In front of its backdoor stood two figures. One was a tall, gaunt, fair-haired man in a leopard-print longcoat and a stained purple undershirt. A similarly patterned domino mask hid his true identity from both total strangers<sup>4</a></sup> and the very stupid. The other was what looked like a seven foot tall, concrete statue of a woman dressed in a torn bathing costume, face carved with a solemn, almost sad expression and garishly painted like a zebra-crossing. Her hair was a mane of crystals, like the inside of a geode.

    They weren¡¯t alone. A widely built man with a biker¡¯s paunch wrapped in leather and blue-jeans hovered over them, bobbing in the air like a balloon straining to escape a child¡¯s hand,  a thick beard billowing forth from a silver luchador mask.

    Belinda emerged to join the lads. ¡°Eddie, why¡¯d you¡ªoh.¡±

    An army of cats and dogs surrounding the truck like a sea of fur. Most looked like wild, feral things, but among them¡­

    ¡°There¡¯s the Colonel!¡± Eddie shouted, pointing to a black scotch terrier near the front of the animals. ¡°They got my bloody dog!¡±

    Bazza however was already walking over to the strange trio, a smile splashed across his face. ¡°Woah, man, are you lot proper superheroes? Haven¡¯t seen any of you since the Comet.¡± He offered the man in the longcoat a hand. ¡°I¡¯m Bazza. Bazza Finch¡±

    The concrete woman sighed. It sounded like wind passing through a cave.

    ¡°Menagerie,¡± the man said, shaking. ¡°Pleased to meet ya, Bazza.¡±

    Menagerie it seemed was missing a few teeth. The perils of the superheroic life, Bazza supposed. He swore he had heard the name before somewhere¡­¡°So, any supervillains in the area?¡±

    ¡°You could say that.¡± He nodded up at the man in the luchador mask. ¡°Fo-Fum?¡±

    What felt like gigantic, sweaty fingers lifted Bazza into the air, knocking the breath out of his lungs. ¡°Heavy, man,¡± he wheezed.

    Menagerie cleared his throat, ¡°People of Northam, your money or your life!¡±

 Chapter Forty-Three: Five Go Mad in Northam

    One small hurdle the Provisional New Human Institute Student Government ran into regarding Operation Woolies was deciding who would actually make the trek into town. Linus was an obvious pick, with his sunny good looks, trustworthy manner, and ability to calm an angry mob with folk-songs. For some reason, the boy himself insisted that an actual adult lead the way, and Alberto (as he insisted he be called) volunteered eagerly. This of course meant Fran?oise would be staying behind to keep an eye on things, which in turn meant:

    ¡°What do you mean I can¡¯t go?¡± David whined. He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. ¡°But I got dressed and everything!¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± said Alberto, ¡°that¡¯s not usually an accomplishment.¡±

    Fran glared at the psychic, which shut him up quick. She put her hands on her son¡¯s shoulders. ¡°David, I¡¯m just not comfortable with you going into town without me. Me and your Uncle Albert¡ª¡±

    Uncle Albert? Alberto thought loudly at Fran. That makes me sound like that old bugger from the Captain Marvel cartoons we were supposed to pretend wasn¡¯t fiddling with Billy Batson.

    Shush, you, Fran thought back. She shook her head. ¡°¡ªWe discussed it, and we decided that things might already be tense enough in Northam without¡­¡± The nereid bit her lip.

    Alberto finished for her, ¡°Without bringing along a brown kid.¡±

    David blinked. ¡°What?¡±

    Intra-human racism had always confused the boy¡ªeven more so than most people on the receiving end of it. The whole concept felt like a tepid dress rehearsal for the posthuman oppression Lawrence was always pontificating about.

    Fran sighed. ¡°Come on Davie, you know the sort of vile things the baselines hurl at Haunt on field-trips. You remember what that young man who came to spy on us called you?¡±

    ¡°You exploded that guy!¡±

    Fran?oise shrugged. ¡°I will admit, in retrospect that was a bit disportionate of me. But he called you that awful word before he exploded.¡±

    David pouted. ¡°You never let me do anything.¡±

    His mother folded her arms. ¡°I let you run around naked, play on the bottom of rivers, and fight demigods all day. I don¡¯t think the Flying Man¡¯s mum would¡¯ve let him get away with all that.¡±

    David huffed and turned on his feet, before disappearing in a puff of steam, his clothes falling in a heap like the Rapture had come and gone.

    ¡°Jesus,¡± said Alberto.

    Fran?oise smiled at him. ¡°Eh, he just woke up in a bratty mood, I think.¡± For some reason, she sounded pleased by that.

    They were definitely taking Arnold. With him, they could buy as much food as gold and hunger would stretch, without having to worry about overburdening Mabel¡¯s dragon on the way back. Decision made, Linus recruited both children to help break the news to Allison.

    ¡°...You don¡¯t want me to come?¡±

    ¡°Allie,¡± Linus said, with the subtlest lilt of power to his voice, ¡°we all love ya. Hell, you¡¯re half the reason we¡¯re eating something other than nougat tonight. But I think you¡¯ve gotten a bit¡­ rusty talking to norms.¡± On seeing her expression, he quickly continued, ¡°It¡¯s not your fault. You¡¯ve been cooped up here a while now, and I know you don¡¯t see¡ªor hear¡ªthe world the same way most of us do.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not¡ªit¡¯s not bad, is it?¡±

    Linus kneeled till he was level with the little girl. ¡°Nah. Just different. This isn¡¯t forever. We just want to let people get used to boring folks like us before they meet the really interesting new humans.¡±

    Allison giggled.

    ¡°Plus, someone needs to be queen while I¡¯m gone,¡± said Mabel. She removed the painted tiara from her head, laying it on her friend¡¯s brow. ¡°All hail Allison Kinsey, Steward of Nova Australia.¡±

    Allison saluted. ¡°I will guard this land well!¡±

    ¡°Long live the Queen¡­ also, that crown¡¯s gonna disappear once we go, so, might wanna make your own.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m coming, too,¡± Sadie insisted. ¡°It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve gotten to fly properly.¡±

    Tiresias eyed the dark-haired girl¡¯s baby-bump. ¡°Well, you haven¡¯t exactly been aerodynamic lately.¡±

    Sadie flipped him the bird.

    ¡°Alright, I deserved that.¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± Sadie said. ¡°I buffed all these gold bars and coins shiny, why shouldn¡¯t I get to come?¡±

    ¡°No, no, I agree,¡± replied Linus. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ if anyone asks, do ya want me to tell them we¡¯re engaged?¡±

    Sadie looked her friend right in the eye. Her irises were bird black. Normally that didn¡¯t bother Linus. If anything, it was easier talking to her than either Lana or Mavis most days. Maybe because they didn¡¯t share one or more children in common. Not today, though.

    ¡°If anyone asks, we tell them Mad Laurie is a creep. I¡¯m not going to hide, Linus. Not like when the inspector came and Lawrence made Mabel trot our bloody portraits for him. Not like we¡¯re the ones who did anything wrong.¡±

    ¡°I hear ya, Sadie, I hear ya.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of which,¡± Tiresias said, pointing between himself and Sadie, ¡°is this going to be a problem?¡±

    ¡°Only if you keep talking, Bertie.¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine¡­ Bertie?¡±

    There was one last member of the expedition:

    ¡°Please, please, please, let me come,¡± Billy implored. The boy was on his knees, his hands clasped together in a cartoon of supplication he¡¯d seen in storybooks. ¡°I¡¯ll be good, I promise!¡±

    Linus sighed. ¡°I¡¯d like to take ya, Bill, but we don¡¯t want to freak the normies out. It¡¯s not fair, and it¡¯s not your fault, but we don¡¯t want you getting hurt.¡±

    Billy jumped to his feet. ¡°They don¡¯t even have to see me, watch!¡±

    Linus couldn¡¯t; the tiger-boy had vanished.

    Billy reappeared, staring at the older boy with what could only be called kitty-cat eyes. ¡°Betty used to take me into town all the time invisible! I won¡¯t bump into anyone, I swear!¡±

    Lucius Owens was a steady sort of young man. Mature, sensible. Apollonian, you might even say.

    He was, however, still very much a boy. And William St. George had powers even Lawrence couldn¡¯t dream of.

    ¡°Aw, alright.¡±

    Billy slammed into Linus. It was like if teddybears could hug back. ¡°Thank you, thank you, thank you!¡±

    And so, their fellow new humans waving them off, the six took to the sky on a great dragon. Her hide was armoured in charcoal scales, her beating wings bellying like ship-sails in the wind. They clung for dear life to the rough spurs that grew from her back, their laughter and screams lost in the roar before they reached their own ears.

    All except for Sadie. She flew ahead, burgundy hair streaming behind her. Sometimes she looped back, swooping under and over the dragon or diving down to run her hands through the crowns of trees.

    A few times, Alberto¡¯s attention wandered from his terror to the mother of his daughter. He wondered if he¡¯d ever see Ophelia soar like that.

    As he watched her, Sadie made a dead-stop in the air. The dragon almost crashed into her before Mabel reigned the beast back.

    ¡°What the hell, Sadie!¡± she tried shouting over the wind.

    The flying girl pointed towards the road below.

    They landed beside the road, Mabel sending the dragon back to the pulp-cover from whence she came.

    Linus set down his bag of gold ingots. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Sadie?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the birds,¡± she said. ¡°The ones in Northam. They aren''t¡­ right.¡±

    Arnold frowned. ¡°What, are they sad or something?¡±

    ¡°...Yes, actually. They all feel really stressed out. And I¡¯m not getting any clear pictures from them. It¡¯s like trying to watch a muted TV set.¡±

    Tiresias lit one of his clove cigarettes. ¡°What do you think¡¯s going on over there?¡±

    ¡°Maybe all the cats in town are having a party?¡± suggested Billy.

    ¡°The Physician¡¯s trying out birdwatching?¡± Arnold added.

    ¡°Ah, I think we might be able to fill you in.¡±

    The group all turned to find four bedraggled teenagers staggering through the red gravel that lined the road. The one in the lead was a black-haired girl in a ragged, persimmon sundress¡ªa strip of which had been tied around her upper-arm, darkened brown by dried blood.

    Trailing behind her were some familiar faces. Eddie Taylor stopped in his tracks, staring at them like he had run into the Devil at the crossroads. ¡°Oh, God, it¡¯s you lot.¡±

    Well, Alberto thought, the memory knot¡¯s clearly untangled.

    The blond afroed hippie strode forward towards the smaller children, pulling Arnold and Mabel into half-hug. ¡°Everywhere! Fantasy!¡±

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    Mostly.

    Arnold winced at the smell. ¡°Um, hi Bazza.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t think we¡¯d see you again,¡± Mabel added with a carefully rationed breath.

    Bazza laughed. ¡°Same here mates!¡± He let go of the pair, offering his hand to Linus and Sadie. ¡°Don¡¯t believe we¡¯ve met.¡±

    Linus shook first. ¡°Lucius. Or Linus, either works. Good to finally meet you, Bazza. Wish your visit had turned out better.¡±

    ¡°Me too, mate.¡±

    Linus gestured at his companion. ¡°This is Sadie.¡±

    Bazza took in the young woman¡¯s condition. Not sure what the tactful acknowledgement¡ªif any¡ªwas, he settled on the exact wrong one:

    ¡°Hello! Congratulations on the baby.¡±

    Sadie clenched her fist, before taking a deep breath. He doesn¡¯t know, she reminded herself. How could he?

    It wasn¡¯t just the baby. Just looking at Bazza made Sadie feel stupid and guilty. She hadn¡¯t personally attacked him and his buddies when they came to the Institute, but she¡¯d certainly egged on some rainbow lorikeets. She couldn¡¯t even remember why she¡¯d done it. She¡¯d been so angry back then¡­

    ¡°...Hi.¡±

    Bazza finally caught sight of Billy. ¡°Oh, my God¡­ Crackbone Pete was right!¡± He ran over to the tiger-boy, looking him over like he was a work of art. ¡°Christ, kid, you¡¯re fantastic.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, mister!¡±

    The young man glanced back at his mates. ¡°Fellas, Belinda, come take a look at this kid!¡±

    Billy waved shyly at them, but the other teenagers made no reply. Both Eddie and Al were muttering to themselves and plucking at their fingers like they were being attacked by horseflies.

    ¡°Eddie,¡± Belinda said, pulling on her boyfriend¡¯s arm, ¡°who are these people? What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªno, that can¡¯t¡ªwe just had a piss-up¡­¡±

    Al was clawing at his palms. ¡°If that happened, he¡¯d be dead¡­¡±

    Alberto sighed. Right. Better undo the knot before their brains boiled out their ears. He inserted himself between the two lads, placing a hand on the back of each of their necks. ¡°It¡¯s alright, boys, this will all make sense in a sec¡­¡±

    Aleister and Eddie inhaled harshly. Then they screamed.

    Al shoved Alberto away. ¡°You bastards! How the hell haven''t you been rounded up yet?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    Eddie pointed a shaking finger at Arnold. ¡°You¡ªyou¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh now you remember me?¡±

    ¡°Can someone please tell me what¡¯s happening?¡± Belinda shouted over the commotion.

    ¡°Run, Belinda!¡± Eddie cried. ¡°They¡¯re from Mad Laurie¡¯s freak-farm! They tried to kill us!¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Don''t call my friends freaks!¡± Billy snapped, tail swishing.

    Aleister added, ¡°I bet they¡¯re with the Fearsome Three!¡±

    ¡°The who?¡± asked Sadie.

    Linus looked at her. ¡°Did some of the kids sneak off?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    Alberto¡¯s voice killed everyone else¡¯s.

    ¡°Now,¡± he said, ¡°Who the shit are the Fearsome Three?¡±

    He already knew of course, but it needed to be explained for the future-blind.

    Bazza took on the task. ¡°...And so this Menagerie guy and his mates are making everyone in town hand over their money and jewellery and stuff, or he sics their pets on them! Or sics other people¡¯s pets on their pets.¡±

    ¡°The crazy statue lady¡¯s blocked off all the roads,¡± said Eddie. ¡°We barely got away,  and that was only ¡®cause we were on foot.¡±

    ¡°Our families are still in there,¡± added Belinda. ¡°God knows what they¡¯re doing to them.¡±

    ¡°Things like this don''t happen in Northam!¡± moaned Aleister. ¡°This isn¡¯t bloody Perth! There hasn''t been a supervillain up here for twenty years!¡±

    ¡°AU attacked us in September,¡± said Sadie.

    Aleister¡¯s heart tried to hide in his stomach.

    Bazza groaned. ¡°Aww, you¡¯re kidding. You¡¯re telling me I missed out on seeing AU?¡±

    ¡°Lucky you,¡± said Mabel.

    Aleister stared reproachfully at the new humans. ¡°What are you all doing out here?¡±

    ¡°We were going to buy food,¡± answered Linus.

    Eddie folded his arms. ¡°Yeah, sure mate.¡±

    Arnold scowled. ¡°Yeah, because nobody ever needs to eat.¡±

    ¡°Can we help?¡± asked Billy.

    Everyone stared at the boy.

    ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not nice your town¡¯s getting picked on, and we really do need food. And aren¡¯t superheroes supposed to fight supervillains?¡±

    Bazza rubbed his neck. ¡°That¡¯s brave of you, little guy. But these are supervillains¡ª the real deal.¡±

    Mabel sniffed primly. ¡°I mean, I guess if you¡¯ve never seen a super¡­¡±

    ?

    The flying carpet raced over the road, fragments of wheel-ground glass throwing back sunlight like the surface of a deep, dark river.

    At Linus¡¯ insistence, Mabel sat in the centre with Alberto¡ªscrapbook open in her lap¡ªtrying to watch the curve of the road from between her comrades¡¯ backs and guide the Persian rug in her strange, wordless manner.

    She tapped Bazza on his shoulder. ¡°How long until we hit the town?¡±

    They were heading for the Finch family home. Bazza had assured Linus he could find him a weapon there. Linus hoped he kept it tuned.

    The young hippie turned to look at the little girl, clutching a ray-gun. Despite looking like someone had inflated a Buck Rogers clipping into three dimensions, Bazza still felt metal and leather under his fingers. ¡°At this rate? Five minutes, tops.¡±

    Linus heard the teen. ¡°Arnold, light up!¡±

    Arnold nodded, and became a sunspot¡¯s child. Aleister resisted the urge to shuffle away from the glowing boy. Or to take a swing at him with his newly created barbarian¡¯s club.

    Linus glanced over at Sadie, flying alongside them. The baseline lads had balked at the idea of her storming the town with them, but they¡¯d shut up after seeing her smash a rock into dust against her bare belly.

    ¡°Try to take over the zoo bloke¡¯s birds if he sets them on us!¡±

    Sadie shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®taking them over¡¯ I¡¯m setting them free.¡±

    ¡°Uh, sure!¡±

    ¡°So, you ready for this?¡± Aleister asked Alberto.

    The psychic peered out from the ball he¡¯d curled up in. ¡°Ready for what? I¡¯m not doing anything till we actually find the arseholes. Cats and dogs ain¡¯t my speciality, kid.¡±

    ¡°I mean, in general.¡±

    Alberto grunted. Everything was going to plan so far, but that didn¡¯t mean he had to like it. He wished he could take a swig from his hip flask.

    ¡°So,¡± Belinda said, scratching Billy behind the ear with one hand and gripping the Arcturian answer to a cattle prod in the other, ¡°this is probably incredibly rude, but are you sure Menagerie won¡¯t be able to¡­ you know.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a person, miss¡­ keep scratching.¡±

    The road grew demented, bulged and warped: flash-frozen waves in a tarmacadam sea.

    ¡°Hold on tight!¡± Mabel cried. ¡°We¡¯re going up!¡±

    The carpet crested over the ruined road, forcing its passengers¡¯ insides into their backs like they were riding a drunk elevator.

    ¡°Shit, shit, shit,¡± Alberto repeated to himself over and over, as though the curses would cushion his fall.

    The carpet dove down into streets defined by grey brick houses and bric-a-brac littered lawns. And dogs. Lots and lots of dogs. Dingoes, house-pets, and their feral, hybrid descendants mingled as one on the sidewalks. And they were all watching the interlopers.

    Bazza started shouting directions, ¡°Right, left¡ªno, my left!¡±

    ¡°Stop talking so fast!¡±

    A black kelpie broke away from the other dogs, leaping onto the carpet. It growled and snapped at the riders, shoving itself into Alberto¡¯s face.

    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck¡­¡±

    Eddie punched the kelpie right off, sending it yelping down onto the road. ¡°Bloody hell¡­¡±

    A switch flipped. The walls of dogs bolted towards the carpet, trying to claw their way aboard.

    Bazza fired his gun. Spears of broken ozone lanced through the crowd, the struck dogs swallowed up by the stampede. He kept shouting directions over the chorus of howls.

    Sadie managed to divert a decent number of the dogs. She couldn¡¯t risk fighting back¡ªor so the baselines kept telling her¡ªunless she wanted a second skin of dog hair and blood. Instead she let the animals drape themselves on her like a hundred furs, cracking their teeth against unbreakable skin.

    ¡°All these dogs better belong to saints!¡± she shouted, flinging off a terrier hanging from her face.

    Billy screamed over and over, wincing as his voice flung dogs backwards like leaves in a storm, many with their ears bleeding. It confused him. Shouldn¡¯t he hate dogs?

    Alberto watched as Arnold¡¯s lightning tendrils flicked dogs beyond the town, or trapped them behind the windows of houses flowing past. Pitbulls and whippish greyhounds kept slipping past the wall of powers and laser-blasts, only to be knocked back from Alberto¡¯s face by Eddie¡¯s fist or Belinda¡¯s shock-stick.

    He wished he was one of those generalist telekinetics Lawrence salivated over. ¡°Squishy folks in the centre, people!¡±

    Then a great dane hurled itself at his side. The world spun, and he slammed against the bitumen.

    Alberto scrambled to his feet, looking around wildly. The carpet was already at the other end of the street.

    Growls. The dogs were forming a ring around him. The lights behind their eyes were like sharp, predatory stars.

    Alberto shrieked, running blindly towards a house with thoughts within their walls.

    He hammered on the door. ¡°For the love of God, let me in!¡±

    A bright burst of fear and blinking suspicion. Even some hot, yellow hate. The door didn¡¯t budge.

    ¡°Arseholes!¡±

    He ran towards the house¡¯s backgate, vaulting over it like he was ten years old again. It was an ordinary backyard, with Hills Hoist, a rusting swing set, and a half finished treehouse that appeared to be mostly exposed nails.

    Alberto didn¡¯t have time to catch his breath before a pack of border collies and kelpies forced their way over the fence.

    ¡°Shit!¡±

    Alberto¡¯s lizard brain weighed his options and sent him clambering up the Hills Hoist, the dogs snapping at his shoe-leather.

    Why the shit did I want this?

    There was the clatter of metal against metal, then the shriek of electricity as Eddie and Belinda battered the hounds with their stun batons.

    ¡°Arghhhhhhh!¡±

    ¡°Stay down, fuckers, stay down!¡±

    Once all the dogs were, in fact, down¡ªif twitching from the current running through them¡ªthe boy and girl grinned tiredly at each other.

    Alberto jumped down from the clothes-line. ¡°Hell of a girl you got there, Ed.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, he knows.¡± Belinda said, brushing the hair and sweat from her face.

    The flying carpet glided over the house¡¯s roof and descended to ground level.

    ¡°Hurry up and get back on!¡± Mabel cried.

    ¡°Tell me we¡¯re not far from your place, Bazza,¡± Alberto said as he hoped back aboard.

    ¡°No, mate, next street over.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± the psychic replied. He glared at Mabel. ¡°Maybe don¡¯t fly so low this time.¡±

    By the time they were over Gregory street, the road was lost under a mottled carpet of fur, empty eyes and snapping teeth.

    ¡°...This is gonna be problem,¡± Aleister said. ¡°Unless your chimney¡¯s bigger than I remember.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t have to be,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Hey, Sadie! I have an idea!¡±

    The girl flew over and alighted on the carpet. ¡°What?¡±

    The little boy whispered in her ear.

    Sadie smiled. ¡°Heh, neat.¡±

    She wrapped her arms under Arnold¡¯s and swooped over the street. Like a bomber-plane piloted by Zeus, they rained down lime thunderbolts. Great swaths of dog were wiped from the Earth by forests of lighting, their barks and howls lost in the storm. Within minutes, the street was clear and silent. Whoever was still in their houses clearly felt it best to stay there.

    Sadie and Arnold landed in the middle of the road, the boy shouting up, ¡°Doooone!¡±

    The carpet landed softly, disappearing from under the party. Bazza led the way to his home.

    Aleister walked beside Arnold. ¡°Um, we¡¯re not getting those dogs back, are we?¡±

    Arnold shrugged. ¡°I like kitties.¡±

    Bazza banged on his front door. ¡°Mum? Dad? Jen? Is anyone in there?¡±

    He saw a little eye on the other side of the peephole. The way it wobbled, it looked like its owner was standing on their toes. A small, muffled voice said, ¡°Bazz?¡±

    ¡°Jen! You alright?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI guess.¡±

    ¡°Could you let me and my mates in?¡±

    ¡°Wha¡ªwhat happened to the doggies? And the thunder?¡±

    ¡°Taken care of.¡±

    The rasp and click of a chain and lock being undone, and the door opened.

    A short-haired, brunette little girl hugged Bazza. She was about Arnold and Mabel¡¯s age, with torn hand-me-down jeans and fresh scratches on her face. ¡°You¡¯re okay!¡±

    Linus and the others stepped through into the foyer, locking the door again behind them. ¡°Hey, Bazza, which room¡¯s yours?¡±

    ¡°Third on the left down the hall,¡± Bazza said, stroking his sister¡¯s hair.

    Jennifer separated from her brother, looking at Mabel and Arnold. ¡°So, who are you lot?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Arnold wasn''t sure how to answer. He hadn''t spoken to a baseline child in months. It was like how he imagined Cro-Magnon kids felt when they went over to play at the Neanderthal camp.

    Linus emerged from Bazza¡¯s room, carrying his guitar. ¡°Today Jen, we¡¯re superheroes.¡±

    The front door ripped off its hinges, falling to the floor, revealing a stone woman with crystal hair. There was a walkie-talkie in her hand.

    ¡°I hope for your sake that¡¯s true, young man."

 Chapter Forty-Four: This Machine Kills Supervillains

    ¡°Name?¡±

    ¡°Ah, Mrs Stamp, sir.¡±

    Menagerie looked over his clipboard at the old woman standing before him. Her blue, floral mumu was almost the same colour as her hair. A ¡°Mrs¡±, but no husband in sight. She practically had ¡°widow¡± stamped on her forehead. Hopefully that meant a pension not split between two mouths, unless Mr. Stamp was a good-for-nothing or his wife was the sort to spoil their grandkids. Also, pearls.

    He scribbled down her name. ¡°Do you have any pets, Mrs Stamp?¡± He concluded the question with a smack of his lips.

    The old lady attempted a watery smile, trying not to look at the wild dogs that flanked Menagerie. It always confused him when folks did that. Did they think the smile would appease him somehow? ¡°I do, yes: a little pitbull. He¡¯s a right feisty old¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m sure.¡± Menagerie resisted the urge to lecture the woman about the unethicality of dog-breeding and the genetic sturdiness of mutts. ¡°What name does he answer to?¡±

    He never asked ¡°What¡¯s their name?¡± Implying animals actually called themselves the sounds people cooed at them was an insult.

    ¡°Bigsby.¡±

    Scratch. ¡°And does Bigsby have a collar?¡±

    The woman¡¯s smile drooped. ¡°He-he lost it. I haven¡¯t had time to replace it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s horribly irresponsible, ma¡¯am. Didn¡¯t you think about what might¡¯ve happened if he got lost?¡±

    ¡°A little bit,¡± Mrs Stamp admitted. ¡°Honestly this didn¡¯t occur to me.¡±

    Menagerie shook his head. ¡°Dump your money and those pearls in the truck behind me. Does Bigsby have any distinguishing marks?¡±

    He was going to try and return the dog, of course. He wasn¡¯t a monster.

    As Mrs Stamp shuffled away, fifteen pounds and an heirloom necklace poorer, Menagerie looked out at the line that stretched the entire length of the street and beyond: townsfolk waiting to pay their tribute. Under the watchful eyes of the lorikeets and kookaburras he had perched on the roofs of the surrounding shops and restaurants, they were slowly shepherded by canine sentries patrolling the pavements. Men and women clutched wallets and purses, while some of their children even carried their money-boxes and piggy-banks. Good, Menagerie thought. Teach kids to cooperate with the friendly supervillain early, and it goes smoother for everyone.

    Still, God, so many people to get through. ¡°Next!¡±

    A family of four walked up to Menagerie. The father looked like he thought he was the hero of the story. His wife looked like she wished he didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Any pets?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the father grunted.

    ¡°But Daddy,¡± one of his sons protested, ¡°Miss Jezebel!¡±

    ¡°Quiet, Harry.¡±

    ¡°You still have to pay either way, sir. Throwing your bloody cat under the bus won¡¯t change that.¡±

    ¡°How did you know she¡¯s a cat?¡± Harry asked.

    ¡°Because I remember your dad here screaming like a little girl when she jumped him.¡±

    The man looked the supervillain dead in the domino mask.¡°You¡¯ve got some nerve, you know, robbing decent, hardworking folks. Are demis too good for jobs?¡±

    Menagerie didn¡¯t know who annoyed him more: the odd attempted sycophant, or the folks who thought he needed reminding that he was committing a crime. ¡°Mate, superpowers have been grounds for termination for three years<sup>1</a></sup>. So yes, we are.¡±

    ¡°Flying Man! Flying Man help us¡ª¡±

    One of Mengarie¡¯s dogs clamped its jaws around the mother¡¯s pantyhoused thigh. She screamed, despite the lack of any real pressure.

    ¡°You stupid, selfish bint,¡± Menagerie hissed in her face.

    Her husband made to slug the supervillain, but Menagerie¡¯s other dog bared its teeth and growled.

    ¡°Try anything and she¡¯ll need a surgeon, mate. All the horrible things in the world, and you think the Flying Man¡¯s going to give a shit about your pets? Or your money? When¡¯s there¡¯s babies drowning in China or some place. Get real.¡±

    The dog released the woman¡¯s leg.

    ¡°Now pay the toll and piss off.¡±

    Half an hour of shakedowns later, a mass of pound notes and coins lurched through the air towards the truck. Menagerie¡¯s comrade Fo-Fum floated alongside the haul, his right arm hooked around empty air like he was embracing a friend. As they approached, low booms echoed down the street. Patches of road cracked like glass.

    His voice boomed like a craggy giant¡¯s, ¡°Get out of the way!¡±

    The Northamites scurried away in every direction, not even knowing what they were trying to keep clear off. A few found themselves knocked to the ground by nothing at all. Some tried catching stray notes and coins that dropped from the flying pile. It never occurred to them the Fearsome Three could just make them fork that over, too.

    Fo-Fum and the money stopped in front of Menagerie, the former gingerly descending to the ground.

    ¡°Just hit the bank,¡± he said in his unamplified, cigarette-shredded voice as he scratched the ear of one of the guard-dogs. The money started shovelling itself into the truck-bed in great bushels. ¡°What¡¯s the take here so far?¡±

    Menagerie shrugged, setting his clipboard on the edge of the truck. ¡°Haven¡¯t really been keeping count. Coming up on ten grand, I think?¡±

    Fo-Fum whistled through his grey beard. ¡°Bloody Nora. That¡¯s more than I made in a year.¡±

    Menagerie smiled. His high-school homeroom teacher¡ªtrying to impress upon his students the sheer size of mankind¡ªhad said that if someone could extract just a single pound from every person on Earth, they would be the richest man alive. Sure, Northam wasn¡¯t exactly the world, but it was a start.

    Fo-Fum looked around. ¡°Where¡¯s Chisel got to?¡±

    ¡°In the diner¡ªah, there she is now.¡±

    The woman called Chisel walked out of the restaurant, sipping from a milkshake held in rough hands. Her polished grey concrete skin was powdered by a thin layer of dust¡ªMenagerie and Fo-Fum had gathered that was how she sweated. The amethyst crystals that sprouted from her head and trailed down her neck glinted in the December sun. She would need to grind them down into something manageable again soon.

    She nodded at the men in turn. ¡°Pete, Barry.¡±

    The pair shared a look. Menagerie shook his head at the stone lady. ¡°Codenames, Chisel.¡±

    ¡°Right, right. But I¡¯m sure first names won¡¯t give us away.¡±

    ¡°Consistency is important if we want a reputation. Wouldn¡¯t you rather not have to scare people so much first?¡±

    Chisel rubbed her mane, pale violet dust coming away on her fingers. ¡°¡­I would.¡±

    ¡°And better be safe than sorry. Me and Fo have secret identities to consider. We do want to retire someday.¡±

    Chisel put a hand over her breast.

    ¡°Aww, Hettie,¡± said Fo-Fum. ¡°The boss didn¡¯t mean it that way.¡±

    Menagerie shook his head at himself. ¡°Shit, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I understand.¡± Chisel eyed the pile of money still being fed into the truck. ¡°Good haul, Fo.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± Fo-Fum pulled a packet of Winnie Blues from his jacket pocket. ¡°Smoko, boss? Just while I get it all in the truck?¡±

    Menagerie shrugged. ¡°Sure, why not?¡±

    Fo-Fum turned to the crowd of waiting supplicants ¡°Alright, puny mortals!¡± he shouted, voice amplified again. ¡°The Fearsome Three are taking a fifteen minute break! If any of you try anything stupid¡­¡±  Fo-Fum pounded his fist against his leather-wrapped palm. The echo rolled over the townsfolk like storm clouds.

    Menagerie continued, ¡°And if that doesn¡¯t convince you, a lot of the dogs are getting hungry.¡± He jabbed a thumb at Chisel. ¡°Maybe our lady-friend here could grind some bones to make their bread.¡±

    Chisel didn¡¯t look up from her milkshake.

    The crowd cautioned, Menagerie and Fo-Fum both lit up, the latter offering their teammate a cigarette.

    She shook her head. ¡°Might as well suck air through a straw.¡± She sipped her milkshake. ¡°I still don¡¯t like my name. Chisels break stone. It¡¯d be like calling you two ¡®Gun¡¯ or ¡°Hatchet¡¯<sup>2</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Well, too late to change it now,¡± said Menagerie. ¡°Again, reputation¡¯s no good if people don¡¯t know who you are.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Fo-Fum. ¡°Bad enough we had to change our name when Primadonna ran off.¡±

    Chisel shrugged. ¡°She was a cow.¡±

    Fo-Fum gave her a sideways look. ¡°You broke her jaw.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. Let the Coven keep her. I heard she¡¯s the Fox¡¯s new moll.¡±

    ¡°Serves her right,¡± said Menagerie. ¡°I mean¡­¡± He suddenly became aware of the eyes of Northam staring at the three of them, watching and waiting. He felt like he was on exhibition back at Perth Zoo. ¡°¡­Did you two ever see your lives turning out like this?¡±

    Peter Frum certainly hadn¡¯t. Peter Frum couldn¡¯t have expected to have been fired for being too good with the animals. Or for his boss to act like he was doing him a favour not calling the freak-finders while he was at it.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Although, his boss couldn¡¯t have expected to have been trampled by Tricia the elephant, either<sup>3</a></sup>.

    Chisel shook her head, crystal grinding against stone. ¡°Never. I always imagined me and Paul would¡¯ve had another kid or two by now. Maybe have paid off the house. Grown old.¡± She looked at her concrete hands. ¡°I don¡¯t even know if I can do that anymore.¡±

    Fo-Fum nodded. ¡°I always thought being a supervillain would be more glamorous, you know? But we don¡¯t even got a decent lair. Did you ever hear about Jack Jupiter sleepin¡¯ in the back of a truck?

    Menagerie waggled his eyebrows. ¡°Tonight we¡¯re sleeping on a pile of money, like Scrooge McDuck!¡±

    ¡°Still, it¡¯d be nice. You remember Pemulwuy?<sup>4</a></sup> That bloke had a lair carved right into Ayers Rock!<sup>5</a></sup>¡±

    Chisel tried to smile. Her lips always obeyed her slowly. ¡°Cheer up, Fo. After this job maybe we can establish ourselves properly. Set up shop somewhere.¡±

    ¡°We should hit a zoo,¡± mused Menagerie. ¡°Dogs are great and all, but variety is nice. And not having to scrounge the bush every job.¡±

    He smiled to himself. Images of war-elephants and lions filled Menagerie¡¯s head. And gorilla henchmen. With machine guns.

    Fo-Fum sighed. ¡°Me and the Crimson Comet are the same age ya know. If Ma hadn¡¯t told me to go into construction¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­The hell is this?¡± Menagerie interrupted him, clutching his forehead.

    Chisel grabbed her teammate¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± She shook him. ¡°Pete!¡±

    Dozens, maybe hundreds of eyes and ears, and just as many vantage points. Muted glimpses of streets where the colour red and all its children were myths, but scent was the language of everything. Something zooming through them like an intruder in a row of paintings¡­

    ¡°There¡¯s a bloody flying carpet.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Menagerie winced. Dogs went green and were suddenly somewhere else, if reappeared at all.  They were struck by fists and clubs or some new, unfamiliar pain. ¡°There¡¯s some kids riding on it. They¡¯ve got these crazy guns and swords and shit¡ª¡±

    The supervillain felt teeth breaking against soft, youthful skin.

    ¡°¡ªAnd a flying girl. Fuck, we¡¯ve got supers.¡±

    Chisel¡¯s mouth was agape, revealing teeth like carefully arranged stone-chips. ¡°Where did they come from?¡±

    ¡°Probably the New Human Institute,¡± said Fo-Fum.

    His teammates both stared at him like he had personally invited the interlopers. ¡°The New What Institute?¡± Menagerie asked.

    ¡°The New Human Institute,¡± answered Fo-Fum. ¡°It¡¯s this school for supers. Those little kids who danced in front of Parliament a while back live there. Sounded beautiful.¡±

    Menagerie shouted, ¡°And you didn¡¯t think to tell us?¡±

    Fo-Fum threw his hands up. It sounded like the wind was picking up. ¡°Come on, that place is miles away. I figured if they were even around they¡¯d be on our side.¡±

    ¡°Was the Crimson bloody Comet on our fucking side?¡±

    ¡°Boys, boys,¡± Chisel cooed. She was becoming aware of murmurs running through the crowd, peppered with rare, brave insults. ¡°Not in front of the hostages.¡±

    Menagerie sputtered and growled, before taking a deep breath. ¡°Chisel, take one of the walkie-talkies and check these people out. Fo-Fum, I want you to stay here in case the naturals get ideas. Got it?¡±

    Chisel and Fo-Fum both nodded.

    Their leader fished a walkie-talkie from the truck, tossing it to the living statue. ¡°Take this. I¡¯ll give ya directions.¡±

    Catching the little radio, Chisel set off.

    The crowd parted for her. People stared. Others averted their eyes, or had them covered by their mothers and fathers.

    The children stung the most.

    Chisel couldn¡¯t blame the locals for being scared of her, though she doubted that could be helped. She remembered how people had looked at her back in Broome when the scream first overtook her. The look on her family¡¯s faces, when she stopped being her.

    Once she was clear, Chisel began to run. She didn¡¯t think of herself as having super-speed, exactly, but she could definitely build up a lot of momentum. As she weaved through the streets, she noticed a dingo keeping apace with her, and a little cockatiel gliding above them both: Menagerie¡¯s eyes.

    She kept having to vault over cats and dogs as they crossed the road and slipped between houses; over fences and under hedges. It was like watching the animals hike to the ark before the flood.

    Without stopping, Chisel asked her walkie-talkie, ¡°What are you doing, Menagerie?¡±

    ¡°Consolidating our forces, honey. The supers are just sort of floating a couple a¡¯ streets¡ªshit!¡±

    Chisel ground to a stop, her feet tearing up the road. In the distance, there was a sound like thunder laughing, and the flashing haze of a green sunset. It went on like that for two minutes, before the light died away and silence took its place, bar the distant sound of young voices.

    Meangerie¡¯s voice crackled shakily. ¡°They¡ªthey¡¯re all gone. Just gone¡­¡±

    ¡°Breathe, Pete, breathe. What are they doing now?¡±

    ¡°Wait a sec, I¡¯m getting a bird over. Okay, they¡¯ve landed. I think they¡¯re heading for one of the houses. Number 7 it looks like.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to check it out.¡±

    ¡°Hettie¡­ are you sure? Maybe we should cut our losses and get out now?¡±

    Chisel thought about it. She pushed the PTT button again. ¡°No. If we¡¯re doing this, we might as well be good at it. And what kind of supervillain can¡¯t deal with the other team?¡±

    She waited for his answer.

    A staticy sigh. ¡°Alright. But please, be careful.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m made of stone, Pete. What could do they do?¡±

    Cutting through to Gregory Street was easy enough. Chisel tore through gates and fences like they were made of spun sugar. She emerged onto the road just in time to see someone slipping through the door of Number 7, shutting it behind them.

    ¡°Shit, my bird¡¯s gone¡ª¡±

    Chisel switched off the reciever.

    She sprinted over. Through the red-painted wood, she could hear a young man saying:

    ¡°Today Jen, we¡¯re superheroes.¡±

    As ladylike as possible, Chisel battered the door down with one closed fist.

    The boys and girls crowded behind it backed away, staring at her. She tried to think of what a proper supervillain would say:

    ¡°I hope for your sake that¡¯s true, young man.¡±

    Well, that was crap.

    ¡°Hi.¡±

    The speaker was a little boy covered in tiger-striped fur, being pet nervously by a girl in torn jeans. A tail swayed behind his head.

    Chisel had never seen a super as physically divergent as herself. She wanted to say something¡ªan expression of solidarity, a question, anything¡ªbut the boy beat her to it.

    ¡°You¡¯re like me.¡± He stepped toward, holding out a clawed hand. One of the others, a chiseled, golden haired teen tried to stop him, but the child brushed him off. ¡°I¡¯m Billy. Growltiger sometimes. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    Chisel couldn¡¯t answer. Instead, she hissed into her walkie-talkie, ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me there were children!¡±

    ¡°I said they were kids!¡±

    ¡°Kids are not children!¡± She looked back at the cat-boy, and the two other little kids now at his side. ¡°Some of them aren¡¯t even ten years old!¡±

    ¡°Almost,¡± said a fox-faced boy sourly.

    ¡°Not the time, Arnold,¡± said a tall, auburn haired girl with thick, dark eyebrows.

    Chisel stared at her. ¡°One of them¡¯s pregnant! I¡¯m not fighting a¡ª¡±

    Sadie Owens punched the stone woman square in the face. She sailed out the door, clear across the street. Glass shattered against Chisel¡¯s back, before she landed in thick shag carpeting.

    She groaned. She could feel cracks in her skin.

    The pregnant girl floated into the new living room through the destroyed window, eyes cast down contemptuously at the prone supervillain.

    ¡°I stay cooped up on the freak-farm for months, and the one day I get to do some shopping, some arseholes come and wreck up the place!¡± She stopped just in front of Chisel. ¡°What the fuck, lady?¡±

    The smooth finish of Chisel¡¯s skin broke apart, shifting and churning like broken brick in a cement mixer.

    God forgive me.

    She slammed her heel against the floor. A jagged grey fang bust out of the carpet, right under the flying girl¡¯s chin.

    Sadie shot through the ceiling, plaster dust and splinters raining down on Chisel.

    She ran back outside, just as her opponent landed in the middle of the road. The impact punched a shallow crater in the asphalt.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Chisel called out instinctively.

    Sadie sat up. Aside from some very mussed hair, she looked more annoyed than anything else. ¡°This how you treat every pregnant lady you meet?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. But you started it.¡±

    Did she really just say that? Was she twelve?

    Sadie screamed. Rising from the ground like an angry ghost, she lunged at Chisel.

    The supervillain doged and stamped her foot against the road. It reared up like a wave and wrapped around her assailant like a child in a sleeping bag. She struggled to keep aloft, before a shard of green lightning zapped her a few feet to the left.

    ¡°Thanks Arn!¡±

    ¡°No problem,¡± said Arnold, blowing on his finger like a gun.

    Sadie was upon Chisel in a flash, striking her carved face with angry, inexpert, titanic blows. Cracks and fissures spread across her face.

    She¡¯s not going to stop until I do.

    The road rippled up under Sadie¡¯s feet, flinging her skywards.

    Chisel knew she only had a moment. She ran towards Number 7, towards the children standing out front.

    Arnold became fluorescent, but she was expecting that. The supervillain dodged a blast of lightning that stripped the road behind her naked.

    Mabel was flicking frantically through her scrapbook. Billy screamed. More cracks opened in Chisel¡¯s skin, but that didn¡¯t stop her from scooping him up.

    ¡°Stay back!¡± she shouted, holding the boy close and glancing around wildly at his friends. ¡°Just leave quietly, and we¡¯ll all be fine!¡±

    Billy struggled and squirmed. His silver mist plumed from his hands and flowed over his captors arms.

    He screamed. It was like trying to taste fire.

    ¡°Let him go!¡± shouted Mabel. The astronaut in red stood behind her, aiming her gun at Chisel. ¡°She¡¯ll fire!¡±

    ¡°No she won¡¯t,¡± retorted Chisel. ¡°Not if she doesn¡¯t want to hit the boy.¡± She looked at Arnold. ¡°Same for you, boy.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± the astronaut muttered out the corner of her mouth. ¡°Bad shot.¡±

    Billy was crying now. ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± he sobbed. ¡°We¡¯re the same¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a statue, you¡¯re a tiger,¡± she snapped.

    The world went green, and she was empty handed.

    Arnold hugged Billy, glaring at Chisel. ¡°I aimed for him, idiot.¡±

    Linus hoisted his guitar. ¡°Sorry about this, Ma¡¯am.¡±

    He strummed.

    The notes hit Chisel like a dust storm. It was a dust storm. It blew away the world. When she could see again, the world was grey and wind-blown, like colour couldn¡¯t cling to anything in the face of this front of sound.

    The music pierced Chisel¡ªno, Hettie. Chisel was a lie she kept telling herself, and lies withered when Linus sang.

    He stood there, at the centre of it, spinning sound into gold and straining music from base air through his guitar strings. His voice was the only thing that had any colour.

    Hettie tried to approach the young man, to embrace him or snap his neck she didn¡¯t know.

    Linus struck a power chord, and a thin, shining line shot from the soundboard and pierced Hettie through the heart.

    It didn¡¯t stop there. It branched and split, silver strings weaving through Bily and Mabel and all the other children, snaking inside the house to intwine the baselines, too.

    Hettie felt them. Felt them all. Their fears, their memories. She felt the poison sun clawing at her back in a dead desert town. She felt hot, indifferent flesh invading her own. She felt alone on cold streets, abandoned by her (or was it his?) father.

    And she felt lonely. Oh, God, so lonely. For so long.

    She found Billy in the storm of notes. She didn¡¯t try to speak. She didn¡¯t need to.

    How did you live like that? I got thirty-one years, you¡­

    Betty was good. I miss her, but it¡¯s over now.

    Hettie felt herself flowing outwards, out of her. Her first kiss. Meeting Paul. Her first time. Pain. Real, longed for pain. The blood and slime in her daughter¡¯s hair¡­

    ¡°Stop!¡± she shouted. ¡°Give them back! Please, I need them! They¡¯re all I have¡ª¡±

    The music died. The world became muddled and bearable again.

    Hettie was on her knees, heaving as though she were trying to draw herself back inside. Bazza and the rest of the baselines staggered out of the house.

    Jen was clinging to her brother¡¯s side like a limpet. The man himself was rubbing his head. ¡°Wild, man¡­¡±

    Aleister was shaking. Eddie and Belinda were making out.

    ¡°Marry me,¡± Eddie said, tearing himself away from his girlfriend¡¯s neck for just a moment.

    ¡°Kiss me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, the ring¡¯s in my back pocket.¡±

    ¡°Ask me again once the demi-magic wears off.¡±

    Aleister regarded Hettie warily. ¡°Is she safe?¡±

    She looked up at the lad, tears running down her face like rain down stone. Her brown eyes were the only organic part of her left. ¡°I¡¯m done, Al. You are Al, right?¡±

    He nodded.

    ¡°I am sorry for that, Mrs Shaw,¡± Linus said. ¡°I know it¡¯s a bit¡­ intense.¡±

    Hettie shook her head. ¡°No. I needed that. Put things in perspective.¡± She looked around the Institute students. ¡°The things you kids have been through¡­ who does that?¡±

    ¡°Arseholes,¡± said Sadie.

    Hettie nodded. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. Excuse me, Arnold? You¡¯re the one with the lightning, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Could you send me somewhere? Back to my family?¡±

    Arnold searched his companions¡¯ faces for approval. He got shrugs and nods.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Aleister. ¡°Probably best you don¡¯t stick around.¡±

    To Arnold¡¯s mild surprise, it didn¡¯t take much to get his power to spark. Normally he¡¯d at least have had to ask Hettie where her family were. Not this time. Not after what Linus did.

    ¡°Try not to be too hard on Pete and Barry. I know it¡¯s a hard ask, but they¡¯re desperate and stupid. Just like all of us.¡±

    There was an electric cry, and Hettie Shaw was gone.

    ¡°I hope she finds them,¡± said Billy.

    ¡°So,¡± said Aleister. ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    Before anyone could answer, they heard a loud hocket of caws and shrieks. Birds were rising in the distance. Hundreds of them. Enough to fast forward the sky and darken the day. And they were heading right for Gregory Street.

    Bazza gulped. ¡°Anyone else remember that Tippi Hedren movie?¡±

    Arnold went bright again. Billy prepared to scream, but Sadie held up a hand. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this.¡±

    She floated gently up towards the sky, waiting for the flock to hit her. ¡°Idiots,¡± she muttered to herself.

    The birds about around Sadie, pale pinks, whites, and yellows blurring together until they resembled a solid shell around the girl¡ªa conversation of whistles and beating rings. They were rejoicing. And grateful.

    ¡°One down, two to go.¡±

 Chapter Forty-Five: The Bellows of Giants

    ¡°Shit, shit, shit¡­¡±

    Menagerie was pacing in front of the truck like he was trying to cut a trench in the road.

    Fo-Fum was shouting at him, ¡°What do you mean Hettie¡¯s gone?¡±

    ¡°I mean she¡¯s gone. I can¡¯t find her anywhere! And my birds¡­ I think they got her!¡±

    Menagerie¡¯s forces howled and shrieked, trying to cow the increasingly restless naturals:

    ¡°Oi, trouble in paradise?¡± a man in the crowd jeered.

    ¡°Are the freak-finders on their way?¡±

    ¡°I hear they cut your¡ª¡±

    The last heckler was set upon by a flurry of kookaburras.

    ¡°Shut up!¡± Fo-Fum thundered. ¡°We¡¯re still in charge here!¡±

    Music drifted down the mainstreet. Gentle singing, weaved with guitar notes sweeter than angel harps. Soft, and yet louder than the crowd and the animals. Not that it needed to be. All went silent as it washed over them

    The music drew closer. Townsfolk parted like the Red Sea to reveal a golden haired young man, striding forward with a guitar in hand, his eyes closed in the rapture of song. A little boy with a tail and tiger-fur skipped along beside him, singing along:

    ¡°In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight¡­¡±

    Dogs and cats started swaying on their feet, their eyes drooping shut. Birds buried their heads in their own feathers, falling asleep where they perched.

    Sleep pressed against Menagerie, too, pouring into the supervillain through his animals. He let go of all their reins, lest it overtake him completely.

    For the first time since he could remember, Peter Frum was a man alone. In a leopard-print coat, with a domino mask, standing next to a half finished Mexican wrestler.

    It got worse. Fo-Fum pointed up. ¡°Look, up in the sky!¡±

    There were birds. Hundreds of them. They ribboned through the air, twisting and curving like one shattered organism. A young woman floated ahead of the flock like their grand-marshal, three small children and a man riding astride a broomstick next to her.

    Up in the sky, Mabel Henderson let out a long, witchly cackle.

    She felt Arnold¡¯s arms tighten around her waist. ¡°Don¡¯t move so much!¡±

    Mabel rolled her eyes. ¡°Please. You ever see witches fall off these in pictures?¡±

    ¡°Ready to fight?¡± Alberto called out to Sadie from the middle of the stick.

    She shouted back, ¡°Not until the bridge!¡±

    On the ground, Linus was still singing:

    ¡°Near the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight¡­¡±

    The crowd started dispersing. Families wandered off or strolled into stores and restaurants like it was just another Saturday.

    Fo-Fum didn¡¯t know what was going on. A girl who could¡¯ve been the Flying Man¡¯s daughter was floating inside a storm of stolen birds, backed up by what looked like a tiny witch, all while a crazy kid with a guitar sung like God himself, and none of the townspeople seemed perturbed in the slightest.

    Worst of all, most of them hadn¡¯t paid up yet.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Fo-Fum shouted. ¡°Get back here!

    The Northamites ignored him. The young man flashed the supervillain the kind of smile he gave Lawrence when he said his father was just a posthuman.

    ¡°Hush, my darling, don¡¯t fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight¡­¡±

    Fo-Fum was about to go over and throttle the boy, but Menagerie held him back.

    ¡°Fuck it,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m cutting our losses.¡±

    ¡°But they got Hettie!¡±

    ¡°I know but¡ªarggggh!¡±

    The birds were upon them. Galahs, magpies, and even a few monstrous black swans pecked and clawed at the two villains, ignoring Linus, Billy, and the few remaining stragglers like an unfair Hitchcock film<sup>1</a></sup>.

    Menagerie pulled his coat over his head, shouting, ¡°I gotta get the truck started. Cover me!¡±

    Fo-Fum was desperately trying to bat away birds. Some got flung backwards like they had flown into gale force winds. ¡°Why do I got to?¡±

    Menagerie glared out from his leopard-print cave. ¡°Because someone has to lift the fucking truck over the barrier.¡± He started running for the truck cabin.

    Alberto watched him from above. From that height, he looked like an ant glowing violet with fear. The psychic tapped Arnold on the shoulder.

    ¡°Hey, kid, can ya zap me into the driver¡¯s seat?¡±

    ¡°Easy peasy. Sure you¡¯ll be alright?¡±

    Alberto grinned. ¡°Trust me, it¡¯ll be great.¡±

    Fo-Fum clambered into the truck bed. Behind him, birds flattened against thin air as if they had hit a glass window.

    Sadie flinched at her new friends¡¯ pain. ¡°Fuckin¡¯ cunts.¡±

    She dived towards the truck to avenge them, but was slammed against the side of an antiques store. The girl grunted, trying to push off from the redbrick, but she was pinned by something moist and salty.

    Sadie gagged and quickly gave up trying to force her way through, instead shooting up out from under whatever was holding her.

    ¡°Uyimbube, uyimbube¡­¡±

    Menagerie fought his way through the blizzard of beaks and talons, eventually closing his scratched, bleeding hands around the driver-door handle.

    It flung outward, sending him to the ground.

    ¡°Fuuuugh¡­¡±

    Alberto smirked from behind the wheel. ¡°Where to, buddy?¡±

    Menagerie screamed, grabbing the psychic by the legs and pulling him out of the cabin, punching him hard in the nose as soon as they were level.

    The man looked the villain right in the eye, a trickle of blood flowing from his nose onto smiling lips. ¡°Thank you very much, Frum.¡±

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    Sadie was not having a good time. Something she couldn¡¯t see kept slamming or crushing or flicking her and her birds whenever they got too close to the truck. It almost hurt, too.

    What the hell is this bloke¡¯s power? she asked herself as she zigged and zagged wildly through the air, trying to avoid whatever it was she was fighting.

    Sadie tried to remember all of Fran?oise¡¯s power development classes. It didn¡¯t feel like wind control¡ª

    One of her cockatoos got sideswiped. She felt its wings break.

    ¡ªAnd it didn¡¯t feel like she or the birds were being interfered with themselves. Forcefields? Or had they actually found one of Lawrence¡¯s beloved general telekinetics? But what about that liquid¡ª

    Sadie was shoved face first into the road. She felt the tarmac or whatever it was crack against her cheek. And there was that moisture again¡­

    A giant¡¯s voice growled. ¡°Now why don¡¯t you stay there, you little slut? Spare your sprog the stress?¡±

    She didn¡¯t struggle. Instead, she took in the sensation. Her body felt¡­ squished. Like there were two solid bars to either side of her, layered in some thick, heavy kind of padding. Something ground against her shoulder; solid, yet indented. Was that a knuckle?

    Knuckles?

    With what little mobility she had, she looked around the street. It was dotted with shallow oblong craters, longer than they were wide, and one always a yard or two ahead of another.

    What had the lads called this freak?

    ¡°Fe-Fi¡­¡±

    All her birds received the same order: flock. The first dozen or so settled over Sadie, their feet finding purchase on the empty space above her.

    In the truck bed, Fo-Fum felt the prick of talons on his right hand. ¡°Oh, shit.¡±

    More and more birds joined in. Soon, in the middle of the street, there crouched a giant made of wings.

    The giant reflexively raised his closed fist¡ªthe size of a volkswagen¡ªand Sadie broke free, beelining for his featureless, feathered face.

    The birds exploded out of the way of their mistresses¡¯ mighty blows. Phantom flesh and cartilage broke against her fists. Cries of pain echoed like the groans of icebergs.

    ¡°I¡¯m not the one who should be stressed, cocksucker.¡±

    Close by a frantic Menagerie had no idea of what was happening. He was fighting the skinny bloke with the hip flask¡ªtrying to, anyway¡ªbut his moves weren¡¯t his own. He dodged the other man¡¯s blows, but not fast enough to actually avoid them. When he was allowed to get a hit in, something made him pull his punches.

    Alberto grabbed Menagerie around the waist, throwing him to the ground.

    Come on, an amused little voice in his head he didn¡¯t recognize said. Don¡¯t you want to put on a good show?

    Menagerie just wanted to to scream. Instead, he spat, ¡°Fuck you, arsehole!¡±

    Alberto pinned him under his knees, taking his hip flask from his belt and twisting the lid off with his thumb. ¡°Alright, enough of this.¡± He forced the flask between Menagerie¡¯s lips. ¡°Drink up!¡±

    Peter Frum¡¯s mouth filled with a chalk, sickly-sweet liquid. Blue dribbled out the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, he didn¡¯t just feel alone. He felt numb.

    Sadie was still whaling on the giant, even as he tried to shake off the birds. Her fists kept coming away wet with invisible blood, but the giant wouldn¡¯t let up.

    ¡°Should¡¯ve quit while you were ahead.¡±

    She flew backwards, flipping around so her feet faced forwards, and shot like a javelin at the giant¡¯s knee.

    With a sound like a falling redwood, the giant¡¯s leg was wrenched in the wrong direction. Sadie felt what might have been bone scrape against her skin.

    The giant screamed, ¡°I surrender, for fuck sakes I surrender!¡±

    He disappeared, his avian skin squawking at being so robbed of their roost.

    Linus stopped singing, his fingers going still.

    Billy looked out from behind the older boy¡¯s legs. He¡¯d taken refuge there about when Sadie had unleashed her birds of war. ¡°Is it over?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, Billy,¡± Sadie said as she landed. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡±

    Alberto dragged over Menagerie. ¡°Definitely is for Frum here.¡±

    ¡°Ugh,¡± the dazed supervillain muttered weakly, ¡°what did ya do to me?¡±

    ¡°Quit moaning, you¡¯ll piss it out eventually.¡±

    People were slowly emerging from the shops and the alleys separating them¡ªcautiously, the calm of Linus¡¯ song quickly dissipating.

    A thickly mustachioed police constable in an awfully militaristic navy blue uniform marched up to the new humans. He looked like Lord Kitchener. Or Big Brother.

    He cleared his throat. ¡°Good afternoon, I¡¯m Constable Preston. You folks are?¡±

    They gave their names in turn, Alberto explaining they came from the Institute, as though there was a chance they came from the other superhuman care home in the valley.

    More folks were spilling out onto the road.

    ¡°Ah, Old Laurie¡¯s place,¡± said the policeman. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard from you in years. Hope that means everything is going smoothly.¡±

    Sadie clawed at her shorts. Her fingers were throbbing.

    Preston glanced at Menagerie. ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re not with him?¡±

    ¡°Oh, of course,¡± said Sadie. ¡°We bond as a team by beating each other to a pulp.¡±

    To her surprise, the constable chuckled. ¡°Silly questions get silly answers.¡±

    Alberto handed Preston his hip flask. ¡°Give him a sip of this every few hours till he¡¯s out of your hair,¡± he said, shaking his captive lightly.

    The esper glanced at the Fearsome Three¡¯s truck. Fo-Fum had dragged his beaten form into the light, his eyes almost completely hidden by livid, swollen bruises.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you need to worry too much about that one, or their lady-friend.¡±

    Constable Preston humphed. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you were here to put a stop to them.¡±

    Billy smiled his fanged grin. ¡°Glad we could help!¡±

    Someone in the reconvened crowd started to clap. So did his neighbour. Applause and cheering spread through the people as an ecstatic virus. The noise of it was deafening. Men and women clapped the new humans on the backs. Mabel and Arnold descended on their broomstick, waving at the naturals below them to even more cheering.

    Alberto Moretti closed his eyes, enjoying the lightshow of Northam¡¯s adoration. For the first time he could remember, he and his companions were being loved for exactly what they were.

    Laurie was going to be so pissed.

    ?

    Herbert Lawrence sat alone in his shadowed bedroom, his old cushioned reading chair parked in front of the great circular window that opened out onto the Institute grounds. When he, Mary, and the children had first arrived on the property, he had chosen the room especially for that window, so he could look out over the haven he had built for what mankind was becoming.

    Now, as the sun slowly set, he brooded and watched his rebellious students. A dethroned king, forgotten by his subjects.

    Most of them were still camped out by the river like the Achaeans at Troy¡¯s walls. Or maybe the Trojans themselves, about to fall on Greek swords without even the excuse of a wooden horse.

    Or had that been Panoply?

    ¡°Herbert?¡±

    He heard Mary¡¯s voice from the door. Probably here to call him down to whatever meagre supper she had prepared. Normally, he admired that can-do spirit of hers, that spirit that had preserved her through the destruction of her city and family. That evening, he just wanted to be left alone.

    ¡°They haven¡¯t come home.¡±

    Mary Gillespie walked over to his side, putting a hand on her colleague¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t be too worried.¡±

    ¡°The shops would have closed hours ago.¡±

    ¡°Young people dawdle, we both know that¡­¡±

    The old woman trailed off. She could see headlights worming through the trees. At least five sets of them. What looked like the shadows of trucks and automobiles.

    Lawrence stood up from his chair treading even closer to the window. ¡°What on Earth?¡±

    Had Timothy Valour¡¯s men arrived to take his children away early? Or had the torch and pitchfork-toting mob he had always feared finally come?

    ¡°Lawrence, look.¡±

    Mary was pointing above the convoy. A silhouette of a girl flew above the vehicles like a guardian angel<sup>2</a></sup>, joined by what looked like a winged chair<sup>3</a></sup>.

    The girl¡ªSadie they both knew¡ªdipped down to unlatch the gate, letting the visitors drive through. As they parked, Lawrence managed to spot a police car among them.

    He swallowed. What had Stratogale told the Northamites?

    People started climbing out of their cars¡ªmen, women, and children¡ªfollowing Sadie down to the river.

    Soon, her arch, amused voice was heard all throughout the Institute:

    Good teachers of the New Human Institute, our food problem is solved! In exchange for cleaning up a pesky supervillain infestation, the good folk of Northam have agreed to supply us with free groceries for the next twelve months. In celebration, we¡¯re having a barbecue. Feel free to join us, Laurie.

    Lawrence shook his head in confusion. ¡°What are these children playing at?¡±

    No answer. Mary was already out the door. By the second flight of stairs, she was running.

    She passed Therese Fletcher on the first floor landing.

    ¡°Mrs Gillespie, what¡¯s¡ª¡±

    Mary almost shoved past the young teacher. She shot through the front door, hurrying down to the riverside.

    Artume was already loading perishables into her dark dimension. Linus was setting up the girl, know-it-all men with beers in their hands bellowing conflicting advice and laughing.

    She stopped when she saw Melusine with a broad-shouldered lad in a torn up suit. The Taylors¡¯ eldest.

    She remembered the last time she saw the boy. ¡°Oh, God.¡±

    But Eddie Taylor was shaking the nereid¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I called your son a boong. And for trying to peek at you.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t deserve what I did to you.¡±

    Eddie looked her steadily in the eye. ¡°No. I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m still sorry.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie spotted a group of strange children splashing in the shallows, Maelstrom holding court like the prince of the sea, creating waterspouts and geysers to the laughter of the baselines.

    Human children, playing with her students without fear.

    David spotted the old woman, waving exuberantly and grinning. ¡°Hi Mrs Gillespie!¡± He gestured around at the other children. ¡°They¡¯re from town!¡±

    Mary felt tears run down her face.

    For the first and last time in the Avon Valley, men and supermen broke bread. And it was good.

 Chapter Forty-Six: The Girl Who Fell to Earth

    ¡° ¡®I think it¡¯s up to us posthumans to police ourselves, especially in light of Northam¡¯s years of kindness and hospitality towards our community. Growing up in Italy during the war, I got very sick of bullies, superpowered or otherwise.¡¯ ¡± Lawrence laid The Northam Advertiser back on his desk; the shopping party and the mayor of Northam grinning up at him in scratchy monochrome from the front page. ¡°Really, Tiresias?¡±

    ¡°Well, Gertie tidied up my elocution a bit, but that was the basic sentiment.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Gertie?¡±

    ¡°The reporter lady who wrote the article. Sweet thing, probably thinks we¡¯re her ticket to a real paper. Might be right, too. We have a date next week.¡± Alberto smirked at the look on Lawrence¡¯s face. ¡°Hey, every superhero needs his Lois Lane. Don¡¯t worry, Bertie, I won¡¯t be wasting my precious posthuman seed on a baseline. Not till the third date, at least.¡± His smile flattened bitterly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you misplacing another of my kids.¡±

    ¡°You planned this,¡± Lawrence hissed at the psychic, ¡°don¡¯t deny it!¡±

    Alberto shrugged. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be a very useful psychic if I hadn¡¯t.¡±

    The breath fled Lawrence like he had been punched in the ribs. ¡°The whole point of this blasted exercise was to starve some sense into the children! Now we have to beg them for food!¡±

    ¡°Laurie, Laurie, you¡¯re talking like Stalin. Or Churchill. I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re upset. We haven¡¯t been this popular in the hills since Chen used to fund happy-hour back at Duke¡¯s Inn. Mrs G is practically dancing on air.¡±

    ¡°This¡­ adoration you¡¯re enjoying is shallow, Tiresias, you must know that. And completely dependent on you playing into the narrow roles humanity has deigned your kind.¡±

    ¡°What, protecting people from mean fucks?¡±

    ¡°Brutalising members of your own kind. Allowing your predecessors to set you against each other for their own benefit.¡±

    Alberto grimaced, shaking his head slowly. ¡°How were you and Ralph ever friends? You know what I think this is? You just can''t stand that you¡¯re not mentioned anywhere in that article. That we¡¯re getting love for something that wasn¡¯t your idea.¡±

    Lawrence gritted his teeth. ¡°Baseless accusations aside, how does this help us when the inspector gets here?

    ¡°Well, the fact the students look like upstanding allies of law and order won¡¯t hurt.¡±

    ¡°With you as their fearless leader,¡± Lawrence said flatly.

    ¡°If the shoe fits...¡±

    ¡°Still, how will this help bring the children to heel?¡±

    Alberto rested his chin in his hands, smiling beatifically at the headmaster.

    It took Lawrence a moment to realize what his student was waiting for. He sighed. ¡°...How will this help me?¡±

    Alberto threw his hands up, his expression mockingly grave. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Lawrence. I¡¯m not sure what could at that this point.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªbut you said¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, Lawrence. And I¡¯ve tried. But at the end of the day, you still got bunch of little girls knocked up. And let¡¯s face it, you¡¯re not the most valuable asset here.¡± Alberto leaned back in his chair. ¡°I mean, doesn¡¯t it matter more that the kids are alright? Isn¡¯t that why you started all this?¡±

    Lawrence didn''t know why he expected anything more from Tiresias, but what other choice did he have? ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°if you have given up on bringing order to the Institute, I must continue on my own.¡±

    ¡°Must you?¡±

    The old man rose from his chair, pulling back his green suit-sleeve to look at his silver rolex. The second hand was about to join its brothers at eight o¡¯clock. ¡°Any minute now.¡±

    The lights went out, night rushing in to fill the empty air.

    ¡°If you and the children are so independent, I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t have any need for the electricity I pay for.¡±

    In the dark, Alberto lit a cigarette, his gaunt features cast in flickering orange shadow by the burning tobacco. ¡°This would be a lot more effective if it was winter, Lawrence. Or if we had a television.¡±

    He walked towards the door, taking his little patch of light with him. ¡°Count yourself lucky I already put all the white wine in the dark dimension.¡±

    ?

    Just as Alberto had predicted, the blackout had little effect on the children¡¯s new routine. No surprise, really. How could it compare to the last one? This time, they had Sheilah to keep the food good; gas-bottles or Brian¡¯s flames to cook it with; the river and the Barthes for clean, fresh water; even Linus¡¯ music and Mabel¡¯s hoard of pulpy nonsense for whatever entertainment they couldn¡¯t generate themselves.

    As the psychic had also said, it helped that it was summer. Even if the children couldn¡¯t have coped without electric light or replaced it, the sun lasted long enough for most of them. Their days had escaped adult time.

    It was late evening, and although the sun had set, it was still hardly darker than noon. The wide, cloudless sky arched over gum trees and dry grass like a soaring pastel dome, slowly deepening. Tom Long and Bella Wilson were building a bonfire. They had no particular occasion for it, save maybe uncertainty regarding the coming of the inspector in just three nights. Still, no reason not to have a bonfire.

    The pair had already dug themselves a fire-pit demarcated by a ring of stone like a fairy-ring, and now were assembling a teepee of sticks and grass under the bemused eye of Brian ¡°Snapdragon¡± Peters.

    ¡°You know I could make a fire for everyone just by thinking it, right?¡± the platinum-blond boy asked, absently tracing lines of flame in front of his face with his fingertip.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Bella, grunting as she shoved a branch as long as herself into position, ¡°and then it¡¯d go away soon as you got bored.¡±

    ¡°You could at least let me light the thing¡±¡ªBrian pointed at the chalky white cubes lying next to the pit¡ª¡°instead of mucking around with those firelighter things. Why do we even have those?¡±

    ¡°Getting it lit¡¯s half the fun,¡± said Tom, still bent over arranging some hay from the barn. ¡°Least that¡¯s what it was like with dad and my uncles.¡±

    Were they uncles, or cousins? Tom could barely remember anymore.

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    A few feet away, the air blurred. David, Fran, Bran and Tina ¡°Cardea¡± Vicks stepped out from one of her portals.

    ¡°Hey guys,¡± said Brian. ¡°Back from town?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± answered Tina, stretching like she had spent the night in a suitcase. She pointed at her passengers. ¡°These guys were helping clean up. I had to make ten portals in like ten seconds both trips!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but you didn''t have to do anything else all day,¡± retorted Bran. ¡°I had to put all their roads back to rights, and un-smash that house Sadie bunged up. How hard is making a bunch of portals anyways?¡±

    ¡°That many? It¡¯s like stretching a napkin over a king-sized bed, without tearing it, because that would make us tear.¡±

    ¡°Least you weren''t stuck cleaning bird-crap offa¡¯ everything,¡± muttered David.

    So Dave can swear, thought Tom. Learn something new everyday.

    Fran?oise laughed like a clear spring over rocks. ¡°Oh, shush, you had fun. And some of them paid us.¡±

    ¡°Who needs money when we have gold?¡± asked Bella, a good little libertarian.

    David looked around searchingly. ¡°Where¡¯s Brito¡ªLouise I mean?¡±

    ¡°...I don''t know,¡± said Tom. He supposed he, Bella and Louise were usually a unit. ¡°I think she knew we were doing the bonfire tonight.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the full-moon,¡± said Bella.

    Tom went ¡°Ah,¡± as if that explained all the mysteries of the world.

    Curious, David reduced himself to mist, and went to go find the girl.

    He hovered over the Institute, the water that had been his body diffused so thinly through the air, he might as well have been invisible. It didn¡¯t matter. David was everywhere there was water.

    Louise was sitting on a sloping rock rising from the tall yellow grass like an iceberg floating in the sea at sunset. David wasn''t sure how he knew what that looked like, but he did.

    The boy reformed next to the rock.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    Louise jerked slightly. With Mrs Gillespie too busy to cut her hair lately, it¡¯d grown past her shoulders, making the blue lowlights much more obvious. ¡°Uh, hi, David. How was town?¡±

    ¡°Kinda boring,¡± He shrugged. ¡°Just washing stuff. Got all dusty.¡± He gestured absently at his spotless form. ¡°Took forever, too.¡±

    Louise blushed slightly. ¡°Whatcha doing over here?¡±

    ¡°Seeing if you¡¯re okay... are you?¡±

    The red in her cheeks grew more vivid. David noticed her blood was flowing a little faster. ¡°Oh, I didn''t know you really noticed me.¡± She looked up. ¡°I was just looking at the Moon.¡±

    It hung up there almost transparent, the little green splotch the Gatekeeper and his people called home breaking up the dusty, silver wastes.

    ¡°It¡¯s pretty up there, huh. A lotta people don¡¯t know you can see it before it¡¯s dark, isn¡¯t that wild?¡± He gave her a smile. ¡°Nice down here, too. People almost seem like they like us.¡±

    Louise sighed. ¡°I guess. About the Moon being pretty, I mean. And the naturals, too.¡±

    He chuckled ¡°Yeah.¡± Then she felt him bump her with his shoulder. ¡°Other stuff¡¯s pretty too, tho.¡±

    She laughed. ¡°What happened to you when your eyes changed? You pretty much asked Laurie permission to say hello before.¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± he shrugged. ¡°Guess I don¡¯t feel alone so much now, though. It¡¯s easier to not care about him, you know?¡±

    ¡°Kinda,¡± she replied. ¡°You really don''t remember the blackout at all? The real one I mean.¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± he sighed. ¡°Wish I did, but all I remember is this really fuzzy dream. Like being hugged.¡±

    ¡°I like my dreams. They remind me of home, I think.¡± She pointed at the Moon again. ¡°Where I come from, their moon isn''t just this little grey smudge in the sky. It was like this whole other planet! And you could see volcanoes and rivers of lava!¡± Her face became wistful. ¡°You remember that bushfire last year? The way the sun was all red through the smoke and ash? That¡¯s what it was like all the time. And the grass was black! And, and¡­¡±

    She found herself at the end of her recollections.

    ¡°Heh,¡± David chuckled. ¡°I believe it. But I always felt more at home when I can¡¯t really see the moon. Or the sun. Or the sky. When I¡¯m just water and so¡¯s everything else that matters. It¡¯s like being part of the whole world.¡± For just a moment, his eyes gleamed.

    ¡°That does sound nice. Do you actually believe me? About not being from here? Nobody else does. Besides Tom and Eliza and that.¡±

    She felt a hand resting against her own.

    ¡°Course I do. It¡¯s true, right?¡±

    She smiled sadly. ¡°Yeah, it is. People think I just got it from a Superman comic. That I wanna look special or something.¡± She dug a finger into the stone. ¡°I wish I remembered more. All I really know is that I¡¯m not like the other kids. Not human, I mean. Laurie says none of us are, but for me it¡¯s really true. I don''t even think I¡¯m really a super. Just from somewhere people do extra things.¡±

    ¡°... I feel like that too,¡± David admitted. ¡°Just, I think I really am from here. Maybe more than anyone else.¡±

    ¡°Feels crappy, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes, yeah,¡± he shuffled his way across the tiny gap between them, and put an arm around her shoulders. ¡°But it¡¯s okay. The people here are nice.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯re not like them.¡±

    ¡°...You think humans get to touch the sky?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°The sky.¡± He pointed at one of the lonely ridges of cloud hanging high overhead like flaring gills. ¡°Think they ever get to touch it?¡±

    ¡°...No?¡±

    That was all David needed.

    ¡°Well. We¡¯re gonna. Come on, space girl. Let¡¯s go hug a cloud.¡±

    He vanished.

    ¡°Wait, where¡¯re you¡ª¡±

    Louise felt something cold slide under her, only to start started floating into the air on a diamond-clear. She normally had no real fear of falling, but the sudden motion still made her yelp.

    ¡°David!¡±

    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± the ice chimed. ¡°Start charging.¡±

    Louise closed her eyes, pulling the heat from the air around her. As the ambient temperature grew positively arctic, her skin glowed brighter and brighter. They rose higher. She glanced down, and regretted it. Northam¡¯s patchy lights hugged the horizon.

    ¡°So, what the hell are we doing?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you?¡± David laughed, rising beside her from the ice like the Lady of the Lake in wintertime. As always, Louise tried to ignore the out-of-place nudity. ¡°We¡¯re gonna touch the sky.¡±

    ¡°Aren''t we already doing that?¡±

    ¡°...Guess so,¡± he admitted. ¡°Wanna just watch the moon?¡±

    She gave the water-sprite a steely look. ¡°No.¡± She pointed at cloud. ¡°I¡¯m gonna touch the sky.¡±

    And with that, she leapt towards it.

    Behind her, David cackled. The cloud jumped to the side, just half a foot next to the girl.

    Louise felt gravity start pulling her down, building up momentum. ¡°Dickhead!¡±

    A wisp of cloud broke away, solidifying into a glassy platform under her. The rest of it, however, became a smiley face¡­ with its tongue out.

    The girl landed on her feet, transforming the impact into power. She laughed. ¡°Still a dick!¡±

    The shape the cloud assumed went unrecorded by history books.

    Louise grimaced, before looking around the sky for something (or someone) solid to punch. ¡°When did you get so gross?¡±

    ¡°Always was,¡± David said from right beside her. ¡°Just stopped apologizing for i¡ª¡±

    She rammed into the little boy, knocking them both off the platform.

    David giggled wildly. ¡°You bitch!¡±

    Louise managed to glare at David as they tumbled through the air. ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    ¡°I said¡ª¡± he placed a palm against her chest, before misting out of her grasp, then slamming against her ribs with all the might of an icy missile. Her body rocketed through the sky, scattering one particularly vulgar cloud to the wind in her wake.

    Louise landed in the bonfire, emerging from the flames brighter than the Moon itself.

    David coalesced in front of her, grinning. ¡°...Bitch.¡±

    Only then did the two children notice half the Institute staring at them, including a very peeved Tom. And an even more peeved Fran.

    For the first time in weeks, Louise thought David looked sheepish. The boy rubbed his neck. ¡°Uh, hi Mum.¡±

 Chapter Forty-Seven: Origin Story

    After David had apologised to all womankind, and Brian repaired the bonfire with his flameproof hands, the evening went on. Children roasted marshmallows and tossed eminently burnable things into the fire. Fran and Alberto¡ªafter far too much ros¨¦¡ªdanced to Linus¡¯ rendition of ¡°Great Balls of Fire.¡±

    At the chorus¡¯ crescendo, the pair flung apart, their faces tilted upwards towards the emerging stars. Alberto lost his grip on his partner¡¯s hand, their momentum sending him stumbling into a row of kids, toppling them over like bowling pins. The hot night-air was spiced with laughter and curses.

    ¡°We should do Tiresias¡¯ Midnight Theatre!¡± ¨¥¨­s eagerly suggested as she tried to hoist the psychic¡¯s head off of her.

    ¡°Sure, why not?¡± replied Alberto from the girl¡¯s lap.

    ¡°What¡¯s ¡®Tiresias¡¯ Midnight Theatre¡¯?¡± Allison tried to ask through a gag of melted confectionary.

    Fran blinked. ¡°Wow, it has been a while.¡±

    ¡°So, you kids know I can do psycho¡­ psychomet¡­¡± Alberto tried stealing the word back from the booze. ¡°...You know when I touch things and they tell me stuff?¡±

    ¡°I thought you just made it up,¡± said Arnold.

    The esper held up a finger. ¡°Only sometimes! And you know I can make people see what I want them to, right?¡±

    ¡°...I guess¡ªahhh!¡± Arnold screamed as his clothes were replaced by cobras.

    Alberto continued as the boy ran off into the night, firing off lightning bolts at the serpents in his mind. ¡°So yeah, think of me as your living movie-projector of the evening. You kids tell your ghost stories, and I provide the visuals. Like those piano-players that played at silent movies, but in reverse.¡±

    Arnold stomped back into the bonfire¡¯s shadow, pulling his shirt back over his head. ¡°That was stupid, Bertie.¡±

    ¡°Sure, but I can do it again if you keep calling me that. So, who wants to go first?¡±

    Louise raised her hand. ¡°I do.¡±

    Nobody contested her. Alberto sat down beside the girl, taking her hand. ¡°So, what have you got for us tonight?¡±

    Louise took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you how I came here. The whole story.¡±

    David nodded approvingly. The other children exchanged looks ranging from intriguement to eye-rolling disbelief.

    ¡°Sounds a bit heavy, but hey, your story.¡±

    Alberto looked at the plume of grey smoke spewing from the bonfire. His eyes shone like car-headlights, beams of light striking the cloud. Images swirled to the surface.

    Gnarled, ghostly trees with indigo leaves, almost lost among plains of tall black grass swaying in the wind. There wasn¡¯t much of a sky overhead. Half of the horizon was taken up by an enormous, swollen red sun, glowing sullenly like the last ember in the hearth. It hung so low, it looked like someone standing in the dark field could reach up and spin the star like a top.

    Sharing the sky was a void of stars. The only thing that distinguished it from a hole in space were bright, glowing cuts and scratches: rivers of molten rock.

    The children oohed and ahhed. Whatever they thought about Louise¡¯s spacy origins, they liked a good show. The girl herself was transfixed. It was like her dreams had slipped out of her head.

    ¡°Menvra and it¡¯s dark twin: Eita,¡± Alberto said, almost surprised by his own words. ¡°A double-planet¡ªtwo worlds tied together by orbit and atmosphere. Probably the best and only argument for creationism in the galaxy.¡±

    ¡°Bull.¡±

    Everyone looked at Jeremy. The sandy-haired little boy wilted under the sudden attention, his pearly liquid force field reflexively closing over him.

    ¡°I mean,¡± he said, voice muffled by the shiny dome, ¡°Louise, how old were you when you ¡®came to Earth¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she muttered. ¡°Two I guess, maybe three?¡±

    ¡°Then how can you remember all that?

    ¡°I don¡¯t.¡± She glared at Alberto. ¡°You aren¡¯t making stuff up, are you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not reading your mind, kid. I¡¯m reading your past. Trust me, it¡¯s a lot easier than predicting the future. There¡¯s only one of the former, for one thing.¡± He smiled to himself. ¡°The past is the knife that cuts us off from infinity, Laurie once said.¡±

    The visions in the smoke shifted. Buildings like stalks of wheat stood tall in the shadow of the giants in the sky, perforated by hundreds of open windows. Tiny, glowing men and women leapt in and out of them like they were just a step from the ground below.

    ¡°You were right, Louise,¡± Alberto said. ¡°You¡¯re not a super, or at least you weren¡¯t, once.¡±

    Louise almost flinched away from the psychic. Was this just his excuse to air her private thoughts in front of all her friends?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, the kinetic energy manipulators killed off the baselines and the other supers ages back. Fun fact, there was no Menvran words for ¡®penthouse¡¯.¡±

    Oh. So that was the kind of place she came from.

    Alberto rolled his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t sook, girl. It happens on most planets. Hell, happens here all the time. Isn¡¯t that right, Tom?¡±

    A rude gesture was the only reply.

    ¡°Still, ancient history, not what we¡¯re here for, right?¡±

    The world in the smoke shook. The buildings were falling, their stems snapping as the screams of thousands mingled with the mocking hiss of the bonfire.

    Louise tried not to look. ¡°Can we skip this? I remember¡ªI remember this. People, my family I guess, talking about it. I can¡¯t remember the words, but there was something wrong with the sky¡­¡±

    ¡°Menvra and Eita¡¯s orbit started breaking down,¡± Alberto said. ¡°The sisters were quarreling, I think was how the doomsday prophets put it.¡±

    Riots in the streets. Mass superhuman violence. Scientists and statesmen and kings hanging from what might have been streetlights, intercut with towns being swallowed by the earth and mountainous black waves washing away whole cities.

    Some of the children were tearing up, not the least Louise.

    Fran?oise looked hard at her friend. ¡°Alberto, this is getting cruel.¡±

    Alberto knew from experience to listen when Fran got that look. He glanced down at Louise, still holding her hand. ¡°You wanna stop?¡±

    Her grip tightened. ¡°Just get to the point.¡±

    The carnage fast-forwarded. Now they were looking into a hallway. It had no windows or obvious lights, but it was illuminated nonetheless. The walls were covered with jeweled palm leaves, the floor a glass pane over a flowing stream, riddled with cracks.

    People making their way downstream, their faces grave and afraid. A man and a woman in tunics weaved from twitching yellow moths, trailed by a child with shoulder length, baby-blue hair. The woman was carrying a toddler.

    ¡°Is that you?¡± David whispered to Louise.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    A hard cut to a paddock. A green, earthly paddock, the kind you saw off the side of any country road, bathed in mist and pale dawn light. Three figures appeared: shimmering, phantasmic things.

    ¡°Your parents were brilliant, you know,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Or they worked with a lot of brilliant people, I¡¯m not sure. Brave, too. Everyone told them the teleporter wasn¡¯t reliable over such distances.¡±

    A tiny girl cleaved from one of the shades, falling backward onto the grass. The ghosts started to flicker.

    ¡°It¡¯s a shame they were right¡­¡±

    The flickering grew faster. The ghost that shed the child reached out for her. She tried reaching back, but her hands found only air.

    The ghosts vanished. Soon, the toddler was weeping desperate, confused tears; alone under a strange, yellow sun.

    Five years later, the girl wept again.

    ¡°I think that¡¯s enough for tonight,¡± Alberto said as he let go of Louise¡¯s hand. He patted her on the back. ¡°Look on the bright side, kiddo, your folks would be happy with how far you¡¯ve gotten. Not so sure about where you¡¯ve gotten, but at least you¡¯re alive. Doing better lately, too.¡±

    Louise nodded weakly.

    For Billy, childish curiosity won out over tact. ¡°So, did Lawrence and the other grownups find you there?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she answered softly. ¡°The Institute was way later.¡±

    ¡°So what happened before that? Where¡¯d you go? You didn¡¯t live in the woods like Mowgli, did you?¡±

    ¡°A car came past. The couple in it saw me, took me home, and just¡­ sorta kept me.¡±

    Billy¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°Like Ma and Pa Kent?¡±

    Louise didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°...No. Not like them.¡±

    Tom coughed into his fist, drawing the Institute¡¯s eyes.

    Fran asked, ¡°Would you like a go, Tom?¡± She looked at Alberto. ¡°If Al is still up for it, I mean.¡±

    ¡°Al¡± shrugged. Better than ¡°Bertie¡±, at least. Definitely better than ¡°Uncle Albert¡±.

    Tom nodded. ¡°I would, ma¡¯m. If Louise doesn¡¯t mind, I¡¯d like to tell everyone what happened after.¡±

    ?

    In the smoke, a middle aged fella with the kind of plump build that could only be summed up as ¡°jolly¡± read his morning paper at a scratched kitchen table. His grey moustache twitched against dark lips, while the sun pouring through the window behind him glinted off his bald head. A cohort of brown skinned children ringed the rest of the table, the eldest maybe fourteen, the youngest in a highchair.

    One of them was clearly Tom.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think my parents were that different from any of yours. Dad went to work, came home, did bugger all but watch tellie till bedtime, and played cricket on sundays. Mum¡­¡±

    A woman bustled into view, carrying a bowl of scrambled eggs. Maybe ten years younger than the man, she looked rather thin¡ªnot exactly pretty, but pleasant. Her hair was a bush of blonde curls, and she had a well-worn smile.

    ¡°...Mum did mum stuff.¡±

    Tom went silent for a moment, taking in the details of his family. The odd, discoloured band of pigmentation across the bridge of his mother¡¯s nose, his most subtle inheritance from the woman. The way his younger brother kicked the air under the table. His dad¡¯s complete inability to keep his opinions from reaching his face when he read the paper. As he watched the scene soundlessly play out¡ªhis mother slapping his father with a tea-towel in mock outrage at some forgotten joke¡ªTom wondered why folks made such a big deal about Alberto seeing future. The future would find them its own time. The past, though, that was gone forever. But Alberto could burn away the fog of time and memory¡­

    ¡°Ah, Tom,¡± said the man himself. ¡°You stuck?¡±

    Tom shook himself like Billy after a swim. ¡°Nah, just remembering. Dad was a widower, you know. His first missus died having my sister Marilyn.¡± Despite what he just said, Tom smiled. ¡°My big brother Ned said Dad was hopeless without a wife. Just not the sort of bloke built for being single. Thank Christ he met Mum.

    ¡°People didn¡¯t think much of them. I mean, a whitefella gets a Noonga girl pregnant, that¡¯s just being careless. If he marries her¡±¡ªhe scoffed¡ª¡°what the hell is he thinking? But if a white-girl marries a blackfella¡­ well, put it this way, I don¡¯t remember half my grandparents.¡±

    The smoke shifted again. A less smile-lined Mrs Long was sitting across from an old man clutching a glass of some amber liquid with very white fingers.

    ¡°When he blows all his pay on grog and the rent¡¯s due, I¡¯m not bailing you out.¡±

    Tom grunted. ¡°Figured. My folks never shot back when people gave them shit. They just went about being married like they were both Scot-Irish or something. I don¡¯t know if that was badass or wet of them.¡± He sighed. ¡°Didn¡¯t do us any good in the end.¡±

    Tom and his brothers and sisters, school bags slung over their shoulders, trudging down a long country road, lined by paddocks very much like the one Louise had found herself in. Some of the students leaned forward expectedly.

    Behind the children, a white van rose from the slope of the road like a U-boat, soon pulling up in front of the siblings.

    A policeman stepped out from the driver door, all smiles. ¡°Are any of you children Tom and Gary Long?¡±

    The Tom of long ago grabbed his little brother¡¯s hand, while their older brother and sisters exchanged confused, dread-filled looks. ¡°Yes, sir. Me and him here.¡±

    Louise was shocked. He couldn¡¯t remember Tom calling anyone ¡°sir¡± outside a game of knights and dragons, and even then under heavy protest.

    The copper nodded, still smiling. ¡°Right. You two boys left some workbooks back home. Your parents wanted us to give you a lift so you could pick them up.¡±

    ¡°...Okay,¡± Tom said slowly.

    In the present, he smacked his own forehead. He started berating himself: ¡°I was a fucking idiot. Even back then it sounded dodgy. But they were cops¡­¡±

    ¡°Why didn''t you run?¡± asked Troy, in his metallic form so he didn''t have to pretend he had  something in his eye. ¡°Didn''t you say this happened to a lot to half-caste kids? You said people hid their kids when white people rolled through.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing: Mum and Dad never thought it¡¯d happen to us. Dad had a good job, and he and Mum were properly married. Hell, aside from some lingo and thinking he could use a spear when he was drunk, Dad could¡¯ve been the world¡¯s tannest whitefella.¡± He spat. ¡°He was an idiot, sometimes.¡±

    Meanwhile, in the smoke, the van was driving away, leaving the remaining Longs¡¯ tears to mix with the red dust it kicked up.

    Linus frowned. ¡°Why¡¯d they just leave your brother and sisters there?¡±

    ¡°Come on, mate, you¡¯re older than me. They left them because their mother was black. Not worth ¡°saving¡±. Me and Gary, though, we had good, Anglo blood in us. We could be brought up right.¡± Tom pointed at the shadow of the big house. ¡°Remind you of anyone we know?¡±

    Flashes. Belts stretched taught. Chains around ankles. Girls whimpering in the dark¡­

    ¡°Me and Gary got sent different places. Maybe because his skin was lighter, I don¡¯t know. It doesn¡¯t really matter. Family wasn¡¯t really allowed at Wandering, or anything like a past really. Not that much else was allowed, though.¡±

    In the cloud, Tom was kicking and thrashing in the arms of a black shirted, Roman collared Christian Brother, one of his fellows stalking towards him with a cane.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember what I¡¯d done to ¡®earn¡¯ it.¡± He glanced at Alberto. ¡°And I¡¯d rather not, thanks.¡±

    Alberto quirked a shoulder.

    ¡°I felt like nothing. Wandering would¡¯ve liked that, I think. Nothing isn¡¯t black. Nothing can be whatever you want it to be. And the thing was, I would¡¯ve rather been nothing. I didn¡¯t care about ever seeing my family again, or even being happy again. All I wanted was to not hurt anymore. I was about to just go limp and take the beating when¡­¡± Tom didn¡¯t know how else to put it. ¡°There was a man.¡±

    The fire roared like dragon¡¯s breath. Impossible amounts of smoke spewed up into the air, Fran worrying for a moment that the naturals of the valley might think it was a bushfire, before remembering the nature of the spectacle. ¡°Show off,¡± she muttered at Alberto.

    The smoke gathered together, flattening into a rectangle the size of a movie-screen. On it, a giant cloaked in darkness and stars for eyes towered over young Tom and his captor, beneath a lost winter sky.

    ¡°I thought he was God. I¡¯m still not sure he wasn¡¯t. It was so cold. Like a cyclone or something had torn off the roof. That¡¯s what I thought was going on at first, but the Christian Brothers didn¡¯t seem to care. I was screaming and screaming about this giant fella, but it was like they couldn¡¯t even hear me.¡±

    The children were all looking up at the man. For many of them, it was like finding a photo of a long-dead, half forgotten parent.

    Sheilah tilted her head. ¡°You know, I never noticed how fat his nose was.¡±

    ¡°Nice jaw, though,¡± commented Fran?oise.

    Sadie shrugged. ¡°So so.¡±

    Allison studied the figure. She never thought she¡¯d get to see the man herself. It was like finally being let in on some opaque running joke. She thought living with the memory of him would¡¯ve been easier than the things in the dark.

    David was looking at him, too. Until recently, the star-giant¡ªlike many other aspects of the shared posthuman experience¡ªhad seemed foreign to the water-sprite. But now, he could swear he remembered another man¡­

    ¡°We stared at each other,¡± Tom continued. ¡°He didn¡¯t speak. Not much for small talk, that fella. But he was telling me things. So many things. I couldn¡¯t take it all in. I don¡¯t think anything that keeps its brain in its head could. What I did take from him was that walls and floors and dickhead priests aren''t much more solid than air.¡±

    Tom slipped from the Brother¡¯s arms like light through clear glass. Or his outline did, anyway.

    His future-self looked at Allison. ¡°You know what¡¯s funny, Allie? This lot,¡± he gestured around at all the other children, ¡°they probably think that when we go see-through, we feel like nothing. Do ya?¡±

    Allison smiled and shook her head. ¡°Nope.¡±

    Tom smiled back. ¡°Me neither.¡±

    The star-giant pointed grandly at the back wall of the head brother¡¯s office.

    ¡°In fact, I feel like steel.¡±

    And with that, the wall became a door.

    The smoke shifted rapidly, showing Tom trekking across dark hallways and thick brush, still colourless and insubstantial. At one point, he appeared to swim through a black ocean.

    Reverb asked, Where was that?

    ¡°Oh, that. That was a few meters under Perth I think. I walked for weeks. Maybe months. I don''t have to eat or sleep or anything while I¡¯m see-through. I could¡¯ve kept going till the end of the world¡­¡±

    The smoke settled on Tom walking through a flooded field, attracting the curious, brown gaze of wading cows.

    ¡°One day, I wondered if I could change back¡­¡±

    In the smoke, the colour returned to Tom¡¯s skin.

    ¡°...And I did. I decided to look for somewhere to hang my swag up after that.¡±

    A farmhouse rose to the surface of the vaporous ash. Not a wannabe manor-house like the Institute, but a little plaster-walled family home floating on a lake of green grass and rows of cabbages. What it did in fact have in common with the Institute was a study looking wooden barn.

    ¡°See, thick white outlines only count as invisible in cartoons, but when you can swim beneath the ground and don¡¯t need to use doors, it¡¯s good enough. So, I took up in the barn and went to the house for night-time tucka.¡±

    ¡°What about the people who lived there?¡± asked Jeremy.

    The smoke shattered and resolved again into a hard-jawed old lady with her hair done up in tight, grey bun standing beside a portly, jowled farmer.

    ¡°Just some old couple.¡±

    The smoke somehow panned down, revealing a kindergartner with dark, blue-tinted hair.

    ¡°And Louise.¡±

    That caught people¡¯s attention.

    Allison examined her peer¡¯s younger self. She was pale, with grey patches under red eyes, and a nose that looked liked it had been rubbed raw. It reminded Allison of herself, right after McClare. She turned towards Alberto. ¡°Why¡¯d you make Louise look so sick?¡±

    ¡°Because I was always sick back then.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Why?¡±

    ¡°Menrva had different germs and stuff than here. I guess I couldn¡¯t get used to it. I had to use my power all the time just to do stuff.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you get better?¡±

    A hook-nosed woman, clad in a cloak as orange as the flames beneath her, standing tall like a proud sorceress.

    ¡°How do ya think?¡± said Tom. ¡°But we¡¯ll get to that.¡±

    A cascade of nested images. Tom watching Louise going about her little life through the walls of the barn and house. Building cities with blocks, eating dinner with her parents, blowing up trees with her tiny, frail fists. Normal stuff.

    ¡°I was jealous of her at first,¡± Tom admitted. ¡°This little white girl with a better house than I had, all that space to play in, better toys¡­¡±

    Little Louise threw a rock into the clouds.

    ¡°...Better powers.¡±

    Louise managed a smile. ¡°Shush, your powers are great. All I can do is punch stuff super-hard.¡±

    ¡°Well, I¡¯d rather punch stuff, sue me. Still, I thought you had this perfect life¡­¡±

    The smoke stuttered, looping a few seconds of tree-punching, as if it were hesitating.

    ¡°...Am I allowed to talk about this, Louise? They were your family¡­¡±

    Louise sat up very straight, before walking over to Alberto and taking his other hand.

    ¡°My Earth parents weren¡¯t great.¡±

    Shattering glass and ceramic, cracking wood. Snatches of shouting.

    ¡°Jesus Christ, Louise!¡±

    Louise¡¯s foster-father shoved her off a couch with a freshly broken armrest, splinters spilling from her hand.

    The man picked the girl up and shook her by the shoulders. ¡°If you can¡¯t stop breaking the fucking furniture, you sit on the bloody floor!¡±

    Mr. Michelson dropped his daughter. His wife watched impassively as Louise picked herself off the ground. As she started towards the stairs, the woman started to shake, frustration seemingly erupting as she slapped the girl hard across the face, leaving a glowing handmark on her cheek.

    ¡°Did that even hurt?¡± asked Arnold, remembering the odd smack from his mother.

    ¡°No. But I knew it was supposed to. The smacks gave me more KE, too, and that just made it worse...¡± She sighed. ¡°Mum and Dad never had kids of their own. They weren¡¯t mean all the time. Sometimes they called me their blessing. But I think they never really wanted kids that much? They just kinda thought they ought to have one.¡±

    The smoke¡¯s Louise sneezed, blowing out a table¡¯s legs from under it.

    ¡°And I wasn¡¯t an easy kid.¡±

    ¡°So, yeah,¡± said Tom. ¡°I stopped being jealous of Louise pretty quick.¡±

    Louise, waking up to find a toy ute at the foot of her bed.

    ¡°Tom here started bringing me presents.¡± She grinned. ¡°Turns out he¡¯s a massive softie.¡±

    ¡°Aww, come on, what else was I gonna do? You looked so sad¡­¡±

    ¡°Freaked me out a bit till I found a note from him.¡±

    A close up of a piece of scrap paper

    Don¡¯t mind me, just your house¡¯s friendly ghost.

    Tom groaned as some of the children started singing the theme to ¡°Casper¡±.

    ¡°Oh, God, you don¡¯t think this is where Lawrence got my name, do ya?¡±

    ¡°Definitely,¡± said Louise. ¡°Things were kinda nice for a while.¡±

    ¡°I had somewhere dry to sleep and an icebox to raid.¡±

    ¡°And I sorta had a friend.¡±

    ¡°But one night¡­¡±

    Tom was in the house¡¯s kitchen, fishing a bottle of Coke from the fridge in the dark. The Michelsons¡¯ voices were drifting in from the other room.

    ¡°She¡¯s ill all the time, Gerald.¡±

    ¡°Imagine, all that pain¡­¡±

    ¡°Maybe she just doesn¡¯t belong in this world. Maybe she deserves somewhere better.¡±

    ¡°I gave her some pills. If we do it now, she won¡¯t feel a thing.

    ¡°Poor baby¡­¡±

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± said Lana. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you told us this before?¡±

    ¡°Because I didn¡¯t want you seeing this when you looked at me.¡±

    Mr. Michelson pressed a pillow against his daughter¡¯s face while her mother stroked her hand.

    Tom floated up from the floor. ¡°The hell are you doing?¡±

    Mrs Michelson shrieked, her husband shouting, ¡°Who the fuck are you, kid?¡±

    ¡°Were you trying to smother her?¡±

    Louise¡¯s father stalked towards the boy. ¡°Listen, boong, I don¡¯t know how you got in here, but this is our home, and you need to get out before I call the cops.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re about to kill Louise!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving her.¡±

    The man tried to wrap his hands around Tom¡¯s neck, but he turned intangible. Mr. Michelson growled, blindly trying to ram the boy.

    Tom closed his eyes. ¡°Some of you might want to look away now.¡±

    In the smoke, Tom reflexively threw his hands up as Mr. Michelson barrelled through him, only to fall to the ground behind him. There was something wet, red, and beating in the boy¡¯s hands.

    Around the fire, there were gasps and screams, matched by Tom¡¯s in the smoke. The boy was kneeling on the floor, retching.

    ¡°It¡ªit was an accident.¡± His hands were shaking. ¡°I¡¯d never done anything like that before.¡±

    ¡°Oh, oh Tom,¡± said Fran. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault. Some of us have done much worse.¡±

    David was frowning, his arms crossed. ¡°If this was so terrible for you, why did you stick your hand in Eddie Taylor? Or pretend to try and scramble Laurie¡¯s brains?¡±

    Louise glared at him. ¡°I thought you didn''t care about Laurie.¡±

    ¡°I don''t,¡± David replied flatly. ¡°It just feels strange.¡±

    ¡°Lay off him.¡±

    Tom shook his head. ¡°Nah, Lou, he¡¯s right. It is weird.¡±

    ¡°Then why do you do it?¡±

    ¡°I don''t know.¡±

    ¡°You want to feel in control,¡± said Alberto. ¡°First time you turned a guy inside out, it was by accident. You keep putting yourself back in that position, but not going through with it. You get to feel strong and shit, and like you¡¯re taking the high-road.¡±

    Tom blinked at the psychic.

    ¡°Can we get back to the story?¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡±

    Mrs Michelson was gone from the smoke, replaced by the fading groan of a fleeing ute. Tom was trying to shake Louise awake.

    ¡°Hey, hey.¡±

    The girl half-opened her eyes. ¡°...Hi. Are you the ghost?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m glad they drugged me,¡± her future-self remarked.

    Tom was smiling feverishly. ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­ you wanna go on an adventure?¡±

    Mabel arched an eyebrow. ¡°You just went with the weird kid you thought was a ghost?¡±

    Louise shrugged. ¡°Tom was nice to me. And I did say I was drugged.¡±

    ¡°We lasted a month together, on the run,¡± said Tom. ¡°We started robbing houses. For money, or food, or painkillers¡­¡±

    ¡°Lotta antihistamines.¡±

    ¡°We got good at figuring out when rich folks were on holidays.¡± Tom asked Fran, ¡°Can I corrupt my peers, Ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°Knock yourself out.¡±

    ¡°Usually it was the houses with the lights on at four in the morning.¡± He let himself laugh. ¡°They think it makes it look they¡¯re still there! Guess rich people don¡¯t sleep.¡±

    A four-story house looking out over the Swan River. ¡°That one looked real promising,¡± said Louise. ¡°...Went a bit wrong.¡±

    Darkness, fretted by the children phasing through a kitchen wall.

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll go for the medicine cabinet, you¡ª¡±

    A light-switch flicked. A teenage boy with no shirt and a rust-stained leather vest leant scowling against the refrigerator. ¡°Shit, now I owe Jonna fifty pounds.¡±

    Immediately, Tom pushed Louise back through the wall, screaming ¡°Run!¡± behind her. He was about to turn ghostly and follow when he began wobbling on his feet. He fainted hard, falling against the linoleum.

    ¡°That was Redcap,¡± Tom said, mildly. ¡°Must¡¯ve drained the blood from my head. Probably should count myself lucky he didn¡¯t pull it out through my eyes or somethin¡¯.¡±

    Mabel started at Tom. ¡°You got caught by the Coven? How are you not dead?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not dead because they were looking for stock.¡± Tom¡¯s voice started to shake. ¡°They had me do... things for them first. To give me a reputation before selling me off, I gues.¡±

    The smoke started to shift, but Tom squeezed the esper¡¯s fingers hard enough to hurt. ¡°No. I don¡¯t want to see this.¡±

    ¡°Alright kid, jeez.¡±

    Instead, the smoke settled on a dingy warehouse, the windows yellow with decades of industrial grime. A thin crowd in folding chairs sat before a hastily erected stage. Tom stood barefoot next to the fully assembled Coven. Aside from Redcap, the Fox, Fey of Femurs, and an inexplicable full length mirror facing out towards the crowd, there was also a young woman in a shiny green jacket covered in what looked like Christmas lights. Her face was covered in elaborate, interlocking blue runes, like human ley-lines. Her ears, nose, and lips were all pierced, and her head was completely shaven, bar a purple and green spiked strip running down the middle of her crown.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be in chains or something?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°They didn¡¯t need ¡®em,¡± Tom explained. ¡°The Fox has this way of getting inside you. He¡¯d get you alone in a room with him, just start talking at ya, and after a while, you couldn¡¯t help but do whatever his lot said...¡±

    With perfect auctioneer patter, the Fox called out, ¡°The bidding opens at five thousand pounds.¡±

    A fat man with grey stubble shouted, ¡°The Honoured Society bids seven thou.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Saffron bids eight thousand pounds for the asset,¡± a man in a suit the same shade as his employer cried, seemingly trying to beat the mafia-man in terms of decibel as well as currency.

    ¡°That place was like Wandering¡¯s big brother,¡± said Tom. ¡°I finally felt like nothing.¡±

    Feeling no need to shout, an elegantly coffered woman in a pink suit-dress said, ¡°The House of Ghosts offers twelve thousand US dollars for the boy.¡±

    ¡°I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life doing shitty, evil things for evil, shitty people. Less than a slave. A tool.¡±

    The Fox pointed at the woman. ¡°Offer sits at twelve thousand US dollars. Going once¡ª¡±

    ¡°But then¡­¡±

    ¡°Fifty thousand pounds.¡±

    The crowd all turned to look at the latest bidder, all except for the woman in the suit-dress. She just smiled. ¡°The House of Ghosts withdraws its offer.¡±

    ¡°And who might I ask is bidding?¡± the Fox inquired.

    The red-bearded man in the green checkered suit stood up from his chair, smiling genially around the room. ¡°Dr. Herbert Lawrence, from the New Human Institute.¡± He gestured at the men and women sitting either side of him. ¡°These are some of my fellow teachers.¡±

    It was a rare sight indeed, the original generation of Lawrence¡¯s students (with the eternal exception of Chen) out in the wild.

    Lawrence looked right at the stage. ¡°They have a lot in common with you fine Covenators, but I¡¯m sure Miss Lieroinen could have told you that¡­¡±

    The Witch of Claremont¡¯s face went white. Then she scowled, and her tattoos glowed an almost white blue. They died down again when she saw Fran?oise¡¯s eyes do the same. The nereid in the smoke¡¯s smile matched the one of the nereid sitting before the fire.

    ¡°Gonna say,¡± said Arnold. ¡°I never imagined Lawrence standing up to the Coven.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say he was a badass back then, but I think he was already making me have Ophelia by that point,¡± said Sadie.

    David was staring at his mother. ¡°Wait, when you went to get Tom, you met the Coven?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    Fran shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t want to worry you, sweetie.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes went milky with glee. ¡°Are you kidding? It¡¯s great!¡±

    ¡°It really was,¡± said Tom.

    Mr. Saffron¡¯s representative looked like he was about to say something, but Alberto stood up to join his mentor.  ¡°And I can give you a precognitive forecast of the Australian stock-market for the next eighteen months.¡± He smiled. ¡°Jonna should be able to confirm that.¡±

    The Witch of Claremont looked like a demon was playing the drums with her teeth. ¡°...He¡¯s telling the truth.¡±

    Linus looked at the esper. ¡°You gave the Coven money advice?¡±

    Alberto sighed. ¡°Christ, you save one kid from a lifetime of slavery, and you never live it down.¡±

    ¡°Did they take the bid?¡± Mabel asked.

    ¡°I hope so,¡± replied Tom. ¡°Or else this is a real long daydream.¡±

    The Fox was handing Lawrence a manilla folder, Tom hiding behind the old man¡¯s legs. ¡°These are all his code-words and trigger phrases. Remember to refresh the conditioning with the couplet on the front every fortnight, or it¡¯ll fade or get deranged. Don¡¯t come back crying to us if you screw him up.¡±

    Lawrence grinned broadly and shook the supervillain¡¯s hand. It had not been offered. ¡°I can¡¯t see that being a problem. Live well, my friend.¡±

    ¡°As soon as we were out of there, Laurie made us stop at some cafe. Had Alberto strip out all the Fox¡¯s bullshit.¡± Tom looked the esper in the eye. ¡°I don¡¯t think I ever told you thanks for that.¡±

    Alberto squirmed at the gratitude. ¡°Don¡¯t mention it.¡±

    In the smoke, the Institute¡¯s stolen truck made its way down the familiar dirt path, Tom sitting sandwiched between Fran?oise and Alberto in the tray.

    The was a girl waiting for them at the fence. Louise (not yet even Britomart) healthy and hale, her body now fit for her strength.

    At the sight of her, Tom leapt from the truck, his intangible form sinking up to his ankles in the earth. The boy ran right through the fence, resolidying to embrace his friend, tears in their eyes.

    Tom let go of Alberto¡¯s hand. So did Louise. The new humans were allowed to see the smoke as it really was again.

    ¡°Alberto found Louise for Old Laurie,¡± explained Tom. ¡°She told him about me.¡±

    ¡°Said I¡¯d tear the whole place down if he didn¡¯t find Tom.¡±

    Tom took Louise¡¯s hand. ¡°Lou, I know you¡¯ve never liked the Superman jokes but¡­ you deserve them.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°What I mean is, you¡¯re as good as Superman in my book. You saved my life, kid.¡± With no reservation, he pulled her into a hug. ¡°I love ya, girl.¡±

    ¡°Love ya too.¡± She turned her head to look at the other children. ¡°Thanks for listening, guys. It helps a lot.¡±

    Bella rubbed her thumbs against the log she was sitting on. ¡°...I had a twin brother. He didn¡¯t get powers. Louise and Tom helped me get over it.¡±

    ¡°I got powers when they came for Dawn,¡± Sheilah said. ¡°When Laurie found me, he sprung her for me.¡±

    ¡°Old git was good for something, I guess,¡± said Bran. ¡°I doubled and tripled pots and stuff for my dad back in Wales. We came over here when bloody Woolies made it to Dolgellau and my sister turned out bronchial. They nicked me at the migrant camp.¡±

    ¡°I blew up my school,¡± Lana said simply.

    Mabel took a deep breath. ¡°My dad was a miner in Circle¡¯s End¡­¡±

    And so, long into the night, the new humans of the Avon Valley retrod old paths and reweaved their histories, together.

 Chapter Forty-Eight: The Prime of Miss Therese Fletcher

    It was a cocktail of career babysitting and Blackboard Jungle<sup>1</a></sup> that lured Therese Fletcher into teaching. She was the sort of girl who tried to keep her baby-dolls on a regular feeding schedule, and lingered at the children¡¯s table long after the grownups had invited her into their company so she could ¡°look after¡± the younger kids. There was something about the idea of helping children grow up into their best selves that inspired her.

    Admittedly, it would have helped if she¡¯d ever developed the ability to say no to anything more willful than a tree, but passion is always a good start.

    She managed to snag a job at St. Mary¡¯s Catholic Primary School fresh out of university. Not that it was hard. Even fifteen years after the war, Australia was still hungry for teachers. A lot of women went into the field merely to pass the time waiting for a husband, or in the misguided belief it would somehow train them for motherhood, or simply because it was a respectable job for a lady with plenty of holidays. Many men meanwhile Miss Fletcher came to discover became teachers solely to avoid the draft, venting their bitter misplacement on generations of students.

    Therese, though, she did it all for the kids.

    Her first day on the job, she stumbled into her classroom a full five minutes after the morning bell. ¡°Sorry, sorry,¡± she said as she plonked down an armful of handouts and spare stationary, ¡°possum died in my car.¡±

    As the rows of students exchanged confused glances or tried to stifle laughter, Therese remembered what company she was in. ¡°I mean¡ªI meant to say¡ªgood morning!¡± She picked up a stick of pink-chalk, writing out her in cursive name on the chalkboard. ¡°My name is ¡®Miss Fletcher¡¯,¡± she said a little too deliberately, before turning to face the children. ¡°I¡¯m sure we¡¯re going to have a lot of fun together!¡±

    Her students new chorused, ¡°Yes, Miss Fletcher,¡± sending the woman¡¯s soul aflutter. She spotted a scholastically green Granny Smith waiting on her desk. A black-haired, freckled little boy near the front of the class was grinning.

    She beamed. ¡°Whichever of you did this shouldn¡¯t have.¡± Just to show how much she appreciated the gesture, she took a bite out of the apple¡­ only to wretch as the hot mustard hit her tongue, her sputtering and coughing almost drowned out by laughter.

    Those children made Therese Fletcher¡¯s life utter hell for the entire school year. She still cried the day they graduated grade-two. It didn¡¯t matter if they stuck tacks on her chair or coined a whole alphabet of unflattering nicknames. She was there for their benefit, not the other way around.

    The year after Therese¡¯s professional debut, the United States and the USSR nearly destroyed the world, before the Flying Man remade it all together. There was nothing all that special about Miss Fletcher¡¯s dread and fear during the Cuban Crisis, save maybe for how keen it was. Even she classified herself as ¡°wobbly.¡±  An art critic would¡¯ve said her actual memories of those days were more impressionist than representative.

    What stuck with her was what happened after.

    She had been pouring herself a coffee in the St. Mary¡¯s staff-room when she asked the breakfasting grade-three teacher (one of the draft dodgers), ¡°Is Liam Michaels sick?¡±

    Mr. Ferguson¡¯s hot cross bun hovered in front of his mouth. ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°¡­Liam Michaels,¡± Therese said slowly. ¡°Boy in your class. Black hair, plastered with freckles?  I taught him last year. Haven¡¯t seen him around the yard lately.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Mr. Ferguson. ¡°You didn¡¯t hear? The freak-finders got him.¡±

    Therese frowned. ¡°The what got him?¡±

    A shrug. ¡°That new ministry or whatever it is the government set up to round up the supers. The DHDA<sup>2</a></sup> I think it¡¯s called. Not surprised that little shit was one of them.¡± He smiled at Miss Fletcher. ¡°Think he zapped the mustard into that apple he gave ya?¡±

    Therese didn¡¯t answer. She was too busy trying to figure out why the government would fear a child.

    The end came while she was on lunch monitor duty. The sun was beating down on the school green hard enough that Therese thought she could hear the grass drying under her feet. A boy and a girl were arguing their case over some kind of soccer foul, but it was like trying to listen to crickets argue. She was so tired.

    ¡°And then he said it didn¡¯t count if he used someone else¡¯s hands¡­ are you alright Miss Fletcher?¡±

    The teacher began to sway. ¡°Sharing is caring, kids¡­¡±

    The children managed to catch her before she hit the ground. They even helped drag her to the nurse¡¯s office. That bemused her in the exhausted corner of her mind she had retreated to. Wasn¡¯t this supposed to be the other way around?

    The nurse sent Therese home with orders for a blood test. She had been expecting something simple. An iron deficiency, maybe.

    She hadn¡¯t expected leakumeia.

    An old, nearsighted GP to prophesied her doom like he was cancelling his weekend in the country. There was no question about Therese staying on at St. Marys. Even if she could in the state she was in¡ªeven if they would let her¡ªshe wouldn¡¯t force children to watch her whither.

    A strange democracy of appearance ruled St. John of God¡¯s oncology ward. All kinds of people entered that place: men and women, the young and old, the ugly and the beautiful. But they looked the same in the end. Bald and frail, reeking of death and disinfectant, with plastic IV vents peeking out from under their sleeves. A forest of barren trees, holding on through their last winter. People had always told Therese she had very large eyes, but now they seemed bulguous and fly-like set in her nearly naked skull. She began to recoil from mirrors the way a vampire would.

    For six months, strange men did things to Therese she didn¡¯t understand, clumsily trying to burn and poison the rogue cells inside her while hopefully leaving some of Miss Fletcher intact. Sometimes, they managed almost managed to get it all, but it always returned, mutated and more virulent than ever. Darwinism in action, she imagined herself explaining to her class.

    Many times, Therese wanted to tell the troupes of doctors and nurses to just leave her alone; let her spend her last few months able to keep a mouthful of spag-bol down.

    She didn¡¯t, of course. That would be making a fuss.

    Eventually, the doctors themselves conceded defeat, pumped Therese full of morphine, and told the nurses to keep her comfortable until the end. It was a relief, honestly. Between long stretches of dreamless, opioid-induced sleep, Therese wondered if any of her students would remember her. It was an odd thing, being a teacher. For a year, you¡¯re the one of the most important grown-up in a child¡¯s life. Then, they¡¯re gone from yours.

    One day (she had lost track of things like morning or night) her mother crept into her hospital room<sup>3</a></sup>. The poor woman¡¯s face was shadowed by worry like it always was, but there was some other emotion else playing across her features like light through stained glass. ¡°Therese, honey, there¡¯s someone here to see you.¡±

    ¡°You can have the fruit-basket.¡±

    ¡°No, luv, it¡¯s not that. She says she¡¯s an¡­ an alternative specialist, and she¡¯s interested in your case.¡±

    Therese made a vaguely affirmative croak. Her mother looked out the door. ¡°You can come in.¡±

    The orange cloak the hook-nosed woman wore almost made Therese think she was hallucinating. She was surprised to notice that she carried a leather purse instead of a doctor¡¯s bag.

    The woman smiled gently over her, introducing herself in a soft teutonic tone, ¡°Hello, Therese, I¡¯m Eliza Winter. Some people call me ?ywie, long story.¡± She looked over at Therese¡¯s mother. ¡°Mrs Fletcher, it would be a great help if you could fetch me some coffee.¡±

    As the elder Fletcher scurried off, ?ywie lay her hand on Therese¡¯s arm. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get started with this.¡±

    Therese was wondering if the woman was some kind of faith healer, when what felt like warm water rushed into every corner of her body, like someone was running a hot bath inside of her. If this was the Holy Spirit, she liked it.

    ¡°Wh¡ªwhat are you¡­¡±

    ?ywie shushed her. ¡°It¡¯s alright, friend. Right now, I¡¯m just seeing what the damage is.¡± She hummed to herself. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you¡¯ve hung on so long in this state. You must be a real fighter.¡±

    Therese was glad she didn¡¯t laugh. That would¡¯ve hurt like hell. ¡°Blame the doctors.¡±

    ?ywie chuckled. ¡°If you say so. Tell me, Therese, what do you do with yourself?¡±

    ¡°I was a teacher.¡±

    ¡°You are a teacher,¡± the healer corrected, her smile brightening, ¡°so am I.¡±

    ¡°Primary or secondary?¡± Therese wheezed.

    ?ywie tilted her free hand. ¡°A bit of both. We¡¯re a small school, not quite big enough for more than one class yet. It¡¯s getting crowded, though. We¡¯ve hired some help, but he¡¯s just one man. Bit intense for the little ones, I think. High-school teachers, you know?¡±

    Therese nodded weakly. ¡°I do. So smug, too¡­ Miss Winter?¡±

    ¡°Yes, dear?¡±

    ¡°Are you a super?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes. If I sounded hesitant, it¡¯s only the times we live in. I¡¯m sanctioned, but some patients react badly. Is it a problem?¡±

    ¡°¡­No?¡±

    ¡°Good to hear. Our school teaches supers. Used to just be for children whose parents couldn¡¯t handle it, but since the sanctioning laws¡­¡±  ?ywie shook her head. ¡°We have a lot on our hands.¡±

    Therese coughed. ¡°How can people do that? ¡®Sanctioning¡¯ children¡­¡±

    ¡°Damn straight, Miss Fletcher.¡± ?ywie lifted her hand. The water left Therese, but not the warmth. ¡°You¡¯re probably going to fall asleep in a sec. Everything will be alright.¡±

    ¡°If you say so¡­¡±

    When Therese Fletcher awoke, ?ywie was gone. Not only that, but Therese felt better. Refreshed, even. Sleep hadn¡¯t done that for months. And her scalp was itchy¡ªwas that hair? How long had she been asleep?

    Before she could process any of that, her mother was crushing her shoulders in a hug.

    ¡°It¡¯s a miracle, a bloody miracle!¡±

    ¡°Wha¡ªMum!¡± Therese was surprised by the strength of her voice. She¡¯d just said almost two whole words and hardly even felt winded. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°That woman¡ªthe lady in the silly hood¡ªshe fixed everyone in the hospital?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®fixed¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Cured! Healed! Didn¡¯t matter if someone came in with cancer or a broken leg or a bloomin¡¯ cold!¡± The old woman pressed her face against her daughter¡¯s chest. ¡°You¡¯re better, Therese. You¡¯re better¡­¡±

    Therese didn¡¯t know what to say. She felt like time had been rewound six months. Like the cancer had never happened at all. She spotted an envelope resting on her bedside table. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    Her mother remembered herself, picking it up and handing it to Therese. ¡°The lady came back. Told me to give you this when you woke up.¡±

    Therese looked at the letter. It was sealed with red wax, indented with a Galapagos finch in flight against the letters ¡°NHI.¡± Tilting her head, she opened it.

    Therese Fletcher,

    Congratulations on a splendid recovery. In light of this wonderful news, your experience as an educator, and your open-mindedness towards the needs and happiness of posthumanity¡¯s children, we would like you to consider taking up a teaching position at our New Human Institute in the Avon Valley. Room and board provided for, salary starts at ¡ê5,000 a year. Our card is enclosed.

    Best wishes, Dr. Herbert Lawrence, Ph.D

    ¡°What¡¯s it say?¡± asked her mother eagerly.

    Therese set the paper down on her lap. ¡°I think I have a job.¡±

    ?

    Dr. Herbert Lawrence helped Miss Fletcher down from the ute¡¯s cabin, the young woman blushing slightly from the chivalry of it.

    ¡°Well, what do you think?¡±

    The Institute stretched out before Therese like all the kingdoms of the world. Waves of gold grass rippling in the summer breeze, dotted with buildings and islands of miracles. Tigers stalked machine-boys, girls dug their way to China while fending off whirlwinds of fire that somehow left no mark on the ground they crossed.

    ¡°It¡¯s wonderful, Lawrence,¡± Therese answered. ¡°Uh, sorry about the car-sickness. Never coped well with country roads.¡±

    Lawrence laughed, dabbing at his collar with a handkerchief. ¡°Think nothing of it, my dear.¡± The old man looked out over his playing students. ¡°We are both only human¡­¡±

    ¡°Wundabar!¡±

    ?ywie, a bald, dark-skinned fellow in all leather, and a brunette, vested young man with a full, but closely trimmed beard were marching towards the truck.

    The healer hugged Therese. ¡°Good to see you, Miss Fletcher!¡± She looked the woman up and down. ¡°Notice any irregularities?¡±

    Therese shook her head. ¡°No, nothing like that.¡± She laughed nervously. ¡°Honestly, cancer might the best thing that ever happened to me!¡± She took the black man¡¯s hand and shook it. ¡°You must be Basilisk.¡±

    Basil winced. ¡°Pleased to meet you, lady¡­ you probably shouldn¡¯t have shook my hand.¡±

    Therese withdrew quickly. ¡°Oh, sorry.¡±

    Basilisk smiled. ¡°Eh, just don¡¯t touch anything important for a while.¡±

    ¡°No need anyway,¡± said the bearded man as he hoisted Therese¡¯s luggage from the tray. He beamed at her. ¡°I¡¯m Bryant Cormey. It¡¯ll tell you what, it¡¯ll be nice having some baseline company around here. Well, I suppose there¡¯s Lawrence and Mrs Gillespie, but they hardly count.¡±

    Lawrence chuckled. ¡°Please, Bryant, I don¡¯t deserve that. Mary, maybe.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m nothing special,¡± said Therese. ¡°I¡¯m just amazed Lawrence is willing to pay me what he is¡­¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± said ?ywie, ¡°you don¡¯t get sick-leave.¡±

    A little boy was running full pelt towards the adults. Even yards away, Therese was struck by the blue of his eyes. She remembered what she had skimmed of The New Child.

    She leant forward. ¡°Hello! You must be Maelstrom!¡±

    The boy ran past her without stopping. ¡°The pterodactyl¡¯s loose!¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    The only answer Therese Fletcher got was talons wrapping around her shoulders, carrying her off screaming into the sky.

    ?

    After Stratogale managed to rest her from the pterodactyl¡¯s clutches, and Tiresias donated some of his stronger drink, the NHI staff were somewhat surprised that Therese Fletcher didn¡¯t reconsider her new position at the school.

    ¡°Kids will be kids.¡±

    Her hands shook when she said that, but she seemed to mean it.

    It was eventually decided Therese would mostly cover science at the Institute. It was a subject she took to well, even if her new students quickly developed a special delight in bringing up the ways they violated scientific principles as was she explaining them.

    ¡°Every chemical reaction needs fuel¡ªyes, aside from your flames, Snapdragon.¡±

    ¡°While Haunt¡¯s powers are very interesting, as a general rule, two objects cannot occupy the same place at once.¡±

    Tricks helped. One day, she topped off a class by sucking an egg into a beaker with one of ?ywie¡¯s precious Dunhills.

    The children actually clapped. For just a second, Therese felt like a superwoman.

    ¡°Thank you, thank you. I want three new facts about heat from each you by tomorrow.¡± She looked over the garrison of little heads. ¡°Ex-Nihilo, could you please stay behind for me?¡±

    At the back of the classroom, the teenager shared a dubious look with Stratogale and Reverb, only to shrug and say, ¡°Sure.¡±

    Once the room was empty, she sighed. ¡°What¡¯d I do?¡±

    Therese stepped out from behind her desk to sit in one of the too-small plastic chairs next to Ex-Nihilo. ¡°Nothing, sweetie.¡± She eyed the girl¡¯s belly. The baby wasn¡¯t showing much yet, but it was unmistakable to anyone not raised in a monastery. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ look, I¡¯m not a nun. I know teens experiment¡ªnot that I¡¯m judging¡ªand we all slip up some time. I mean it¡¯s 1963! It doesn¡¯t have to be the end of the world. In fact, I¡¯m glad people here aren¡¯t making a big deal out the situation.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Ex-Nihilo shook her head slowly. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    Therese put a hand on the girl¡¯s leg. ¡°Nothing really. But if you ever want someone to chat to about¡­ options, I¡¯m here.¡±

    Realization struck Ex-Nihilo¡¯s face. ¡°Oh, you don¡¯t know yet, do you?¡± She stood up. ¡°This wasn¡¯t an accident.¡±

    ¡°¡­You got pregnant on purpose?¡± Therese asked. ¡°For the love of God, why? Did some boy in town say he¡¯d marry you? Because for one thing, you are way too young¡ª¡±

    Ex cut her off. ¡°You don¡¯t get it.¡±

    Therese almost recognized the look on the child¡¯s face. A lot of it was guilt, or maybe shame, but she remembered a sliver of it in her mother, the day ?ywie came to see her.

    ¡°I¡¯m pregnant because it was my turn.¡±

    She slammed the door behind her, leaving Therese alone.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ?

    Lawrence heard a timid knock at his office door. It probably said something about the Institute or his life that it sounded relatively novel to his ears. ¡°Enter.¡±

    Therese Fletcher crept into the study like she was sneaking up on a sleeping pope. ¡°Evening, Lawrence.¡±

    The good doctor grinned at his newest hire. ¡°Ah, Therese! How was class today?¡±

    Therese settled in one of the leather chairs. ¡°Good, good. So, I¡¯ve noticed that Ex-Nihilo is¡­ you know¡±¡ªshe covered her mouth and whispered, as though a goblin crouched in the corner might overhear her¡ª¡°in the family way.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Lawrence folded his hands on his desk, ¡°I am aware.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think you weren¡¯t. It¡¯s just¡ªshe said she got pregnant on purpose. Because it was ¡®her turn.¡¯ Is Ex-Nihilo¡­ well?¡±

    ¡°I assure you, Therese, Ex-Nihilo is in fine mental health. I wouldn¡¯t have had her participate in our stirpiculture if she wasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°¡­Stirpiculture?¡±

    Lawrence sighed. ¡°I suppose it is better we have this conversation now rather than later.¡±

    And so, Lawrence explained his stirpiculture. It wasn¡¯t the easiest sell, to say the least, but whenever Therese felt an objection well in her throat, Lawrence already had a rebuttal ready.

    ¡°It is a fact that girls more than three years Ex-Nihilo¡¯s junior successfully bear and rear children in cultures all over the world, and that¡¯s without the assistance and care of our ?ywie.

    ¡°The artificial delineation and prolongation of childhood is very much an invention of my parents¡¯ generation¡­¡±

    ¡°I did consider in-vitro, but sex is both natural and an important bonding agent of human relationships. In fact, bonobos¡­¡±

    He sounded so sure of himself. So so at ease with the idea. Therese couldn¡¯t imagine feeling that certain about what to have for breakfast, let alone what Lawrence was talking about.

    ¡°¡­Do you understand, Therese?¡±

    Therese nodded shakily. ¡°Yes. It¡¯s just a lot to take in.¡±

    ¡°I can imagine. Feel free to come back if you have any more questions.¡±

    ¡°I will.¡±

    Therese Fletcher walked out of Lawrence¡¯s study like she was waking up from a dream¡ªthe kind you couldn¡¯t decide whether you liked it or not, and would only stop turning it over in your head like a sharp, shiny toy when sleep took you again.

    She bumped into Mrs Gillespie on the staircase. The old lady smiled at her like an old friend. ¡°Ah, Miss Fletcher. You weren¡¯t checking in on Dr. Lawrence, were you? He¡¯s such an interesting conversationalist in the evening.¡±

    Miss Fletcher said, ¡°Yes, he is. He was just explaining stirpiculture to me.¡±

    Mary Gillespie frowned sympathetically, hugging the younger teacher. ¡°Oh, I know it can be a bit of a shock at first. I helped set it up and even I didn¡¯t know what to think of it for a while. But it¡¯s a noble goal, I assure you.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence was very clear on that,¡± said Therese. ¡°It still sounds rather¡­ drastic.¡±

    Mary didn¡¯t answer for a moment. ¡°¡­My husband died fighting in the Great War, Therese. Because dusty old treaties written by dead men said he must. My sons and grandchildren died twenty years later because of decisions they had no part in. Because of hatred and prejudices older than nations and empires. History is like a madman adding story after story onto a house with no foundations. Eventually, it all comes crashing down. If these children are going to thrive, if any of us can, they need a fresh start. A clean slate. Do you hear what I¡¯m trying to say, Therese?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    Therese Fletcher skipped dinner that night. Instead, she drank alone in the little cottage assigned to her, already accumulating the thin film of dust that constitutes a home.

    Stirpiculture. Such an odd word. It sounded like something a marketing executive would use to sell maternity wear. Knowing what it meant didn¡¯t make it any less strange.

    Therese knew the outside world would scorn it. But then, the outside world was imprisoning children in windowless, concrete caves, all because of accidents of birth or chance. Because of the actions of a man whose name they didn¡¯t even know, who just wanted to world to not be on fire. What right did the outside world have to judge anything here? What right did she have? Herbert Lawrence was an Oxford educated psychiatrist. He¡¯d braved the battlefields of Nazi-occupied Europe, and kept the Institute alive in a time when supers were less popular than Frankenstein¡¯s monster. Therese Fletcher had three years of teacher¡¯s college and less than eighteen months experience reminding eight year olds how to spell their names.

    And then there was Mary. Thirty years of teaching, all that loss. What did Therese¡¯s past have that could compare? Her father? She barely knew the man. Cancer? Death was only inconvenient to the people you left behind. Nothing next to a child.

    No, she was a child next to these people. God, she wasn¡¯t even twenty-five. How could she argue with them? The children were happy and healthy. Wasn¡¯t that what mattered?

    Therese sipped her wine. Her fingers were throbbing.

    ?

    Therese Fletcher awoke only when the summer stuffiness and the sun against her eyelids made sleep unbearable. She¡¯d taken the batteries out of her alarm clock days ago. Still half-dreaming, the teacher staggered over to her cottage¡¯s kitchenette, slammed the kettle down on the stove, and started trying to light the damn thing. It took Therese nearly a full minute to remember Lawrence had cut off the gas, too.

    Sighing, she pulled her dressing gown over her pyjamas, picked up the kettle, and ventured out into the fresh air in search of hot water to caffeinate.

    The weather outside was glorious. The sky was a perfect blue, with just enough clouds that it didn¡¯t seem harsh or barren. Insects dipped and dived in and out of the long grass like tiny seagulls hunting for fish. Now and then, a wave of cool air broke over Therese.

    For the first few of days of what she had started thinking of as ¡°the anarchy¡± Therese had stayed in the big house with the other teachers, as Lawrence had implored them to. For their safety, he insisted. But there was something about the atmosphere in there. The house felt tinier than it had before, and everyone was so on edge, like they were those Japanese soldiers hiding in their jungle boltholes because they didn¡¯t know the war was over.

    In the distance, a cohort of children waved at her. ¡°Mornin, Therese.¡±

    ¡°Morning Tom!¡±

    When Therese first emerged, she¡¯d half-expected the kids to carry her off for sacrifice like Ann Darrow, but to her surprise, the children treated her much the same way they always had. Namely, they sometimes remembered she existed. Therese knew she was nobody¡¯s favourite. But that was alright.

    She found Mels and Alberto (the former felt much less attachment to her human name than the latter) sitting around an extinct bonfire, nursing cups of coffee. The psychic was holding an ice-packet to his temple.

    Therese smiled. ¡°Good night?¡±

    Alberto groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t think so loud¡­¡±

    ¡°David and Louise fell out of the sky and Al here helped the children share stories last night.¡± Fran said, pouring some coffee for the teacher. ¡°It was nice.¡±

    Therese took the proffered cup gratefully. ¡°Aw, sorry I missed it.¡±

    Alberto added, ¡°Mabel came clean about Circle¡¯s End.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Therese could remember when Lawrence and Mary first explained where Mabel had come from. Much to her shame, she hadn¡¯t been able to look the girl in the eye for weeks. ¡°How did the other children take it?¡±

    Fran shrugged. ¡°I think they¡¯re still processing the idea. I mean, it was only last night.¡±

    ¡°Honestly,¡± said Alberto, ¡°some of them are just impressed Mabel managed to kill that many naturals.¡±

    Therese winced.

    Mels put a steadying hand over hers. ¡°Kids, they don¡¯t know what they¡¯re saying.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Or thinking, I guess.¡±

    ¡°I mean,¡± said Alberto, ¡°Morality or what have you aside, most of us would have to get up very early in the morning to kill hundreds of people.¡± He looked at Fran. ¡°Well, you and David probably could. Tom would just stick his arm out like he was riding in a car and run right through us. Bella could whip up a cyclone, too, I bet. And I guess I could make everyone think there was a stampede or something and send them off a cliff like a lemmings¡­¡±

    Fran was about to tell Alberto to shut up, but Therese was laughing. She regarded the teacher curiously.

    ¡°¡­What? It¡¯s funny.¡±

    ¡°So how¡¯d you do it, Fran?¡± Alberto asked.

    ¡°I¡¯d drown you all¡± Melusine said flatly.

    ¡°Real creative. Therese, how¡¯d you kill us all?¡±

    Therese jerked back slightly, apparently surprised she was being consulted. Then she grinned conspiratorially. She felt like she was back at one of her teenage slumber parties. ¡°I¡¯d wait till Mels was asleep and light a grass fire!¡±

    Mels blinked.

    That was limp, wasn¡¯t it? Therese thought to herself.

    Alberto however was nodding. ¡°Pragmatic. I like it.¡±

    Therese felt strange talking to Fran and Alberto like this. Weren¡¯t they supposed to be on different sides? Or at least Fran was, she honestly wasn¡¯t sure whose side Alberto was on anymore.

    Since when were there sides.

    Melusine grinned slyly at Therese. ¡°You know, a little bird¡ªSadie sent it¡ªtold me Cormey¡¯s got a picnic-blanket laid out on the hill.¡± She arched her eyebrows. ¡°I think he¡¯s waiting for you.¡±

    ¡°I can confirm it,¡± Alberto said. ¡°Cheeky bastard pilfered my booze.¡±

    ¡°Oh¡ªis he?¡± Therese stood up. ¡°I should get going. Nice talking to you two.¡±

    Fran?oise and Alberto watched the human woman run back to her cottage, smiling.

    ¡°She can do better,¡± said Fran.

    ¡°Agreed.

    ?

    Therese Fletcher and Bryant Cormey lay together on their checkered blanket, white-wine bubbling away in hand, watching the children downhill go about day. It was a little like watching early man attempt medievalism, if early man was into witchcraft.

    Therese was in a brown and cream dress she had agonizingly selected as nice, but not showy. She¡¯d never been sure what she and Bryant were to each other. They¡¯d done¡­ things together, especially in the last couple of months, but Therese couldn¡¯t quite decide if that was because of anything besides loneliness and availability. It wasn¡¯t as if there was a big market for human women under sixty at the Institute. Still, her mother always told her not to let an opportunity slip past her.

    Therese stretched out luxuriantly. ¡°God, the sun¡¯s nice today.¡±

    She could feel Bryant nodding against her side. ¡°At least there¡¯s that. I swear, this bloody power-cut will do my head in. Trying to sleep in the house¡­ you remember those convicts who spent months in the bottom of ships?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s not so bad. I think it¡¯s rather relaxing, in a way. Reminds me of a book I read once. Earth Abides<sup>4</a></sup>. About a plague that wipes out nearly everyone.¡±

    ¡°Cheerful.¡±

    ¡°You know, it almost was. Everything fell apart, but people just kept on going. Doing what they needed to, being decent to each other. Pennies into arrowheads and all that. It made the end of the world ¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s from the Bible, ¡®Earth Abides¡¯.¡±

    Therese knew full well it did, the book itself said so, but men loved flattery. ¡°Is it? I always fell asleep in church.¡±

    ¡° ¡®Men come and go, but the Earth abides.¡¯ ¡±

    ¡°Sounds more like Proust than Moses.¡± She rolled over to face Cormey. ¡°You know, if you¡¯re so miserable up in the house, you could always bunk in my cottage¡­¡± Therese hoped her grin wasn¡¯t too schoolgirl.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t like you sleeping alone out there, Therese. Not with the children running wild. You¡¯re not even wearing your null-fluid!¡±

    Therese laughed, blushing. ¡°You¡¯re talking like they¡¯re going to murder me in my sleep.¡±

    Cormey went very vocally silent.

    ¡°Oh, Bryant, really.¡±

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time for a few of them.¡±

    Therese sat up, glaring at her colleague. ¡°Tom and Mabel were accidents and you know it.¡±

    ¡°Tom and Mabel?¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Haunt and Phantasmagoria, I mean. My point still stands.¡±

    ¡°What about those idiots from town?¡±

    ¡°One, that was mostly Mels. Two, they made up. Three, they were strangers. The kids know me.¡±

    ¡°How well can mortals know gods? The ones in the old stories certainly dropped their favourites when they felt like it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d go that far¡­¡± She lay back down, eager to change the subject to something more productive. ¡°You ever see yourself having kids?¡±

    ¡°Nah.¡±

    Therese found herself slightly disappointed. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°I mean, what would be the point?¡±

    ¡°Does it have to have a point?¡±

    ¡°With the new race coming, I think it ought to be considered whether any of us having kids is in the best interest.¡±

    Therese raised herself by her hands, looking right into Bryant Cormey¡¯s eyes. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve heard Dr. Lawrence and the Physician, more new humans are being born every year, even forgetting naturals who make the change. Any children I had wouldn¡¯t be able to compete! Why do you think Lawrence never married?¡±

    ¡°I just assumed it never happened for him¡­¡±

    ¡°With that kind of dosh? Give me a break. He just knows there¡¯s no use cluttering the world with dead-ends. Our genes are like a candle in Times Square, Therese. That¡¯s why I had ?ywie fix it up for me.¡± Bryant smirked up at Therese. ¡°Shame she didn¡¯t do the same for you. All the fun, none of the burden.¡±

    A sharp, bitter slap across his face.

    Therese looked at her hand like it¡¯d come from someone else. She hadn¡¯t struck another human being since she could remember.

    Bryant was rubbing his cheek. ¡°What was that for?¡±

    Angry tears blurred Therese¡¯s vision. ¡°You just said you thought I should be sterilized!¡±

    ¡°Therese, it¡¯s nothing personal. You¡¯re a lovely girl. It¡¯s just evolution. Our time¡¯s over. Why waste our lives bringing up useless eaters¡ª¡±

    Therese punched him in the ribs, over and over. ¡°Children are not ¡®useless eaters¡¯!¡± She stood up and started walking away, but not without looking back at Cormey. ¡°And I like candles.¡±

    ?

    Allison and David were playing tag across the skin of the river, raising pillars of water and suddenly freezing patches to try and trip each other up. Allison had the lead, leaning hard on ?ywie¡¯s legacy within her and about seventy years of collective track experience.

    Ten legs behind her, David growled, his eyes broiling like sea-form.

    A flat tooth of ice shot up from the river two inches from Allison¡¯s nose. She leapt over it, landing facing her friend. Poking her tongue out at him, she continued running backwards¡­ until the water parted beneath her feet.

    ¡°No fair!¡± she shouted from the bottom of a dry well with watery walls.

    David grinned from the edge of the hole, his arms folded. ¡°Fair¡¯s for humans.¡±

    ¡°¡­True.¡±

    David spotted someone them watching from the shore. He frowned. ¡°Huh. Therese is looking at us.¡±

    With a rare use of Sadie¡¯s song (too much like the world¡¯s biggest show-off) Allison hovered to the surface. ¡°She is. Why?¡±

    ¡°Dunno.¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Looks sad.¡±

    Allison forced herself to listen to the baseline woman¡¯s ordinary song. ¡°Sounds it.¡±

    David started walking towards dry-land. Allison rolled her eyes. Sometimes David could be so boring. Still, she followed.

    David blinked when he got close enough to see his teacher¡¯s face. She was smiling. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Therese?¡±

    Therese startled. Since when could Maelstrom do that? Did her blood look upset or something? She composed herself quickly, putting her smile back on. ¡°Oh, nothing¡¯s the matter. I was just watching you two play.¡±

    Allison stepped off the water and huffed. ¡°Don¡¯t lie, I can hear your song.¡±

    Therese looked at the two children, their strange eyes boring into her, and she sighed. No tears. Hers was a dry misery, echoing through her like wind over an extinct lake. ¡°But I was happy just then. That¡¯s the problem.¡±

    Allison sat down sullenly beside her. ¡°That sounds dumb.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t want to say, but yeah,¡± said David.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. You two¡­ everything¡¯s gone wrong, and you¡¯re happy because everything¡¯s gone wrong, and you being happy makes me happy and¡ª¡± Therese¡¯s head drooped. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to think anymore.¡±

    ¡°So, dumb,¡± said Allison.

    David patted the lady on the arm. ¡°It¡¯s okay to change your mind sometimes. I did.¡±

    Therese laughed joylessly. ¡°God, I¡¯m useless. Can¡¯t even keep my stupid bloody feelings from a couple of nine year olds. That¡¯s half my job!¡± She rapped the side of her head with her knuckcles, repeating ¡°Useless, useless, useless!¡± before pointing a thumb at Allison. ¡°Look at Myriad! What have I ever done for her?¡± She turned to address the girl. ¡°I used to read a book every night just so you might pick up something from me! Did you ever notice?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    Therese groaned into her hands.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you¡¯re useless,¡± said David. ¡°I used to think I was useless, and I¡¯m pretty sure I was wrong.¡±

    Therese¡¯s fingers parted just enough for her to look at the boy. ¡°Of course you¡¯re not useless. You¡¯re basically a god. You were Lawrence¡¯s golden boy.¡±

    ¡°Eww. Please don¡¯t. That still makes me feel kinda gross.¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t mind you.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Not really. Most of the other grownups, they know I know more and they still try to tell me things. You didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°But telling you things is our job.¡±

    The child shrugged again. ¡°You didn¡¯t try telling me what I had to be.¡±

    Therese¡¯s back straightened. ¡°Kids, can I ask you something?¡±

    David and Allison looked at each other, before shrugging and nodding.

    ¡°How did you honestly feel about the married days? From the start. Before all this.¡±

    David answered first. ¡°It was kinda just how I thought it was always going to turn out. But I didn¡¯t like looking at Mabel or Allie or Louise or all the other girls and thinking about it. It made playing with them feel weird.¡±

    ¡°Just seemed kinda yuck,¡± said Allison. ¡°Babies and all that.¡±

    Therese nodded. ¡°Do you think the other kids felt that way?¡±

    ¡°Mostly,¡± David answered.

    ¡°I kinda think it got worse when it was happening.¡± Allison chimed in. ¡°Didn¡¯t really think too hard about it till it really started, you know?¡±

    The teacher got to her feet. ¡°Thank you. That¡¯s all I needed to know.¡± She looked down at David. ¡°You never really liked being called Maelstrom, did you?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t listen enough to figure that out two years ago.¡±

    With that, Therese Fletcher turned and headed back towards the house.

    ?

    Therese could hear Lawrence and Mary arguing through the walls. Plaster-muffled voices teetering on the crumbling edge of civility, so full of tension it¡¯d be a relief if they just started screaming. They made her feel young, like the child of a marriage one pen-stroke away from divorce. Her fingers ached like they¡¯d gotten caught in a car door, but that didn¡¯t matter.

    The only phone at the New Human Institute resided in Lawrence¡¯s study. The teachers were free to use it, of course. Hardly a week went by where Therese didn¡¯t talk to her mother or order something from a catalogue. But Lawrence was always in the room. Usually reading or scratching away at paperwork, but always there. It was one of those little things she¡¯d never considered much. Like why the children didn¡¯t have shoes.

    Therese picked up the receiver, hoping to God Lawrence hadn¡¯t cut the phone line along with the other utilities, and started dialing. Each digit felt like a syllable of some dark spell.

    A rattling, toneless voice said, ¡°DDHA helpline, how may we be of assistance?¡±

    Therese took a deep breath. ¡°I would like to report abuse at a demi-human containment facility.¡±

    ¡°¡­Wait, do you work at an asylum?¡±

    ¡°No! I mean, yes, sort of.¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, this line is for the public¡¯s convenience in reporting demi-human sightings and incidents. Internal issues are to be taken to your supervisor or head of staff.¡±

    ¡°My ¡®head of staff¡¯ is the problem¡ª¡±

    Therese was knocked to the carpet. The phone dangled from its cord in front of her face.

    ¡°Hello? Ma¡¯am?¡±

    Lawrence grabbed Therese by the shoulders, pulling her up to his face. Boozy breath hissed out from between his teeth. ¡°You faithless cunt.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI¡±

    ¡°Get out.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Lawrence dragged the woman by the wrist out of his study. ¡°Get out!¡±

    Therese staggered after the old man, struggling to keep her footing.

    ¡°I should have guessed it¡¯d be you, Therese. You always were weak. Pale  Like a ghost that hadn¡¯t bothered to die. This, after we saved your life!¡±

    Therese stopped dead in her tracks, pulling her hand back. The old man¡¯s grip was weaker than first seemed. ¡°¡­But you didn¡¯t save my life, Laurie. Eliza did. And she left you.¡±

    Lawrence smacked her, the sound drawing Mary up the stairs. ¡°Lawrence, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°Miss Fletcher was trying to undo us, Mrs Gillespie.¡±

    Therese had already recovered. ¡°Mary, you¡¯re a far better teacher than me. You were a mother. You can¡¯t still think what we¡¯re doing is right.¡±

    Mary stuttered, rubbing her hands. ¡°Therese, dear, it¡¯s complicated¡­¡±

    Miss Fletcher glared at Lawrence. ¡°I used to think so, too. I think he just uses very complicated words. But he¡¯s right about one thing. I was weak. And I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever stop being weak if I stay here. ¡±

    Lawrence pointed at the staircase. ¡°Then go. Get out of my school.¡±

    Therese started walking. ¡°I don¡¯t think this has been a school for a long time, Laurie.¡±

    She stopped for a moment next to Mary. ¡°Look after them, please.¡±

    ¡°Therese, dear, we can talk about this¡ª¡±

    Therese smiled sadly. ¡°No, we can¡¯t.¡±

    She made it to the first floor just in time for Comey to step through the door.

    ¡°Therese! I¡¯m¡ªI wanted to say I¡¯m sorry for¡ª¡±

    Therese kissed the man lightly on the cheek. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Bryant.¡± She stepped through the door. ¡°Look me up if you come to your senses. You¡¯re too good for your own rubbish.¡±

    As she shut the door behind her, Bryant glanced up the stairs to see Lawrence scowling down at them.

    ¡°What the hell just happened?¡±

    Alberto strolled cackling out the library. ¡°Oh, my God, that was fucking priceless.¡± He looked up at Lawrence. ¡°Guess that¡¯s one less salary you got to pay. No great loss. I mean, it was just Therese Fletcher.¡±

    ?

    Therese Fletcher trudged along the grey mortar of the Great Eastern Highway, luggage in hand, her thumb outstretched. She wasn¡¯t too worried about not getting a lift into Northam. It was only two o¡¯clock. Time to think.

    What was she going to do? She had money at least. She could probably stay with her mother for a while. God, how was she going to explain everything to her?

    ¡­Maybe that could wait till after she found herself a flat.

    Therese stopped walking.

    Wait, had she actually left the children? Because Lawrence said so?

    Therese turned around. The night wind suddenly shredded through the thin fabric of her dress, and the stars shone coldly down on her.

    The teacher dropped her suitcase and flung her arms around herself. ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    There was a man, standing at the edge of the trees that girded the road.

    ¡°Hey!¡± Therese called out. She tried to think of a follow up question. ¡°¡­Do you know what happened to the sun?¡±

    Without a word, the man turned and walked into the trees.

    Normally, every one of Therese Fletcher¡¯s instincts would be screaming to not follow.

    That night (if night it was) she didn¡¯t listen.

    As Therese walked, she noticed something off about the trees. Their trunks appeared to have gotten thicker since she last noticed, their canopies almost triangular, like a storybook. And the grass felt strange. It crunched beneath her feet.

    She looked down: snow. She didn¡¯t think that happened in WA besides at Bluff Knoll.

    Therese glanced back up at the man she was following. He was dressed for winter, in rough blue jeans and a brown jacket with white fleece poking out the collar. ¡°Uh, excuse me, sir?¡±

    The man didn¡¯t answer, his pace staying steady. For reasons she couldn¡¯t name, Therese kept following.

    Eventually, after what felt like miles of forest (was there even a forest around the highway?) the man stopped at the lip of a pond¡ªbarely greater than a puddle. He finally turned to face Therese.

    There was stars in his eyes.

    Therese approached him slowly, looking over his shoulder down at the pond. Her reflection gazed back, more perfect than if it lived in silver.

    ¡°¡­What do I need to do?¡±

    The man pointed into the water.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    She dove, right into the reflection.

    ?

    Therese Fletcher crawled out of the tiny bathroom mirror, squeezing through its square corners and grunted as fell stomach first onto the linoleum floor.

    ¡°Ughhh¡­¡±

    Timothy Valour opened his bathroom door, calling behind him. ¡°I¡¯ll be down in a¡­¡±

    Miss Fletcher smiled dazedly up at him.

    ¡°Hi, Tim!¡± She remembered her business, and her smile vanished. ¡°We need to talk about the Institute¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­Sorry, Val, we might have to cancel the reservations.¡±

 Chapter Forty-Nine: Formicarius

    DDHA Inspector Ronald Vanhurst nursed his mid-morning cup of tea in the corner-booth of the Camel Stop Diner while skimming The West Australian, trying not to think too hard about what he expected to find later that noon.

    He glanced over his newspaper at Agent Louis Becker, who appeared to be consuming his toast and black coffee in the gaps between Vanhurst¡¯s eyeblinks. The inspector decided to break the ice.

    ¡°Says here the Flying Man dropped in on the South African Parliament yesterday.¡±

    That instantly caught Agent Becker¡¯s attention, while Inspector Vanhurst just as instantly realized he had picked the wrong small-talk subject.

    ¡°What¡¯s he done now?¡± the American asked in his cool, yet interrogative, Midwestern manner.

    Ronald sighed softly. The poor inspector¡¯s life the past few weeks had been a river of unwelcome news. First he drew the office shit-stick, condemning him with having to make the bi-annual inspection of Timothy Valour¡¯s pet experiment. Then he got word that the old bloke in charge of said experiment was using it to run some crazy teenage breeding scheme, almost immediately followed by the news that Northam had been attacked by supervillains, one of whom was still at large, and that the Institute was apparently in a state of anarchy. So now Ron¡¯s box-ticking mission had turned into the bastard child of a reconnaissance mission in hostile territory and a child welfare visit¡ªas performed by a man trained to inspect safety railings in tinning plants.

    And then, finally, there was Agent Becker, his DOPO<sup>1</a></sup> shadow for the trip.

    Still, he started it. ¡°Apparently he told the South Africans they were giving the blacks back the franchise, or else everyone in the country would wake up with their colours swapped.¡± Ron chuckled. ¡°Think he could do it?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s overplaying his hand,¡± Agent Becker said authoritatively. ¡°If he¡¯s so unstoppable, why did he bother being quiet when he took out the nukes?¡±

    Vanhurst shrugged. ¡°Maybe he was bored? Maybe the Flying Man is just what happens when you can do anything and don¡¯t have anything better to do.¡±

    Louis shook his head. ¡°He has to know he¡¯s not unique.¡±

    Ron raised a greying eyebrow. ¡°Know a Flying Lady, do ya?¡±

    ¡°Nothing and nobody is special, Vanhurst. If there isn¡¯t already another Flying Man out there, someone will invent him eventually.¡±

    ¡°Then how will we handle that bloke?¡±

    The DOPO agent¡¯s voice was steady and grave, like he was sitting in on a policy meeting instead of brunching in some also-ran country town. ¡°We¡¯ll deal with that when we come to it.¡±

    Vanhurst scoffed. ¡°Because that worked out so well for your lot with the Soviets.¡±

    Agent Becker allowed himself a shrug. ¡°We¡¯re still here, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    Ron let out a grudgingly affirmative grunt. Inspector Vanhurst could understand why the DDHA was trying to cozy up to their American cousins. The world was changing. Mother Britain had been hemorrhaging power and territory since the war, while America kept on rising in the world like it had designs towards the letter ¡°u.¡± What Vanhurst couldn¡¯t figure out was why the boss of bosses wanted him to show some random DOPA bloke what was shaping up to be one of their biggest fuck-ups?

    Then again, what did the DDHA have to show for themselves besides fuck-ups? The Americans had Pendergast, while Australia had one mad old queen and a lot of bitter prisoners that hadn¡¯t figured out their cells were made of paper yet.

    Agent Becker was grimacing at something. ¡°There¡¯s something not right about this town.¡±

    Ron followed the American¡¯s eyes towards a pair of young boys running around with comfort-blanket capes tied around their necks, laughing as they weaved around the legs of a fuming ginger bus-boy.

    Vanhurst leaned over the table. ¡°Gonna let you in on a secret, mate.¡± He made a big show of looking around the diner, screened his mouth with his hand and whispered, ¡°They¡¯re not really supers.¡±

    Agent Becker didn¡¯t smile. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean. Look around. At the people.¡±

    Smiling. Laughter. Two sets of clearly embarrassed parents, but even they seemed more amused than anything else.

    Ron looked back at Becker. ¡°They¡¯re kids, Louis.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense, Vanhurst. My intel said the Northamites weren¡¯t on good terms with the sorcerers.¡±

    ¡°Demis, Becker.¡±

    ¡°Magically empowered individuals,¡± The agent insisted. He pointed at the blackboard menu hanging behind the diner-counter, bordered by chalky, pastel wreaths and surprisingly well-detailed koalas<sup>2</a></sup>.  Specifically, he was pointing at a sandwich:

    THE NEW HUMAN

    Vanhurst tapped the busboy on the arm as he passed. ¡°Excuse me, can you tell us what a ¡®new human¡¯ is?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s new,¡± the red-haired teen explained. ¡°Pretty much two sandwiches inside another sandwich. It¡¯s free if you finish it all¡­ lookin¡¯ to order it?¡±

    ¡°Nah, just curious.¡±

    The busboy wandered off, muttering something about finchy time-wasters under his breath.

    ¡°Why would they name a sandwich after a school for sorcerers if they didn¡¯t like them?¡± Agent Becker asked rhetorically. ¡°It doesn¡¯t add up.¡±

    Inspector Vanhurst rubbed the bridge of his nose. To be honest, he¡¯d been a little intimidated by Agent Becker at first. With his black suit, glasses, and military-neat haircut, the American looked like he immigrated from a world built out of blurry photographs and strung together with red-string. After spending the better part of a morning and a two hour drive in a rented truck with the man, Ron was beginning to suspect that if fortune hadn¡¯t blown Louis Becker towards DOPO, he¡¯d probably be busy building those worlds himself.

    ¡°A bunch of supervillains attacked here a few days back. Apparently some kids from the Institute warded them off. They¡¯re probably just¡­ appreciative.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t buy it,¡± said Becker. ¡°Bigots don¡¯t distinguish between good and bad actors. That¡¯s what makes them bigots!¡±

    ¡°Bigots?¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s what they are.¡±

    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m suggesting,¡± Becker whispered, ¡°that it¡¯s not outside the realm of possibility for the NHI sorcerers to have cast a spell over Northam.¡±

    ¡°So you think these people are prejudiced against ¡®sorcerers¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a matter of record.¡±

    ¡°So clearly that means the victims of this prejudice have bewitched their minds with black magic.¡±

    ¡°¡­Life is complicated.¡±

    The inspector checked his cheap quartz watch. It was time for them to get going. The sorcerers were waiting for them. ¡°That it is, Agent Becker, that it is.¡±

    ?

    Dr. Herbert Lawrence was knocked out of his fretful, hungover dreams by a hard punch to his side.

    The children were gathered around the old man¡¯s bed: Stratogale, Ex-Nihilo, Reverb and Myriad. Reverb had the dressing gown they had dyed and sequined for Prospero slung over her shoulder, while the youngest girl was carrying a bundle of rough rope.

    Stratogale was hovering a few inches above the floor, a yellow paper-crown on her head. ¡°It¡¯s inspection day, Laurie.¡±

    Lawrence sighed. ¡°Trust me, child, I know.¡± A weak, despairing rictus spread across his face. ¡°Queen of the festivities, are we, Stratogale?¡±

    The girl slapped him hard. It took Lawrence a second to realize he was still alive. How easily could Stratogale have sent his head flying into the wall?

    ¡°It¡¯s Sadie, Bertie. This¡±¡ªshe tapped at the crown, before removing and slipping it over¡ª¡°I was just keeping it warm for the king of the festival.¡±

    ¡°We got the idea from your mate Graves¡¯ book<sup>3</a></sup>,¡± Lana jeered.

    Lawrence remembered what his friend said became of those ancient ceremonial kings at the end of their reign. The idea was colourless; removed, like the weather forecast for a far-flung city.

    Mavis¡¯ manufactured voice echoed like a priestess in a cavernous temple. Allison, prepare the king for the procession.

    Allison giggled and saluted. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am!¡±

    The little girl set about binding Lawrence¡¯s hands in an expert handcuff knot. She was naked, bar a thin layer of dyed frost and a feather tucked behind her ear, her face streaked with acrylic paint like some ghastly picture-book Indian.

    What was left of Lawrence despaired for Myriad. Not too long ago, he had believed she was the beginning of a cognitive revolution. Now, he realized, the girl was nothing more than a child wearing adult knowledge like her mother¡¯s shoes and lipstick.

    He didn¡¯t resist when they pulled him to his feet, draped him in that butchered wizard¡¯s robe, and started marching him down through the house.

    Mary, Cormey, and Melusine were in the kitchen when they passed, the nereid keeping watch over the teachers with a cup of black coffee.

    Bryant went ballistic when he saw Lawrence trussed up. He jumped out of his chair. ¡°You ungrateful little shits!¡±

    Lawrence and Mary locked eyes for a moment. The old woman said nothing. She looked so tired.

    Cormey tried running to the headmaster¡¯s aid, but Fran?oise blocked the man with her arm.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Mels, do you want Mael thrown into McClare?¡±

    Fran smirked. ¡°Bryant, if David doesn¡¯t want to go to McClare, nobody¡¯s taking him to McClare.¡±

    Tiresias was waiting to open the door for the procession. ¡°All hail the king!¡±

    Lawrence managed to muster a question for his former student. ¡°How do you see this game turning out for you, Tiresias?¡±

    The psychic closed his eyes and put his fingers to his temples, groping the air with his other hand. ¡°I see¡­ a penthouse¡­ on the Gold Coast¡­ full of beautiful women¡­¡± He opened his eyes and grinned. ¡°And you know what, Bertie? I think they¡¯re all over twenty-one.¡±

    It took Lawrence a moment to realize Tiresias wasn¡¯t kidding.

    He¡¯d won.

    ¡°Did you get the sign?¡± Sadie asked cooly.

    Alberto clapped. ¡°Oh, yeah!¡± The esper picked up a wooden placard threaded through with the same rope that bound Lawrence, hanging it around the old man¡¯s neck. ¡°There. Now everyone knows who did what.¡±

    A throne waited for Lawrence in front of the house, carved from rough grey iron. Well, ¡°carved.¡± Lawrence had no doubt it was Ex-Nihilo and Growltiger¡¯s handiwork. He was mildly surprised a pyre hadn¡¯t been built around the thing. Disappointed, even.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Haunt was waiting beside the chair. He was in the white dress shirt and pressed slacks he had worn for his and Britomart¡¯s Naming, his usually wavy hair drowned in pomade.

    ¡°Think the inspector will be here soon?¡± he asked the girls.

    Myriad crooked her head. ¡°I there¡¯s a couple new songs getting closer. Too fast for feet. Wonder who the other bloke is?¡± She looked up at Sadie. ¡°Can I go play now?¡±

    Sadie ruffled her hair fondly. ¡°Sure, kiddo.¡±

    The child bounded off like a gazelle. Lawrence watched her go. How many learned men lay forgotten and neglected within that painted savage?

    The teenagers shoved him down into the throne, before Haunt stepped in front of his teacher, regarding him like a squashed bug with human insides.

    Lawrence smiled wanly. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you this well dressed in years, my boy.¡± He jerked his head in the direction Myriad had run off. ¡°Certainly making more of an effort than some of your brothers and sisters.¡±

    Tom Long kicked Lawrence in the shins. ¡°Just trying to make a good impression, your highness.¡±

    The leftover scotch in Lawrence¡¯s system dulled the pain. It might also have dulled the shock when he realized his legs had been sunked into the throne. He looked like a half-finished statue.

    ¡°And we don¡¯t want you spoiling the surprise for the inspector.¡±

    Reverb wrapped an arm around Lawrence¡¯s shoulders, her voice a child¡¯s parody of sultry:

    That¡¯s why us girls are gonna keep you company while you wait.

    Lawrence¡¯s ears were wracked with drill hisses and a thousand wasps. He futilely struggled against his bindings, desperate to cover his ears.

    Lana told Tom, ¡°Go wait with the others while I try to remember how to make mustard gas or something.¡±

    Tom nodded. ¡°I hear ya, bosslady.¡±

    He joined the other children gathered around the Institute gates. A bedsheet banner with ¡°WELCOME INSPECTORS¡± painted in bright, colourful letters hung from poles of gold light over the dirt-trail.

    Booms like prowling thunderclaps closed in behind Tom, and the sky darkened above him. He looked up and nodded. ¡°David, Allie.¡±

    The craggy ice-titan whose shoulder Allison rode on waved, making a sound like wrestling mountains. ¡°Hi, Tom.¡±

    A white van<sup>4</a></sup> trundled up the road. Before coming to a stop in front of the gate. A middle aged man in a khaki vest and shorts climbed out of the driver¡¯s door, followed by a much younger passenger in very square sunglasses and a black suit. The best thing you could say about it was that it hid the sweat-stains.

    Inspector Vanhurst blanched at the sight of the ice-giant. Agent Becker¡¯s hand went instinctively for his hip, trying to find a gun that wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡°Oh, lighten up fellas,¡± Bran said near the front of the crowd. ¡°It¡¯s just David.¡±

    Vanhurst managed to compose himself, flashing his best youth pastor smile. ¡°Good afternoon, children. I¡­¡± He trailed off for a moment. The children were smiling too much. They looked hungry. He took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯m Inspector Vanhurst¡±¡ªhe gestured vaguely at his companion¡ª¡°and this my friend Mr. Becker.¡±

    ¡°Agent Becker,¡± he corrected.

    ¡°Sure, fine. Anyway, we¡¯re here to¡­¡± Vanhurst didn¡¯t know how to explain it. ¡°¡ªWe¡¯re here to speak to your teachers and headmaster. Is that okay?¡±

    No, that was awful. He sounded like he was asking permission.

    The children mobbed the two men, chattering and fighting for their attention. Tom pushed his way to the centre of the mass shook their hands.

    ¡°G¡¯day, I¡¯m Tom Long. Don¡¯t know if they gave you fellas a student list, but I¡¯m not on it.¡± He grinned broadly. ¡°I¡¯m one of the kids that got to go on a picnic with the babies when your lot came a callin¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Me too!¡± Mabel chirped through a conjured megaphone.

    Vanhurst blinked. ¡°Wait, then where¡¯d you come from?¡±

    ¡°What, me? Lawrence bought me off the Coven.¡±

    The inspector¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°The Coven?¡±

    That caught Agent Becker¡¯s attention like a bomb blast. ¡°A coven? Your school principal dealt with mages? Were they psychic or ritualistic?¡±

    Becker sighed. ¡°It¡¯s just what the local supervillains call themselves.¡± He hoped to God nobody mentioned the Witch of Claremont.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Tom. ¡°He paid them like, a million pounds or something for me.¡±

    ¡°¡­Your headmaster buys kids?¡±

    ¡°Sometimes,¡± Tom replied casually. ¡°Few of us Laurie just found on the streets and never told your lot.¡±

    ¡°One of us died last month,¡± Mabel interjected, her voice shaking in a way that probably wasn¡¯t the megaphone¡¯s fault. ¡°Did Lawrence tell you that?¡±

    Agent Becker looked at Vanhurst. The confusion practically burnt through his sunglasses. The inspector just shook his head.

    Allison let down from the walking ice-sculpture, landing on and clinging to Agent Becker¡¯s back like a spider-monkey.

    ¡°Argh¡ª¡± He caught himself. ¡°Hello, little girl.¡±

    ¡°He punched me once. In the face. With a big metal glove. Then he pulled me by the hair and locked me in a dungeon!¡±

    ¡°¡­A dungeon?¡±

    ¡°Pretty much! Didn¡¯t even have a bed! Or a toilet! Even McClare had a toilet!¡±

    ¡°Sorry to hear that, young lady¡­ about the dungeon, I mean, not the toilet.¡±

    The ice-giant cracked at the mid-section, David bursting out out of it like Phanes from the cosmic egg. He landed at the agent and inspector¡¯s feet. ¡°Yeah, I was pretty much never happy when I listened to Lawrence. Got better when I stopped, though. Wanna see me make it snow?¡±

    ¡°Uh, sure,¡± answered Vanhurst. Christ, he thought. And the DDHA had told him to expect secrecy.

    From his grasping throne, Lawrence watched as David turned his giant into a blizzard. He wondered what his father would think, seeing his son minstrel for rootstock humans like that.

    In the thousands of times he had pictured this day, Lawrence had imagined himself in a state of mind shuttering anxiety, like a man with three sixes on his hand come Judgement Day. Instead, he felt like lead plunging to the bottom of the sea. Inexorable, but indifferent. When he fell, he would make no sound. He would¡¯ve said T.S Eliot was right, if the children weren¡¯t cheering at the end.

    Linus walked out of the house. ¡°Hey.¡±

    Hey, echoed Mavis. How¡¯s Mels doing?

    ¡°Still keeping an eye on Cormey, really. He keeps ranting about ¡®Laurie¡¯s vision¡¯ and the future of the species.¡±

    ¡°God,¡± said Sadie. ¡°He¡¯s such a lickspittle.¡± She looked at her headmaster. ¡°Isn¡¯t he, Lawrence?¡±

    He didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°I knew kids like him back in real school,¡± Lana added. ¡°The ones who were always dobbing on everyone.¡± She laughed. ¡°They always took it the worst when it was their turn.¡±

    What about Mrs Gillespie?

    Linus shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t think she knows what to think anymore?¡±

    Mavis scowled. What else is new?

    The party drew close, Inspector Vanhurst trying to shoo away the children like overly friendly flies while Agent Becker tried drilling them for their sorcerous secrets.

    ¡°Look, kids, it¡¯s great you¡¯re being cooperative, but I really need to speak to your¡ª¡±

    The inspector stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the king of exhibition. A bedraggled, half-entombed old warlock with a ¡°rapist¡± sign hanging around his neck.

    ¡°Good God,¡± whispered Agent Becker. ¡°Where¡¯s his legs?¡±

    Sadie floated forward, pointing at her seven-month baby bump. ¡°See this, gents? This wasn¡¯t an accident. Me and my sisters? We weren¡¯t being ¡®careless¡¯ or ¡®sluts¡¯.¡± She stabbed her finger at Lawrence. ¡°It was him! Because he wanted some new baby-dolls to play with! And he couldn¡¯t keep them safe.¡±

    The inspector shuffled his feet. ¡°Well, that¡¯s terrible, miss, but¡­¡±

    ¡°We knew,¡± Agent Becker said flatly.

    ¡­What?

    ¡°Miss Winter confessed everything. Then Miss Fletcher fell out of the headman¡¯s mirror and confessed it all again.¡±

    Lana shook her head slowly. ¡°What?¡± Then she realized what the inspector had said and glared at Lawrence. ¡°You said they were looking for Zy!¡±

    Lawrence quirked his shoulder weakly. ¡°Why worry you all?¡±

    Lana smacked him.

    Vanhurst¡¯s shoulders drooped. ¡°¡­I think we need to talk.¡±

    ?

    ¡°This is a travesty, obviously.¡±

    Sadie nodded from the other side of the library table. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell us that.¡±

    Linus cleared his throat. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna to be rude,¡± he pointed at Agent Becker sitting next to the inspector, ¡°but should he really be here?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± the American answered, ¡°just an observer.¡±

    The remaining human staff of the New Human Institute hadn¡¯t been invited to the meeting. In fact, they had been gently but firmly encouraged to stay in their rooms for the duration. Mary and Lawrence put up no resistance, but Bryant Cormey had already barged in twice, before being seconded in the dark dimension.

    ¡°So what happens now?¡± asked Melusine.

    Vanhurst said, ¡°Well, if it were up to me and Becker here, Dr. Lawrence would be heading to the police station,¡± he allowed himself a smile, ¡°but it seems like you¡¯ve got him well under heel.¡±

    Plus, you don¡¯t try to take a tiger¡¯s meal off them.

    Lana cracked her knuckles. ¡°You got that right.¡±

    We don¡¯t care about Laurie, Reverb said, her voice a steady iron string of sound. What happens to us?

    ¡°You said Zy¡ªEliza talked with Tim Valour,¡± added Sadie. ¡°Did she have our babies with her? Where are they?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m not at liberty to discuss that.¡±

    God, why didn¡¯t he just tell them he didn¡¯t know? He sounded like Becker!

    ¡°That¡¯s not a good enough answer, Mr. Vanhurst.¡±

    Alberto swirled his glass of merlot. ¡°Don¡¯t get so worked up, Sadie.¡± A sip. ¡°Did Eliza ever strike you as a baby killer?¡±

    Sadie looked at Ophelia¡¯s father like she was considering half-orphaning her.

    Ronald Vanhurst threw his hands up. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry I don¡¯t have all the answers, but can I at least try and give you some of them?¡±

    Sadie folded her arms. ¡°All right.¡±

    The inspector went into pitch mode. ¡°Before New Years, you and your schoolmates will be transported¡ªcomfortably¡ªto new accommodation.¡±

    ¡®New accomodation¡¯ doesn¡¯t mean the asylums, does it?

    Vanhurst shook his head. ¡°Nothing of the sort. The DDHA is establishing their own schools.¡± He forced a chuckle. ¡°I hear they¡¯re calling them ¡®academies of tomorrow¡¯. I assure you, after graduation¡±¡ªhe looked at Fran and Alberto¡ª¡°not that I expect all of you to be there long, you¡¯ll be well compensated public servants.¡±

    Fran and the eldest students shared looks that might as well have been telepathic.

    ¡°Afraid we can¡¯t take you up on that offer,¡± answered Linus.

    That wasn¡¯t part of the script. ¡°You¡ªyou can¡¯t¡­ what?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going,¡± Lana replied plainly.

    ¡°But you have to go somewhere!¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± asked Sadie. ¡°Regular folks don¡¯t get told where to live by the government<sup>5</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°But they still need somewhere to live!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll stay here,¡± said Linus. ¡°We have money¡ªplenty, in fact. The neighbours are fine with us now.¡± He smiled. ¡°We¡¯re not against working¡ª¡±

    Alberto cut in, ¡°Speak for yourself.¡±

    ¡°¡­But we¡¯ll do it on our own terms.¡±

    Fran¡¯s eyes glowed. ¡°Me and my son will not be your pets.¡±

    Agent Becker looked Linus in the eye. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to serve your country, boy?¡±

    ¡°I thought you were just an observer,¡± Lana said sourly.

    Linus smiled softly. ¡°I¡¯m not even allowed to vote, Agent Becker.¡±

    Funny, said Reverb. You won¡¯t draft ladies, but as soon as we have powers¡­

    Vanhurst looked around the table, exasperation burning the colour from his cheeks. ¡°Kids, even if this worked¡ªand it won¡¯t¡ªwhat about all the little kids? Who¡¯ll take care of them?¡±

    ¡°We will,¡± said Linus.

    Fran looked hard at the DDHA man. ¡°They¡¯re our responsibility now. Our family.¡±

    We¡¯re not handing them over to the bastards who shoved them in the asylums in the first place, who gave them to Laurie.

    Vanhurst shook his head. ¡°It won¡¯t work. I¡¯m sorry, but it won¡¯t. The DDHA, they aren¡¯t going to allow you to¡­ squat like this.¡±

    Fran scoffed. ¡°Allow?¡±

    Agent Becker looked taken aback. ¡°That¡¯s seditious talk, ma¡¯am.¡±

    A broad, Southern accent washed over the library. Y¡¯all better mind y¡¯all business, yankee!

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Is this a package deal? Because I¡¯d be game for it.¡±

    Fran and the students all looked at the esper.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± asked Sadie.

    ¡°Why not? I¡¯ve spent thirteen years at this bloody school. My r¨¦sum¨¦ is basically empty. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I support you guys but¡­ well, I just want to leave. Go new places. Make some money that wasn¡¯t given to me by an old Wellsian Nazi.¡± He turned to the inspector. ¡°If you¡¯d give me a lift back to head office or wherever, I¡¯d be willing to leave now.¡±

    Ronald rested his chin on his hand dejectedly. ¡°Sure, why not. At least I¡¯ll have something to show.¡±

    Alberto got to his feet. His expression was oddly sombre. ¡°I¡¯ll get myself packed then¡­ Sadie, I¡¯ll try to look up Ophelia. Get word back to you.¡±

    Sadie didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    The psychic put at a hand on Fran¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine, right?¡±

    The water-nymph stood and kissed him. ¡°Of course I will.¡± She smiled. ¡°You of all people shouldn¡¯t have to ask.¡±

    Alberto looked back at the inspector. ¡°Right, time to start loading the whites into the van. Cormey better not be helping himself.¡±

    ?

    Lawrence and Mary Gillespie sat together in the old man¡¯s study. Dark was creeping in, and neither teacher could be bothered setting out candles. Soon, all they could make out was each other¡¯s outlines, and a few snatches of moonlight off the surface of their drinks.

    ¡°You lied to us.¡±

    ¡°What good would it have done telling you?¡±

    ¡°What good did keeping quiet do?¡±

    ¡°Point.¡±

    ¡°Alberto¡¯s gone. Didn¡¯t even say goodbye.¡±

    A grunt. ¡°Not unlike him.¡±

    ¡°Why should he have, Lawrence? All we did was keep him cooped up here like a battery hen. At least out there he can do some good for his kind.¡±

    For a moment, Lawrence considered telling Mary what Alberto had done to her. What theyhad done to her.

    No. She loved that boy. She loved them all. Let her keep that, at least.

    ¡°Nothing makes sense anymore.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Except that¡¯s the thing. I can¡¯t remember why they used to make sense. I think about the stirpiculture and¡­ your words, Lawrence. All those explanations and justifications. They don¡¯t connect anymore.¡±

    ¡°My dear, sometimes we have to wait for history to work out the rights and wrongs.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t think about history anymore, Lawrence. All I can think of is how my Frank would look at me¡­¡±

    ¡°Mary¡ª¡±

    ¡°But then I think, if you lied about this, Laurie, what else have you lied to me about.¡± Mary leaned forward in her chair, a blade of dusty, pearly light revealing the tears running down her cheeks. ¡°Lawrence, I am going to ask you this only once: how did Adam Sinclair die?¡±

    ¡°¡­An aneurysm. Poor Adam¡¯s death, it was unavoidable.¡±

    The old woman stood up, her face returning to the darkness. ¡°You should go, Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°What? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because you leave the children so distressed. Because I can¡¯t trust you anymore. And because I love you, Lawrence. They¡¯re coming for you. And I don¡¯t want to see you dragged off in chains.¡± Mary started off towards the door. ¡°Fetch me a candle and I¡¯ll pack you a bag.¡±

    They said nothing to each other until they were outside, under the unchallenged country-stars.

    ¡°Goodbye, Mary.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye, Lawrence. I wish I knew your heart better.¡±

    Mary watched her old friend walk away into the night. Before he had gone completely from her sight, she spotted some silhouettes by lorikeet dorm.

    It was the girls, along with Linus and a pyjama-clad Elsewhere¡ªArnold, Mary reminded herself.

    They were talking:

    You sure you have to leave?

    ¡°Yeah,¡± answered Sadie. ¡°I need to find Ophelia. I can¡¯t just wait for Alberto to give me answers. To give us all answers.¡±

    ¡°Eliza would never hurt the babies,¡± insisted Linus.

    ¡°No, she wouldn¡¯t¡­ and I¡¯ll believe that as soon as I¡¯ve seen them with my own eyes.¡±

    Elsewhere rubbed his eyes sleepily. ¡°Where do you wanna go?¡±

    Mary was running towards them, her nightgown billowing in the warm, humid air. ¡°Wait!¡± She stopped in front of Sadie, panting. ¡°Lawrence¡­ he¡¯s gone. You don¡¯t have to go.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Mrs Gillespie, it¡¯s not about him. It¡¯s about our kids.¡±

    Mrs Gillespie moaned, ¡°You¡¯re all leaving me¡­¡±

    Lana stroked the teacher¡¯s face, drawing away tears. ¡°We¡¯re a school, Mary. Supposed to happen.¡±

    Mary looked at Sadie with wet eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, child. For all of this. Can you ever forgive me?¡±

    Sadie took Arnold¡¯s hand. ¡°Arn, I need you to send me to where Ophelia is. Can you do that?¡±

    Arnold groaned tiredly. ¡°I think so. Might be kinda tricky.¡± The green started sparking under the boy¡¯s skin.

    The flying girl looked back at Mrs Gillespie. She smiled softly. ¡°I¡¯ll try, Mrs G. Someday, I¡¯ll try.¡±

    There was a flash.

    In the space Sadie had stood, Mary Gillespie fell to her knees, and wept.

    Gently, Linus helped the old woman to her feet. ¡°Come on, Mrs Gillespie, let¡¯s get you a cup of tea.¡±

    And so, Mary¡¯s students led her to their fire.

    ?

    Inspector Vanhurst didn¡¯t think he shared any kinship with Agent Becker or the New Human Institute¡¯s telepath. Then they got called up in front of their bosses.

    The three men sat awkwardly in plastic chairs that felt designed for primary schoolers, the DOPO-DDHA joint committee glaring at them like a parliament of owls.

    The DOPO attache released a gout of cigarette smoke. ¡°Would you say these children are no longer amenable to human authority?¡±

    The inspector glanced at Becker and Moretti, before tapping his microphone and answering, ¡°I suppose?¡±

    Timothy Valour sighed. ¡°I think we¡¯ll have to take steps.¡±

 Chapter Fifty: Nostos

    Dr. Stephen Carter missed Allison Kinsey. The journeyman scientist and the little super may never have brought each other any joy, but they knew where they stood with each other. He would make her do something pointless for reasons neither understood, and they basked in the shared misery until he went home for the evening.

    It was awful, yes, but it was still better than trying to get anything besides thunderbolts and flaming beams of light out of McClare¡¯s oldest inmate. Yet here they were.

    Dr. Carter looked across the metal table at the young woman. She was beautiful, certainly, even under the glaring, overexposing fluorescent light of the interview room. Her cheekbones reminded Carter of those great, severe eagles the Americans were so fond of. They framed eyes like storm clouds at midnight. As per McClare dictate, her dark hair was shorn nearly to the scalp.

    ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°I always imagined Helen of Troy would be blonde.¡±

    She frowned. ¡°One could mistake the sun for the gold, I imagine. I¡¯ve told you, Carter, it¡¯s Helen of Sparta. I haven¡¯t been ¡®of Troy¡¯ for a long time.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sorry¡­ hey, if you¡¯re Greek, why do you sound so, well, Scottish?¡±

    ¡°Because I learned English from Scotsmen, cleverman,¡± she answered flatly.

    Helen of Wherever<sup>1</a></sup> had been held at McClare since it opened. From what Carter had been able to garner from the few staff who¡¯d been there longer than him, she¡¯d been arrested a little after the Cuban Crisis for melting a police car at a Vietnam protest. She¡¯d put up no struggle. Since then, she had resided in the same cell, telling anyone who asked she was a character from the Iliad and frying alive anyone who objected. She brooked no experiments, and had no fear of punishment. Early on¡ªso the story went¡ªthe head of the asylum had withheld all food and drink till she cooperated.

    He gave up after nine months.

    At McClare, if you had nothing better to do but needed to justify your paycheck, you went and talked to Helen on the off chance she spilled the beans on whatever her secret origin was.

    The greying scientist yawned and folded his hands behind his neck. ¡°Okay¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know you don¡¯t believe me,¡± Helen interrupted. ¡°None of your sort do. Even when you pray to me that your babies will be beautiful.¡±

    Dr. Carter looked at her, his head tilted. ¡°People do that?¡±

    She quirked her shoulders. ¡°A couple of the nurses.¡± She leant forward. ¡°I hear them.¡±

    Stephen tried shaking the thought from his mind. ¡°Alright. I don¡¯t believe you.¡±

    Lightning flickered in Helen¡¯s eyes. ¡°But maybe you can convince me,¡± the doctor hastily added.  ¡°Right now, in this room.¡±

    The chancy glow subsided. ¡°You think so?¡±

    ¡°Sure. Tell me, what¡¯s it like being part god?¡±

    ¡°Not part. Would I be sitting here talking to you if any part of me could die?¡±

    Carter raised an eyebrow, regarding the shackles that bound Helen¡¯s hands. ¡°I thought you were¡ªwhat¡¯s the word?¡± He clicked his fingers. ¡°A demigoddess? Your mum was that queen, right?¡±

    Helen sighed. ¡°You¡¯re thinking of Leda. And she was my mother, in all the ways that really matter. That¡¯s probably where the confusion came from. But she was my mother only in name, not by birth.¡±

    ¡°Then who was your mother?¡±

    Through the swamp of lingering arguments with his wife, through the upcoming birthdays and open days, an image rose to the top of Dr. Carter¡¯s mind like a message in a bottle. A woman. A goddess, Carter knew as soon as he questioned it. Taller than a man, with hair like fire, and eyes like smoke. One hand held a dagger, the other balanced scales. She was as real as a dream in the moments before you opened your eyes.

    ¡°Nemesis is a proud goddess, Dr. Carter. Proud and beautiful. My father coveted both. Her beauty, for the same reasons all men do. Her pride, so he could conquer it¡±

    ¡°What are you¡ª¡±

    A silver fish speeding over dark waves in a loud-roaring sea. Snakes and scorpions crawling across the dry Earth. A goose in a storm tossed sky, fighting an eagle.

    ¡°My father got what he wanted. He always did.¡±

    The goddess, blood streaking down her thighs, weeping alone in a copse of trees.

    ¡°Oh, God.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for that. But you must understand why she did what she did.¡±

    Two eggs, lying in the grass. A herdsman presenting a fine wooden box to a woman in still finer clothes.

    ¡°My mother I imagine couldn¡¯t bear the thought of me and my brother growing inside her. She existed to punish hubris, to tarry the scales. And what were we but a hubris she could never avenge? So, she exposed us, leaving our futures to the Fates.¡±

    Stephen swallowed. An image was lurking just behind his eyes, like the shadow of a whale beneath the sea. A school, or something that looked like a school, far away.

    No, it was nothing like that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±

    Helen smiled sadly. ¡°You can¡¯t judge us by mortal standards, Dr. Carter. We¡¯re not people. We¡¯re spells cast on the world to give it shape. My father did these things, yes, but he also punished tyrants and protected travellers. Bushfires coax seeds from their shells, don¡¯t they?¡±

    Dr. Carter didn¡¯t know what to say to that. ¡°What happened next?¡±

    ¡°Pollux and I hatched in Sparta, in the halls of King Tyndareus. He took us in, reared us up beside his own son and daughter.¡±

    ¡°Gotta say, that probably wouldn¡¯t have been my first idea.¡±

    ¡°Gods are like cuckoo birds, Stephen. We don¡¯t take kindly to those who turn out our byblows. And divine blood is an asset. It can strain gold from your line, or be traded for the same.¡±

    ¡°So you and your¡­ were you ¡®twins¡¯ if you were eggs?¡±

    To Stephen¡¯s surprise, Helen laughed. ¡°No one gave us a glossary, but the word works well enough.¡±

    ¡°So you two were gods.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°But your family weren¡¯t.¡±

    Helen looked down between her bound hands, faint steel eyes glinting back up at her. ¡°Some of our brothers and sisters, they grow up in glades and grottos a mortal man couldn¡¯t find if Father Zeus was holding their hand. Death and pain are just stories to them: little barbarisms their mothers tell them about so they know how good they have it.¡±

    ¡°Not me and Pollux, though. From birth, we were drowned in human frailty. Whooping babies, old nobles with faces like melted candles, haggard slaves¡ª¡±

    ¡°You had slaves?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes, we had slaves. We also sometimes ran people out of town for being ugly, exposed children who weren¡¯t immortal, and hardly any of us could read, just to get those out of the way. May I continue?¡±

    Dr. Carter nodded.

    ¡°Good. As I was saying, we were surrounded by suffering. But it never seemed quite real to us. Like a game. I think I was four before I realized clumsiness wasn¡¯t an affection, or that the sound people made when they hit their toe wasn¡¯t kin to laughter. I don¡¯t think our foster parents quite knew what to make of us, either.¡±

    ¡°¡­You said you hatched from an egg.¡±

    ¡°That didn¡¯t stop generations of your kind from calling us mere demigods, and Mother and Father didn¡¯t try bleeding us to check. I remember this one day. It was summer, and Pollux and I had gone swimming in the river. We were scraping away at the mud at the bottom when we saw a couple guards diving in above us. They dragged us out kicking and screaming,¡±¡ªa smile¡ª¡°flashing and burning. Turned out we had been under for over fifteen minutes. It must sound strange to you, but all that fuss was terribly confusing for us.¡±

    Dr. Carter shrugged. ¡°Sounds like children, to me.¡±

    ¡°Do you have children, Stephen?¡±

    Carter was taken back by the question, but he answered honestly. ¡°Yes, actually. A daughter. Rachel.¡±

    ¡°Tell me about her?¡±

    To his surprise, he did.

    ??

    As the weeks passed, Dr. Carter¡¯s sessions with Helen of Wherever became more and more bearable. She would feed him some petty details about her powers to pretty up the reports, and he got to skive off for most of his workday.

    Other than that, they mostly just talked.

    ¡°How did you meet your wife, Dr. Carter?¡±

    ¡°Oh, it wasn¡¯t anything special. Pam moved to my school in year 12, we went to a few mixers¡­¡± The scientist scratched the back of his neck. ¡°I¡¯m not sure when we got serious, but suddenly she was helping me through university and¡­ well, what else was I supposed to do?¡±

    Helen didn¡¯t answer. She was staring right past the scientist¡¯s head.

    Dr. Carter clicked his fingers. ¡°Helen? You there?¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Sorry, nostalgia got me. Sometimes you moderns still sound so foreign when you talk about marriage.¡±

    ¡°I suppose yours was arranged?¡±

    ¡°Yes and no.¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m just not allowed to be right, am I?¡±

    ¡°No you are not. Do you remember my brother Pollux?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. You sounded close¡­ oh, God, you weren¡¯t married, were you?¡±

    ¡°I wish I could act like that was a completely stupid question, but no, we were not. As for us being close, we got on well enough. Our mortal brother Castor, though, he was the one Pollux really loved.¡± She smiled. ¡°The Dioscuri, people called them, or the Gemini.¡±

    ¡°Wait, that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, Stephen, that Gemini. You¡¯d think growing up in the company of gods¡ªeven ones as small and petty as me and Pollux were¡ªwould¡¯ve stunted a boy like a flower in the shadow of a great tree. But Pollux wasn¡¯t like that. His divinity didn¡¯t cast a shadow over anyone. Only light. Or maybe Castor loved him too much for that to matter.¡±

    To Dr. Carter¡¯s ears, they sounded exactly like the kind of sibling duos that made his life hell in school. ¡°They get up to much?¡±

    ¡°Like you wouldn¡¯t believe. I remember once, when Theseus and his mate abducted me¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait, you got kidnapped by Theseus? The bloke who fought the Minotaur?¡±

    Helen waved her hand. ¡°This was years after that. He and¡­ Pirithous I think it was were looking for new, divine wives. I was Theseus¡¯ choice. I was also ten.¡±

    ¡°Christ.¡±

    ¡°Oh, it wasn¡¯t as bad as all that. All it meant was that my brothers had plenty of time to come get me. We took Theseus¡¯ mother with us as my handmaid. Aethra. Sweet thing, a bit thick.¡±

    Stephen chuckled. ¡°Is that some old Greek code of honour? You take our sister, we take your mum?¡±

    ¡°Not really. I just needed a new handmaiden. I hear after they lost me they tried stealing away Persephone. You can probably guess how that turned out for them.¡±

    ¡°Should I?¡±

    ¡°Her husband is the king of hell.¡±

    ¡°Oh. To be fair, I can¡¯t imagine that was ever anyone¡¯s normal.¡±

    Helen sighed, turning away from Dr. Carter as best she could in her chains. ¡°I never said it was. My actual wedding hardly was, either.¡±

    Carter was no great reader of people, but he knew when a tangent was a sanctuary. ¡°You still want to talk about it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± She took a deep breath. Dr. Carter wondered if breathing was just something she did not to freak people like him out.

    ¡°Castor and Pollux disappeared when I was sixteen. Some cattle raid in retaliation for a cattle raid in retaliation for I can¡¯t even remember what anymore. They set off one morning. Days became weeks, weeks become months, and months became forever.¡±

    ¡°They died?¡±

    ¡°Castor must¡¯ve. Pollux¡­ I think he just couldn¡¯t bring himself to come back without him.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°English is strange. Always making you apologise for things you didn¡¯t do. I just hope they¡¯re together, somewhere.¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°How¡¯d your father cope?¡±

    ¡°He wept. And then he went groom hunting for me.¡±

    ¡°Am I allowed to say that wouldn¡¯t have been my priority?¡±

    ¡°You may, though I might say you wouldn¡¯t have made much of a king. My father had lost both his heirs. His kingdom was one death away from dissolution.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t he have you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a woman, Dr. Carter. Our thrones weren¡¯t like yours. They never would have tolerated your queen reigning alone, over even her own husband. The best me and my sister could hope for was to be conduits for our father¡¯s blood and legacy¡ªto be bartered away for a new son.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re a goddess!¡±

    Dr. Carter suddenly went very quiet.

    Helen grinned slyly. ¡°Ah, so you admit it.¡±

    ¡°I mean, so you say.¡±

    ¡°Close enough. Either way, being a goddess means very little outside a temple. Our palaces were littered with nymphs and small goddesses, thrown to mortal princes like meat to dogs by indulgent fathers. Rotting on the vine for eternity.¡±

    For some reason, Stephen found himself recalling the time Allison Kinsey listed all the bones in the human body, and the man who could answer any question posed in exactly one hundred words. ¡°Seems¡­ wasteful.¡±

    Helen shrugged. ¡°Divine loins never falter.¡±

    ¡°¡­Forget I said anything.¡±

    ¡°Very wise. They came from all over, my suitors: Mycenae, Argos¡ªand those names mean nothing to you, do they?¡±

    ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I need to stop assuming everyone is familiar with my sliver of the world. Are you a churchgoing man, Stephen?¡±

    ¡°I guess?¡±

    ¡°Then maybe you¡¯ll have a beginning of an idea of what it was like in my father¡¯s hall that night. That holy scent of incense embracing the blood of beasts and the sweat of throngs of men.¡±

    Dr. Carter tilted his hand. ¡°Two out of three.¡±

    ¡°I remember sitting behind the screen, watching the shadows argue their right to me. To my right was my sister, Clytemnestra.¡± She looked at Dr. Carter expectantly, before shaking her head and muttering something in Greek. ¡°Poor Clytemnestra. If I had hatched anywhere else, she might have been our father¡¯s jewel. If she had been born some other time, she might even have been allowed to be a person. At the very least, we¡¯d all have learned what she was capable of.¡±

    ¡°Penelope was with us, too, trying to comfort me.¡± Helen studied Carter¡¯s face, searching in vain for a sign of recognition. ¡°You really don¡¯t know who Penelope is?¡±

    ¡°Afraid not.¡±

    ¡°Teach the masses to read and this is what they give you.¡±

    ¡°Weren¡¯t you just saying it was alright I didn¡¯t know Greek geography?¡±

    ¡°Do you know what the word ¡®mentor¡¯ means?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I rest my case. I watched their silhouettes through the screen, like a shadow-play. The men had their hands at their swords, all shouting at my father why they ought to be allowed to rut with the cygnet of Zeus.¡± The goddess flew into a series of impressions of long dead men. To Carter¡¯s ear, she sounded surprisingly authentic.

    ¡°My coffers are the envy of the Rich One himself!¡±

    ¡°Look at how Father Zeus has blessed me with great size!¡±

    ¡°I fought alongside Heracles himself!¡±

    Helen shot Carter a flat glance. ¡°That last one had to be at least seventy. Not sure if he was better or worse than the seven year old.¡±

    ¡°You really think they were going to kill each other over a woman?¡±

    ¡°My, aren¡¯t we civilized? They weren¡¯t just competing for my hand, they were fighting for all my father¡¯s lands and wealth. I was just the ribbon around the box. And back then, the Greeks were only one people in the sense we thought everyone else was worse. If anything, that started to change that very night, but that¡¯s another story.¡±

    ¡°So how¡¯d you get it sorted?¡±

    ¡°There was one man there who wasn¡¯t interested in me, or even in Sparta. He¡¯d arrived weeks before any of the other suitors, and had been pestering my cousin all that time. I hadn¡¯t thought much of him¡ªsome podunk island prince with too-short legs¡ªbut Penelope seemed taken with him.¡± She smiled again. ¡°He was called Odysseus, and his name meant trouble.¡±

    ¡°Oh, him!¡± exclaimed Dr. Carter.

    ¡°Indeed. His idea was simple. There would be no more debate, no more wheedling, no more gifts. I would decide who I would marry, right there, in front of everyone.¡± Helen laughed. ¡°Radical concept. Do you see why they called Odysseus the wiliest of the Greeks?¡±

    ¡°Christ, how do you make that kind of choice on the spot?¡±

    ¡°Easily. I said ¡®Menelaus¡¯ before Odysseus¡¯ words had stopped echoing.¡±

    ¡°Why him?¡±

    ¡°Because he was a redhead. The fact his elder brother held all his family¡¯s lands didn¡¯t hurt, either.¡± Helen steepled her fingers. ¡°So, anything good on TV out there?¡±

    Dr. Carter knew not to press.

    ??

    It was some time before Helen discussed her youth again. What stories she did share were from much later. She rarely mentioned dates, so Dr. Carter learned to pay attention to the names of monarchs and other context clues. Mostly were surprisingly dull¡ªlong anecdotes of daily life through the ages, or wars Dr. Carter didn¡¯t remember the names of.

    ¡°Did you know any famous people who weren¡¯t Greek?¡±

    ¡°Stephen, if you ever become immortal, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll spend days hovering around celebrities in case you need to entertain a deputy-assistant-minion in a concentration camp. I on the other hand had a life to attend to.¡±

    Things improved greatly when Carter started sneaking in booze.

    ¡°Here ya go.¡± He slid a bottle of Swan Draught across the table, before remembering the handcuffs. ¡°Oh, sorry. Maybe we could¡ª¡±

    Helen¡¯s finger sparked, and the left handcuff chain snapped. She took a swig of her beer.

    ¡°Nice trick.¡±

    The next big step in Carter and Helen¡¯s growing friendship was the discovery of a copy of The Greek Myths for her to fact check:

    ¡°Dionysus was actually Persephone and Father Zeus¡¯ boy, they just regrew him inside that mortal lady. You¡¯d think him being a god and all would be a clue¡­¡±

    ¡°Medea didn¡¯t kill her boys, it was the peasants. Always blaming the woman¡­¡±

    ¡° ¡®Fully-formed from Zeus¡¯ head¡¯? Only when Hera¡¯s in earshot. Just ask Triton.¡±

    Stephen grinned crookedly. ¡°Look, lying to your missus is a vital skill. Just look at this bloke.¡± He flicked through the book, muttering silently to himself as searched for his example. ¡°He¡¯s gone for ten years, and soon as he gets back, his wife stabs him in the bloody bath!¡± He laughed. ¡°Should¡¯ve just stayed in Troy with Cassandra.¡±

    Helen did not laugh. ¡°That was my brother-in-law.¡±

    Dr. Carter went red. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Helen. If I¡¯d remembered¡­¡±  He chuckled nervously. ¡°All these foreign names, you know.¡±

    ¡°Agamemnon. My father gave Clytemnestra to him when I married his brother. ¡®Strengthen our kinship¡¯ he said.¡± She frowned. ¡°Agamemnon was always a sore loser.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to speak ill of your family, Helen, but you have to feel sorry for the guy.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t. I feel sorry for my sister, for my nieces and nephew, even that poor madwoman he dragged home, but never him.¡± Helen bored into the scientist with those dark, eagle eyes of hers. ¡°Doctor, have you ever been unfaithful? With Pamela, I mean.¡±

    Dr. Carter sputtered, before trying and failing to match the lady¡¯s glare. ¡°What kind of question is that?¡±

    ¡°Have you?¡±

    ¡°¡­Once or twice.¡± Why was he being honest? Why did she have to use Pam¡¯s name? ¡°You have to understand, it wasn¡¯t an ongoing thing. Just a couple of spills back in uni. And once¡­ we were having a dry-spell, alright? She didn¡¯t¡ªwhat she doesn¡¯t know won¡¯t hurt¡ªisn¡¯t hurting her.¡±

    Helen nodded. ¡°Discreet. Good. Menelaus was like that too, when he took a slave or a handmaiden to bed. I always knew, but he didn¡¯t rub it in my face, you know?¡±

    ¡°Helen, I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°I just wish my infidelity could¡¯ve been so quiet.¡±

    Stephen knew when to be quiet.

    ¡°My father died a year after the wedding. Heartbreak, I think.¡± She shook her head. ¡°God, he loved my brothers. Menelaus took to kinging well enough. He was a prince, after all. His big problem was that he didn¡¯t know the lay of the land, but then, he had me.¡±

    ¡°Power behind the throne?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go that far, but you could say I was his map. Honestly, it was something of a relief having him around to do the ruling. Even at that age, mortals still confused me.¡±

    ¡°So you were happy?¡±

    ¡°As much as I could ask to be. For a girl in my place and time, the choice I¡¯d been given was rarer than gold. I knew enough of the world to know I¡¯d gotten lucky. Maybe not as lucky as Penelope, but definitely luckier than Clytemnestra. And Menelaus¡­ Menelaus was kind. He sought out my company more than most kings would their wives. He listened to me. He was a good man.¡±

    ¡°You said he cheated on you. With slaves.¡±

    Helen put her free hand to her temples. ¡°It was the time. I was with child as soon as you could look for for it.¡±

    ¡°And how old were you again?¡±

    Helen sighed knowingly. ¡°Sixteen.¡±

    ¡°And Menelaus?¡±

    ¡°Twenty-five, I¡¯d guess.¡±

    Dr. Carter suppressed a shudder.

    Helen ignored him. ¡°I knew before anyone else. How could I not? A part of me was suddenly vulnerable.¡± She sighed. ¡°I knew it¡¯d be mortal. They almost always are with your kind.¡±

    ¡°I wonder about that sometimes. Almost seems counterintuitive to me. You¡¯d think god genes or whatever could beat up ours.¡±

    ¡°Godhead¡ªour godhead, at least¡ªis like diamond. Harder than anything human, but brittle. Mortality can shatter it like nothing else. The moment I lay eyes on my daughter, I knew I¡¯d outlive her.¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t imagine.¡±

    ¡°No, you couldn¡¯t. Still, I had her for the moment. And she was good. And yet¡­ as the years went on, I kept thinking back to my betrothal. I was a goddess. Something eternal¡ªa part of the world. And I let a room full of men make me pick one of them to shackle myself to, all so they could call themselves king for a few decades before shuffling off into the shadows. It¡ªit just stopped making sense to me.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you cope?¡±

    ¡°Same way all women do. I kept it to myself. Until Paris came along.¡±

    ¡°The Trojan bloke?¡±

    ¡°Yes. ¡®The Trojan bloke.¡¯ ¡±

    ¡°How¡¯d you meet him?¡±

    ¡°A diplomatic mission from the east. Paris was young. An exiled prince come home again. Of course, his family sent him abroad as soon as they could, but I¡¯m not sure he ever thought about it like that. All the men at court scoffed at him. An effete eastener they called him, poisoned by comfort and the riches they envied<sup>2</a></sup>. And he was an archer to boot.¡±

    ¡°What wrong with archery?¡± Stephen didn¡¯t mention taking archery in high-school.

    A wicked grin. ¡°A real man kills up close, Dr. Carter. With his own hands. Unless you were my cousin-in-law. Still, I couldn¡¯t keep my eyes off Paris. The man smelt of sandalwood, all day long. He joked like Thalia was his mother, and he looked like Apollo was his father. I was twenty-three years old, and he was my first crush.¡±

    ¡°The night before he was due to leave, I woke up to find him in my chambers.¡±

    ¡°I think my wife has nightmares about that sort of thing.¡±

    ¡°Many women do. Many also dream of it. It certainly took me a moment to realise I was awake. He told me he¡¯d dreamed of me for years, before we¡¯d ever met. That Aphrodite herself wanted us to be together.¡± For the first time Dr. Carter could remember, Helen looked ashamed. ¡°God, I believed him.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t think he was telling the truth?¡±

    Helen moaned. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know. The poets thought he was, but of course they¡¯d think that. And aren¡¯t all couplings the will of Aphrodite?¡±

    ¡°So you went with him.¡±

    ¡°Of course I did. The chance to decide my future, to be with a man that hadn¡¯t been laid out for me like toys in front of a child: it was like wine. We were creeping through the halls of the women¡¯s quarters when I heard her voice.¡±

    ¡°Whose voice?¡±

    ¡°My daughter¡¯s. She was just standing there, woken by a nightmare. She¡¯d been looking for me. Moonlight was streaming over her through the windows. She didn¡¯t say anything about Paris. Maybe she didn¡¯t see him in the shadows. Maybe she didn¡¯t know she was awake. Either way, she was soon pulling at my chiton.¡±

    ¡°What did you do?¡± Dr. Carter asked, dreading the answer.

    ¡°I took her back to her bed, and held her until she fell asleep again. Then I made my way to Paris¡¯ ship.¡± Helen turned her head down. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t see Hermione again for ten years.¡±

    Carter started at her. ¡°You just left your daughter?¡±

    ¡°We were always going to part. At least this way I didn¡¯t have to watch her whither. And should I have stolen her from her father, too?¡±

    The doctor shook his head. ¡°Lady, you wouldn¡¯t be the first woman to outlive your kid. They don¡¯t abandon them.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. You can¡¯t. You¡¯re mortal. And a man.¡±

    Stephen stood up. ¡°I think we¡¯re done for today, Helen. The guards will be here in a sec. I¡¯d recommend you weld the chain back up before they get here.¡±

    ¡°They won¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°Who does, here?¡±

    Dr. Carter went home confused and guilty that night.

    ??

    By Stephen Carter¡¯s request, it was some time before he had another session with Helen of Sparta. Instead, he spent the better part of two months recreating his time with Allison Kinsey with a parade of new sad children.

    By the time bureaucratic callousness put Dr. Carter and the goddess in the same room again, he didn¡¯t complain.

    ¡°I told Pam,¡± he finally said after ten minutes of silence.

    ¡°How did she take it?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing. I thought she¡¯d be screaming and chucking skillets at my head. But she sounded so¡­ wounded. Resigned. Like I¡¯d taken a knife and cut open an old scar.¡±

    ¡°I know the feeling.¡±

    ¡°Helen, could I ask how it all turned out? Paris, Troy.¡±

    ¡°There are whole epics about that, Stephen.¡±

    ¡°But they¡¯re not you.¡±

    ¡°That they aren¡¯t.¡± Helen took a deep breath. ¡°Ilium was beautiful. The very grain of the buildings and walls were like nothing I¡¯d ever seen before. Everywhere I looked, there were icons of gods whose names I had never heard. The gods I did recognize, they almost could¡¯ve been different divinities altogether. For the first time, I knew how small my world truly was.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like when I went to London. I felt like a complete rube.¡±

    ¡°Paris¡¯ family¡ªthe royal family¡ªthey never really liked me. I can¡¯t blame them. They knew what I¡¯d bring. The people loved us, though. The darling prince and his divine foreign lover. I think I was their Princess Margaret for a while.¡±

    ¡°Princess Margaret?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me that look, I didn¡¯t spend the last three thousand years in a cave. It was good for a while, what Paris and I had. Or at least it seemed that way from the inside. We¡¯d make love till the walls of our chambers had disappeared under waves of shadow, or we¡¯d go into the countryside, and he would show me where he once pastured his sheep. For a while, I thought it might last.¡±

    ¡°Then your husband came after you, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Not completely ignorant, I see.¡±

    ¡°I did go to school, you know.¡±

    ¡°True. And, yes, Menelaus did come for me, along with the rest of Greece. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised.  Menelaus¡¯ throne was in question. An alien might have had a claim to one of our kingdoms. And Troy had riches beyond avarice. Heracles sacked it, long ago, and my people loved nothing more than emulating him. I don¡¯t think you can could imagine what that war was like.¡±

    Dr. Carter frowned. ¡°I¡¯ve lived through a world war, Helen.¡±

    ¡°Were you a soldier?¡±

    ¡°¡­No,¡± he admitted.

    ¡°Even if you were, I don¡¯t think you¡¯d understand. The war you remember was this distant, mechanized horror. Normal life died wherever it touched. It couldn¡¯t happen that way in Troy. The Greeks were far from home in a land that did not love them. If they tried burning the fields or slaughtering all the cattle, they would starve too. So standards formed. Days where both sides would go about their lives; sacrifice, bury their dead. And that made it all the more terrible.¡±

    Stephen blinked. ¡°Sounds mighty civilized where I¡¯m sitting.¡±

    ¡°Maybe on festival days. But it made war tolerable. And tolerable wars never end. It¡¯s nothing but bodies and bitterness.¡±

    ¡°It broke Paris. His family hated him now as much as they did me. They muttered about old prophecies and dooms. He would rant and rave at me about how he should have taken the other offers. I didn¡¯t know what he was talking about then. Now, I still don¡¯t think it¡¯d have made a difference. Fate has many paths, but they all lead to the same place.¡±

    ¡°Did you ever¡­ you know, fight?¡±

    ¡°¡­Sometimes. I tried to hold back, but those were never good days. For anyone.¡±

    ¡°And then the horse?¡±

    ¡°There was no horse.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°There was no horse. It was poetry.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me Troy and the gods are all real, but the Trojan horse wasn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°A thing can be true without another thing being true.¡±

    ¡°What happened then?¡±

    ¡°Come on, Carter. We¡¯ve gotten drunk together over that book. Who is the god of horses?¡±

    Carter thought about it. ¡°Poseidon.¡±

    ¡°And what was his other domain?¡±

    ¡°The sea.¡±

    ¡°And¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­Earthquakes.¡±

    ¡°I woke with the shaking of the world. The walls were tumbling down, the Greeks pushing through their own terror and confusion to storm the city. And I walked among them, burning all who offended my gaze. And then Menelaus found me.¡±

    ¡°All at once, I realized what age was. This memory of a man, a decade removed. He saw me, bright with glory, my hands black with the ashes of Greeks, and still he approached me. That was when I realized.¡±

    ¡°Realized what?¡±

    ¡°The awful, terrible truth. All those reasons I thought of for why Menelaus had come for me, and it all boiled down to this: because he loved me. And I still loved him. And so we went home. We were both selfish enough to break a land over our knees for our own desires, and we got to go home.¡± Tears started trailing down Helen¡¯s face. ¡°Did you know how many villages were razed to the ground because of us, Stephen? How many sons the king of Troy had left? My daughter grew up without both her parents, because of our greed. Because he couldn¡¯t let go. Because I was young and stupid. ¡±

    Dr. Carter reached to wipe away Helen¡¯s tears. They were warm like raindrops in the sun.

    ¡°Thank you for listening Stephen. Even if you don¡¯t believe me, it¡¯s good to be heard.¡±

    ¡°I do believe you.¡±

    ¡°You do?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    As Helen watched, the scientist got on his knees and crawled beneath the table. She felt arms wrap around her ankles. A story she once told the man rang again in her ears. Her father, the King of Sparta, receiving a supplicant.

    ¡°To be honest, child, I¡¯d rather have had a knife to my throat.¡±

    ¡°Helen, me talking to you, being your friend, or whatever it is I am to you¡­ has it made your life better? Made this place more bearable.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Stephen.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve missed so many chances to be kind. To do the right thing. This place¡­ it¡¯s wrong. And I went along with it because I couldn¡¯t be bothered to stand up for the people here, or even just not take their money. I¡¯m sick of it. I¡¯m sick of being so bloody pointless.¡±

    Helen stroked his hair. ¡°It¡¯s never too late.¡±

    ¡°There was a girl. Before we started talking. Allison, she was called. I was sort of in charge of her. I never did anything to help her, until this doctor fella came asking for her. Said he was going to take her somewhere better. I signed off on it¡ªdidn¡¯t have a choice really, but I hardly cared. Now I¡¯m hearing things¡­ there¡¯s some men waiting outside. Important men. They want your help.¡±

    ¡°And they asked you to try and convince me.¡±

    ¡°Yes. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    She stood up. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Stephen. It¡¯s time my holiday came to an end.¡± She started walking towards the door. ¡°May I give you some advice?¡±

    Dr. Carter looked at the goddess, still lying under the table. ¡°Please.¡±

    ¡°They dug up Troy decades ago. More of it remains than my own home. Resign from this place. Go to Troy, and leave an offering.¡±

    ¡°To the gods?¡±

    ¡°No. To the people who died there, because of the decisions of people freer than them.¡±

    ¡°Then what do I do?¡±

    ¡°Try to be better.¡±

    Helen knocked on the door. ¡°I¡¯m ready to talk.¡±

    The man who opened the door was greying, battle-worn; his face knitted with tiny scars.

    ¡°Hello, Helen.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Timothy.¡±

 Chapter Fifty-One: Ulysses in Northam

    Nobody at the Duke¡¯s Inn knew what to say when Mad Laurie walked in from the night. For thirteen years, the headmaster had avoided Northam and her neighbouring towns¡ªusually sending Mary Gillespie or one of his other minions for whatever he couldn¡¯t have delivered directly to his school. Even his students were a more common sight in town. The man was like John the Baptist, if he had traded camel hair for a suit that looked like it had been ironed with him in it.

    The few lucky pup-goers who had seen Herbert Lawrence up close almost didn¡¯t recognize him. They remembered a polished Oxfordian fresh off the boat, not this haggard, storm-tossed old man with shredded trouser hems and red-stained derbys.

    Mad Laurie darted his eyes around the crowded bar like a beaten dog. A tide of murmurs and shouting rose from the Northamites:

    ¡°Oi, Laurie, where you been?¡±

    ¡°I thought he was dead¡­¡±

    ¡°Is Mary with ya?¡±

    Lawrence ignored them, making his way towards the counter. A few old men at the pool table set down their cues as he passed.

    ¡°Christ alive, Laurie, haven¡¯t seen you since ¡®58. Why didn¡¯t you come out and say hello at the barbecue?¡±

    The idea of these people traipsing about his Institute almost made Lawrence wince. Cainites pillaging the Garden. ¡°I was¡­ under the weather.¡±

    A bald, gnomish fellow with sunburnt ears had turned away from his game of darts. ¡°Me missus went up to your school just this morning with some pies for ya kids. Said your lights got turned off¡­¡±

    The man still had his dart raised behind his head. Duke¡¯s Inn still kept the tips good and keen, Lawrence couldn¡¯t help but notice. ¡°Mix up with the utility company,¡± he answered. ¡°It¡¯ll be sorted post-haste.¡±

    The man with the burnt ears shrugged and made his throw, poorly. ¡°Bloody idiots.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    As the cheers and greetings lowered, Lawrence detected an undertow of whispers. Gossip. Pure slander¡­ out of context. He was glad when he made it to the bar.

    A handsome-boned woman with red, cape-like braids sat nursing a glass of something green and bitter smelling. She smiled up at the headmaster. ¡°Fancy a drink, Doctor Lawrence?¡±

    Hungarian? Lawrence thought to himself. Has Northam become cosmopolitan while I wasn¡¯t looking? ¡°No thank you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    The woman waved him off. ¡°Later, then.¡±

    The landlord of Duke¡¯s Inn was one of those men who aged terribly until their forties, at which point they entered a kind of homeostasis till the day they died. He shook Lawrence¡¯s hand like he wanted a new beer-tap. ¡°Laurie!¡±

    Lawrence let his arm be jerked around like he were a ragdoll. ¡°Good evening, Pierce.¡±

    ¡°Aww, come on now, Lawrence, it¡¯s Pie-man.¡±

    Lawrence hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to learn the origins of that nickname again<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°Quite.¡±

    Pie-Man smiled. In private, Lawrence had said it made the landlord look like a gargoyle. Mary had laughed.

    ¡°Well, they repel evil, don¡¯t they?¡±

    He looked at the suitcases in Lawrence¡¯s hands. ¡°Need a room?¡±

    Lawrence nodded. ¡°Yes, if you could oblige.¡±

    A chuckle. ¡°Just like old times, innit?¡±

    Lawrence forced a smile. When he, Mary, and their students returned to Australia to set up the Institute, they¡¯d lodged in Duke¡¯s Inn for nearly half a year. Even after that, they sometimes had to house children there while the dorms were being built. The old man supposed that had been kind of Pie-Man. ¡°That it is.¡±

    ¡°Tell ya what, how about I have Jen carry your bags up while we have a pint.¡±

    Lawrence glanced behind himself. More and more people were glaring at him, their eyes a constellation of black holes. ¡°Ah, no thank you¡­ Pie-Man.¡± He gestured down at his travel-tortured suit. ¡°As you can see, I could rather use a shower.¡±

    Pie-Man nodded slightly. He looked disappointed. ¡°Fair enough, mate.¡±

    His red-faced wife led Lawrence to ¡°the nice room¡±¡ªmeaning it had an en-suite bathroom that had been cleaned sometime in the last calendar year, along with a desk designed for a primary-schooler with gigantism. Aside from a few hundred guests worth of hair and skin flakes nestled in the corners, the room¡¯s only egregious blemish was a patch of scarred, bubbled plaster next to the door.

    ¡°I think your Hugo leaned against the wall there,¡± Mrs Pie-Man said wistfully. She rested a liver spotted hand on Lawrence¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re all sorry for your loss.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Thankfully, she left Lawrence to make himself at home. He locked the door behind her.

    Hot water, for the first time in days. The shower washed away what felt like the dust and sweat of a decade, and Lawrence felt able to relax his shoulders for a moment. Donning the complimentary, threadbare bathrobe, he went and inspected the contents of his twin samsonites.

    Mary had been thorough. Three changes of clothes, toiletries, and nearly two hundred pounds in cash. For all Lawrence knew, that money might now be all his assets in the world. Did Valour have his accounts frozen? Did he dare check?

    What Lawrence was surprised to find was a black leather book, half filled with his neat, crisp handwriting. The latest volume of his diaries. Lawrence had been keeping it since the end of the war, free at last from the danger of Nazi bullets. Now over twenty volumes, it constituted a meticulous account of life at the New Human Institute; from beginning to end, so it seemed. Lawrence had even left instructions in his will for them to be published after his death, when the world was hopefully open-minded enough to view them in context.

    He imagined this unfinished epilogue would wind up the only surviving fragment. The children no doubt were using its older brothers for kindling. Or lavatory paper<sup>2</a></sup>

    . Sighing softly, he opened the diary to the last entry:

    November 16th, 1965

    ?ywie did what she could for Adam Sinclair. May he forgive us.

    Lawrence turned the page immediately, fleeing to a safe wasteland of yellow writing paper. He wouldn¡¯t let this be history¡¯s last glimpse of his efforts. Of his new humans. Fishing the velvet case holding his fine silver graduation pens out of his suitcase, he sat down and started writing:

    In in the sunset of my life¡¯s work, I find myself harbouring doubt. I should consider this a sign my mind is still sound¡ªtrue certainty is the domain of fanatics and madmen¡ªbut it is a cold comfort indeed. I had always considered posthuman abilities an unalloyed good: the kind of wonder seldom seen outside of dreams. My students¡¯ mere presence at my school transformed it into a chimera of the wondrous and the everyday.

    But then again, was not the chimera a monster?

    Myriad keeps returning to my thoughts. That brilliant, uncanny girl, to whom my years of education and training were as simple as birdsong. She was a wonder. The very future of thought itself.

    Or so I thought.

    I think back to my school days. Did the labour of mastering words, numbers, and the human mind not help make me the man I am today? As I think about Myriad¡¯s almost feral degeneration, I wonder if her powers robbed her of the ability to grow up?

    But then, all races have their deviants and cripples. Perhaps Myriad is one such unfortunate. Then there¡¯s Maelstrom. Poor, sweet Maelstrom. I always knew his mother was something of a lost cause. Melusine would always bear the scars of her wild childhood. But Maelstrom, Maelstrom was perfect. My prize orchard. The Adam Deucalion of the race to come.

    Until a strange child woke up in his body. I can¡¯t help but ask myself how close that new boy was to the surface? I tried telling myself it was Myriad¡¯s doing. That she was his Lilith, or Pandora. But then it spread to the other children. Children I had saved from deprivation, imprisonment, and worse! Now they drive me from the home I gave them!

    Mankind is a clumsy, blunt-toothed monkey. It was fragility that forced us to master fire and forge tools from a harsh world. To come together and make communities out of strangers. The children know nothing of fragility. Of raw, painful need. Was my stirpiculture breeding what was left of it out of them?

    I can picture their descendants, a thousand years hence. Naked and mute, creating Eden as wordless want stirs within them, the way crows build nests and ants dig hives. Golden and godlike, freer than the freest man, but never thinking to look up and consider the sun and stars, enjoying only the ecstasy of beasts.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Part of me revolts at the image. Another, almost wants it.

    No. I am thinking like the people downstairs. The people who would call the DDHA if their neighbour beat them at cards. The people who fear change. No revolution is easy to live through, and evolution is always gradual. I must keep heart. I must not abandon the children, no matter how much they wish I would.

    If I was sensible, I would be far away. Timothy and his jackboots will come for me eventually. Who knows when some drunk Northamite will see fit to whip up a mob to drive out the ¡®mad scientist¡¯? But I am a man of reason, or have tried to be, at least. When they drag me before a judge or throw me into the darkness, I will explain myself. And damn whatever they think of me.

    Lawrence set his pen down. A levy had burst within him, weariness drowning his bones once more. Without bothering to turn off the light, he fell backwards on top of his room¡¯s starched, neatly made bed.

    As his waking mind flickered out, countless thoughts stirred blearily. How long he had as a free man. How Mary would cope by herself. Would Timothy shackle her, too?

    ...Wait, what was a lady doing in the pub?

    ?

    Lawrence spent as little of his days at Duke¡¯s Inn as he could. Staying in one place too long made him nervous, while Pie-Man and his wife kept trying to rope him into dinner or pub trivia. He mostly haunted Northam¡¯s cafes and restaurants, trickling away his money on endless cups of coffee while working on his diary, trying to reconstruct his world in its pages.

    Then he started seeing his students.

    It was quick glimpses at first. Windshear and Growltiger playing in the park, or Linus out busking. Lawrence didn¡¯t dare approach them.

    Not content with banishing me, now they invade my exile. Still I worry. Do they realize how quickly human hearts turn?

    As the week passed, these encounters became terrifying close. Haunt would rise from the concrete just a few paces ahead of Lawrence. Once, he fled from the doorstep of his favoured coffee lair when he spotted Reverb and Stratogale fawning over some local teen¡¯s engagement ring in the window.

    Far too young.

    Then, one morning, he saw Maelstrom.

    The boy was with his mother, fidgeting in shorts and a t-shirt like he was decked out in his Sunday best. Britomart was walking alongside him, holding his hand.

    Lawrence couldn¡¯t resist. He followed them at a distance, hiding among clusters of other pedestrians as much as possible, sometimes even ducking into stores or alleys just to avoid being spotted.

    Eventually, the three and their shadow arrived at Capitol Theatres. As the new humans strolled inside, Lawrence pulled out his wallet. He was going to the pictures.

    ?

    David and Louise Michelson sat together in the darkened theatre, shovelling popcorn into their mouths till their lips chapped, watching Snow White duet with her own echo<sup>3</a></sup>

    ¡°I¡¯m wishing¡­¡±

    Louise was transfixed. She¡¯d never seen anything like it. It was as if Mabel had managed to pull a whole world through.

    ¡°I¡¯m wishing¡­¡±

    Her thoughts far away from her body, Louise¡¯s aura pulsed softly, raising the ire of the family sitting in the row behind them.

    ¡°Put out the bleedin¡¯ light!¡±

    Louise scowled, the white glow dimming and dying.

    ¡°Damn demis come in and think they own the place.¡±

    She muttered under her breath, ¡°Gits.¡±

    David found himself squeezing the girl¡¯s hand. ¡°Ignore them,¡± he whispered, ¡°they¡¯re just jealous.¡±

    ¡°The nice things¡­¡±

    Louise smiled back at him. For some reason, it was taking her effort to keep her aura quiet. ¡°You think so?¡±

    ¡°The nice things¡­¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°They should be.¡±

    ¡°...He¡¯ll say.¡±

    Louise pecked him playfully on the cheek. ¡°Suck-up.¡±

    The boy rubbed the kiss like it was a bruise. David hadn¡¯t felt this queasy since his eyes changed. He almost wondered if they had gone blue again.

    Oh, God, he thought. Linus was right.

    David hadn¡¯t thought much about inviting Louise to the movies. He thought it might cheer her up after she¡¯d dredged up all those memories around the bonfire. He had asked Mabel, too, but she declined. Since that night, she seemed to prefer the company of fiction to flesh and blood. Or ice.

    Then David had to go and mention it to Linus¡­

    The older boy had grinned rakishly. ¡°Ah, so it¡¯s a date.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a date!¡± David protested. ¡°I¡¯m just going to the movies.¡±

    ¡°With a girl.¡±

    ¡°A girl¡¯s who¡¯s my friend.¡±

    ¡°Is your mum watchin¡¯ it with ya?¡±

    ¡°...No,¡± he mumbled, ¡°she¡¯s going to the hairdressers<sup>4</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Then it¡¯s a date.¡± He wrapped an arm around the water-sprite. ¡°Here, I¡¯ll give you some tips.¡±

    It probably should have occurred to David how little experience Linus had with dating outside of bizarre forced mating schemes, but the young man¡¯s sheer bigness eclipsed all that.

    Snow White was now running through the woods, speeded on by the huntsman¡¯s desperate warning, while malevolent, gnarled trees snatched at her dress.

    ¡°Okay, at some point you yawn and put your arm around her shoulder. Works really well if you pick a scary part. Makes you look all brave and protective all at once.¡±

    Out the corner of his eye, David studied Louise¡¯s face. She didn¡¯t look particularly frightened, but a girl their age down the row was pressing her face into her mother¡¯s sleeve, so he guessed it counted. He forced a yawn and flopped his arm down behind Louise¡¯s neck, craning his head to try and gauge her reaction.

    She snorted, laughing. ¡°Dork.¡±

    David found himself laughing, too.

    Far in the in the back row, an old man was watching the children¡¯s shadows, writing in his diary by the dancing, inconstant light of the projector. He was still sore about the cheek he¡¯d gotten at the box office:

    ¡°One ticket for Snow White, please.¡±

    The pothole faced concession boy regarded Lawrence like he was a leper. ¡°Don¡¯t have any grandkids, mate?¡±

    Lawrence frowned. ¡°One can appreciate art at any age, young man.¡±

    I don¡¯t see why Maelstrom took such issue with our stirpiculture. Even at this young age, I see him court and seduce. I am surprised he did not bring Myriad or Phantasmagoria. I can¡¯t say part of me isn¡¯t pleased, however. Phantasmagoria¡¯s power is glorious, but I always worried about the influence she had on Maelstrom, and Myriad has turned out to be more Lilith than Eve.

    The children are flicking popcorn at the screen now, the shadows arcing through the projector beam like dark comets. I thought I¡¯d brought them up better. God, it¡¯s a ghastly film. Say what you want about Sleeping Beauty, at least Walt Disney¡¯s men learned how to draw humans by 1950<sup>5</a></sup>. And why does Snow White look so young? A paradox of the modern age. Pregnancy¡ªsomething impermanent by its very nature¡ªwe treat as some shuddering horror until a person¡¯s life is a quarter done. Unless they¡¯re married, of course. Just look at the girl in the cafe.

    Peculiarly, the subject of breeding leads my thoughts back to superheroes. I always considered them and the supervillains the result of the pressures rootstock humanity puts on posthumans, but perhaps that was arrogant of me. The public clashes and test of strength, the bravado, the costumes as gaudy as a peacock¡¯s tail. What if all that wasn¡¯t a role society forced upon them, or a release valve? What if it was a mating display?

    All creatures seek strong young. Man and superman are no exception. Perhaps I fretted too much about stirpiculture. Perhaps, even now, the seeds I have sown will rise and reach for the sun. Perhaps, perhaps¡­

    Eventually, the wicked queen¡ªbeauty lost¡ªtumbled off the cliff. Her poisoned stepdaughter was woken by her prince, and all was good in the world. The theatre lights slowly woke back up.

    Lawrence watched his students rise from their seats, an hour and twenty minutes worth of pent up energy twitching in their limbs. Louise ran out immediately, giggling like she expected to be chased.

    Maelstrom however, lingered, looking right up at the back row. His eyes found Lawrence¡¯s, turned milky-white.

    Lawrence screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingernails into the armrests. Oh, God.

    Something warm and wet splattered against his forehead. When Lawrence opened his eyes again, a globule of spit was dripping down his nose, a boy¡¯s laughter fleeing at speed.

    An ugly, angry scrawl, the only alternative to a scream.

    Ungrateful little brat!

    ?

    The end started that very night. Lawrence was holed up in his rented room, writing. Regrettably, he also had more than a few drinks in him, very deliberately not imbibed at the Duke¡¯s Inn.

    He scratched and slashed at the page like he was carving meat from a beast, sometimes forgetting spaces between words, his free hand shaking at his side.

    Never expect recognition. Never expect appreciation, or even kindness. Schoolmasters are hated decades after their deaths for having the gall to drag their students inside and teach them how to get along in the world. They will resent you forever for not letting them drink lye or play on the edge of cliffs.

    Blast them all! Let them waste their talents on this pimple of a town. Let them dance among wolves and dragons! Timothy can have them! I¡¯m not¡ª

    There was a loud, insistent knock on the door. Growling, Lawrence slammed down his pen and stalked over to silence it.

    Pie-Man was waiting on the other side. His knobbled, perpetually middle-aged features were set uncharacteristically grim. ¡°Hello, Lawrence.¡±

    Lawrence was in too deep a sulk to pick up on the landlord¡¯s tone. ¡°What do you want, Pierce? I told you I¡¯m not interested in binge-drinking with you.¡±

    ¡°We need to to talk.¡±

    ¡°Do we? I recall paying you for the week.¡±

    Lawrence tried closing the door, but Pie-Man stopped it with a hand. ¡°It¡¯s not about your money.¡±

    Through the alcoholic haze, Lawrence finally saw the look in Pierce¡¯s eyes. Hard, but with a glimmer that could have been the beginning of tears.

    Lawrence smiled a tispy, joyless grin. ¡°Good God, you must be the last man in Northam to hear about it.¡± He brought his face in close to Pie-Man¡¯s. ¡°Who told you about my stirpiculture?¡±

    Pierce shook his head in confusion. ¡°The hell are you on about?¡±

    A laugh like wind through a broken flue. ¡°The babies, of course! Who finally had the guts to let you in on the big secret?¡±

    Pierce stepped fully into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. ¡°The boys who helped your kids see off the supervillains.¡± He turned and glared at Lawrence. ¡°Goddamnit, Laurie, what are you, a Nazi?¡±

    Another weak laugh. ¡°The ungrateful little bastards. Should¡¯ve had ?ywie put the Taylor lad¡¯s blood back where she found it. Tell me, ¡®Pie-Man¡¯,¡± he jeered the nickname, ¡°did ?ywie pass through your fine establishment with my children?¡±

    Pierce grabbed the headmaster by the collar, shoving him against a wall. ¡°How can you stand here and laugh? You were¡­ those poor girls, I don¡¯t even know the word for what you were doing!¡±

    ¡°Eugenics, I believe your sort would call it.¡±

    ¡°Shut the fuck up! You think you¡¯re so much better than us¡ªso bloody wise and educated¡ªand you were breeding little girls like cattle! And we just let you do it! All those years, and we never bothered to check in, or visit, or¡ªwe didn¡¯t care.¡± Pie-Man started to weep. ¡°And people know now. People know, and they¡¯re still letting you walk around and selling you food.¡± He growled. ¡°I should¡¯ve turned you out. People like you, they should go live in bloody caves. Just clear off and top themselves!¡±

    ¡°Because of me,¡± Lawrence said quietly, ¡°there are children in this world who can show you the face of God. What¡¯s your legacy, Pierce? Three bakers and some housewife in Port Jackson?¡±

    Pierce punched the old man square in the jaw, sending him to the dirty carpet.

    Lawrence looked up at the landlord, blood trickling from his nose. ¡°So what happens now, big man?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going to the police station.¡±

    ¡°If the good Constable Preston wishes to speak to me, he can come and get me. I mean, he was the one slacking on the job, wasn¡¯t he?¡±

    Pie-Man reared his foot back for kick, and¡­ it stayed there. Pierce held the pose as if he had just then turned to stone. He didn¡¯t even blink.

    What is this fool doing? Lawrence asked himself. Building suspense?

    A minute passed. Pie-Man didn''t move. Lawrence got to his feet, slowly circling his aggressor. The man remained still. It became quickly apparent to Lawrence that he wasn¡¯t even breathing.

    He tried touching Pie-Man¡¯s cheek, but recoiled instantly from his skin. It was like he¡¯d struck a moving fan, or a live wire. The jolt also caused Lawrence to glance out the window:

    A bird, wings caught mid-beat, hovering impossibly in the night air.

    It was a new human. It had to be. But none of his students could play with time¡ª

    The door opened again. A woman in a green dress and long thick braids walked in like she owned the world. The woman at the bar.

    ¡°Who¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hello, Dr. Lawrence,¡± she said, smiling like it was the driest thing ever said. ¡°Elsa Lieroinen. We have a lot to talk about.¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Two: No Enemy Shall Gather Our Harvest

    Elsa Lieroinen. Lawrence could swear he had heard the name before. But where?

    A man stepped out from behind the woman. His thin, pale body was wrapped tight in a red tuxedo, and a black, swirled moustache rested like an octopus on top of his bloodless lips. He glanced curiously at the old Oxfordian. ¡°Is this him?¡± he asked Elsa. Lawrence thought the man sounded Greek.

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°He looks like Henry the VIII. Better beard, though.¡±

    The pair nodded at each other, their noses wrinkled in mutual amusement. Lawrence got the impression of close friends whose subtle gestures had contaminated one another.

    He tried shaking off the shock. ¡°Excuse me, but what have you done to Pierce?¡±

    Elsa and the pale man both ignored Lawrence, the latter striding over to where Pie-Man still stood ready to kick. ¡°This one important?¡±

    Elsa shook her head, before letting a hazel wand slip out from her billowing sleeve. She raised it over head like a conductor¡¯s baton. ¡°Help yourself.¡±

    Pie-Man suddenly took a sharp, gasping breath, stumbling as he lost his balance.¡°What the¡ª¡±  He caught sight of the man in the red tux. ¡°Who the hell are you?¡±

    The man threw his head back, mouth open to reveal pointed canines, and then¡ª

    The world hissed and buzzed with static like an out of tune television set. When it resolved, Lawrence found himself sitting on a counter-stool downstairs in the bar, Elsa and her companion flanking him on either side. The man was dabbing at his chin with a paper napkin.

    Lawrence screamed at the sudden relocation. The deep, hyperventilating breaths he took as he scanned his surroundings didn¡¯t help. The bar was wrong. It wasn¡¯t just that the bar was dead empty on a Thursday night. Colour was bright and queasy, like his eyes had been replaced with shoddy colour cameras. His breath rasped in his lungs as though the air had been carved sharp, while the warm pub lights weighed heavy on his skin. All that could be seen through the windows was a wall of green fog.

    He stared at the woman, eyes widening in panic. ¡°How are you doing this?¡±

    Elsa inserted a cigarette into a long, elegant holder. It lit of its own accord, her answer riding a gust of smoke. ¡°If I just said ¡®my powers,¡¯ you¡¯d believe me. Oh, sure, you might have follow-up questions¡ªin fact, I know you would¡ªbut you would accept the premise. If I told you that I¡¯m a witch and this is an ingenious skein of spells, you would roll your eyes and set your psychiatrist brain to diagnose me with something or other.¡± She put a hand under her chin and smiled. ¡°Why is that, Dr. Lawrence?¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t answer her question. ¡°Where¡¯s Pierce? What have you done with him?¡±

    ¡°You do remember he was about to kick the shit out of you, right?¡± asked Elsa.

    ¡°Besides,¡± said the man, ¡°here he comes know.¡±

    Pie-Man slid in front of the three as if on wheels. His features were slack and fungal white¡ªless expressive than a corpse. Atonally, he asked, ¡°Can I get you all a drink?¡±

    ¡°Pierce!¡± Lawrence cried. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with you?¡±

    The man in the tuxedo waved his hand. His face was feverishly flushed now, revealing a jagged scar running down his cheek like dragon¡¯s teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t bother the poor bloke, he¡¯s mostly leaves now. It¡¯s Myles, by the way.¡±

    Elsa raised two fingers. ¡°Pints of bitter all around, barkeep.¡± She looked back at Lawrence while Pie-Man poured their draughts. ¡°I¡¯ve programmed him with all the drink names and some shitty jokes. Should tide people over till he starts to rot.¡±

    Lawrence hands slammed onto the edge of the counter as he tried to push off from his seat.

    A voice like breaking ice. ¡°Don¡¯t run.¡±

    His legs went numb. ¡°What do you want with me?¡±

    ¡°Simple,¡± said Elsa. ¡°We want to talk about the New Human Institute.¡±

    ¡°We worry you¡¯re giving up too hastily,¡± Myles continued.

    Lawrence¡¯s shoulders shrunk defensively. ¡°What do you know about the Institute? About me?¡±

    Elsa shrugged. ¡°Only what we¡¯ve read in your book, and the ones people write about you.¡±

    Are they precogs, or just stupidly cryptic?

    Elsa titled her hand. ¡°A little from column A, a little from column B. Also, the House of Ghosts ripped you off.¡±

    Lawrence desperately tried to void his thoughts. It didn''t work.

    ¡°Tut tut,¡± said Myles. ¡°Doing an awfully shabby job at this headmaster thing, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Fear and confusion should have left no room in Lawrence for outrage, but still it found him. ¡°You don¡¯t know what I¡¯ve been through! The things I¡¯ve had to do, what I¡¯ve lost! What those children put me through! I gave them paradise, and they treated me like dung on their shoes!¡± He slumped miserably, his suit crumpling around him like a collapsing circus tent. ¡°I¡¯m lucky to be alive.¡±

    Elsa and Myles looked past the old man at each other, before breaking out in laughter.

    ¡°Oh, God.¡± Myles wiped at his eyes, shoulders still rolling with mirth. ¡°How do you live in that head of yours?¡±

    ¡°It gets better!¡± Elsa waved her wand, pulling Lawrence¡¯s diary out from nowhere.

    Lawrence tried to snatch back the little leather volume. ¡°Give me that¡ª¡±

    A shadow solid as obsidian caught his arm, sprouting from behind Myles as he went to read over his mistress¡¯s shoulder.

    Elsa recited from the book in an odd hybrid of Liverpudlian and BBC English. ¡° ¡®Oh, my sweet Maelstrom, how could I let that ash-pale nymph corrupt you so?¡¯ ¡± Laughter overtook the witch again. ¡°It¡¯s like if William Blake was a perv.¡±

    Myles hummed thoughtfully. ¡°I get more of a Ralph Chubb impression.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Ralph Chubb?¡±

    ¡°One of those Uranian poets you only search for incognito<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    Lawrence struggled futilely against Myles¡¯ shade. ¡°Is this all I¡¯m here for? Did you two ghouls drag me down here and¡±¡ªhe glanced at poor, empty Pie-Man mechanically sliding beers across the counter¡ª¡°...bewitch Pierce just so you could throw my sorrows back at me? Tears began cutting all too familiar paths down Lawrence¡¯s face. ¡°Because trust me, there is nothing you can do that would bring me any lower.¡±

    Myles grinned at the old man. His teeth were stained red. ¡°Oh, Laurie, never say that.¡±

    Lawrence felt the shadow start to prickle against his skin, but at the same moment, Elsa put a hand on her friend¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Now, now, Myles, Dr. Lawrence is right. We¡¯re letting pleasure get in the way of business. Pull yourself together, will you?¡±

    Myles made a disappointed grunt, and his shadow melted back into the floor.

    Elsa pulled her stool in closer to Lawrence, tapping the side of his pint glass. ¡°I suggest you drink, Doctor.¡±

    Lawrence stared at her in disbelief. ¡°You think I¡¯d drink anything you¡¯d give me?¡±

    A kindly smirk. ¡°Laurie, Laurie,¡± she gestured around grandly at the transfigured public bar, ¡°do you think I need drugs?¡±

    Resignedly, Lawrence drank deep, slamming the glass back down.

    ¡°Tell me, Doctor, what started this enthusiasm of yours for superhumans?¡±

    A warm, drowsy sensation swilled about inside Lawrence. What was this beer¡¯s proof? ¡°Didn''t need drugs¡± his rump. Still, better than cold, hard sobriety.

    ¡°Do I need a reason?¡±

    Elsa shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve always thought of supers as being rather like very stupid witches who only know one spell.¡±

    Lawrence didn''t know whether he wanted to laugh or smack the woman in the face. Probably both. He did chuckle, though. ¡°You do know some posthumans have more than one ability, don''t you? The Flying Man springs immediately to mind.¡±

    ¡°That hardly dilutes my lady¡¯s point.¡±

    ¡°I don''t see why anyone wouldn''t be fascinated with posthumanity. Even forgetting what¡­ what they mean for us, for the future, their powers are a glimpse at true physics. At the way the universe really works.¡±

    That raised another laugh from the strangers.

    Lawrence took another gulp of his beer. ¡°Go ahead and laugh. It¡¯s a change from the sneers and bitterness. And at least you never loved me...¡±

    Elsa tossed her wand in her hand. ¡°See, that to me justifies an interest. Avid study, even. But this pure, endless devotion? Pouring your life and fortune into a kennel for stray gods? Breeding them?¡±

    ¡°Now you listen here young¡ª¡±

    Elsa put a finger to the old man¡¯s lips. It might as well have been a needle and thread. He felt his cheeks swell out as he let out the air for the final word, his lips refusing to let it leave his mouth.

    ¡°It has to be more than scientific curiosity, Lawrence. Whatever your training, we both know you¡¯re a man of passion, not science.¡± Her hand drifted down to one of Lawrence¡¯s hands. At her touch, his glove evaporated, revealing the old burns beneath. ¡°Tell us, how did you get these scars?¡±

    Lawrence sighed. Why not the truth? All lies had done was bring him here. ¡°I was always interested in new humans, I really was. Since Oxford, at least. Posthumans didn¡¯t just pop into the world in 1939, you know. I wanted to be a psychiatrist, and they were the fringe of a fringe. Madmen who happened to be right. But yes, that¡¯s all it was, back then. An interest. Like bird-watching. But there was this girl¡­¡±

    Sweet, wordless singing, drifting like mist down the inn¡¯s stairs.

    ¡°She lived in Jericho, on the Oxford canal. She had always lived by the canal, if you asked her neighbours. She never lit a fire, but her house was always warm as high summer, and her garden stayed in bloom all through the winter.¡±

    ¡°Cheap tricks,¡± muttered Elsa.

    Out the corner of his eye, Lawrence saw something shift out the windows. The witch watched smugly as the old man went to investigate.

    The green fog that pressed so thick against the glass had receded, but so had Northam. Instead, Lawrence saw brightly painted narrowboats cutting through Oxford canal. In the strip of garden between him and the water, a young woman with silver-dark hair fussed over a rose bush, her bare fingers fearing no thorns.

    Lawrence put his bare hand against the window. ¡°Maren¡­¡±

    Rose-vines crept up and over the windowpane, its blossoms rushing through childhood until the glass was opaque with red, pink, and white petals.

    ¡°Maren Reoch of Jericho,¡± Elsa recited. ¡°As names go, it¡¯s no Soulmother of K¨¹ssnacht, but is anything? The people of Oxford called her a seer.¡±

    Lawrence didn¡¯t even bother to dispute the wording. ¡°She was. She predicted Bloody Sunday over tea with me. People in Jericho said she had known the Archduke of Austria had been shot before the papers, and that she¡¯d talked about the Czar like he was a deadman since 1910.¡± A sad smile. ¡°The poor thing thought she was a witch.¡±

    Elsa and Myles both kept their peace on that.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this, she slipped me more than a few exam questions. Once, she practically dictated me a whole essay. But they were my words. They just hadn¡¯t been written yet¡­¡±

    ¡°I assume you keep in touch?¡± Myles asked jovially.

    Lawrence blinked back more tears. He hated telling this story. It made him feel like a male Miss Havisham. Like his entire life¡¯s work was just trying to make up for it. ¡°There was this doctor. Old gent. One of those ¡®pillars of the community.¡¯ But his roots in Oxford were shallow. His family didn¡¯t remember Maren calling the Civil War for the Roundheads, or even the Glorious Revolution. They thought she was mad. Tried to have her committed.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Shouting leaked down through the upstairs floorboards, muffled but still audible.

    ¡°You¡¯ll remember me when your blood¡¯s mixing with the rain!¡±

    Lawrence slumped down beneath the window. ¡°The stupid bastard slipped on the pavement the next morning. Cracked his head open. His wife got their friends together...¡±

    Elsa nodded. ¡°That¡¯d do it.¡±

    Crackling, a dull roar. The gnawing of wood by flame. Lawrence sniffed. Smoke. He stared up at Elsa. ¡°You wouldn''t¡­¡±

    A man burst into the bar. A boy, really, but so broad and stocky you could hardly tell, especially not with his face half-masked by a bright red beard.

    The sight of his long ago self stung Lawrence like an old war-wound. How could these people be so cruel?

    ¡°Maren!¡± the young man shouted, his accent rougher than what it would become. He scanned wildly around the bar, seeing somewhere altogether different. An ancient house, the man he became remembered, populated by centuries of dust and keepsakes. He called Maren¡¯s name again and charged up the stairs, towards the baleful orange glow at their summit.

    Elsa tried pulling Lawrence to his feet. ¡°Get up.¡±

    The man¡¯s voice was quiet, trembling like a child with a broken bone that needed setting. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±

    An electric current coursed through him, spasmodically forcing him upright. ¡°You need to see this.¡±

    On the second floor of Maren¡¯s home, young Lawrence was trying to force his way through a sturdy wooden door. Without thinking, he grabbed for the doorknob, only to shriek as the red hot metal sizzled into the skin of his palm. He tore his hand away, now missing a wide patch of flesh. Still undeterred, he threw his great frame against the door, knocking it down.

    ¡°A town tried burning me once,¡± said Elsa, mildly, ¡°didn''t take, but it hurt like a bitch.¡±

    The former Lawrence stumbled back out onto the landing, Maren cradled in his arms. Flame was turning her silver-dark hair charred and golden. Her whole body was smouldering. Lawrence¡¯s face was twisted with a despair he wouldn¡¯t know again till Panoply, a muted howl on his lips.

    Elsa chuckled.

    ¡°You know, Lawrence. You almost used to be impressive.¡±

    ¡°She was already dead when I got to her,¡± he said forty-five years later. ¡°Smoke inhalation. A mercy, really.¡±

    Lawrence closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he and the laughing, smiling fiends were back down in the pub. He did not question the transition. ¡°A witch burning. An honest to God witch burning in 1920!¡±

    ¡°More likely than you think,¡± commented Elsa. ¡°Still happens all the time in bits of Africa and New Guinea. They¡¯re basically where Christians go to hurt people when it becomes unfashionable.¡±

    Myles chuckled. ¡°Just wait till they outlaw sodomy over here.¡±

    Lawrence growled, ¡°But in the middle of Oxford. And they didn¡¯t just destroy some mumbling old beggar-woman¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nice,¡± said Elsa, deadpan.

    ¡°¡ªThey killed a wonder. And that¡¯s what humans do. Our ugly, stupid fear spoils everything. Every time.¡±

    Elsa sipped her beer genteely. ¡°You know, I have eighteen sons and daughters, and not one of them has failed to disappoint me. They¡¯re still mine. Do you have any children, Lawrence?¡±

    Lawrence clenched his burnt fist. ¡°Yes. Nearly forty of them. And I will not let my kind use their bones to kill each other.¡± A groaning sigh. ¡°But what can I do?¡±

    Elsa and Myles looked at each other. A quick, almost invisible nod. The witch turned to look at the headmaster. ¡°What would you give, Doctor, if it would save your students?¡±

    ¡°Anything.¡± Lawrence had read enough versions of Faust to recognize Mephistopheles when he saw her, but he didn¡¯t care. ¡°Take my life, my soul, whatever it takes.¡±

    Elsa laughed. ¡°Oh Laurie, nothing so dramatic. I just want what¡¯s in your left breast pocket.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s bones turned to wood. His teeth clenched. What was this woman? Some archivist of shame?

    ¡°Laurie, are you telling me that you¡¯d offer up your soul more readily than a lock of hair?¡±

    Lawrence forced himself to remove what he had kept next to his heart for days and nights. A lock of orange-red hair bound by a silver aglet.

    Elsa walked over to Lawrence and took the lock from him the way she would pluck a purse off a mannequin¡¯s arm. She turned the hair over in her hands, smiling knowingly. ¡°And who did this come from?¡±

    ¡°It always bothered me, how history goes on and on about great deeds and just forgets about the cost. The hair¡¯s from a student of mine. He was called Pan¡ªAdam. He was called Adam.¡±

    ¡°And why isn¡¯t this attached to his scalp?¡±

    ¡°...He died.¡±

    ¡°Was Adam under your guardianship when he died?¡±

    ¡°...Yes. That lock is so I never forget how I failed him.¡±

    Elsa¡¯s hand snapped shut. ¡°Then we have a bargain.¡±

    A metal suitcase appeared on the bar-counter. On its lid were stenciled the words:

    THE SOLUTION?

    ¡°Take it.¡±

    Lawrence approached the suitcase warily. ¡°What¡¯s in here?¡±

    ¡°Exactly what it says on the tin,¡± Myles answered. ¡°Look, friend, do we seem like we¡¯re going to tell you more?¡±

    ¡°I suppose not.¡±

    Lawrence grasped the suitcase¡¯s handle. The cold of the metal rushed up his arm and through his veins like winter seawater. ¡°Please,¡± he asked quietly, ¡°just send me home.¡±

    ¡°Your students will build nations because of you, Herbert Lawrence.¡± Elsa said, swirling her wand over her head. ¡°They¡¯ll build worlds. Just remember...¡±

    The bar (and its occupants) dissolved, the grounds of the New Human Institute folding out around Lawrence. All that was left of the witch was her voice:

    ¡°...There¡¯ll always be reprisal.¡±

    ?

    Lawrence spun on his feet wildly. It was as though all the alcohol or drugs or whatever else that horrible woman had dosed him with had been sucked right out of his system.

    He was awake. He was alert. He was back.

    The idea terrified Lawrence for a moment. Not what his children might do if they spotted him, or even what Mary might think, but just being at the Institute again. Lawrence felt like he was there to steal a fruit from the Tree of Life. The one thought that kept Lawrence together was that it wasn¡¯t life for himself he sought, but for the children. Always the children.

    Lawrence started taking stock. He¡¯d been deposited (he supposed) at the edge of the campus proper, before a thick wall of trees that lay between the Institute and the endless farm-fields and the highway. The sun was nearly set, rose-gilt clouds and the low, burning mountain beneath them giving way to dark wastelands pitted by adventurous early stars. Then he looked down at the suitcase still in his hand¡ªthe Solution?, as it proclaimed itself. The only material evidence of his encounter with the ¡°witch¡± and her lackey, and Lawrence didn¡¯t even know what was inside it.

    That had to be corrected. Laying it on top of the long, wanton grass, Lawrence undid the catches and flung the suitcase open.

    Lawrence could only describe what he found inside as The Forbidden Planet¡¯s take on hand-grenades. Thirteen small, roughly egg-shaped silver things with raised ridges ringing their outer-surfaces. In the middle of the case was what looked like an expensive graphics calculator with a note sticky-taped to them:

    Lawrence,

    What you are looking at are thirteen powerful, miniature explosives, along with their programmable detonator. They¡¯re infinitely superior to anything you¡¯ll find on the Vantablack market, but mostly for reasons that don''t matter unless you¡¯re digging mine-shafts in the asteroid belt. Point is, you set a time (or times, I guess) and they explode very hard.

    Sincerely yours, Myles.

    Lawrence tore the note apart in frustration. Bombs? What on Earth was he supposed to do with bombs? Blow the children to smithereens and spare them whatever Timothy had planned for them?

    The worst part was, that didn''t seem like the worst plan in the world right then.

    Lawrence was about to start weeping again when he saw green flashes in the distance, low rumbles following just behind them.

    Elsewhere.

    The tears came anyway. Snapping the suitcase shut again, Lawrence started making his way towards the teleporter. He prayed the boy never realised his part in what was to come.

    ?

    Galahs and cockatoos screamed and fled on the night-air as Arnold Barnes flung chains of lightning over their perches. The boy wasn¡¯t trying to hurt them. He just liked imagining Aussie birds flitting through South American jungles. Honest.

    Things had been alright lately. Yeah, Bryant Cormey was wandering around the place raving about the gospel of Lawrence, but he could be ignored. He was even funny, sometimes. Sure, the older kids seemed to have decided it was time to restore some order for whatever reason, to the point of even letting Mrs Gillespie hold lessons again, but an hour of her trying to educate them wasn¡¯t unbearable.

    And yes, Mabel had mostly retreated into a bush court of impossible creatures after admitting she killed a couple hundred people and helped usher in the reign of the asylums, but she¡¯d be fine.

    Arnold blasted a low-flying rosella to Paraguay.

    She had to be.

    ¡°Enjoying yourself?¡±

    Arnold swung around to face the new voice. Oh, how he wished it was new.

    ¡°Good evening, Elsewhere.¡±

    The bedraggled sight of Lawrence standing there with his weird metal suitcase made Arnold burn bright. His voice crackled and shrieked with electricity. ¡°What are you doing here? Mrs Gillespie made you go away!¡±

    ¡°I know, and having thought about it, perhaps she was right to.¡±

    ¡°...What?¡±

    Hearing that from Lawrence was like if his mum actually said, ¡°Yes Arnold, you¡¯re right. We should have ice-cream for dinner, forever,¡± except far less fun. About as likely to end in a heart attack, though.

    ¡°I may have done well to listen a touch more. Ask after your feelings about¡­ certain matters.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Arnold said flatly, ¡°like how you wanted me and Allie to make babies for you.¡±

    Lawrence had never specifically considered pairing Myriad and Elsewhere, but he imagined they would¡¯ve gotten around to it eventually. ¡°Yes, that particularly.¡±

    Arnold¡¯s glow dimmed somewhat, enough that Lawrence could make out the veins under the boy¡¯s skin. ¡°What do you want, Bertie?¡±

    Lawrence threw his hands up. ¡°Who says I want anything?¡±

    ¡°You always want something.¡±

    God, was that what the children thought? ¡°Well, if you must ask, there is something I could use your assistance with.¡±

    Arnold narrowed his eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t want to be in charge again, do you?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°No, nothing like that. I don¡¯t deserve it.¡± He set the suitcase down on the ground in front of him, opening it for Arnold to inspect. ¡°I need to send these little presents out for me.¡±

    Arnold crouched to get a better look at Lawrence¡¯s gifts. ¡°What are these for? A robot Easter-egg hunt?¡±

    Lawrence let out a slight chuckle. ¡°Do you know what Faberg¨¦ eggs are, Elsewhere?¡±

    ¡°I guess?¡±

    ¡°Same principle.¡±

    Arnold straightened. ¡°You promise these aren¡¯t bad?¡±

    ¡°My hand to God.¡±

    ¡°And if I help you, you promise to leave me and Allie and David and all that alone?¡±

    Lawrence sighed. ¡°If that is what you and your friends wish, I will respect it.¡±

    ¡°...Okay.¡±

    And so they set about their task. Lawrence would call out an address, and Arnold would zap an egg there.

    ¡°Try to put them somewhere out of the way if you can,¡± Lawrence suggested. ¡°I want it to be a surprise.

    Some of the addresses felt vaguely familiar to Arnold. Some of them even sounded important to his young ears.

    ¡°18 King George Terrace.¡±

    They had about done nine eggs when the questions overwhelmed Arnold. What possible occasion did Lawrence have for sending presents? Why eggs? How were the recipients supposed to know they had even gotten anything? Who were the recipients? And did Northam not have a post-office?

    ¡°5 Adelaide Avenue.¡±

    Arnold hesitated.

    ¡°Come on, boy!¡± Lawrence almost barked, ¡°We need to get this done!¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°What do you mean why?¡±

    ¡°Why is sending people presents so important?¡±

    ¡°I bet you don¡¯t ask that at Christmastime.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious, why? It¡¯s weird.¡±

    ¡°...You wouldn¡¯t understand.¡±

    Arnold folded his arms. ¡°Then I won¡¯t help you no more.¡±

    Lawrence twitched. He knew what he was about to do was cruel, but if Elsa Lieroinen had taught him anything, sometimes necessity trumped kindness. ¡°Elsewhere, do you remember your young niece?¡±

    ¡°...You think I¡¯d forget her?¡± Being an uncle still sounded unreal to Arnold. Like someone had bunged up the timestream.

    ¡°Well, for reasons of conscience, I did not report her to the DDHA. I could have¡­ and I still could.¡± Lawrence steeled himself. It was a risky ploy.

    To his relief, the little boy went pale, the light inside him dying. ¡°...You wouldn¡¯t.¡±

    Lawrence looked at Arnold sternly. ¡°Much as I detest the asylums, Elsewhere, it still isn¡¯t in the best interest for an infant with your kind of power to be left unsupervised.¡±

    Arnold protested loudly, trying to convince himself as much as the headmaster, ¡°They won¡¯t listen to you! They know you¡¯re a freak now!¡±

    Lawrence closed his eyes sagely. ¡°Whatever the DDHA thinks of me, they¡¯re obligated to investigate reports of ¡®demi-human¡¯ activity. And us being on the outs with each other doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯ll let your brother keep little Julia¡­¡±

    Arnold¡¯s first thought was to just zap the old git into the sun. But then he thought about what Mabel had said around the bonfire. About Circle¡¯s End:

    ¡°They were just lying in the dirt. Like they were there but¡­ weren¡¯t.¡±

    Could Arnold make a person¡­ go away like that? Forever? Even someone like Lawrence? He had thought he could, when AU had stolen his mum, but even she didn¡¯t want him to hurt the bloke.

    His other thought was to just send Lawrence far away. But anywhere Arnold could think of that Lawrence stood a chance of survival was somewhere he could maybe find a phone¡­

    Lawrence clapped his hands together. ¡°So, shall we finish up here?¡±

    ¡°...Okay.¡±

    The old man started reciting addresses again. Arnold didn¡¯t pay much attention.

    When the eggs were all gone, Lawrence put a hand on his little assistant¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Thank you, Elsewhere. You do not know what good you¡¯ve done for your kind.¡±

    Arnold didn¡¯t answer him, instead fleeing from his touch.

    He found David and Allison sitting around the ruins of a fire, chatting and consuming bags of raw marshmallows.

    ¡°...So then Snow White¡¯s mum makes herself really ugly¡ª¡±

    The water-sprite was cut off by Arnold flinging himself at him and Allison, wrapping them in a tight, clinging hug.

    ¡°Arnold!¡± Allison cried. ¡°What the hell!¡±

    It dawned on the pair that Arnold was shaking. This wasn¡¯t a happy hug.

    ¡°Arnold?¡± Allison asked again. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡±

    ¡°...I think I did something bad.¡±

    ?

    In the bed that Therese Fletcher had occupied until recently, Mary Gillespie awoke to a knock on the cottage door, which was surprising enough. The children had become so self-sufficient lately. Still, it was what she was there for.

    ¡°Coming,¡± she called out, trying to keep the blurriness from her voice.

    Whoever was waiting for her knocked loud and hard again before Mary had even reached the door. She had to stop for a second and count to five before she opened it.

    ¡°Did you have a nightmare, love¡ªoh, Lawrence.¡±

    Her old friend stood in the doorway, like a stray dog that didn¡¯t know it wasn¡¯t welcome. ¡°Mary¡­¡±

    Mary sighed. ¡°Look, Laurie, I told you, we can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    He threw his arms around the woman, tears dripping onto her neck. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry. So sorry¡­¡±

    ¡°...You are?¡±

    A wretched, silent nod.

    Mary found herself stroking Lawrence¡¯s hair. So he got it. He finally got it. She couldn¡¯t really complain about the timing. She¡¯d barely realized what they were before him.

    ¡°Well, at least we will all go together¡­¡±

    ?

    Most people assumed Mr. Thumps<sup>2</a></sup> wasn¡¯t very bright. But that was far from the truth. Thanks to the Physician¡¯s strict tank-training and gene tailoring, Mr. Thumps could speak over fifty languages, was skilled in the cuisines of over a hundred countries, was qualified to perform both first-aid along with basic surgical procedures, and couldn¡¯t count how many ways he knew to kill a man.

    That is to say, Mr. Thumps knew a bomb when he saw one.

    He spotted it while putting away the Valours¡¯ laundry, tucked away in the corner of the linen closet. It sat there in the dark, the ridge around its midsection flashing faster and faster.

    ¡°Oh, dear.¡±

    Mr. and Mrs Valour were brunching when Thumps strode down the stairs.

    Mrs Valour glanced up from her french toast. ¡°Ah, Mr. Thumps, is the laundry done?¡± She gestured at one of the dining table¡¯s empty chairs. ¡°Why don¡¯t you join us?¡±

    Mr. Thumps liked Valerie Valour. She was one of the few true-humans he knew who didn¡¯t treat him or his brothers and cousins like living furniture. Which is why he proceeded to hoist her over his shoulder like a pulp gorilla.

    Valerie screamed. ¡°Thumps! What are you doing?

    Her husband shot out of his chair. ¡°The hell are you¡ª¡±

    Mr. Thumps threw Timothy over his back, too. ¡°There is no time to explain.¡±

    The two Valours kicked and clawed at their strange servant as he made his way towards the front door and out to Timothy¡¯s black sedan, throwing them in the back seats. ¡°We are going now.¡±

    Before Tim and Val could do anything, Mr. Thumps was already in the driver''s seat and pulling out of the driveway.

    Timothy managed to pull himself upright, leaning in close to shout in Mr. Thumps¡¯ ear. ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s got into your head, Thumps, but this¡ª¡±

    Behind the car, there was a boom like an entire forest falling at once. Valerie had her face pressed against the rear-window.

    Their house was on fire, the second floor gone entirely, while flames gushed out of broken windows like tears from dead eyes.

    Valerie turned to look at the back of Thumps¡¯ head. ¡°Did you know this was going to happen?¡±

    ¡°It was a good guess,¡± Thumps said colourlessly as always.

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Before either her or Tim could say anything else, more explosions sounded in the distance. Towers of smoke rose around Canberra like petrified world-trees.

    Not four seconds later, the Flying Man descended upon the city.

    Valerie grabbed her husband¡¯s arm.

    ¡°Timothy? What¡¯s happening?¡±

    The New Human Crisis had begun.

 Chapter Fifty-Three: The Shoal

    Until he woke up that morning, Alberto Moretti had thought throwing his lot in with the government was the best decision he¡¯d ever made. His workload as one of the Commonwealth''s rarer monsters made George Jetson look like a coal canary. In exchange for glancing at the brains of suspected communist moles and oracling the movements of the Viet Cong and the Flying Man, Alberto got to enjoy a kingly expense account, an executive suite at the Hotel Canberra, and access to ministerial-grade escorts. The only real downside was that he had to live in Canberra, but Alberto could see ways out. As long as it wasn¡¯t the Institute.

    Then one morning his hangover was interrupted by the world screaming. The world shook. Hundreds of lights fluttering on the edge of Alberto¡¯s vision were snuffed out all at once.

    The hotel had been bombed. Parliament House had been bombed. The Prime Minister¡¯s house had been bombed. Robert Menzies was dead. His bloody wife was dead. And so, so many others.

    Alberto knew the culprit as soon as Timothy Valour briefed him.

    ¡°Canberra isn¡¯t the only place that got hit.¡± Valour thumbed vainly at his lighter¡¯s spark-wheel, a cigarette hanging limp and unlit from between his lips. His fingers felt numb and clumsy. Like they weren¡¯t his own. ¡°The Americans say the Pentagon and DOPO headquarters both had bombs go off the same minute as us. It can¡¯t be a coincidence.¡±

    ¡°Of course it isn¡¯t,¡± Alberto replied. ¡°Anywhere else?¡±

    ¡°One of our regional offices got wiped out.¡±

    Alberto still found thinking of himself as part of the DDHA odd. It was like taking up Devil worship after years of Sunday school. Immensely satisfying, even thrilling on many levels, strange and chancy on others. ¡°...That office wouldn¡¯t happen to be Perth, would it?¡±

    Timothy looked away from the esper. It was only a slight turn of his head. The old airman probably didn¡¯t realize he was doing it. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Tim¡ª¡±

    Valour cut Alberto off before he could put voice to what they both were thinking. ¡°Let¡¯s not go jumping to conclusions, Moretti. We still don¡¯t know who did this.¡±

    That was what Alberto was supposed to find out. The psychic looked out the tinted, bulletproofed backseat window of the DDHA sedan he was riding in, his head lolling against the cheap imitation leather of his headrest.

    The Flying Man may have doused the fires and pulled the survivors out of the fresh ruins, but  Canberra¡¯s wounds were still raw and bleeding, pouring white smoke high into the sky. A full six of the nine confirmed or suspected bombs had gone off in that drearily singular planned city. Hundreds had died in the explosions themselves, and almost every minute it seemed the hospitals added more names to the casualty list.

    Alberto screwed his eyes shut. His head was throbbing. The Canberran aether burned cold with fear and knotted panic, slicked through with sickly violet paranoia. Bovegno under the blackshirts had been like this. But at least people there had learned to compartmentalize the dread. Wading through it all was like trying to navigate an arctic sea littered with depth charges. He was suddenly very grateful he had been in the countryside during the Cuban Crisis.

    How did I miss this? Alberto kept asking himself through the migraine. For God¡¯s sake, a bomb had gone off in his hotel! He¡¯d glimpsed plenty of outlandish, far-out futures in the storm of possibility since moving to Canberra. Spontaneous Russian rearmament, alien invasion, even Menagerie marching on the city with a herd of war-elephants, but not that. It was an intruder in the timeline. An ace of spades slipped into the tarot deck.

    The car eventually came to a halt. The chauffeur (a Physician drone by the looks of him, cheap bastards) scurried to open the passenger door, and Alberto stepped out in front of Parliament House.

    What was left of it.

    From the terrace, the place almost looked unscathed. Then you noticed the broken windows and the charring beyond the missing front-doors, or the inescapable stench of ash and carbonized flesh. If you were to approach Parliament House from the air¡ªas the Flying Man no doubt had¡ªyou¡¯d see the smoking crater where the Senate and the House of Representatives used to be. The building¡¯s heart had been burned out. The whole complex had been cordoned off with yards of blue and white police-tape. Alberto thought it was a laughable fig-leaf. How could any of this possibly be contained?

    Soldiers and coppers were milling uselessly about the grounds. Alberto could sense many of them congregating inside Allison¡¯s living tree fort down by the lake, brandishing their respective jurisdiction¡¯s phallic symbols at each other to try and forget their own powerlessness. Maybe that would be the new Provisional Parliament House.

    All Alberto knew was that he wanted to get away from this place as soon as possible. He laid down on the sedan¡¯s bonnet.

    ¡°Are you unwell, Mr. Moretti?¡± the chauffeur-minion asked flatly.

    Alberto closed his eyes. It was time to be Tiresias again. ¡°No, Mr. Whoo. I¡¯m remembering.¡±

    The psychic got up out of his body. Astral projection, Alberto thought was the term. The main difference he felt was that his naked mind or soul or what have you didn¡¯t suffer nicotine cravings.

    His shade climbed the ashen steps of 18 King George Terrace, up into its past. The sun flickered east, night¡¯s shadow flowing over Alberto twice in as many moments. For a few fleeting seconds, the Flying Man hovered above the scene, his expression grave, but curious. Alberto almost thought he was looking down at him.

    As if in anger, Parliament House screamed with flames.That seemed to scare the Flying Man off.

    Alberto slowed his pace. Not his walking pace¡ªor whatever one did when you¡¯d already left your feet behind¡ªbut his pace through time. The world slowed with him.

    He watched as the fire coalesced into a terrible, bulging wall of light. It began to retreat, the air in front of Alberto cooling like the tide pulling back from the sea. Specks of glass hail flew back into the vacant, staring window frames, fusing back together into unbroken panes.

    As the explosion shrunk deeper into the building, Alberto¡¯s spirit crept in after it¡ªa ghost stalking the sun. He saw errant kings and prime ministers return to their portraits as the light washed over them, while scorched paint became white again. Blasted chairs and tables reassembled themselves as if Mary Poppins was starring in Bridge on the River Kwai.

    Often, the light gave back people. Politicians and their harried staff. Wives and their bored children. Alberto could almost see their final thoughts. It felt like being tickled in the dark on a ghost-train.

    At one point, the explosion pulled back to reveal a woman. A pretty young thing. Blonde. Some senator¡¯s secretary, Alberto guessed. He watched as the fire gave her back her flesh, like God building an angel in real time. She looked bored. Alberto had to imagine she didn¡¯t feel a thing.

    The destruction led the esper up a staircase into King¡¯s Hall, the antechamber between the Senate and the House of Representatives. Alberto remembered it from the tour they went on back during the August trip. No snow now, only ash.

    The explosion began to collapse on itself, revealing parquetry floors of silver ash wood and jarrah as it recoiled from Alberto like a frightened beast. Soon it was small enough for a child to pick up and hold, cowering under a coffee table it the corner. It retreated back into its egg and...

    A green flash.

    Alberto opened his eyes. Some iron-haired, corporeal looking bastard was looking down at him.

    ¡°Agent Moretti, is something the¡ª¡±

    Alberto grabbed hold of the soldier, pulled himself upright by his lapels, and hissed, ¡°Get Timothy Valour on the phone and tell him Herbert Lawrence is a cunt.¡±

    ?

    Allison Kinsey stood in front of the barn¡¯s east wall against the setting afternoon sun, admiring what she had wrought. Her skin was mottled blue and green, her hair matted with half-dried paint.

    Most importantly, she was very, very satisfied.

    It started about a week earlier. Somehow, against all reason, Allison had found herself getting bored. Bored running around being all barbarian with David and whoever fell into their orbit. She didn¡¯t understand how, but she knew it must be fought. It also occurred to Allison that non-Watercolours kept trespassing inside their barn. This too could not go unopposed.

    David had seemed strangely unconcerned. ¡°It¡¯s not like there¡¯s a big sign saying we own it.¡±

    He was right, though. There was no sign. Allison decided to rectify that.

    Painting a little over seven by thirty feet of wall by herself was easier than one might have guessed. Allison saved herself a lot of ladder hauling by borrowing Robert¡¯s (formerly Gwydion¡¯s) translucent platforms. The Barthe dress code meant paint-stains were a non-issue, and their hydrokinesis made for an excellent long range brush. Plus, thanks to Eliza, she only really needed about an hour of sleep a night.

    A shoal of mer-children swirled and sported together in a loose ring under the wave-broken light of a full moon, just below the skin of the sea. Their scales glinted cerulean, electric green, and flame-red against the pearly glow. One chestnut-haired young mermaid floated in the middle of the halo, arms outstretched for her companions, light filtering through the delicate webs between her fingers. If you asked the artist, they were playing tag.

    Allison cleared her throat, taking in Mavis¡¯ breathy song:

    Watercolours, assemble!

    Thirty seconds of foot-tapping.

    I said ¡®assemble!¡¯

    Arnold¡¯s voice shouted distantly. ¡°Alright, we¡¯re coming! Jeez.¡±

    Unsurprisingly, David arrived well before the teleporter, condensing from the humidity along with his mother.

    ¡°Ooh rah,¡± Fran?oise exclaimed as she looked the mural up and down. ¡°Very nice, mon ch¨¦ri.¡±

    Floating as a boy-shaped cloud, David swirled around the painted merfolk, ice crystals ringing, ¡°How¡¯d you make the scales so shiny?¡±

    Allison shrugged modestly. ¡°Wasn¡¯t that hard.¡±

    Arnold finally caught up, Billy in tow. Once the former boy was done panting, he looked up at the merfolk. He nodded as cooly as he could. ¡°Neat,¡± he remarked casually, only to blush when he got a good look at one of the sea-children. Allison had managed to translate his lightning into scale. ¡°Really neat.¡±

    Billy¡¯s enthusiasm was far louder. He pointed a clawed finger toward the topmost mer-child. ¡°That one has tiger-stripes!¡±

    Allison smiled. ¡°You noticed! I thought about giving him fur, but it looks weird underwater.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s seals,¡± Billy pointed out.

    ¡°True.¡±

    ¡°How do you know that one¡¯s a boy?¡± Arnold asked.

    Allison frowned. ¡°Because I painted him.¡±

    Roland Barthes wouldn¡¯t put out ¡°The Death of the Author¡± for another two years, so Arnold¡¯s only response was, ¡°You can¡¯t see their bits.¡±

    Fran scowled playfully, ¡°Don¡¯t be rude, Arnold.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re naked.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s incidental and you know it, young man.¡±

    Allison wrinkled her nose. She was the artist, Arnold was just the consumer. She outranked him.

    Suddenly, the moonlight in the painting warbled, making shadows dance on the young merfolk¡¯s skin as they fled from the child they¡¯d been circling. The one with the tiger-striped tail broke away from the chase, swimming down in front of Billy. His hair was a blonde mop, tinted green by the water, framing mud-brown eyes. He beamed a sharp, toothy grin, which Billy gleefully returned.

    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    Allison grinned too, folding her arms and glancing smugly at Arnold. ¡°That look like a boy?¡±

    Arnold sniffed. ¡°Girls can have short hair too, sexist.¡±

    ¡°Well, whatever it is, it¡¯s lovely,¡± Fran?oise said. She kissed Allison on the temple. ¡°You know, Allie, there¡¯s plenty of big, blank walls around here that could do with sprucing up...¡±

    Allison wiggled at the compliment even as she briefly thought about objecting. It was all other people¡¯s skill, same as always. Maestros and amateur housewives alike had all left their mark on the girl. But even if all those artists had gotten together and painted the barn themselves, they wouldn¡¯t have made this. They wouldn¡¯t have seen the moon from the bottom of the river like she had, or have played chasey underwater. They probably didn¡¯t even appreciate mermaids the way Allison did.

    It was hers. No one else¡¯s.

    Seeing her creation in motion reminded Allison of something. ¡°What¡¯s taking Mabel so long?¡±

    Everyone looked at Allison like Mabel was long dead.

    ¡°I think Mabel¡¯s still having quiet time,¡± said Fran?oise.

    ¡°Still? It¡¯s been ages!¡±

    ¡°Allison, what Mabel admitted at the bonfire¡­ it was very hard for her.¡±

    ¡°So? How is sulking in the bush going to help with that?¡± Allison turned and started trotting towards the Institute¡¯s treeline. ¡°I¡¯m gonna find her. We can make the merlings fight. That¡¯ll cheer her up.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes shot between his friend and his mother, before seemingly asking both, ¡°That a good idea?¡±

    Fran shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think having friends around would hurt.¡±

    ¡°Course it won¡¯t!¡± replied Allison. She grabbed David¡¯s hand and started pulling him along. ¡°Cheering up is what friends are for!¡±

    Powerless before her might, the other children followed Allison.

    Fran?oise watched them go. Mabel would be fine. Allie would be fine. David was more than fine.

    Maybe she¡¯d take him to see Ralph sometime.

    Or his grandfather.

    ?

    As the Watercolours made their way to Mabel¡¯s hideaway¡ªAllison following the echo of her song¡ªthe topic of conversation turned to the most recent news at the Institute:

    ¡°...Easter eggs! It¡¯s not even Christmas yet!¡±

    ¡°Do we do Christmas here?¡± asked Billy.

    Allison answered, ¡°Nope. Mavis says they haven¡¯t for like, ten years. Maybe this year, though.¡±

    ¡°Seriously, why would Laurie want to send people Easter eggs?¡±

    Billy¡¯s tail lashed the air thoughtfully. ¡°Were they chocolate?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so¡­ they were more orna¡­ornomatic?¡±

    ¡°Ornamental,¡± Allison corrected her friend.

    ¡°Yeah, that!¡±

    ¡°Maybe they were bribes? He is in big trouble.¡± Allison said it like Lawrence had been caught nicking baking chocolate from the pantry.

    ¡°I¡¯d have used chocolate ones for that,¡± opined Billy.

    Arnold kicked up some grass. ¡°I still don¡¯t know why Mary¡¯s letting him stay. What¡¯s the use of kicking someone out if you¡¯re just going to let them sleep on your floor in a week?¡±

    Allison quirked her shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t care. Laurie can¡¯t do anything to us, and they¡¯re gonna come drag him to jail soon anyway. It¡¯s like having a pet.¡±

    ¡°A very beardy pet,¡± Billy added.

    The Watercolours¡¯ discussion on the merits of a pet Oxfordian was cut short when Bryant Cormey staggered into their path. He was clad in grass-stained flannel pyjamas, while his unkempt beard looked like it was trying to evolve into his employer¡¯s. The teacher was brandishing one of the beers the Northamites had donated.

    ¡°Well look who it is,¡± Cormey jeered, ¡°It¡¯s Mealy and the Watered-Downs.¡±

    David rolled his eyes. ¡°Really, Bryant? You¡¯re stealing jokes from little kids now? I think Ophelia used to call us that.¡±

    ¡°You looking for your girlfriend?¡± Arnold asked with a sneer. ¡°I think he¡¯s still crying in Therese¡¯s cottage!¡±

    Allison snorted. ¡°You scared her away, didn¡¯t you, Cormey? Made her put on a fake-beard when you kissed?

    Without thinking, Bryant threw his beer bottle at Allison.

    She let the glass shatter against her suddenly bronze skin, puffing out her chest like Superman taking a few bullets from Metropolis¡¯s dumbest crooks. ¡°Nice try,¡± she buzzed robotically.

    Billy fumed. ¡°Teachers aren¡¯t supposed to throw things!¡±

    ¡°Oh, fuck off, you bloody mutant pity-case.¡±

    Billy clenched his fists, breathing slowly and deeply.

    ¡°Aww, Bill,¡± said Arnold, ¡°don¡¯t go listening to¡ª¡±

    Billy vanished. A trail of grass started flattening from where he stood.

    ¡°...Bugger.¡±

    Cormey smirked. ¡°Not so tough? Just you wait, Lawrence is going to whip this place back into¡ª¡±

    Billy appeared behind the man and roared, sending the teacher flying over his friends¡¯ heads. By the time Bryant had somewhat regained his bearings, the Watercolours were giggling off in the distance.

    Arnold clapped Billy on the back as they ran. ¡°Nice one, Growly.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t long before they reached the bush, long grass giving way to an autumn and winter¡¯s worth of fallen leaves that crunched beneath their feet. Arnold occasionally blasted away a bramble or small tree from their path.

    Then they ran into the witch. At least the Watercolours assumed she was meant to be a witch. The withered crone was decked out in a tattered robe the exact shade of dark green as a heavy duty rubbish bin.

    She was clearly one of Mabel¡¯s puppets. The shadow under her hood was too perfect. Allison seriously doubted she had anything besides a mouth and a nose under there.

    ¡°Who goes there?¡± the witch intoned in a voice like wind funneled through sandpaper.

    ¡°We¡¯re here to see Mabel!¡± Billy replied cheerfully.

    ¡°You seek the Creator?¡± asked the hag. ¡°Then you must answer these three¡ª¡±

    Allison huffed loudly, blowing a lock of hair from in front of her face. ¡°Don¡¯t be dumb, Mabs. We just want to see you.¡±

    The witch made a sweeping gesture. ¡°But first¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mabel.¡±

    Her arm dropped to her side like an actress who just noticed the looks on their audience¡¯s faces. ¡°Fine,¡± she said in a young girl¡¯s voice, before turning around and starting to walk off. ¡°Follow the crone,¡± she commanded, still with Mabel¡¯s voice.

    The crone led the children to a familiar clearing: the one where Arnold had teleported the earth from under the lads from Northam¡¯s feet. The water that had filled the resulting pit during the rainy season had almost completely dried away, save a forlorn puddle waiting to be drank by the tree roots snaking through the crater-walls. Scattered about the place were the sleeping ashes of a campfire, an icebox, and a pile of books and drawing supplies resting on a picnic blanket.

    It was by this dismal view Mabel had hung her hammock. She was nestled with an open copy of Walkabout, the lady astronaut occasionally nudging the hammock in absence of any breeze. ¡°Five years in the academy and this is what you make me do¡­¡±

    Mabel ignored the space-adventurer, instead listlessly greeting her friends. ¡°Hi guys.¡±

    Billy gazed around the clearing like he had stepped into the Taj Mahal. ¡°Wow, great camp you got here Mabs!¡±

    Mabel supposed this did count as camping. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Allie finished her painting,¡± Arnold said.

    ¡°Mural.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mabel said. ¡°I kinda guessed,¡±

    The astronaut cut-in sourly, ¡°Almost blew our eardrums out, you mean.¡±

    ¡°Shush up, you.¡±

    Allison flung herself onto the hammock with enough force she almost sent Mabel tumbling off. ¡°Why didn''t you come look?¡±

    Mabel scratched her hair, not looking the other girl in the eye. ¡°I¡­ I just¡­ look, it¡¯s not like it¡¯s going to disappear, you know?¡±

    There was something plaintive in Allison¡¯s voice. ¡°But it¡¯s new.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d like it,¡± said Billy. ¡°It¡¯s got mermaids!¡±

    That got Mabel¡¯s interest. She looked at Allison. ¡°...Seashell bras?¡±

    ¡°Course not.¡±

    ¡°Stupid things¡­ maybe later.¡±

    Allison slumped onto her back. ¡°Come on¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s actually pretty neat,¡± Arnold said. ¡°Good¡­¡± He tried to think of an art term. ¡°...use of space. Didn¡¯t go over the edges or anything.¡±

    Mabel shouted, ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood, alright!¡±

    Nobody spoke.

    Except for Allison. ¡°When will you be in the mood?¡±

    Mabel spent a moment trying to figure out how to say she couldn¡¯t know that, then gave up. ¡°Later!¡±

    ¡°Well, what if I¡¯m not in the mood later?¡±

    Mabel blinked at the other girl. ¡°...What?¡±

    ¡°What if I don¡¯t want to show you when you are in the mood?¡±

    ¡°...It¡¯s the side of a barn. You don¡¯t need to show me.¡±

    ¡°Yes I do! You¡¯re not allowed to look at it without me!¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t say that!¡±

    ¡°Yes I can! It¡¯s my mural!¡±

    ¡°This is stupid!¡±

    ¡°Then can you please just be in the mood right now?¡±

    Mabel crossed her arms and sighed. ¡°Fine.¡±

    Allison made a pleased noise, grabbing Mabel and pulling her into one of Cardea¡¯s rifts.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, arms spread in front of her creation, ¡°what do you think?¡±

    Mabel shuffled her feet. She liked the mural, she really did. And she appreciated Allison not making all the merfolk thin. She just had no space in her to be cheerful about it. ¡°It¡¯s good,¡± she mumbled. ¡°Can we go back to my camp now?¡±

    Allison pouted. ¡°Sure, sure.¡±

    A couple seconds and a few hundred yards of squeezed spacetime later, the girls were sitting back in the hammock.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re being so weird about the Circle¡¯s End thing,¡± Allison said while she picked at her toenails.

    Mabel just stared at her. She couldn¡¯t name what she was feeling. It was a bright, livid thing¡ªbeyond anger, confusion, or offense,  but claiming descent from all of them.

    She glanced over at the boys, as though they could somehow explain what Allison had just said. All three of them appeared to have suddenly realized they were standing on a big white ¡°X¡± in the middle of the Nevada desert.

    ¡°Allie, you do know what happened to me at Circle¡¯s End, right? What I did?¡±

    ¡°I was there when you said it, wasn¡¯t I? Your powers turned on and killed a lotta people.¡±

    ¡°And my dad.¡± Mabel would¡¯ve cried then, but she¡¯d had plenty of time to do that the last week or so. Her grief was a snapped tendon, too weak to support her.

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s awful and everything, but you didn¡¯t mean to, did you?¡±

    Mabel sighed. ¡°No. I didn¡¯t. But I think¡­ doing that to people changes something. Something inside your guts. Even when you didn¡¯t mean to. You¡¯re not the same after.¡±

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°...That doesn¡¯t explain why you¡¯re hiding out here?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Allison answered flatly. ¡°I mean, if you think about it, you wouldn¡¯t have changed when you fessed up, you¡¯d have changed back in Circle¡¯s End, and none of us knew you back then.¡±

    ¡°...Everyone looked at me weird.¡±

    ¡°Maybe at the bonfire yeah, but nobody¡¯s seen you since then. How would ya know they¡¯d keep doing that?¡±

    ¡°Seems kinda likely?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not looking at you any different.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t know how to put it kindly.

    Allison pointed at David. ¡°Davie! Did you know about this before?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± David admitted.

    ¡°See, nothing¡¯s changed for him. And David¡¯s worth like, ten other kids.¡±

    David was glad his blush didn¡¯t show.

    Allison leaned back, a slight smile gracing her lips. ¡°And Fran killed people for fun when she was littler than us. Are you scared of her?¡±

    ¡°...Kinda?¡± answered Mabel.

    ¡°To be fair,¡± said David. ¡°A bunch of those people were Nazis.¡±

    Allison moved onto Billy. ¡°What about you, Growly? You scared of Mabel?¡±

    ¡°No siree,¡± he answered with all the earnestness in the world.

    ¡°Arnold?¡±

    The boy shrugged. ¡°She chased me with a Dalek our first day.¡± He smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve always been scared of her.¡±

    Mabel realised she was smiling, too. She tried shaking it off her face like a bug. She looked at Allison. ¡°Why are you trying so hard?¡±

    ¡°Because I painted a very good mermaid picture and you should appreciate it more. And you¡¯ve always tried really hard with me. Even back when I thought you were weird and scary.¡±

    Mabel rested her head on the other girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°...I¡¯ll come back tomorrow, okay?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± replied Allison. ¡°Mind if we camp here with you tonight?¡±

    ¡°No problem.¡±

    Billy squeaked in delight, running off back towards the Institute in search of sleeping bags and marshmallows.

    When the sun finally set, they relit Mabel¡¯s campfire. Allison rattled off what felt like hundreds of ghost stories, which somehow all managed to end with her roaring and flailing her arms around at everyone. Mabel swore for a moment she¡¯d managed to grab hold of the shadow-puppets. On a dare, Billy downed some of the funny-juice, and strewed the clearing with spongy rocks and ruby quartz silly string.

    They stayed up well past any notion of bedtime, but sleep claimed them all in the end. Allison was even grateful for it, after an almost entirely wakeful week of hard painting.

    It was still dark when the cracks woke her up. They were distant, but sharp. Allison rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She could hear shouting: not too unusual at the post-Lawrence Institute, but this didn''t sound like the usual rough play.

    Those cracks again. They sounded a little like the noise the air made when Jumpcut teleported, only¡ª

    Gunshots.

    Allison shook Mabel hard. ¡°Mabs, wake up!¡± she whispered harshly. ¡°Wake up!¡±

    The girl jerked awake, blinking up at Allison through her lensless spectacles. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    More cracks.

    ¡°I think someone¡¯s shooting¡ª¡±

    A voice like breaking marble sliced through the trees:

    You bastards! You murdering fucking bastard¡ª

    There was a terrible, awful noise.

    There was a terrible, awful silence.

 Chapter Fifty-Four: These Are the Damned

    The army convoy slowly crept down the moonlit Great Eastern Highway, as though wary of attracting the gaze of the stars above. An American-donated humvee led a coterie of armoured troop-carriers down the pitch black road: a bee marshalling a parade of wasps. In their wake, four trucks dragged spired chambers carved from what looked like rough volcanic rock. ¡°Quiet Vans,¡± their inventor called them. The road was so narrow, the entire procession could only drive in single file.

    Someone had wanted to bring a tank, but the powers that be decided that would fall in the odd overlap between far-too-much and not-nearly-enough.

    Alberto was pretty sure it had been an American.

    The psychic rode in one of the cramped transports, reeking of sweat and sandwiched shoulder-to-shoulder between two soldiers on a hard metal bench, their gun-barrels crossed in front of his chest. The cabin was filled with more shadow than light, yet glaringly bright to Alberto¡¯s eyes. Swirls of hot yellow fear, nebulas of blue curiosity, even a shameful cloud of excitement. Alberto wasn¡¯t surprised to find that some of the boys were looking forward to testing their mettle against real supers. At least some of them were rightly scared shitless. And then there were the smart ones. The ones who knew that¡ªwhatever happened at the New Human Institute¡ªnone of them would be getting into Heaven that night.

    ¡°Feels weird, fighting kids,¡± one of the soldiers mused. He was an American (a very southern American, by the sound of him) whose broad features stood out in the gloom like Mount Rushmore at night. DOPO had insisted on there being an American presence on the raid. They had lost people too, the US consulate insisted, and they would have their pound of flesh.

    Alright, the last part was mostly inference on Alberto¡¯s part. Even so, he supposed the DDHA was in no position to turn down the help. After the bombings, the Australian government mostly consisted of Timothy Valour and Harold Holt. For now, they were about as independent as the average banana republic.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t fighting kids yet,¡± Alberto reminded him. With surprising vehemence, he added, ¡°And if you have any sense, better hope you keep not fighting them.¡±

    One of the Australian soldiers replied, ¡°Can you really even call them kids? When they¡¯re that strong¡­¡±

    ¡°Even gods have childhoods, Private Warren.¡±

    Every other head in the transport snapped to look at the one woman among them. Alberto had been issued an ADF uniform for the mission, but Strikepoint looked like she had wandered in from the movie playing in the next theatre. She wore a black domino mask, with a charcoal grey body-glove broken up by cobwebs of glow-paint lightning. Her chest bore a pair of scales weighing a white feather. A swan¡¯s, she had mentioned to Alberto back in Exmouth. Her hands meanwhile had been left bare, by specific request, apparently.

    Alberto was almost certain she had been sourced from the asylums. She had the same buzz cut Allison had when he first met her.

    Damn it, why did he let himself think about Allison? About any of them?

    ¡°Know that for a fact, do you?¡± Private Warren asked, a forced smile to his voice.

    Strikepoint simply answered, ¡°I did.¡±

    The cabin went quiet again.

    Fuck, Alberto thought to himself. Since when did superheroes have such big egos?

    But was it ego? Alberto¡¯s powers offered no answers. Trying to read Strikepoint¡¯s mind was like attempting to parse constellations at the centre of the galaxy. It was as if her whole body was made of latticed thought.

    Is she some sort of projection?

    ¡°Hey, Psi-Man.¡±

    Alberto winced as he turned towards the American. ¡°Yes, Wilkins?¡±

    ¡°Psi-Man¡± was his code name for the operation. It was almost as bad as ¡°Tiresias¡± but at least nobody expected him to use it on his own time. He¡¯d put his foot down at the costume, though. The DDHA had wanted him to do this in a high-collared cape and the turban. Apparently, he and Strikepoint were meant to represent ¡°a new, more socially responsible tradition of superheroism.¡±

    Fucking jackals.

    ¡°Sergeant says you can see the future? That true?¡±

    ¡°Some of them.¡±

    ¡°...How many?¡±

    ¡°Trillions. At least.¡±

    Wilkins thought he was making the word up.

    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Strikepoint interjected. ¡°Some dooms are fixed, but the rest of it¡­¡± She waved her hand. Her fingernails cut faint trails in the black. ¡°People¡ªsocieties¡ªthey always want something outside themselves to blame.¡±

    One of the Australians whispered, ¡°Blimey.¡±

    On that note, the carrier came to a halt. Alberto half-expected the darkness to slosh about like water inside an aquarium. Instead the doors opened, diluting the shadow.

    Alberto stood up as straight as he could without scraping the roof. ¡°Well, time to pick our doom.¡±

    Soldiers bustled about the road, setting up road blockades or assembling before their commanding officers. Some, Alberto knew, were armed with Physician-made tranquillisers, along with high-impact and explosive rounds.

    Others just had plain old bullets.

    It didn''t take long for the major to find the two superhumans. He was a short, stockily built older man, with brown hair graying at the temples like wood ash and a pencil mustache. Something about his air reminded Alberto of Arnold Barnes¡¯ father. Only taller.

    He shook Strikepoint¡¯s hand. ¡°Good to see you, Miss... Strikepoint. I¡¯m Major Yellick. Valour¡¯s put me in charge of this show.¡±

    Strikepoint nodded. ¡°He told me about you. Said you served together in the war.¡±

    Major Yellick allowed himself a small smile. ¡°Yes. If the camera had been aimed a little differently, I might be the one on all the comic covers.¡±

    Alberto raised an eyebrow. ¡°Think a lot of yourself, do we?¡±

    Major Yellick almost slapped the weedy looking wog around the ear for insubordination, but then he spotted the red ¡°SS¡± badge on his breast. ¡°You¡¯re Psi-Man, I take it?¡± He did not offer Alberto his hand. Tim had been very clear on that.

    ¡°If you must.¡±

    Tim had also told him to expect lip. If anything, he should be worried if none was forthcoming. He returned it in-kind. ¡°Yes, Psi-Man. I must.¡±

    ¡°Can we just get this over with?¡±

    ¡°Glad to see we¡¯re on the same page about this.¡± Yerrick¡¯s gaze drifted downward. He cleared his throat. ¡°Are the targets asleep?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not targets,¡± said Strikepoint firmly. ¡°Not like that. I¡¯m just here for deterrence.¡±

    ¡°Ah, my apologies¡­ but are they?¡±

    Alberto closed his eyes, casting his third eye towards the Institute. Dozens of low, dreamy clusters of light, mostly concentrated in the dorms. A few bright stragglers and scattered sleepers, but Alberto had been expecting that.

    ¡°About as close to all of them as we can hope for.¡±

    ¡°...Priority Alpha?¡±

    Alberto sighed. ¡°Her too.¡±

    ¡°Right then.¡± Major Yerrick took his walkie-talkie off his belt. ¡°Positions, everyone. Operation: Prometheus commences in minus ten minutes.¡±

    The bulk of the seventy-five strong task force broke up into ten squads of five and crept like wolves into the trees bordering the west side of the highway. The remaining twenty-five men phalanxed around Strikepoint and Alberto, Major Yerrick taking spearpoint.

    They marched to a dirt turnoff into the bush. It had no signpost¡ªjust as the property owner liked it. As the squad started down the path, under the shadow of bent, curious trees, Alberto started thinking one thought very hard:

    DON¡¯T PAY US ATTENTION! DON¡¯T PAY US ATTENTION!

    It was a simple enough trick. He used to pull it all the time playing hide and seek with Fran?oise.

    Fran.

    He¡¯d never done it with so many hangers-on, though. The pressure in his ears felt like he was in a plane taking off from the bottom of the sea.

    ¡°You¡¯re really making us invisible, esper?¡± Strikepoint asked.

    Alberto screwed his eyes shut before blinking rapidly. ¡°Not exactly. You ever notice the air in front of your face?¡±

    ¡°I might be the wrong person to answer that.¡±

    ¡°Then please stop talking.¡±

    Strikepoint¡¯s usual edifice of sage reserve cracked. ¡°Oh sorry.¡±

    Alberto put his fingers to his forehead. That usually told idiots he was doing psychic stuff¡ªeven when he wasn¡¯t.

    He¡¯d never realised how long the path to the Institute was, or how fast you could reach the end by foot. He threw a hand up before the squad turned the last bend, along with a general vibe of ¡°hold up.¡±

    Yerrick glanced over his shoulder at Alberto. The psychic nodded back.

    The major steeled himself. ¡°Wilkins, you¡¯re up.¡±

    The soldiers parted to let the American make his way to the front.

    He saluted the major. ¡°Awaiting orders, sir!¡±

    Yerrick regarded the private. He was so young. Couldn¡¯t be more than twenty-two. He still had freckles. Who thought giving this job to someone with freckles was a good idea? Had he done well on an infiltration course? He put a hand on the young man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Private, you¡¯re going to hear a voice in your head. That¡¯s just Psi-Man, you understand?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Make sure you follow his instructions exactly as he gives them.¡± Yerrick felt like he was handing over his kid to a babysitter. ¡°If you argue or try to resist, you might break his concentration.¡±

    And then the super-children murder us all.

    Both men winced.

    ¡°What he said.¡±

    ¡°Understood, sir.¡±

    ¡°Remember, son, you¡¯re not just doing this for your country, you¡¯re doing it for mine, and every other country where human beings make their homes.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°If you pull this off, you might be well be saving the lives of every child at this school.¡±

    Wilkins didn¡¯t know why the major was trying to hammer it in so hard. He was a soldier. This was his job. ¡°Yes, sir!¡±

    ¡°Good luck, soldier.¡±

    The private trode on ahead, turning the corner and emerging onto the New Human Institute, before hopping the fence and wading out into the night-covered grass. Looking around at the silhouetted buildings and other, less definable shapes in the distance, Wilkins¡¯ mind rapidly flicked between his family¡¯s farm back in New England, and the forgotten, degenerate towns that dotted Lovecraft¡¯s vision of the East Coast.

    Priority Alpha is in the farmhouse, get a move on.

    Private Wilkins obeyed, climbing the slope towards the looming manor.

    Voices. Children.

    The soldier swung around, the light on his rifle shining on a blonde teenage girl with a younger boy heading right for him.

    ¡°Shit. Shit. Shit.¡±

    Stay still!

    Private Wilkins did just that, not that he had much of a choice in the matter. Fear nailed his feet to the earth.

    ¡°...So he said ¡®Well, maybe when it comes Allie can be the midwife.¡¯ He seriously thought I was going to let a nine year old be my midwife!¡±

    ¡°Idiot.¡±

    The pair passed by Wilkins without comment. Once he was sure they were out of earshot, he whispered, ¡°How¡­¡±

    I made you less interesting than the dirt you¡¯re standing on. Trust me, it wasn¡¯t hard. Now get on with it!

    Private Wilkins soon reached the farmhouse. The front door wasn¡¯t locked. Why would it be?

    Inside, the only sources of light were a few strategically placed candles. Wilkins didn¡¯t need them. He found himself navigating the darkened, rambling house like it was his own. He even turned his scope-light off. Why make Psi-Man¡¯s job harder for him? Directions came not as words, but pure impulse.

    He climbed the stairs to the top floor, and opened the second door on the right:

    She was asleep, thank God, lying under a thin white duvet.

    Through Private Wilkins¡¯ eyes, Alberto watched Fran?oise Barthe¡¯s chest rise and fall.

    He¡¯d tried arguing for her, he really had.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Valour! She could win Vietnam for you!¡±

    Timothy Valour had turned his back to Alberto while he stared out the window of his new office. ¡°She¡¯s also unstable and aggressive. There¡¯s no way she¡¯ll go along with the removal.¡±

    ¡°I could¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know you could. Ethics aside, what happens if you let the reigns slip?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°We drown, that¡¯s what happens.¡±

    ¡°...Can you blame her?¡±

    ¡°I offered her a sensible, humane alternative. I offered them all that. They didn¡¯t listen.¡±

    Private Wilkins lowered his rifle and raised his sidearm, cocking back the pistol¡¯s hammer as he stalked closer to the Priority¡¯s bedside.

    It needs to be a headshot, right through the brain. If she even gets a second to use her powers, you will die. We will all die.

    Wilkins aimed his gun just above the woman¡¯s ear, the end almost getting tangled in the gold of her hair. His fingers wrapped around the trigger¡ª

    It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this. They¡¯d told him this woman was a fearsome, mighty sea-witch, more a goddess than a super. But now she just looked like a woman¡­

    She¡¯s more dangerous than any hero or villain you¡¯ve heard of. She could fight the Flying and win. Easily. You have to¡ª

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The woman stirred. Her blue, gleaming eyes locked with Wilkins¡¯ own. ¡°What¡ª¡±

    Fuck!

    Wilkins¡¯ finger twitched. Alberto heard the bang.

    The private watched as the body collapsed into water, soaking into the mattress and spilling down the sides. Soon, all that was left of Fran?oise Barthe was the blood on Wilkins¡¯ face.

    ¡°Psi-Man,¡± he said aloud, like he was speaking to God. ¡°She¡ªare you seeing this?¡±

    Yes, Wilkins.

    ¡°Is¡ªis she dead?¡±

    Alberto closed his eyes. Fran?oise¡¯s lights were gone. ¡°Yes Wilkins, you did it. You fucking did it.¡±

    The psychic felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Strikepoint¡¯s. ¡°Moretti, are you alright?¡±

    Alberto brushed it off. He could find no traction on the woman¡¯s mind, but right now he couldn¡¯t bring himself to care. ¡°I just helped assassinate my oldest friend. No, I¡¯m not.¡± He looked over at Major Yellick. ¡°Tell the men to start the roundup. I don¡¯t want to be anywhere near this shithole by sunup.¡±

    ?

    The Watercolours were panicking. It was the only sensible thing to do.

    ¡°What the hell is going on?¡± Arnold cried. ¡°Why¡¯d Mavis¡­ do that?¡±

    Mabel got in Allison¡¯s face and grabbed her by the shoulders. ¡°Did you say there was shooting?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what it sounded like!¡±

    Billy was tearily repeating, ¡°Not a good game¡ªnot a good game¡ªnot a good game¡­¡±

    In the middle of it all, David stamped his foot and shouted with as much of mother in his voice as he could muster, ¡°Everyone shut up!¡±

    The others fell silent.

    David raised a hand. His eyes were burning. ¡°People are coming.¡±

    In the distance, torchlights cut through the trees like phantom axes.

    By the time the vanguard of the gamma squad reached the Watercolours, the four children were sitting around a renewed campfire, each with a hand of playing cards.

    The squad-leader¡¯s scope-light fell on David¡¯s back while he shuffled the deck. The soldier called out to his comrades, ¡°Y¡¯all get your asses up here, I¡¯ve found them!¡±

    The Watercolours didn¡¯t look up from their cards, listening impassively as the heavy-booted footsteps amassed around them.

    ¡°Alright kids, it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°Go fish,¡± Billy said.

    ¡°We¡¯re playing poker, Growly,¡± said Mabel.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    The squad-leader and his gathered troops exchanged confused glances. Did these kids even realize they were there? Did they care?

    ¡°...Look, we¡¯re not here to hurt you!¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± said Arnold.

    A storm of green lightning struck the meadow, illuminating it like green sunrise, but one gone as fast as it started. Arnold¡¯s empty pool came alive with shouting and wild, chittering gunfire.

    Allison dropped down from the trees above the patch of grass where the soldiers had been standing, now luna-barren. She tried shouting over the bullets still screeching up from the crater, ¡°What were they doing?¡±

    Mabel put her hand to her ear, ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said, ¡®What were they doing?¡¯ ¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t hear you!¡±

    Allison pointed her fingers over her shoulders. A dozen or so trees behind the girl suddenly found themselves uprooted above the crater. The soldiers screamed as they rained down upon them. The gunfire stopped.

    ¡°They dead?¡± Allison asked flatly, already knowing the answer.

    Billy carefully approached the groaning pit, poking his head over the rim just enough to be able to peer at the mess of broken trunks, branches, and khaki-clothed limbs. ¡°Are you fellas okay down there?¡±

    The human bush swore almost as one entity.

    Billy frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t be rude! You pointed guns at us!¡±

    One of the buried soldiers gasped out, ¡°Fuck off, Paddington Bear.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t even make sense!¡±

    Mabel joined Billy at the edge, along with the red-suited spacewoman. The astronaut pointed her raygun down at the soldiers. ¡°Please tell the children why you¡¯re here, fellow travellers.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re getting you freaks back. For what you did to Canberra!¡±

    Arnold looked at David. ¡°Wait, are they talking about you and Allie¡¯s show?¡±

    The water-sprite shrugged. ¡°I thought we were pretty¡ª¡±

    A wave of perfect, unnatural silence washed over the clearing, drowning David¡¯s words the moment they passed his lips.

    Arnold tried to ask what was going on, but it was like he was trapped in a muted TV set. He couldn¡¯t even hear his own thoughts. For a brief, horrible moment, Allison couldn¡¯t hear any songs.

    A second later, sound rushed back into the world.

    ¡°What was that?¡± asked Mabel.

    Something fast and bright flitted past the girl.

    ¡°Or that!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± answered Allison. She tilted her ear, trying to regain her hold on the Institute¡¯s musical landscape. ¡°Something¡¯s¡ª¡±

    She took off running, back towards the Institute.

    Arnold tried to run after her. ¡°Allie! Wait up!¡±

    The boy couldn¡¯t hope to keep up with his friend¡¯s inhuman speed and grace. Not after what she had heard.

    ¡°Allie!¡±

    ?

    It could be debated whether soldiers are very bad or in fact rather good at getting children out of bed. Alberto and Major Yellick¡¯s men scoured the dormitories, their screamed orders jarring the students out of their dreams, while rough hands and rifle-butts forced them drowsy and bewildered out into the night.

    The soldiers started to shepherd the crying, confused children towards the Institute¡¯s wood and wire gate. Lana was being frog-marched by a pair of Americans in some twisted gesture of chivalry when she caught sight of Alberto:

    ¡°Bertie! What the hell are you doing here?¡± She squinted at his uniform. ¡°When¡¯d you join the army?¡±

    Alberto shouted back, ¡°Just keep doing what they tell you. It¡¯ll be alright as long as you don¡¯t fight!¡±

    Louise and Tom each had an arm around Bella, trying to support the sobbing younger girl and keep up with the other children, ahead of the soldiers¡¯ gunpoints.

    ¡°Why are they doing this to us?¡± Louse whispered.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Tom answered. ¡°They don¡¯t need a reason.¡±

    Louise hoped Bella didn¡¯t hear him.

    Strikepoint watched it all from the farmhouse verandah, her hand scorching the balustrade where she grasped it. Her thoughts were of a night thousands of sunrises gone¡ªof children being led from a burning city towards the living death of slavery and worse.

    It has to be better than that. Valour swore to me.

    The newly minted superheroine searched the faces of the children below. Was Allison Kinsey among them? She wondered if Dr. Carter would think well of her ¡°help.¡±

    Something caught her eye. A gaggle of soldiers shouting at a pearly, iridescent dome and hammering their rifles against it.

    This looked like a job for Strikepoint.

    One of the soldiers, an Australian with an unfortunately patchy beard, bellowed, ¡°You¡¯re only making things worse yourselves!¡± He nodded at one of his fellows. ¡°Do it.¡±

    The other army man turned his gun the right way around and fired at the dome. It expanded explosively, knocking the troops closest to the ground and throwing up a crest of sod.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡±

    The soldiers all scrambled to attention (and their feet) seemingly racing to see who could salute Strikepoint first. She folded her arms and tried to smile wryly. ¡°You do realize I¡¯m not your CO, right boys?¡±

    The badly shaved Aussie¡¯s shoulders dropped slightly. ¡°Yeah, but you know¡­ superhero.¡±

    It was funny, the instinctive respect a dollop of spirit-gum and a strip of fabric across the bridge of her nose could afford. It reminded Strikepoint of the masks the priests once wore. ¡°Suit yourselves.¡± She pointed past the men at the bubble. ¡°Still looks like you could use some help.¡±

    The lead soldier¡¯s face hardened. ¡°There¡¯s a couple demis hiding under there. They¡¯re refusing to drop¡­ whatever that thing is.¡±

    So they got to be demis, while she was a superhero. Odd. ¡°Of course they aren¡¯t, you¡¯re waving guns at them. Move aside.¡±

    They obeyed. Wise. Strikepoint knelt in front of the shining bubble. She could see the shadows of two children huddling at the centre of it. It had been nearly two hundred years since she¡¯d mothered any child, but she tried her best to remember. ¡°Listen, I don¡¯t blame you for doing this. I know we¡¯re being scary, and you don¡¯t deserve this.¡±

    One of the soldiers tried to object, but Strikepoint threw her hand up, sunlight blazing beneath her palm. He shut up.

    ¡°Things will get better. I promise.¡±

    The dome dessicated and faded away, revealing a grimy little girl and a boy with sand-blond hair. Strikepoint wanted to ask which of them created the force-field. She didn¡¯t.

    The girl said, ¡°You really promise?¡±

    Strikepoint smiled gently. ¡°On the River Styx.¡± She took the pair by the hands, helping them up from the ground. She was doubly glad she¡¯d turned down gloves. ¡°That¡¯s deadly serious.¡±

    They started walking towards what Strikepoint couldn¡¯t help but think as the chokepoint.

    ¡°Are you a superhero?¡± asked the boy.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Strikepoint felt the children¡¯s hands relax slightly in hers.

    It was a strange mask she wore.

    ?

    Alberto was leaning against the fence when the soldiers dragged over what was left of the NHI¡¯s staff like a cut-rate Roman triumph.

    ¡°We found them in the cottages.¡±

    Bryant Cormey struggled against a pair of handcuffs. He spat at Alberto, ¡°Traitor!¡±

    Alberto ignored the teacher. He was going straight for Vercingetorix. He pushed aside past the soldiers that were flanking the headmaster and grabbed Lawrence by the front of his mouldering suit-jacket. ¡°I fucking knew it.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s voice was low, almost a whimper. ¡°I tried, Tiresias.¡±

    Mary was weeping into her nightgown. The soldiers at her side looked like they wanted to offer her a handkerchief. ¡°Why are you doing this, Alberto?¡±

    Alberto shared a look with the old woman, regret passing briefly over his features. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mrs G.¡± He glared back at Lawrence. ¡°You¡¯ll have to ask him.¡± Alberto turned around and walked away from the teachers, telling the soldiers, ¡°Put them with the kids. I¡¯m sure Tim will figure out what to do with them. Once he¡¯s done buying me a fucking drink.¡±

    The teachers were taken to the gate, where their students stood huddled before Major Yerrick and his praetorians, guns aimed at them from all sides.

    Strikepoint fed the former Abalone and Veltha into the crowd, trying to reassure the pair as she left them to join the major.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t drag this out,¡± she warned Yellick.

    Alberto was with them soon enough.

    Yellick asked, ¡°Is this everyone?¡±

    Alberto closed his eyes, opening them again almost immediately. Close enough. ¡°Yep.¡±

    Yellick turned to the children and started speaking: his steady, well-calloused voice clear over their tears or questions. ¡°You are all charged with defying official DDHA orders, as well as attempting to intimidate agents. Furthermore, you are also charged orchestrating terror attacks in Perth, the ACT, and Washington D.C, resulting in at least five hundred deaths, including many members of Federal Parliament.¡±

    The students¡¯ confusion reached new heights.

    ¡°What the hell are you on about?¡± shouted Linus.

    Already in his mechanical form, Troy buzzed, ¡°They¡¯re trying to stitch us up!¡±

    Mary Gillespie was clutched Lawrence¡¯s arm. ¡°Laurie, why are they saying these things?¡±

    She saw the vacant, staring look on the old man¡¯s face.

    ¡°Laurie¡­ what did you do?¡±

    Yellick continued, ignoring all protests. ¡°The Commonwealth of Australia is willing to show you children clemency. Through service, you may repay your country.¡±

    Bryant Cormey started laughing, high and horse. ¡°You see what you¡¯ve done? You fucking kids took something glorious and turned it into shite! Threw away a future for a few weeks of frolicking!¡±

    ¡°Someone¡¯s picked up the boss-man¡¯s vocab,¡± Alberto muttered.

    Mary begged the other teacher. ¡°Please, Bryant. Don¡¯t make it worse for them.¡±

    Cormey kept on raving. ¡°They deserve it!¡± He gestured around at the children. ¡°Look at them! Gods cowering at Neanderthals with metal sticks!¡±

    ¡°Cormey,¡± Lawrence sighed. ¡°It¡¯s over. Let¡¯s try and go with some dignity.¡±

    ¡°And whose fault is that?¡±

    ¡°Be quiet, sir,¡± ordered Strikepoint, trying not to look at a white-haired boy crying into his hands at the edge of the crowd. ¡°You¡¯re frightening the children.¡±

    A choked, manic giggle. ¡°And who are you? The freak-finders¡¯ pet demi?¡± He pantomimed peering at Strikepoint. ¡°Are you even a super? Or did they just dress up some whore and hoped we bought it?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what I am.¡±

    ¡°Well then.¡±

    There was no real reason for Strikepoint to have done anything when Bryant Cormey ran at her, screaming at the top of his tired lungs. He was a handcuffed, half-mad cultist whose world was falling apart. She, by definition, could not die.

    But she was so angry.

    Lightning lashed from Strikepoint¡¯s eyes, striking Cormey right in his heart. He fell face forward in the dirt, the stench of burnt hair and flesh rising from his body.

    She hadn¡¯t meant to kill the poor fool.

    Screaming. So much screaming. Children caught between their fear of what just happened and the guns still trained on them.

    The wind screamed too, trying to match its mistress. Bella was on the ground, her hands over her head. Her unnatural, private hurricane tore blindly at soldier, student, and staff alike. Strikepoint tried to soothe the air, but the girl had a deathgrip on it.

    ¡°Is this one of you?¡± Yellick yelled over the roar. ¡°Stop it immediately!¡±

    Mary fought the wind, painfully forcing her way over to Bella and pulling her into an embrace.

    ¡°Please, she¡¯s just scared!¡±

    She shouldn¡¯t have given Yellick something to aim at.

    Mrs Gillespie collapsed, Bella Wilson still in her arms. Their blood mixed in the grass.

    The children¡¯s shouting and screams died. Louise stared at her teacher and her friend. ¡°...Bella?¡±

    Tom looked right at Major Yellick. His voice shook. ¡°You¡ªyou fucks.¡±

    Strikepoint had her hand over her mouth. ¡°No¡­¡±

    Alberto shook his head at the major. ¡°They were an old lady and a fucking kid.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mary!¡± Lawrence ran to Mrs Gillespie¡¯s side, falling to his knees and draping himself over her body, weeping. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±

    Mavis eyes raked over the soldiers, her whole body shaking. When she finally her voice was wrong¡ªlike she was trying to build words out of the drone of locusts and hornets:

    You bastards! You murdering fucking bastard¡ª

    The sound tightened and bended through the air, lancing through the inner ears of half a dozen soldiers. Their eyes exploded from their heads in great bursts of blood.

    Someone got off a lucky shot, but the spell was broken. The children fought back.

    Tom¡¯s ghost charged at a soldier. He passed through the man, taking most of his insides with him. The soldier¡¯s mates fell upon and tried firing at the boy, but it was like trying to slay mist. Their bullets whizzed through him right into each other.

    Tom glared contemptuously at the men bleeding their last around him, tears running down his face like rain on glass. White fuckers and their guns.

    All around, troops were being sucked under the earth, down into new, unmarked graves. Dolls and toys clawed their way out of the Institute¡¯s soil, clambering up legs to gouge out eyes and force their way down throats. Force fields opened over soldiers and snapped shut, leaving only piles of torn fabric and gristle. Others were smashed by invisible hammers, their legs snapping beneath them as their brains were driven into their ribcage.

    Not all the children fought. Sheilah and Bran were running towards one of her tears, hoping to find refuge in the darkness, the former pulling her little sister behind them.

    ¡°I¡¯m scared!¡± Dawn cried, light spilling wildly from her body.

    Sheilah breathlessly tried reassuring her. ¡°We¡¯ll be alright, Dawnie! We just need to¡ª¡±

    The three passed into the dark. A bullet followed.

    Louise was facing down five men alone. They kept pouring ammo into her, bullets falling undeformed at her feet as she walked steadily towards them. Every round made her glow brighter, till her skin was a white corona. All that kinetic energy had to go somewhere¡­

    She clapped. The shockwave stripped muscle from bone.

    It wasn¡¯t completely one-sided. A clutch of burning soldiers managed to land a wild shot at Brian Peters¡¯ head as they danced from his fire.

    Brian Peters died. His flames did not.

    Troy¡¯s approach was simple. He grabbed a soldier, and pounded their face with his bronze, hydraulic powered fists till they no longer had a head.

    Problem was, that left him exposed.

    An explosive round went off in the boy¡¯s side. Hundreds of error messages flashed across his mind in a single second. The missing chunk of himself shifted frantically between exposed, blasted metal struts and bloodied ribs, before settling on the machine. The light in his glass eyes went out.

    Strikepoint kept throwing herself between the students and the soldiers, letting bullets and God knew what else draw gold ichor from her. She didn¡¯t know what to do. Men were dying. Men were dying trying to murder children.

    ¡°Please, we can stop this! We can all stop!¡±

    Alberto was white as death. Lights he knew as well as the stars were going out all around. The ones that kept shining were doing things even he couldn''t have imagined. Couldn¡¯t have considered. The whole Institute was flooded with light as black as smoke.

    The psychic grabbed onto Major Yellick¡¯s arm, turning the man around to face him. ¡°Call them off!¡±

    The major was staring at the carnage, forgotten by soldier and child alike. Slowly, he answered, ¡°I don¡¯t think I can.¡±

    Alberto shook the man. ¡°Do something¡ª¡± He shuddered. Robert Carrol just got a rifle butt to the head. He could feel the blood clotting in the boy¡¯s brain. Staggering backwards, he stammered, ¡°I can¡¯t be here. I have to get away¡­¡±

    Alberto ran for the trees. A familiar, reliable thought returned to Major Yellick¡¯s awe-drunk mind:

    Deserter.

    He ran after the telepath. ¡°Get back here, Moretti! Get back here!¡±

    Linus wandered numbly through the pockets of violence. His surviving foster-sister was launching white phosphorus at soldiers as they tried to mow down Jeremy, who was busy using his force-bubbles like a millstone on some of their comrades.

    So many of his brothers had been heroes. Warriors. But Lucius Owens was not bred for battle. He could stop it, though. He didn¡¯t have his guitar, but still had his voice.

    Linus breathed in, feeling the notes assemble themselves before him¡ª

    He felt the air cleave next to him

    It almost felt like he¡¯d been punched in the ribs. Linus¡¯ hand went to his side. It came up bloody. As he fell backwards, an anti-note escaped him. It grew, gorging itself on the screams and the gunfire, leaving only scraps of silence in its wake.

    All fighting came to a halt.

    There was a man.

    No, not a man. Not quite. His hair was like flame, his skin gold, clothed in a cloak woven from a thousand dawns. He was taller than any human man, and seemed somehow more real than everyone and everything around him: a three-dimensional object descended into a two-dimensional space.

    Everyone who could still stand was gripped by an urge to kneel before the newcomer. All except for Strikepoint.

    He was family, after all.

    ¡°Lucius!¡±

    Apollo, lord of song ran to Linus¡¯ side. He fell to his knees when he saw the blood seeping from Linus¡¯ side, despair breaking across his perfect features. ¡°My son,¡± he moaned, holding the boy¡¯s head to his chest, ¡°my son, what have they done to you?

    Linus¡¯ breath rattled. ¡°Hey, Dad.¡±

    Lawrence finally looked up from Mary and Bella. ¡°My God,¡± he said, staring at the god. ¡°You are real.¡±

    The god ignored the old man. There was nothing else in creation but his son. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry I left you¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªit¡¯s fine, Dad. It¡¯ll all be fine...¡±

    Linus trailed off. He never came back.

    Apollo wailed. His grief was like the sun setting at the end of the world.

    Strikepoint approached the mournful deity. ¡°Brother, I know how this feels¡ª¡±

    Apollo leapt to his feet, spinning around to face Strikepoint. With a sunburst, he conjured a bow and aimed it at the superheroine¡¯s heart. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°You don''t.¡±

    One of the surviving soldiers fired at the pair. The bullet dropped a few inches from Apollo, the grass beneath catching fire as it melted into a glowing red puddle.

    ¡°Shit¡ª¡±

    The soldier¡¯s expletive was choked by a cough. His skin bubbled like boiling lava with sores and pustules. He died choking on his own blood and screams.

    Apollo didn¡¯t even look back at the man. Tonelessly, he said ¡°Take off the mask.¡±

    ¡°Apollo¡ª¡±

    ¡°Now.¡±

    Strikepoint removed and threw aside her domino mask, staring at Apollo with her almost-black eyes.

    ¡°Why did you come here?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to help¡ª¡±

    Apollo roared, grabbing Helen by the neck and lifting her off the ground. His bright eyes had become solar eclipses, rimmed by white light. ¡°You led these fools here! Made them brave!¡±

    The goddess did not struggle. Instead, she wheezed out, ¡°Athena¡­¡±

    Above the Institute, a mountain of cloud swelled and thundered. Lightning lit its dark face, briefly revealing the towering, regal silhouette of an armour-clad, spear-toting woman.

    Pallas Athena, king of all the gods.

    Her voice showered over the Institute like iron rain:

    ¡°Apollo, do put down our sister.¡±

    The god tossed Helen to the dirt. The goddess gasped, savouring the taste of air again. Deep gold bruises were forming around her collarbone.

    ¡°Helen of Sparta, why have you drawn my eye?¡±

    ¡°My son died trying to put a stop to the fight she started! And now she tries to hide behind you!¡±

    The thunder stirred again. ¡°I was not asking you, Apollo. You will get your chance to speak.¡±

    Helen managed to get back on her feet, looking up at the sky. ¡°My king, I beg your aid.¡±

    A sigh rippled through the grass. ¡°Sister, what have you done now?¡±

    Shame like acid coursed through Helen. Was that her role in the world? Inflicting her mistakes on anyone who crossed her path? ¡°The children need us.¡±

    Apollo sneered at a pile of minced soldier. ¡°I think they can look after themselves.¡±

    ¡°Please, brother¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡±

    Helen didn¡¯t stop speaking. ¡°The people who rule this country, they¡¯ll never let the children live. Not after this. They¡¯ll hound the children to the ends of the Earth.¡±

    Apollo glanced around at the cowed students, his inner glow throwing veils of shadows across their faces. ¡°These children¡¯s brutality was half of what killed my Lucius. I don¡¯t care what becomes of them.¡±

    ¡°I think your son would.¡±

    Apollo turned to find Lana sitting beside Linus¡¯ body. She was stroking his face, trying to comfort a boy who wasn¡¯t there anymore.

    Slowly, the god knelt down beside the girl. He studied the young woman¡¯s face. ¡°...You loved him, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Of course I did. We all did. He was my brother.¡±

    For a moment, god and mortal spoke in the perfect language of silence.

    Apollo noticed the young woman¡¯s bump. ¡°Was he¡ª¡±

    Lana shook her head. ¡°No. Not this time. His son¡¯s out there, though. I think he¡¯s safe, but I don¡¯t¡­¡± She went silent for a moment. ¡°I hope I can see him again.¡±

    Apollo nodded. ¡°What else would a mother wish for?¡±

    Helen found the dirty little girl and the sand-haired boy again in the crowd. The presence of gods and a talking cloud in their midst didn¡¯t appear to interest them. They were looking at each other¡ªand themselves¡ªlike they were strangers. Their faces and hands were stained with blood.

    Time to be a superhero.

    ¡°Your son would rest easier knowing his family was safe, I should think.¡±

    Apollo sighed. ¡°He would.¡±

    The anger had drained from his lyre of a voice. It was resigned; tired and empty.

    The human mien fell away. The sun burned high in the night sky, banishing the stars behind its glare.

    ¡°Three years durance, Helen. Our years.¡±

    Helen nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±

    ¡°Athena, take them away.¡±

    ¡°It will be done.¡±

    Tom finally worked up the nerve to speak. ¡°Excuse me¡­. Ma¡¯am? Couldn¡¯t you just bring everyone back? Linus?¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°...Bella?¡±

    Lightning flickered within the cloud. The goddess¡¯ shadow seemed somehow pensive.

    Tom didn¡¯t know thunder could sound gentle:

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry child, but some things are beyond even our powers.¡±

    Tom wondered what the point of them was then.

    The cloud twirled long and thin, swirling around the misplaced sun like the rings of Saturn.

    Fine, gleaming chains of adamantine sprouted around Helen¡¯s wrists.

    The sun and its ring descended towards the goddess, growing ever brighter. ¡°When your durance is up, you will return to this place. You¡¯ll meet two heroes, and join their cause till its end.¡±

    ¡°How will I know them?¡±

    ¡°One will be my son¡¯s kin, the other¡­ not.¡±

    ¡°Not?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll know him when you see him.¡±

    Lawrence started shouting, ¡°Wait! Please, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    He was dignified no answer.

    The sun engulfed Helen. The light was blinding.

    The children were gone. All that remained were the soldiers, Lawrence, and their shared victims.

 Chapter Fifty-Five: ...And Hell Rode Behind Her

    Allison Kinsey ran through the bush, bounding over branches and rocks with no conscious effort. Her muscles screamed under her skin until she silenced them. She would have played Cardea¡¯s, or Jumpcut¡¯s, or even Britomart¡¯s songs, but all she could find of them was echoes in the air.

    Windshear¡¯s song had stopped first. Then Linus¡¯ had reared to life, clear and glorious, before going jagged and ending mid-note.

    Ending. How could a song end?

    The Institute¡¯s children had all vanished¡ªextinguished in an impossible explosion of music¡ªleaving only the Watercolours and nearly a hundred strange, banal human songs.

    And, of course, its prodigal son.

    Alberto and Allison collided with no small force, both falling backwards into the undergrowth.

    ¡°Ow, fucking ow¡­¡±

    Allison recovered first, springing catlike back her feet and looking down with bewilderment at the esper in soldier¡¯s costume sprawled before her. ¡°Alberto? What¡ªI thought¡ªwhy are you dressed like that?¡±

    Alberto lunged at the little girl, slapping a gloved hand over her mouth. ¡°Shut up, shut up! They¡¯ll hear you!¡±

    Allison backed away from the man, out of his grip. ¡°Those soldiers?¡± She scowled at Alberto¡¯s uniform. ¡°Are you with them?¡±

    A gasp of pure frustration throttled its way out of Alberto. ¡°No! I mean, yes, but¡ª¡± A choked noise that might have been a sob. ¡°It wasn¡¯t supposed to go this way.¡±

    Allison realised there were tear-streaks on the man¡¯s face. Quietly, she asked, ¡°Alberto, what¡¯s happening?¡±

    ¡°Valour sent his bloody people after you. Cormey went nuts, and they started shooting! Christ, Mary and Windy are dead!¡± Alberto¡¯s eyes darted around like he thought there were demons in the trees. ¡°How¡ªwhere¡¯d they go? Oh, God, I think they¡¯re all dead.¡±

    Allison just stood there.

    Dead.

    She couldn¡¯t get a hold on the idea. She knew what death was supposed to mean. How could she not? Sometimes it seemed to be all grown ups thought and wrote about. But those were only words. She¡¯d never known anyone who died. Even Adam had been a brief passerby in her life, exiting quietly out of her sight.

    But then, hadn¡¯t that just happened to all the other students?

    Everyone was dead. People Allison had played with everyday for nearly a year were gone, their songs silenced forever.

    Bella was barely seven. Mrs Gillespie had put flowers in Allison¡¯s hair and held her when she cried. They¡¯d both been shot.

    Allison¡¯s nails dug into the skin of her palms, radioactive-green light coursing through her from head to toe. ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill them.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them all!¡±

    Alberto stared at the little girl. There was no fear in her, only pure, untempered fury. A child¡¯s anger, a hard gem of flame that burned away everything else.

    The only other supers within Allison¡¯s grasp were the other theatre kids. Could she take on over a hundred armed men with just those powers? Normally, Alberto wouldn¡¯t have hesitated saying ¡°Yes!¡± and running far, far away, but somehow those soldiers had put out dozens of their lot, all at once.

    He didn¡¯t want to feel another child die.

    ¡°No.¡±

    The child burned brighter. ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°They just managed to rub out two footy teams worth of you! At once. I don¡¯t know if the Physician packed them a fucking tactical nuke or what, but you can¡¯t fight that!¡±

    ¡°They killed my friends! Don¡¯t you care?¡±

    Alberto was surprised to find he did. ¡°They¡¯ll kill you too, if you don¡¯t turn around and run.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Allison marched past the psychic. ¡°You can¡¯t stop me.¡±

    Alberto had never thought much of himself. Truthfully, he was right not to. But couldn¡¯t he stop this stupid little girl from wandering into her death?

    He slipped off his gloves. ¡°No, I guess I can¡¯t.¡±

    He swung around and grabbed Allison¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You are going to turn around, go get your friends, and run far, far away, you hear me, kid?¡±

    For a single moment, something inside her resisted.

    ¡°... Right.¡±

    It was as she turned to leave, orienting towards the still ringing sound of Arnold and Mabel¡¯s songs in the distance, that she heard a quiet pop in the distance, and Alberto staggered as something struck him in the arm. ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Allison stopped walking, and turned to stare at Alberto. He was on the ground, cradling a bleeding shoulder with his remaining good hand. His song was fluctuating. Spiking. What if it went away, too? Like all the others had.

    She couldn¡¯t let that happen.

    She didn¡¯t really think about what happened next. It was like reflexively reaching for an apple when you dropped it. The next thing Allison knew, she was upon the psychic, her knees pressing against his chest and pinning him there as, for the first time, she dug her power into him, pulling his song into her own.

    ¡°Oh, Christ,¡± he whimpered, the pain apparently forgotten. ¡°Not like this, you little cunt.¡± She felt his hand against her forehead, trailing fresh blood across her scalp. ¡°Sleep!¡± he commanded. ¡°Fucking sleep, Allison!¡±

    Why was she so tired all of a sudden? Allison ignored it. No time for that. She had to help Alberto.

    ¡°Stop fighting me.¡±

    Alberto had been halfway through a yell when his voice cut off, his hand, halfway through trying to shove the girl away, fell back. He stopped.

    ¡°A¡ªAllison,¡± he begged, a few fresh tears trickling down his face. ¡°Please don¡¯t. I don¡¯t want to die like this.¡±

    Die? Allison paused for a moment, confused. Why die? She was saving him.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be okay,¡± she whispered, not sure how she knew that. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. I promise.¡± For a moment, Alberto tried to object, but then she pressed his power into him, and that look of panic seemed to catch on something.

    ¡°... You promise?¡±

    She gave him another reassuring wave of his power, and nodded.

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna get us out of here.¡±

    Alberto closed his eyes.

    ¡°... Okay.¡±

    A dozen or so seconds later, Allison stood back up. Then, she turned on her heel, and set off, leaving the thing that had once been Tiresias bleeding from every hole in his face. His song was nothing but noise now, but that was okay. It was still playing inside Allison.

    She felt good. The anger was still there, but even that felt good. Like a thousand birthdays.

    There was a soldier in her path. An old man, with a still-smoking pistol hanging limply at his side like a child¡¯s toy.

    ¡°Good God, girl, what did you do to Moretti?¡±

    Allison kept walking, her head tilted. There were lights inside the man¡¯s head: fireflies dancing in his skull. And they told her things, like Morse code. His name was Harris Yellick, and he had done very bad things.

    ¡°Why¡¯d you kill them?¡±

    Allison knew Yellick was going to shoot at her before he even raised his gun. The lights screamed it, but that wasn''t the only tell. It was like he had to do everything twice before it happened.

    She dodged the bullet like it was a tennis ball.

    ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Electric riffs.

    Allison roared with Billy¡¯s voice, toppling the major like a blade of grass in a hurricane. In a split second she had a foot on his throat.

    ¡°You killed Mels.¡± She didn¡¯t know why she¡¯d used that name.

    ¡°I didn''t¡­¡±

    ¡°You made someone do it.¡±

    Allison was wondering what she was going to do with the man when she heard the song.

    It rose and ebbed in a tide of flame over her. Its notes and harmonies couldn¡¯t be counted, reaching higher than the uppermost reaches of the night, where stars lived and died. It was the voice of comet and asteroid. It was the growth of flowers, the white-gold of dawn, and the foam-wrought sea all at once.

    It was everything.

    Allison started to babble words born under different constellations. She knew the webs of birth and death, the pathways between ancient suns, and the very language that wrote the universe. In that moment, she could¡¯ve reconciled quantum physics, gravity, and magic in a single sentence.

    It was too much. She couldn¡¯t take it all in.

    It did help fill in some gaps, though.

    Allison could remember snippets of songs. David¡¯s, Veltha¡¯s, Snapdragon¡¯s, even Windshear¡¯s. Beautiful, but powerless. Incomplete.

    But then, she¡¯d already worked Alberto¡¯s song into her pattern, hadn¡¯t she?

    Allison burst into flames. It was ecstasy.

    Major Yellick thrashed and struggled, staring up at the ashen-skinned spirit.

    She looked down at him with yellow, burning eyes. ¡°You hurt my family.¡±

    ¡°...I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer him. Not with words. A globule of magma bubbled into existence in her hand.

    ¡°Wait, please!¡±

    The conjured liquid rock coiled and spiraled down through the air like a river of sunlight. Major Yellick¡¯s flesh burned. His bones blackened. His blood turned to steam in his veins. His screams were lost in that boundless song.

    Allison stepped back from the smouldering body. His song was gone now. Good. She looked up through the trees, towards the source of the new music. She¡¯d always been able to hear songs. But now she could see them.

    It was thousands upon thousands of layers of mystic violet and nearly white lavender, with countless stars pressed between them like specks of gold in stained glass. They came together like rose petals.

    And at the centre of it all, the Flying Man hovered above the Institute.

    ¡°Allie?¡±

    Arnold¡¯s voice.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Allison turned to look at her friend. The others were standing a little behind the boy, holding onto each other.

    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Mabel said, pointing at what was left of Major Yellick.

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± answered Allison, meaning it.

    ¡°Something wrong with Alberto,¡± Billy said. ¡°He¡¯s all¡­ bleeding.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    Billy, Mabel, and David all disappeared in a blast of lightning. Allison¡¯s new fire had been replaced by Arnold¡¯s electricity.

    ¡°Allie! What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°I had to put them somewhere safe. The Flying Man¡¯s here.¡±

    ¡°...The Flying Man?¡±

    ¡°We need to leave.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Arnold¡¯s voice was very small.

    ¡°Your power.¡±

    ¡°But one of us will get left behind!¡±

    Arnold¡¯s aura grew brighter in Allison. She held out her hand. ¡°Not if we zap each other at the same time.¡±

    Slowly, Arnold started glowing, too. He reached for Allison. ¡°You sure this¡¯ll work?¡±

    ¡°Promise.¡±

    ¡°The Dam?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. The Dam.¡±

    The two children¡¯s hands touched¡ª

    End of Part Two

 Second Intermission: The Little Stranger

    The body floated face down in the water, watched silently by the pines that crowded the girding hills, drifting along in the slight swell of the waves. Iron Bay was freezing this time of year, with only its sheer mass preventing it from being sealed beneath thick, icy skin. The body didn¡¯t mind. The body had little to fear from the cold, nor from the water currently filling its lungs.

    As for the boy who owned the body, he minded even less. He was listening carefully.

    It was distant, the signs almost imperceptible, but to him, they might as well have been cannonfire. Five miles west, and a little bit north, his father was lining up a shot, his rifle primed and ready to take down the thick-pelted deer he¡¯d been stalking for over an hour now.

    Still face down in the water, the boy hardly dared move either, worried that somehow, in some unfathomable parental fashion, his dad might discover this latest prank.

    No. That was just nerves. He knew it was just nerves. The boy shook himself. Then, he squared his shoulders.

    With a gentle arc of his arms, Joseph Allworth pushed his head above the surface of the water, calmly exhaled the fluid in his lungs, and took a breath.

    His father took one too. He¡¯d found his target. The wind was accounted for. His aim was set.

    With just the smallest of smiles, Joe pressed his lips together, and let out a whistle so low and so loud that almost no one heard it. His father certainly didn¡¯t.

    The deer bucked like it had just been struck in the thigh with a riding crop.

    Jonah Allworth let off his shot, causing lasting injury to a nearby spruce, and swore in a manner that he certainly wouldn¡¯t have done if he¡¯d known his boy could hear him.

    Joe giggled.

    Sorry, Dad, he thought to himself. If I¡¯m eating meat, you¡¯re gonna have to kill it where I can¡¯t hear.

    He floated out of the water, still some hundred or so feet from the river bank, and shook himself. He might not be bothered by the cold, but the moisture soaking through his parka was going to take forever to drain out. He sat down on the water with a groan, and stilled the surface to a mirror sheen with a tap of his finger.

    He hated hunting trips. At least they gave him a chance to see the stars, though.

    He leaned back, and for a while just let himself be lost, staring up into those bright, oh so distant lights. With how they reflected off the lake, he almost felt like he was floating in the void between them.

    Almost.

    ¡°...I don¡¯t wanna learn to shoot,¡± he grumbled. ¡°Stupid old¡ª¡±

    That was as far as he got before a small, webbed, rime gloved hand rose between his sneakers, wrapped around his shin, and dragged him below the surface with a yelp and a quiet plop.

    Joe scowled at the grinning face and dolphin-black eyes of his seaborne friend. He looked about four or five, and had since Joe himself had been that age. The last half-decade hadn¡¯t even fixed the gap in Palaemon¡¯s front teeth. Surprisingly white for a boy who lived on raw fish and seal-meat, though.

    Not alright, he thought very loudly, before kicking up back into the air.

    Aww, the sea-child replied, his half-unspoken voice rattling through Joe¡¯s jaw like a burst of sonar. Are you mad again, Allworth?

    I¡¯m not mad! Joe retorted angrily. Just not in the mood!

    Sounds like something you¡¯d say if you were mad.

    Well, I¡¯m not! What are you even doing up here? It¡¯s freshwater.

    I never said I only lived in the sea.

    Well, where do you live, then?

    Wherever I feel like, as long as the big fish aren¡¯t nearby.

    Big fish?

    Eh. Just some meanie and her dad. They pick on me sometimes. Haven¡¯t seen the girl for a while.

    Define a while?

    A few inches below the water, Palaemon shrugged. I dunno. Years are hard. It was back when all those boats were blowing up. He surfaced, floating on his back, the faint blue of his skin barely visible in the evening gloom. You¡¯d hardly notice in the more tropical waters he favoured, even without the half inch of lichen that coated his body. Joseph had once tried to force some hand-me-downs on the other boy. He¡¯d refused the shirt outright and the shorts had rotted through in a month. Joe wasn¡¯t even sure if his hair was black or green. ¡°What are you doing out here anyway?¡±

    Above the water, Pal¡¯s voice sounded vaguely Grecian. He¡¯d mentioned once that he¡¯d been a prince in those lands once, before being drowned and made into a god.

    Joe could relate, if perhaps from the other direction.

    He sighed. ¡°Jonah¡¯s trying to teach me to hunt again. You know, with a gun.¡±

    ¡°...Why?¡±

    ¡°Beats me. Just a thing that real men are s¡¯posed to learn, I guess.¡±

    ¡°... He knows you¡¯re stronger than a gun, right?¡±

    Joe rolled his eyes. ¡°He¡¯s fully aware.¡±

    Palaemon dived back under for the moment, rising back up again on his belly. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you hang around with that lot, Joe.¡±

    The other boy shrugged, his shirt and parka squelching against each other and themselves. ¡°Eh it beats being lonely. And Mo¡ª¡± he caught himself, ¡°¡ªSarah¡¯s alright. Even Jonah, now and then. He let me try a beer last week."

    "Oh? How was it?"

    Joe puffed up proudly.

    "Totally gross.¡±

    Palaemon wallowed, sending ripples through the mirrored stars. ¡°Daddies are overrated. Me and my mother do fine.¡±

    Joe didn¡¯t ask why he¡¯d never met Pal¡¯s mother. That would¡¯ve been mean.

    It might¡¯ve reminded him of his mother, too.

    Pal said, ¡°You really need to hang out with more gods.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡± Joe lay back against the water, staring up at the stars. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Pal chuckled.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Artemis about your dad and the deer.¡±

    ?

    Jonah and Sarah Allworth were latecomers to parenthood. They¡¯d both been halfway resigned to widow and bachelorhood when they met, and they lived in a time and place where fertility was as inexplicable and mysterious as time or gravity.

    Had they prayed for a son of daughter of their own? Maybe at first. But they had nieces and nephews, and even the odd godchild knocking around Neptune¡¯s Chest. They didn¡¯t need children to complete them.

    But that poor, strange man whose shattered legs couldn¡¯t touch the ground had been so scared. And Joseph was a fine boy.

    Bloody nuisance sometimes, though.

    Jonah scowled around the kitchen table. He was a tall man, seemingly built of dried pine and smoking leather, stretched thin over a frame of knobbly joints. The old man¡¯s eyes were currently fixed on an untouched plate of smoked salmon and potatoes, sullenly surrendering its warmth as steam. ¡°I told him to be back by a quarter to 7.¡±

    ¡°That you did,¡± Sarah said mildly, absently cutting at her fish. She was thicker set than her husband, her plump face framed by expertly tormented red curls.

    ¡°Dang it, woman, why are you eating before we¡¯re all here to say grace?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going hungry on account of Joe being truant. We can say grace twice tomorrow if you¡¯re so bothered.¡±

    ¡°But you going hungry¡¯s the only thing that makes him come home on time!¡±

    ¡°No, the fact my food¡¯s damn good is the reason he comes home. I don¡¯t even think he needs to eat.¡±

    Jonah grunted. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me. That boy¡¯s always coming out with new tricks. Did you see how he scared off that racoon last week?

    ¡°Let me guess. Lightning summoning? Oh. No. Maybe he talked the neighbors cat into chasing it off?¡± In any other conversation, it would have been a joke.

    ¡°I wish! He shot fire out his damn eyes!¡±

    Sarah sipped her cider. ¡°Subtle.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s those damn Superman cartoons,¡± Jonah muttered, half to himself. ¡°Never should¡¯ve let him get his hands on them.¡±

    Sarah laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t think Joe¡¯s ever read a Superman comic.¡±

    Jonah glanced out the window at the wall of night beyond. ¡°What the hell¡¯s he even doing out there? The sun set half an hour ago!¡±

    ¡°I really don¡¯t think that¡¯d give Joe much trouble, dear.¡±

    ¡°Probably with that bloody fish-boy again. He followed us to Iron Bay, you know. Reckon he stole half my catch.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, Jonah, I don¡¯t know why you bother dragging Joe on those hunting trips. The boy could take down a bear by flicking a pebble at it.¡±

    Jonah jabbed at a potato with his fork. ¡°I just want to get the kid interested in something for a change.¡±

    ¡°Joe¡¯s interested in plenty. He rigged up the car to run on the ambient background whatever of the universe, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°I mean something I understand! Not just Joe chucking miracles at me like he¡¯s paying rent.¡± He looked down at his plate. ¡°He makes me feel like the most boring man alive.¡±

    Sarah sighed. ¡°Oh, Jonah.¡± She reached across the table and stroked her husband¡¯s hand. ¡°That just means you¡¯re his father.¡±

    ?

    Joe squirmed impatiently in the back of the Allworths¡¯ black Monarch sedan, watching out the window as the road flowed past like a sluggish river of pitch.

    ¡°You know I could get us to the Falls in fifteen minutes tops, right?¡±

    Sarah looked up from her map at the car-bumper in front of them. ¡°The thought had crossed my mind.¡±

    Hands clenched around the wheel, Jonah asked, ¡°How do you reckon you¡¯d manage that, son?¡±

    Joe grinned and leaned forward. ¡°Easy! I pick the car up and fly you guys!¡±

    Both his parents were silent for a moment.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound very safe, honey,¡± said Sarah.

    ¡°It¡¯s safer than driving there!¡± protested Joe. ¡°Think about it. If that old guy in front of us stops really fast, you two will go straight through the windshield!¡±

    ¡°Bucket of sunshine, you are,¡± Jonah said.

    ¡°I¡¯m serious!¡± Joe tried to figure out how best to sell it. ¡°There¡¯s no bad drivers in the sky!¡±

    Jonah had to admit, that did sound like paradise¡­ somewhere above Earth. That is, he would¡¯ve had to admit that, if he weren¡¯t Joe¡¯s father¡ªand thus exempt from conceding any point to him. ¡°What if ya drop us?¡±

    Joe folded his arms and pouted. ¡°I don¡¯t drop things.¡±

    Jonah grunted. ¡°Maybe so, but I betcha some yank radar-jockey will think we¡¯re a nuclear missile or somethin¡¯ and blow us out of the sky.¡±

    ¡°...I wouldn¡¯t let them do that to you.¡±

    ¡°We know you wouldn¡¯t, Joe.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± said Sarah, ¡°if you flew us we¡¯d miss out on Montreal and whale-watching.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Joe half-muttered. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t wanna miss the whales.¡±

    Jonah looked like he was about to launch into a lecture, but Sarah put a hand on his arm. He nodded, and she twisted around to look at their son. ¡°Tell you what, Joe. If you behave, you can fly above the car the last leg back, deal?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Joe knew what that meant. Hours of hiding above the cloud layer, drifting through the air slower than a zeppelin, all so he wouldn¡¯t outpace a metal wagon that used to eat dead plants and dinosaurs and turned a bit of it into motion before he¡¯d gotten his hands on it.

    You had to take what you could get sometimes.

    ?

    Horseshoe Falls looked like the edge of the world. Joe had read somewhere that the falls were only about a hundred and seventy feet high¡ªsmall pickings for a creature such as him¡ªbut human eyes didn¡¯t see it that way. Great curtains of shining blue water gave way to untold depths of white mist, from which rose only the faintest rainbows. Joe could feel the spray on his face even from behind the railing.

    It was a welcome distraction from the noise, sweat, and minds of the herd of tourists craning for a view all around him. Joe was used to being swamped by human souls, but Neptune¡¯s Chest was a lonely little town, full of the same folk mostly thinking and doing much the same things year in and out. Like the roar of a waterfall, after long enough you grew nearly deaf to it. The people here though were new and numerous, their thoughts all itching with awe, or joy, or boredom.

    Joe looked away from the falls, instead focusing his sight across the border at Niagara Falls, until he could make out people walking the streets and working in the windows of office buildings. With their thoughts so dim and distant, it was the psychic answer to silent cinema. The boy wasn¡¯t sure why the crowds were bothering him so much today. They hadn¡¯t when he¡¯d slipped away to New York City last year, or London just a month before.

    Joe¡¯s father dragged the boy from the comfort of his sulk. ¡°Beautiful, innit?¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Sarah had gone off to do some euphemism for urination, leaving the pair alone. Joe suspected his mother was actually hoping for some kind of male bonding, but didn¡¯t dare read her mind to check.

    Joe didn¡¯t have enough preteen contrarianism to rebut that. ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± He did however have plenty of one upmanship stored up. ¡°Did you know there¡¯s a planet out there with molten gold instead of waterfalls?¡±

    Jonah laughed. ¡°Sure I did, boy, well known piece of trivia like that. Think I saw it in a fact a day calendar.¡±

    Joe had to smother a smile. ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you are. Where is this planet?¡±

    Joe didn¡¯t know why his father bothered asking. What meaning did space coordinates to a Canadian shopkeep who hadn¡¯t left the country since World War 1? Still, at least he was trying to be interesting for once.

    The boy tried to remember, but he couldn¡¯t find the answer. He couldn¡¯t recall whether the world was in this galaxy, or if it lay beyond the Milky Way entirely. Now that he thought about it, he wasn¡¯t certain if the planet was real, or a dream of his mother¡¯s. His real mother.

    Maybe the vagueness was deliberate. Star-gods lived forever. When you measure your life in terms like aeons and kalpas, you don¡¯t deny your children mystery or new experiences.

    Or maybe it was yet another thing his mother hadn¡¯t got to tell him.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Joe answered. Unexpected tears were stinging the corner of his eyes. ¡°I can¡¯t remember.¡±

    Jonah wrapped an arm around his son. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Joe, I believe ya.¡±

    Joe fumed at the embrace, even as he sunk into it. What could Jonah know about what he¡¯d lost? What could any human being?

    ¡°Not sure about those gold-falls, though.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Joe asked quietly.

    ¡°Well, molten gold¡¯s hot as heck, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°And a place where it just pours down in the open air like that wouldn¡¯t have the right¡±¡ªJonah clicked his fingers as he searched for the word¡ª¡°atmosphere for folks to breathe. You wouldn¡¯t be able to see them up close.¡±

    ¡°I could,¡± Joe pointed out sullenly.

    ¡°But you wouldn¡¯t be able to share it with anyone.¡± The old man gestured towards the Horseshoe. ¡°We can share this, can¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Joe answered flatly.

    That was the choice for him, wasn¡¯t it? Be alone, or paddle in the shallow end of experience, just so everyone he knew wouldn¡¯t drown.

    Palaemon didn¡¯t have to choose. Neither did Joe¡¯s brothers and sisters, riding the strings between stars somewhere out there in the void. He was sick of it.

    Jonah decided his son needed some space. He let go of the boy. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go find your ma. You alright here?¡±

    Joe rested his elbows on the railing. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Good, good.¡± Jonah turned and walked towards the park grass. He wasn¡¯t sure why he asked Joe that kind of question. The Russians could drop a damn nuke right now and he¡¯d come out alright.

    Joe looked back out at the waterfall. He¡¯d mentioned it to Pal before they left. Turned out the godling had visited the place before white men arrived on the continent.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to try diving off. It¡¯s great!¡±

    Joe wondered where he could find some swimming trunks¡­

    ?

    The hungry looking young man in the patched duster coat prowled the pavement rimming the horseshoe, trying to sift through the voices without drowning in them.

    ...She bolts one more time, I¡¯m buying a leash.

    Why does Canada get the best falls?

    God, what if she knows? No, she can¡¯t¡ª

    The man slowed his pace, letting his mind follow warbling, clammy string of dread winding through the crowds to its source. It was a fella (American by the tint of his thoughts) wearing the kind of bright, floral shirt you only bought if you needed something to replace a personality, leaning against the railing and staring out at the falls like he was planning on sailing off them.

    The man focused on the tourist. Images of a woman flooded his mind¡¯s eyes. Two women in fact.

    The man smiled. Perfect. He pulled a piece of scrap paper from inside his coat, and started after the tourist.

    Christoper Barbieri would never have called himself a super. Supers wore capes and fabulous, gaudily coloured outfits wrapped around physiques that would¡¯ve struck the Vitruvian Man dumb with envy. Chris Barbieri was a cadaverous, prematurely graying twenty-one year old whose best piece of attire looked like it had been scavenged off a Confederate battlefield and hadn¡¯t been washed since. Supers flew through the air and hefted cars over their head. Chris Barbieri just read minds.

    Chris managed to slip the paper into the man¡¯s back pocket and merge back into the human throng without him noticing. He wondered how long it would take Karl Jeffs to find the note:

    I know what you did. Two hundred dollars U.S under the bench by the toilet block by noon tomorrow, or I send out the pictures.

    There were no pictures, of course, but Chris doubted it would be a problem. The fear was usually enough, especially for love-cheats. Just mentioning his old man¡¯s fling with the laundress got him dumped at the children¡¯s home, after all.

    Chris found the bench where hopefully he¡¯d be picking up Karl¡¯s cash and collapsed into it. He pulled a-flask from the pocket next to his many identical blackmail notes and took a hard swig, trying to douse the thought-fires and be alone in his own head.

    At least Karl wasn¡¯t another kiddy-fiddler. Ripping those fuckers off was like blood money.

    He watched the near-solid wall of human flesh and fabric gawking over the railing. Tourist traps were always a decent hunting ground. People looking for escape. On some level, Christoper knew there had to be a better use for his talents. Poker, maybe? Sometimes he even contemplated offering himself up to the Special Branch, or even the Yanks, but he had the sneaking suspicion that would end with his brain bobbing in a jar of formaldehyde.

    Still, couldn¡¯t he find a better class of guilty moron? The politicians and captains of industry always seemed to be somewhere else when he needed a payday.

    Excitement ran through the crowd like flame down a fuse. People were shouting and pointing at the falls like they¡¯d snap-frozen.

    ¡°Where¡¯d he come from?¡±

    ¡°Is he standing on a rock?¡±

    ¡°Jesus!¡±

    That last one sounded less like an oath and more like exultation. Curious, Christopher forced his way through the crowd to the railing, swearing and wishing he could actually affect thoughts all the while.

    A boy was standing ankle-deep at the crest of the waterfall, waving and blowing kisses towards the viewing platform. All Chris could make out from that distance was that he was very, very blond, and clad in a pair of shorts.

    He was just within the psychic¡¯s range¡ª

    Chris violently vomited whiskey and middle-grade beef mince into the mist below.

    ¡°You alright, friend?¡± asked a Newfoundland lady with bug-like sunglasses.

    Christopher coughed and wiped the bile from his mouth. ¡°Yeah, bit of the bug.¡± It was like he¡¯d went to open a book and got the whole library dropped on him. From space.

    The Newfoundland woman had turned her attention back to the boy on the waterfall. ¡°Oh, God, is he going to jump?¡±

    Indeed, the boy had his leg stretched out behind him and his knee bent like he was poised for a race to start. People were shouting things like ¡°Don¡¯t do it!¡± and from the more stupid or ghoulish, ¡°Jump! Jump!¡±

    The boy shot forward, fearlessly leaping clear of the water into the open air. He almost seemed to hang there for a moment as he curled into a cannonball, until sullen gravity greedily snatched him down into the mist.

    The silence almost drowned out the waterfall. It was the kind of shock that took up space while the brain caught up to the fact it just watched a child die.

    The boy exploded up out of the mist, water vapour streaming off his shoulders as he soared into the sky, above the water and the sea of applause that roared long after he disappeared into the clouds above.

    Chris clapped right along with them. It wasn¡¯t everyday you saw a proper super in the flesh.

    Amidst the wonder, awe, and the odd bulb of fear, two clusters of emotion stood out like mud on silver. Two delicate filigrees of worry, anger, and irritation. Plain old irritation. At a flying boy. They were laced through an old couple, glaring at the sky like their grandkid had thrown a tantrum in the middle of the grocery.

    Chris focused his power on the pair.

    He smiled to himself. Maybe Karl could keep his money.

    ?

    As a telepathic space-deity raised by humans since birth, Joseph should have known how his parents would take the dive. As a ten year old boy, that was impossible.

    ¡°Why are you guys being so crazy?¡±

    Sarah and Jonah had returned to their motel room to find their son grinning on the bed, his curls still damp, kicking his feet cheerfully.

    This hadn¡¯t improved their mood.

    Mrs Allworth had her arms folded. ¡°Young man, neither me nor your father are either ¡®crazy¡¯ or ¡®you guys¡¯ for that  And you know full well why we¡¯re not happy.¡±

    ¡°Why should I?¡± muttered Joe. ¡°I¡¯m not s¡¯posed to read your minds.¡±

    Jonah¡¯s mouth was hard and thin. ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb with us, Joe. You¡¯re no good at it.¡±

    ¡°...The folks didn¡¯t think it was so bad.¡±

    Jonah groaned. ¡°You know that¡¯s not the point. For Christ¡¯s sake, the dive was bad enough, but that flying malarkey? It¡¯d almost be salvageable if you just stayed under.¡±

    Joe scowled. ¡°What? Let everyone think I was dead.¡±

    Gently, Sarah said, ¡°They¡¯d have gotten over it eventually.¡±

    An eye-roll. ¡°But then everyone in this town would be all sad and confused. It¡¯d be like swimming through really depressed pudding.¡±

    Sarah and Jonah looked at each other. Sometimes they still didn¡¯t know what to say to some of the things their son came out with.

    ¡°And you¡¯d probably keep me all cooped up in here till we went home.¡±

    Jonah scoffed. ¡°You think that¡¯s off the table, do ya?¡±

    Joe shook his head in silent outrage. ¡°Why would you?¡±

    ¡°In case someone spots the boy who¡¯ll definitely be in all the papers tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Oh, get real dad. Human eyes are garbage, nobody there¡¯s going to recognize me. Or did all the other blond boys go extinct when I wasn¡¯t looking? I¡¯m not even the only kid in Canada who can fly!¡±

    ¡°And another thing,¡± Sarah snapped. ¡°Enough of these cracks about ordinary folks being oh so worse than you at everything. It¡¯s rude.¡±

    ¡°But humans eyes are bad!¡±

    ¡°Little Walt in your class has bad legs. Do you gloat about that?¡±

    ¡°...Why is it so bad if people know I can fly?¡±

    Sarah sighed, pulling her husband over so they could sit on either side of their son. She rested an arm across his legs.

    ¡°When Joe Bell brought you to us, he said he was being chased¡ª¡±

    Joe Bell¡¯s namesake pushed away Sarah¡¯s hand, jumping to his feet. They didn¡¯t quite touch the dirty shag carpet. ¡°Stop telling me that story! I remember.¡±

    Joe was panting. Jonah and Sarah always did this. Treating him as though he were some foggy-minded human boy with a memory like a sieve. He remembered Joe Bell; much more than the Allworths did. For God¡¯s sake, he had to tell them he wasn¡¯t his father.

    He remembered his mother¡¯s womb, and her teaching him the customs of atoms, and how to find purchase in the underside of reality.

    He remembered the creature that killed her.

    ¡°That thing is dead! I watched it burn.¡±

    Jonah said, ¡°But Bell¡ª¡±

    ¡°Bell was crazy scared and full of space-poison!¡±

    Sarah looked hard at her son. ¡°We don¡¯t speak ill of the dead.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®speaking ill¡¯! I¡¯m telling the truth!¡±

    ¡°We just want to keep you safe, Joe,¡± said Jonah quietly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± Joe screamed. ¡°I¡¯m tired of pretending to be all small because you¡¯re such a scaredy cat!¡±

    Sarah frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t talk to your father like that!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not my dad!¡±

    Jonah looked twenty years older in an instant. His eyes shone as though he¡¯d been stabbed in the ribs. Sarah had a hand to her mouth.

    Joe stared at his parents, suddenly feeling very small indeed. He felt like he¡¯d put a crack in the world.

    The door flung open of its own accord, and Joe burst out into the night.

    Jonah ran after him. ¡°Joe!¡± he cried. ¡°Wait!¡±

    It was no use. Joe was just a patch of night in the sky now.

    ¡°Son¡­¡±

    ?

    It was Sarah who convinced Jonah they needed to head home.

    ¡°The store needs us. And I don¡¯t want our boy coming home to an empty house.¡±

    She was right, of course. They¡¯d already lingered in Niagara three days longer than they¡¯d planned. For five days, they pulled into every pit-stop hoping to spot Joe leaning against the gas-pump. Every child with a hint of gold in their hair wore their son¡¯s face.

    Their home was as empty as a tomb after the Second Coming. But life went on.

    ¡°So how were the falls, Mr. Allworth?¡± asked Johnathan Katzman at the store one day.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Jonah grunted as he rang up his neighbour¡¯s groceries.

    Katzman grinned slyly. ¡°Did ya get to see that flying lad in the paper?¡±

    Jonah couldn¡¯t quite decide whether Katzman was being dense or an ass. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Ah, shame.¡±

    Dense.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Joe around since you¡¯ve gotten back.¡±

    Dense and an ass.

    ¡°He¡¯s staying with my sister down in Ontario.¡±

    ¡°Hope he¡¯s having a good time.¡±

    What was he supposed to say? That his son was out there in the wilds of the world, doing things neither of them could imagine? That he might never come back?

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he is.¡±

    That night, the Allworths sat around the kitchen table, mechanically consuming their supper.

    Sarah¡¯s face was hidden from her husband by a copy of the Vancouver Sun.

    ¡°I thought we weren¡¯t supposed to read at the dinner table?¡±

    ¡°Special circumstances, honey.¡±

    Mrs Allworth had been studying every newspaper she could get her hands on religiously, searching for any reference to her son. Once the dive at Horseshoe Falls passed from the news-cycle, ready to be resurrected in bars all across North America, none had been forthcoming.

    Mr. Allworth looked at the third place his wife had set like the plate of battered shark had personally betrayed him. ¡°You¡¯re wasting good food, you know.¡±

    ¡°Not if Joe turns up tonight.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t need to eat.¡±

    ¡°You could probably stand to skip a meal a day, but I still cook for you.¡±

    Jonah¡¯s cutlery rattled against the ceramic. ¡°Sarah¡­ do you ever wonder if Joe really needs us?¡±

    Sarah¡¯s answer was immediate, nearly casual, ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Not even sometimes?¡±

    ¡°Not at all.¡±

    ¡°But he¡¯s so bloody bright! The boy does our taxes every year! Nothing can hurt him!¡±

    ¡°Jonah, is Joe a person?¡±

    ¡°What kind of a question is that?¡±

    Sarah repeated herself evenly, ¡°Is Joe a person.¡±

    ¡°Of course he is! Or he¡¯s close enough.¡±

    ¡°People don¡¯t just need other people to feed them and fight off the wolves and what not. We need each other so we¡¯re not alone.¡±

    Jonah tried to take comfort in the idea. But Joe wasn¡¯t the only one of his kind, was he? There was a whole race of¡­ the Protestant in him wasn¡¯t comfortable with what his son called them.

    Was that where Joe was? Had he gone home?

    There was a knock at the front door.

    Hope and dread both hammered inside Sarah. ¡°Jonah, go¡ª¡±

    Her husband was already standing up. ¡°It¡¯s not Joe.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°What little boy knocks at their own front door?¡±

    There was a man in a patched duster-coat waiting behind the door.

    ¡°Hi!¡± Christopher Barbieri said with forced, rugged cheer. ¡°My car¡¯s broken down. Do you have a phone I could use?¡±

    ?

    Two hundred miles off the coast of British Columbia and hundreds of feet beneath the sea, Joseph Allworth was building himself a clubhouse.

    It¡¯d have a library, an arcade, and chocolate, and his dad would not be allowed.

    It had been a busy fortnight for the boy. For starters, he hadn¡¯t slept since fleeing his family¡¯s motel room. If it weren¡¯t for the subsequent blur of excitement, Joe might have been starting to feel it.

    He¡¯d dropped in on Olympus and charmed the deathless ones with gifts, even the grave and resplendent King Athena. So pleased they were with the strange, barbarian godling, they let Joe taste their sacred ambrosia.

    It was okay. Joe was never super-fond of honey.

    After that, he¡¯d spent the weekend riding whales with Palaemon, before tapping on the Gatehouse¡¯s windows. Then he¡¯d headed to the Arctic, where he found Franklin¡¯s grave, and the Terror and the Erebus to boot.

    Finally, he¡¯d acquired the autograph of every superhero (and not a small chunk of the supervillains) in Canada, from the Blue Tornado to Miss Mighty.

    It was that last endeavour that set Joe¡¯s thoughts towards construction. Got to have somewhere to keep the autographs (and the Erebus and the Terror).

    First he¡¯d considered the Arctic, but aside from driving himself mad with Superman jokes, with humanity¡¯s success rate at kicking its fossil fuel habit, that could be iffy in the decades and centuries to come. There was the Moon, but did he really want to deal with the Gatekeeper griping about the noise?

    The sea it was.

    Naked to the chill of the Pacific, the young god worked in darkness. His bare hands twisted, cut, and shattered metal and rock, material abundance and inhuman power filling the gaps of tools or training.

    He''d started with a wreck. Some old hulk from decades back, found on some lazy January Saturday when he was playing with Palaemon. At the time, they''d just been having fun searching the corridors of the place, Pal taking every opportunity to scare Joe half to death with the corpses of the crew.

    At first, he''d just come back to bury them. Then, while he was lugging the last load of corpses through the command deck, he''d given the place one last look, and his ever-active imagination had once more run away.

    The hull itself was largely intact; besides a few chunks missing from either a decade or two of rust, or whatever had sunk the thing in the first place. It was easy enough to fix. Well, it was so long as he didn''t mind that it''d never be a boat again. All he needed were materials.

    That had been three months ago.

    A hundred tonnes of green diamond and sapphire, scraped from the hearts of asteroids and poured into window frames in the deserts of the Moon. Three miles of homespun carbon cabling, and over ten thousand cubic metres of atmosphere, laboriously dragged beneath the surface in what might as well have been an oversized bucket.

    Even for him, the process was exhausting. But on the upside, Joe''s jewel was finally taking shape.

    Joe was floating a few hundred feet beneath the surface of the sea, admiring how his structure''s silhouette sat against the empty void: a blue rose waiting to bloom, glimmering in the light from the far distant moon, sitting below the waves, moving with the current, but for the leagues deep tether anchoring it to the seabed.

    A ways away, he could hear a whale, calling for its calf.

    Kinda small, he admitted to himself, a little grudgingly. But he could always expand, right? This was just the seed.

    He wondered what his dad¡ª

    Wait, what did he care what Jonah thought about his creation? Wasn¡¯t this all so he didn¡¯t have to go back to his stupid ranch-colonial bleh? And why did he bother installing oxygen in the thing? He didn¡¯t need to breathe, Pal didn¡¯t need to breathe; hardly anyone he¡¯d be inviting over needed to breathe. Yeah, he was starting a garden, but there were plenty of water-plants and coral out there. Why did he want to plant Jonah¡¯s lousy begonias?

    Frustrated, Joe shot up to the surface, alighting on the tiny, rocky island he¡¯d raised to keep his clothes dry.

    Dressing among the foam-capped waves, he took to the sky, off to do something deeply embarrassing.

    ?

    Unfortunately, the Allworths did not keep a phone in the house. What they did have was a warm meal and plenty of Christian hospitality, both of which Chris Barbieri accepted with gusto.

    ¡°So it turned out these twins¡¯ had both been messing around with each other¡¯s wives! Might as well have swapped pas!¡±

    Sarah and Jonah both laughed. Their unexpected guest for the evening was turning out to be a great relief. Chris seemed full of all manner of salacious stories. Neither Allworth considered themselves gossips, but when folk at their church got up to bemoan their sinful pasts, they both leaned forward a little.

    Plus, it was nice having something young and hungry to look after again.

    Sarah was in danger of cutting right through her plate. ¡°So you¡¯re telling me his secretary had been embezzling from him how long?¡±

    ¡°Ten years. Poor fool thought it was everyone but her. I think he ended up in an actual pauper¡¯s grave. I didn¡¯t even know they still had those.¡±

    Sarah laughed.

    Enjoyable as it all was, Jonah thought there was something odd about Chris¡¯ stories. They didn¡¯t sound fake, exactly. They had too many little details for that. But there was an odd distance to the telling. Chris never bothered to explain how he knew the people in his stories. Were those philandering twins his friends? Uncles? Cousins?

    ¡°So, what do you do for a living, son?¡± Jonah asked.

    Christopher shrugged, answering through a mouthful of fish, ¡°This and that. Never really had what¡¯d you call a career. After the home I worked in a tinning factory until the soldiers wanted their jobs back. Sold Bibles door to door for a while.¡±

    That last bit was true. Guilty thoughts had a way of rising to the surface when you waved scripture in people¡¯s faces.

    ¡°That must¡¯ve been fulfilling,¡± Sarah remarked.

    ¡°Less money in it than you¡¯d think. I mean, most folks are Christian, but that just means they all already own one. And the Jews get so persnickety if you try selling to them.¡±

    The Allworths both laughed. Chris decided to take the shot:

    ¡°So, I heard in town you folks have a son.¡±

    Jonah¡¯s muscles tensed.

    Sarah said, ¡°Yes. Joseph. He¡¯s ten.¡±

    ¡°I also heard he¡¯s¡­ talented.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t every child?¡± asked Jonah, a little more sharply than he intended.

    Barbieri smiled. ¡°I mean, talented the way the Blue Tornado is.¡±

    The air in the Allworths¡¯ kitchen could have turned to glass.

    Jonah cleared his throat. ¡°Mr. Barbieri, I¡¯m beginning to think your car is perfectly fine.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have one.¡±

    Sarah sighed. ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    Well, might as well go for broke. ¡°I was there at Niagara.¡±

    Jonah didn¡¯t bother trying to deny it, instead only glaring at the young man.

    ¡°You folks run the general store around here, don¡¯tcha?¡±

    Sarah nodded slowly. ¡°Yes. My father left it to me. Good honest work.¡±

    Christoper laughed, long and loud. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    Jonah was going to rebuke the language, but Chris kept going.

    ¡°Your son is an honest to God¡­ god, and you people run a podunk little shop?¡± His eyes darted from Allworth to Allworth, gleaming like he was letting the old couple in on a secret. ¡°Think about it. A boy who can do what he can, a man of the world like me, you two could spend your dotage in palaces!¡±

    Sarah¡¯s table scraped against the linoleum as she stood up. ¡°Stop right there, Mr. Barbieri. I know what you¡¯re suggesting, but me and Jonah swore soon as we realized what Joe could do we wouldn¡¯t take advantage. He¡¯s our son, not the goose that lays the golden eggs.¡±

    Jonah just say there, his fists clenched under the table.

    Chris stammered. ¡°But¡ªbut¡ª¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as a very¡­ comfortable young man, Barbieri. Trust me, I know how that feels.¡± Sarah gestured at her husband. ¡°Me and my husband could always use an extra set of hands at the shop. That offers come with free room and board, now.¡±

    Jonah blinked. ¡°Now wait a sec, Sarah¡ª¡±

    Chris threw his hands up. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Mr. Allworth.¡± The young man rose from the table, walking towards the hallway to the front door. ¡°I didn¡¯t come all this way to work at a shop. Thank you for the meal.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re very welcome,¡± Sarah said reflexively.

    Christopher stopped walking. ¡°You be careful now,¡±  he said over his shoulder. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want word of your boy getting back to that thing Old Joe Bell was running fro¡ª¡±

    Jonah lunged from his chair, grabbing Chris Barbieri by the throat and slamming him against the wall, a family picture cracking behind his skull.

    The man kicked and thrashed like a fish in the air, but Jonah didn¡¯t care. His face was white.

    ¡°You bastard! You come into my home threaten my son! A little boy!¡±

    He smacked Barbieri against the blaster and broken glass again. His wife was shouting, but he couldn¡¯t hear her.

    ¡°Who sent you? Who?¡±

    Christopher went limp in the old man¡¯s hands. His eyes stared unseeing.

    It took Jonah a moment to realize what he¡¯d done. He let go of the young man. He slid down to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Jonah¡¯s hands were shaking. His wife¡¯s hand was on his shoulder.

    ¡°Jonah¡­ what did you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    A light thud, almost inaudible, like small, bare feet against pavement.

    There was a knock at the door.

 Chapter Fifty-Six : The Brauronia of Allison Kinsey

    ¡°Whether or not the mooches and parasites wish to admit it, the days of the mediocre pinning down the exceptional beneath state and church are over. The Flying Man did not heed the whining of politicians and so called ¡®patriots¡¯ when he snatched the atom from their fumbling hands, and neither shall the rest of his kind. The true superman¡¯s only code is their own will and ambition, and the base and common live at their sufferance¡ª¡°

    Timothy Valour switched off the tape-player. Ayn Rand was a powerful motivator, but only in very precise doses<sup>1</a></sup>.

    It was nearly two in the morning, but pale blue light was slicing through the gap in Valour¡¯s new office curtains. Between the streetlights and fluorescent lamps leering from every high rise window in Melbourne, it was as though dawn had snuck past the wall of night.

    What was left of the Australian parliament had fled Canberra to its Victorian birthplace, and Timothy of course had followed. Someone had to hold things together. Not that he would¡¯ve claimed to be doing a good job.

    Valour hadn¡¯t seen his own bed in days. Whenever he tried picturing his wife or his house (whether intact or burned and blasted) all that came to him was more paperwork, lined with terse, official prose that failed to mask the panic bleeding from every word like wet ink. His life had been reduced to urgent, frantic meetings with shell-shocked politicians and angry Americans with hungry eyes. At least the mother country was keeping its distance, for now.

    Operation Prometheus had turned into a massacre. Every student at the New Human Institute was dead or missing. Agent Moretti has been killed, his body whisked away by the Americans before a coroner could get a look in. Major Yerrick, Tim¡¯s last surviving war buddy, was found burned to death, his flesh mingled with molten rock. The only soldier who¡¯d returned from the mission was Fran?oise Barthe¡¯s assassin, and Tim didn¡¯t even want to think about what had become of him.

    One of those facts was about to change.

    Tim was still enough of a soldier to notice when the shouting started seeping through his window. He didn¡¯t even have time to check before his young secretary barged in, all decorum forgotten.

    ¡°Sir, I think you need to see this.¡±

    Almost the entire overburdened night-shift had spilled out onto the front lawn of the provisional DDHA Headquarters. They were pointing and gawking at dozens of hogtied soldiers, screaming and thrashing against their rough rope bindings.

    And above it all, the Flying Man, floating in the night sky.

    Timothy slowly approached the one bound man who wasn¡¯t wearing a uniform. He was well past fighting age, clad in a ruined green suit and sporting a washed out red beard.

    Tim tried to resist kicking the old man. ¡°Herbert,¡± he spat.

    Dr. Lawrence stared up at his former friend with resigned, wet eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Tim.¡±

    Timothy didn¡¯t answer him, instead turning his gaze up towards the Flying Man. The superhuman was looking down at the crowd with open contempt. Tim felt like he was looking right at him. Maybe he was.

    Tim shouted up at the sky. ¡°What the hell do you want from me?¡± The shout became a scream, ¡°What was I supposed to do!¡±

    Joe Allworth gave no answer, his shadow shrinking against the Moon as he left the old soldier alone in the crowd.

    ?

    On a dark, grassy shore, three children came into existence. They were very confused.

    David shouted, ¡°Where are we?¡±

    Billy looked desperately at Mabel. ¡°Did we do something wrong? Why¡¯d Allie zap us?¡±

    ¡°How should I know?¡± Mabel yelled back, regretting it immediately as the tiger-boy burst into tears.

    Another green flash lit the night, depositing Arnold and Allison amongst the children. They were holding hands.

    Mabel jumped backwards, dropping her picture-binder before shaking off the shock and marching up to Allison, scowling right in her face. ¡°What the hell, Allie?¡±

    Allison blinked dazedly at Mabel. The other girl¡¯s face was tattooed with bold, angular chains of nested cubes and chevrons, flowing and interlocking with each other like drakes of architecture. They glowed bright pink in the morning, pulsing softly in the morning dark with the faintest ice-blue edging. Had they been there before?

    Allison swayed on her feet. ¡°Sorry, Mabs. Had to get you somewhere safe?¡±

    ¡°Safe from what?¡±

    ¡°The soldiers, the Flying Man,¡± answered Allison absently.

    ¡°What?¡± David asked. ¡°The Flying Man was there? What was he doing?¡±

    Allison looked at the water-sprite. She could see all of him now, all at once. The brown little boy, the water, the ice¡­

    ¡°Dunno,¡± she said. ¡°Gosh, you¡¯re pretty, David.¡±

    David wrinkled his nose and looked at Arnold questioningly. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Allie? Her eyes¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know.¡± The boy wrapped a balancing arm around Allison¡¯s bare torso. ¡°She just said we needed to leave and we teleported each other.¡±

    Allison looked at Arnold. His presentation was far more modest than Mabel and David¡¯s: a simple calligraphic mark inscribed on his forehead in glowing lime ink. She wondered why she hadn¡¯t noticed it before, or why he was talking about her like she wasn¡¯t there.

    Now it was Billy¡¯s turn to hurl questions at Allison. ¡°What¡¯s happening at school? Is Dawnie and everyone okay?¡±

    Allison just stared at the boy. He was tattooed like Mabel, perfectly visible through his fur. His markings were disjointed, haphazard jumbles of green and pink, yellow and purple. Some sections were sharp and straight, others layered and jumbled like broken Chinese puzzle balls. They didn¡¯t interface so much as run into each other. Messy, but it worked.

    ¡°Allie?¡±

    Allison shuddered. ¡°Sorry. They¡¯re dead.¡±

    Arnold almost dropped her. The other children began squawking questions at Allison like a flock of troubled birds.

    Allison was transfixed. She had always been able to hear feelings in songs, but now she could see them, too. Sour constellations of anger, confusion and fear ignited in her friends¡¯ heads¡ªcoherent, beautiful patterns rising from bright and shining chaos like a symphony of stars.

    Mabel was shaking her. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®dead¡¯?¡±

    ¡°I mean¡­¡±

    Allison slipped from Arnold¡¯s grip, falling like a stone to the thin, rugged grass.

    She never knew fear could be so beautiful.

    ?

    Allison dreamt for what felt like aeons. She dreamt of the silent beauty of lonely stars, scattered over wild, endless voids, where kinder things than she knew swam through the dark. Of worlds of black diamond, cracked with gleaming, white hot rivers. Of fonts in space-time pouring light and matter back out into creation. Of the naked hearts of dead suns, so dense the walls of atoms crumbled within them, and single seconds stretched on forever.

    Sometimes Allison¡¯s dreams were pulled back down to Earth. She found herself playing on narrow cobbled streets smothered with the scent of freshly baked bread and hot cassoeula. Or she would be sitting across from frightened old men and brave young fools in dark rooms, while black-shirted werewolves stood waiting to be fed.

    Then the cosmic would fall upon the provincial like starlight, and she would be playing hide and seek with a golden haired nymph in the canyons of the moon, or swimming after her in the corona of the sun.

    ¡°Wake up.¡±

    Allison ignored the scolding male voice, chasing the nymph¡ªor was that David?¡ªthrough the river of the Milky Way, her graceful limbs sweeping through stars and worlds like water.

    ¡°Wake up!¡±

    Allison jerked awake. She was lying on a thick bed of leaves, sunlight dappling down on her through a thick canopy of branches that filtered the sky like Ventian glass. It dimly reminded Allison of her arboreal cathedral back at Parliament House.

    ¡°Allie!¡±

    Before Allison could say anything, Mabel yanked her up into a bear-vice of a hug.

    ¡°We thought you weren¡¯t ever gonna wake up!¡±

    Allison managed to replace some of the air Mabel knocked out of her. ¡°¡­Hey Mabs. How long was I asleep?¡±

    ¡°A whole day!¡± Mabel called out, ¡°Guys, Allie¡¯s awake!¡±

    Broken twigs and cracking leaves beneath hurrying feet. Billy and Arnold almost knocked the girls to the ground.

    Arnold sounded on the brink brink of tears as he embraced them. ¡°You¡¯re okay!

    Billy just nuzzled his fur against Allison¡¯s cheek. She sank into the hug.

    The fur pulled away. ¡°Oh, your eyes are still doing the thing.¡±

    Allison blinked at Billy. ¡°What thing?¡±

    ¡°Um¡­¡± Mabel stepped back and conjured a hand-mirror, surprisingly reflective for something rendered in oils. She held it up to her friend¡¯s face.

    Allison¡¯s eyes glowed bright like fresh dragon¡¯s blood, the whites lost in their red glare.

    She tried making them go hazel again. They didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Does it hurt?¡± Arnold asked. ¡°Can you still see alright?¡±

    She could. That almost surprised Allison. Shouldn¡¯t it be like trying to see with a torch in her face? Then again, it never seemed to bother¡ª

    ¡°Where¡¯s David?¡±

    ¡°Allie, your eyes are glowing.¡±

    ¡°Where is he?¡± Allison asked again.

    Mabel waved her hand. ¡°He¡¯s playing with some kids from town.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Town? Where are we?¡±

    Arnold tilted his head. ¡°What? How do you not know? The Dam was your idea.¡±

    ¡°The d¡ªwait, Harvey Dam?¡±

    Allison remembered now. She remembered a lot of things. She started walking towards the edge of the trees. ¡°I need to find David, alright?¡±

    Mabel tried to follow her. ¡°Allie, wait! Before you went to sleep, you said everyone was¡ª¡°

    Allison looked back at the other girl with burning, plaintive eyes. ¡°I know, but can I just find David first? I¡­ it¡¯s not something I want to have to talk about over and over.¡±

    Mabel stopped. ¡°¡­Yeah, sure. Be careful, okay?l

    She watched Allison go. Arnold walked up next to her. ¡°What do you think¡¯s wrong with her eyes?¡±

    ¡°No idea,¡± said Mabel.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a growing up thing?¡± suggested Billy. ¡°Like getting taller or¡­¡± He gestured vaguely around his chest.

    Arnold shrugged. ¡°Probably should¡¯ve gotten her pants or something.¡±

    ¡°Or sunglasses,¡± Mabel added warily.

    ?

    When she woke up (because of course she would) David thought to himself, he really ought to thank Allison for zapping them all to Harvey Dam. The place was full of hidden, green corners to explore. And the water itself¡ªhe hadn¡¯t gotten to swim so deep since Lake Burley Griffin. Still fresh and bland on his tongue, but full of life and current nonetheless.

    Even more wonderful, though, was the company. As it turned out, Harvey Dam was very popular with families in the summer. And children on holiday didn¡¯t much question a naked, strangely accented coloured boy sharing the water with them.

    ¡°Go long, David!

    Liam tossed a rugby ball over the waist-deep water. He was a chubby, pale boy, with frizzy red hair that settled on top of his head like a damp sponge.

    David ran backwards through the squishy lake mud like he was trying to keep apace with a falling star. He just managed to snatch the ball out of the air before it splashed down. In so doing, David himself overbalanced, falling into the murk with a wet ¡®splat¡¯. He popped back up a moment later, grinning ear to ear.

    David threw the ball over his head in triumph. It was the first time he¡¯d actually played rugby, or football as Liam insisted on calling it. Soccer¡ªnever by that name when Alberto was in earshot¡ªhad always been the preeminent game of choice at the New Human Institute. David had never felt so¡­ Aussie.

    ¡°Goal!¡±

    Liam sighed. ¡°I told you, David, footy doesn¡¯t work that way.¡±

    ¡°And I told you to stop saying my name all English, so nhyyaa!¡± He poked his tongue at the other boy.

    ¡°Aww, lay off him,¡± said Liam¡¯s sister Gwen, floating on her back. She was as pale and red haired as her older brother, but her eyes were a shade of green that almost matched David¡¯s, much to his amusement. It somewhat perplexed the boy why she wore a one piece while her brother could get away without a shirt, but he was used to humans being weird about that sort of thing.

    ¡°Besides,¡± she said, ¡°not like there¡¯s goalposts in the water. And David¡¯s all foreign anyway. Maybe that¡¯s what it looks like over in¡­ where¡¯d you say you were from?¡±

    David was looking very smug. ¡°France!¡± he answered cheerily.

    It was strange, hearing strangers use his real name, without having to be told it wasn¡¯t Maelstrom or Mealy or whatever other stupid nickname stupid people called him. Strange and amazing.

    Gwen thrashed suddenly, her lower half falling under the water. ¡°Gaaah!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± asked David.

    Gwen regained her bearings. ¡°I think a fish brushed me.¡±

    Liam sniggered. ¡°What a girl¡ªaaaaugh!¡± The boy kicked violently. ¡°Something grabbed me!¡±

    A little girl broke the surface next to David, fish-pale with water-dark chestnut hair and eyes like magma.

    She grinned. ¡°There you are, David!¡±

    The boy tensed. What was Allison thinking? You didn¡¯t see him walking around with glowing eyes in front of the naturals. He hadn¡¯t even used his powers anymore than it took to be the winner of any and all splash fights. And why hadn¡¯t he noticed Allison in the water?

    Liam was scowling at the girl. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to be grabby, kid.¡±

    David tilted his head. Were Harvey children the masters of tact, or was he severely misinformed about the range of human eye colours?

    Gwen seemed to be taking it with better humour than her brother. ¡°Oh, you know David?¡±

    No comment on the eyes from her, either.

    David decided to make the introduction. ¡°Guys, this is¡ª¡±

    Allison threw her arm around David¡¯s shoulders. ¡°His cousin, Mary-Anne.¡±

    David blinked at her, before an insistent, very familiar voice inside him hissed:

    Go along with it! I knew these kids from before!

    You did?

    Yeah. Gwen was in my class. She always bragged about getting free ice-cream ¡®cause her daddy owns the dairy. I think that¡¯s why her brother¡ª

    The thought-line broke off. David got the vague mental image of Allison shaking her head.

    Anyway, don¡¯t want them knowing it¡¯s me.

    David thought, But why don¡¯t they recognise you? He squinted at the McNally siblings, much to their confusion. They aren¡¯t blind, are they? Another question hit him like a wave. Wait, are you brain-speaking? How do you still have Alberto¡¯s¡ª

    I¡¯ll tell you when the humans are gone, okay?

    ¡°Huh,¡± Gwen said. ¡°You don¡¯t sound French.¡±

    ¡°Mary-Anne¡± shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m good at languages.¡±

    David wondered if pretending to be blood-family was the best idea. He knew from both experience and Haunt¡¯s loud explanations that white folks could get uptight about families with more than one shade to them. On the other hand, he had no clue how this ruse was working, if it even was.

    ¡°So,¡± said Liam, ¡°wanna play Marco Polo or something?¡±

    Unsurprisingly, Allison dominated at every game that couldn¡¯t be decided by pure size. They played with the McNallys for nearly three hours, until the afternoon sky began to dull and their parents called them out of the water.

    ¡°Bye, David!¡± Gwen called as she followed her brother back onto the shore. ¡°It was nice meeting you!¡± Almost as an afterthought, she added, ¡°You too, Mary-Anne!¡±

    ¡°You two are lucky,¡± remarked Liam. ¡°Your folks letting you swim so late.¡±

    Knots formed in Allison and David¡¯s stomachs.

    As soon as the human children were out of sight, David hugged Allison. ¡°Glad you¡¯re awake,¡± he whispered into her ear, before he pulled away from her a step. ¡°Now, can you tell me what the heck just happened?¡±

    Allison took a deep breath and started wading back onto dry land. It felt wrong to talk so serious in the water. David followed without comment, feet stained to their ankles with lake mud.

    ¡°So, why didn¡¯t those kids recognise you?¡±

    Allison smiled. That at least was easy to answer. ¡°Because they thought I looked like this.¡±

    Where Allison stood, David only saw a tan, blonde girl with her old hazel eyes.

    ¡°Okay¡­And how are you doing that?¡±

    The stranger shuffled her feet. ¡°Alberto got shot by one of the boss soldiers. I didn¡¯t want his song to go away so I¡­ did something and now it¡¯s inside me. Forever, I think.¡±

    David didn¡¯t respond to that at first. It was a bit to take in. For a few seconds, he just gazed at her, before eventually settling on:

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I saved his song. Put it in mine. So now I can do all that psychic stuff he used to.¡± She looked down at the thin grass. ¡°He could do a lot more than he said he could.¡±

    David cocked his head at that. He didn¡¯t like it when people picked on Alberto. But this was Allie¡­ and there were more important questions anyways.

    ¡°So¡­ where is he?¡±

    ¡°Gone. Or¡ªnot gone, but not walking around.¡± She rubbed her head. ¡°I know everything he did. Not just like, facts and stuff. I can remember his mum¡¯s face¡­¡±

    The taste of old, sour wine in the back of her mouth. Soft, pale flesh in the dark¡­

    She grimaced. ¡°¡­Other stuff, too.¡±

    For a few seconds, David contemplated giving her a hug. She didn¡¯t sound upset. But what she was saying was¡­

    ¡°You okay?¡±

    Allison considered it. ¡°Yeah. I think I am. I¡¯m better now. I don¡¯t have to copy people not to be weak anymore.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, his tone slightly dubious. ¡°Um. About that. So, are those eyes a forever thing now? Cuz you kinda stand out, you know?¡±

    Mary-Ann dissolved. Allison kept forgetting her eyes. It wasn¡¯t hard to. They didn¡¯t feel any different. ¡°I think they might be. But they¡¯re not all bad.¡±

    Allison was wreathed in fire, her skin lit lapis violet like the very heart of a flame. Globules of lava bubbled into being in her hands, which she smeared across the air in front of her like she was finger painting with light. The heat of it hit David like a bonfire¡¯s shout.

    ¡°I can do this now! I think the Flying Man made it happen! Guess I can thank him for something¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay,¡± David began, trying to think of the most tactful way to say this. ¡°But can you ever, you know, not look like a superhero now? I kinda like getting to play with other kids, you know? Without people noticing what we are?¡± He thought for a moment. ¡°Could you, I dunno, cover it up with my eyes, maybe?¡±

    Allison frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t look like a superhero,¡± she said, sounding surprisingly hurt. ¡°My eyes just glow a bit. But I¡¯ll try.¡±

    The fire went out, the magma cooling until it was nothing. The girl screwed her eyes shut, taking in David¡¯s whale bone whistles and glass flutes. When she opened them again, her eyes were green. ¡°Did it work?¡±

    ¡°Yup!¡± David grinned. ¡°You look like Allie again!¡±

    She giggled. ¡°No, I look like you! Allie has cool glowing eyes. And yours aren¡¯t super-normal either.¡±

    ¡°At least I can turn the glowey off,¡± he replied playfully, raising a hand and waggling a finger up and down like he was playing with a lightswitch, his eyes lighting and dimming rapidly in time with the movement.

    Allison laughed loudly, before remembering what she had come to tell him. She sat down, facing out towards the water and the white gravel hill of the dam wall. ¡°David, bad stuff happened back at the school. I think¡­ those soldiers killed our friends. All of them. All at onc-¡±

    The last word never made it out her throat, cut off by the loud snapping sound ringing out from the dam. David hadn¡¯t moved, but now that she was looking, she saw that the water behind them was suddenly very still.

    ¡°I know, Allie¡±, he said, his voice small. ¡°I know. I felt the bullets go through them.¡± Far off in the distance, the dam¡¯s short, squat intake tower let out another loud snapping noise, before the strut supporting it gave out, and it crumbled below the surface.

    ¡°¡­ What do you wanna do about it?¡±

    Allison clenched her fists. The fire came back to her eyes. ¡°I want to hurt them. They hurt us, we hurt them back. Bad.¡±

    Allison had been expecting this to be a fight; that she might have to bully past David¡¯s constitutional niceness to get at what she wanted. She¡¯d been wrong.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I wanna hurt them too.¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°You do? Really hurt them? Kill them?¡±

    ¡°What did they do to my mum, Allie?¡± he asked. ¡°Why can¡¯t I feel her anymore?¡±

    It barely sounded like a question.

    The images clawed their way to the front of Allison¡¯s mind. That ruined face, blood turning to water. She shook slightly.

    David watched the memory hit her, and gave her a small smile.

    ¡°Yeah. I wanna kill them.¡±

    Allison looked long and hard at her friend. Slowly, she asked, ¡°Davie, are you alright?¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m angry, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡± His smile grew a fraction wider. ¡°And there¡¯s a little voice in my head telling me not to hurt them. Buuut it sounds a lot like Lawrence.¡±

    He sat down beside Allison, putting a hand on her leg. ¡°They killed my mummy. They killed our family. We¡¯re gonna make them hurt and hurt till they wish they were dead.¡± He stretched out. ¡°But there¡¯s still so much good. We¡¯re together. We¡¯re free.¡± He closed his eyes. ¡°And there¡¯s so much water.¡±

    Allison looked at David¡¯s lights. She could see rage. Sadness. As white and hot as the sun. But there was joy too, blue and cool. They coiled like mating serpents; entwined, creating, but seperate. His song was much the same: what should have been cacophony and discordance harmonising, like a hot jazz band playing with a string quartet.

    She envied him.

    She noticed something else, too. That was part of it, the rage, the emotion. But there was something else inside there too. Something old. She searched Alberto¡¯s memory for it, and came up empty handed. The one in Fran¡¯s mind had fallen quiet years ago.

    ¡°Allie,¡± David reached over, and gave her hand a little squeeze. ¡°I want you out of my head now, please.¡±

    With that, the thing inside his mind gave her a push, and she couldn¡¯t feel him anymore. All there was was the face of the deep.

    Something else inside David had died, Allison realised. A tapeworm of personhood. Some might have called it a soul. It had been a long, slow death, but it was finally done.

    ¡°It¡¯s going to be okay, Allie.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. We¡¯re going to crush and burn and drown them all alive. Tim Valour¡¯s going to scream till he¡¯s coughing up blood. Then we¡¯re gonna to swim and play chasey and eat chocolate till we spew.¡± The boy stood up, helping Allison to her feet. ¡°Come on,¡± he said. ¡°You need to tell the others.¡±

    ?

    As soon as they returned to the copse, Allison had started bossing a camp into existence. Arnold had teleported some tents their way, kindly pre-assembled by the campers who owned them, along with a healthy collection of ice-boxes and picnic hampers.

    They were nearly having fun, until Allison got the fire going and started explaining:

    ¡°So¡­ Alberto brainwashed us?¡±

    Allison looked at Arnold. The boy¡¯s tone was shocked, but tainted with hope. She¡¯d just got done explaining what Lawrence had had him teleport all around Australia and beyond. The boy¡¯s face was still pale.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she answered. ¡°Not every second of every day, but enough that we usually did what Lawrence wanted us to.¡±

    ¡°Did he make me¡­¡± Arnold didn¡¯t finish the question. He didn¡¯t need to.

    Allison bit her lip. ¡°No, Alberto didn¡¯t want that to happen.¡±

    Arnold curled in on himself. ¡°Oh.¡±

    A furred, clawed hand patted him on the back. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault,¡± said Billy softly. ¡°You didn¡¯t know what the eggs were.¡±

    Arnold moaned, tears glinting on his cheeks in the firelight. ¡°Why did I even send them where he said to start with? He wouldn¡¯t have known¡­¡±

    ¡°He said he was gonna dob on your baby niece,¡± said David. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯d have risked it if I were you.¡±

    Arnold glanced at the water-sprite out the corner of his eye. If I were you¡­

    Mabel was standing with her back to the fire, her hands balled at her sides. ¡°So it was all just Alberto and Lawrence playing a game with us?¡±

    Allison dug at the dirt with her heel. ¡°At first, I guess? They kinda stopped working together near the end.¡±

    David leaned forward. An awful thought had occurred to him. ¡°Was taking over the Institute Alberto¡¯s idea?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Allison answered very firmly. ¡°That was all us.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± David asked. It was the least certain Allison had heard him sound in weeks.

    ¡°Sure for sure. Eliza had put him to sleep when it happened, remember?¡± An unwelcome stab of memory cut at Allison, making her physically wince. She blurted, ¡°She killed Adam. He was turning off our powers so Lawrence made her kill him.¡±

    Billy went to speak. First to ask Allie what she had meant to say. Then to tell her that she was wrong. Then to shout she was lying. When he finally opened his mouth, all that came out were choked sobs, breaking out into a long wail.

    David¡¯s shoulders tensed. He turned his head up at the stars peeking through the branches above, trying not to look at anyone else. Deep in the waters that were his mind, the white serpent stirred.

    Arnold and Mabel meanwhile, just looked at each other. What should¡¯ve been an explosion had passed through them like a whisper. Mabel turned to Allison. ¡°¡­Why are we not surprised?¡±

    It should¡¯ve been sarcasm. It wasn¡¯t.

    Allison took a deep breath. ¡°You both worked it out ages back. Alberto made you forget.¡± Her gaze briefly flickered towards David. He didn¡¯t notice. ¡°He¡ªwe can do that.¡±

    Silence. The only comment came from the crickets and the nightbirds.

    Mabel strode over to Allison, pulling her gently but firmly off the log she¡¯d been sitting on. ¡°You gotta promise never to mess with our brains like that, kay?¡± She beckoned the others to stand. ¡°Promise all of us. Unless we¡¯re all gonna die if you don¡¯t do it, you¡¯ll never make us do things or forget things we don¡¯t want to.¡±

    Allison nodded vigorously. ¡°Never.¡±

    The children all spat in their hands and put them together. It was the most sacred covenant available to them. It sealed Allison¡¯s promise, and a thousand other unspoken trusts. Above all else, to stay together.

    ¡°What do we do now?¡± Billy asked, still sniffling.

    Allison thought about it. ¡°Whatever we want.¡±

    Luckily, Mabel had an actual suggestion. ¡°In that case¡­ How does that lava thing work?

 Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Bacchanal at Harvey Dam

    The children were up with the dawn next morning, eager to explore Allison¡¯s new power before the campers woke up and the army of picnickers rolled in from Harvey.

    Allison stood in front of her friends like she was about to defend a thesis. They¡¯d found a remote, tree-shadowed corner of the dam, with a curled finger of water at their backs. Mabel had insisted they do it near the water.

    ¡°So¡­¡± David hopped from foot to foot. ¡°You gonna start?¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    She reached down, right into the depths of the Earth. She pulled. Heat rushed up through her feet, filling her to bursting.

    She grinned. She burned.

    Mabel and Billy oohed and ahhed. The boy crept slowly towards Allison. ¡°Is it safe?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t get too close,¡± said Allison, her voice rippling with the hiss of superheated air. ¡°Your fur might melt.¡±

    Billy drew as near as he dared, walking around his friend and peering at her like a marble statue. She looked like a fire-fairy.

    ¡°You¡¯re pretty.¡±

    Nobody but Allison could say if she was blushing. She jumped. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Something broke. The flames went out.

    Allison examined her arms. ¡°Huh.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d you stop?¡± asked David.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t, it just¡ª¡± The warmth flowed back into her, along with the fire. She sighed, not a little relieved. ¡°I guess I shouldn¡¯t jump when I¡¯m doing this.¡±

    It was funny, Allison thought. Usually she knew all about a power the moment she used it. Except, it seemed, her own.

    ¡°Come on!¡± Arnold jeered. ¡°Show us the lava!¡±

    Allison puffed out her chest. ¡°You want lava?¡± She raised her hands over her head. ¡°Here¡¯s your lava!¡±

    The magma fountained from her fingertips like water caught in the sun. Leaves on their branches were reduced to glowing skeletons by the convection.

    Mabel gripped David¡¯s hand, tilting her head anxiously towards the fires breaking out in the canopy.

    David squeezed back. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡±

    Tentacles of water rose from the dam behind them, whipping at the burning trees and dousing the flames.

    The hiss of the steam gave Allison an idea. She tried grabbing David¡¯s song, without letting go of the heat. Her fire became tinted absinthe green, while the lava twirled in strands around her arms and legs like gymnast¡¯s ribbons. It felt like flexing her elbow. She gathered up David¡¯s steam and froze it, skeining the tiny comets around the molten rock as they constantly exploded and reformed, caught between the heat and her insistence they remain ice.

    Smiling, Allison stuck out her leg, ready to dance, when her whole lava lattice wobbled. Drops of magma wept from its arches and spirals, boring pinprick holes in the dirt  before vanishing completely. Allison had to let go of the ice ice to keep the whole thing from collapsing, letting the water evaporate into the air.

    The girl frowned. What, I can¡¯t even move when I¡¯m doing this?

    She stepped forward cautiously, lifting her feet off the ground as little and as quickly as possible. That was much more manageable, but she still felt her grip falter.

    Well that¡¯s boring.

    Next she tried weaving and pushing the lava away out from her body, aiming for a much more flammable version of Abalone¡¯s force-domes. At about two meters, the strands of lava cooled and solidified like a stone cage over her, blowing away in the summer breeze.

    Allison¡¯s friends applauded, until David saw the disappointment her face.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, Allie?¡±

    Allison let her fire go out. ¡°It¡¯s not as fun as all your things.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°You guys can run and use your powers. I have to stand still or I drop everything! It¡¯s boring!¡±

    Arnold rolled his eyes. ¡°Figures. You get a new forever-power and you whinge about it.¡±

    Allison glared at Arnold and stamped her foot. ¡°It¡¯s not just that!¡± Her head drooped. ¡°I can¡¯t go fiery near anyone. I¡¯d burn you.¡±

    David smiled gently. ¡°I know how it feels. You¡¯re pretty much the only one I can bring underwater with me. Properly, I mean, not in a bubble or something.¡±

    Allison kicked the dirt. ¡°That¡¯s not the same. Fire¡¯s scary.¡±

    Privately, Mabel couldn¡¯t help but agree with her.

    Arnold and David shared an exasperated look. The water-sprite bent his knee, ready to take off running. ¡°Hey, Allie, turn the fire back on, I wanna try something!¡±

    Allison dutifully combusted. David turned icy and charged at the girl.

    Arnold, Mabel and Billy screamed and ducked for cover as their friend exploded in a shockwave of steam and ice-shards.

    Mabel lowered her arm from in front of her face. Jagged daggers of ice hung fixed in a wall of mist. She rolled over to see David bent laughing in the water.

    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen your faces!¡±

    Allison was laughing, too.

    ¡°Not funny,¡± Arnold muttered from between his knees.

    Mabel smiled. ¡°Eh, kinda funny.¡±

    Billy was already on his feet, clapping. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Allie, your new power¡¯s great! It¡¯s like you¡¯re a volcano goddess now!¡±

    ¡°Pele?¡±

    Billy grinned blanky. ¡°Yeah, sure! Also, you and David really need to get some pants.¡±

    David stopped laughing. ¡°...Why?¡±

    Billy folded his arms, doing his best impression of sternness. ¡°Because two kids not wearing clothes at all is weird, and the naturals might notice. And if I have to walk around invisible half the time, you two can wear pants.¡±

    ¡°Seconded,¡± said Mabel.

    ¡°But it¡¯s a swimming spot!¡± complained David.

    ¡°Kids still wear clothes sometimes here,¡± Mabel retorted.

    Arnold glanced between David and Allison. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s getting kinda¡­ yeah.¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°They¡¯ve got a point, Davie.¡±

    ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve been outvoted, mate,¡± said Mabel.

    David sighed. ¡°Fiiiine. So where are we gonna get clothes?¡±

    ¡°I could try making some,¡± offered Billy.

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Allison. She was looking past the other children at the shadows tomorrow cast on today. That still took getting used to. A couple of the silhouettes were familiar. She smiled. ¡°I know where we can get some good clothes from.¡±

    Where. Who. Allison didn¡¯t see much of a distinction.

    ?

    For the extended Walsh-Zieli¨½ski-Cancio clan, Christmas Day in 1965 fell on December 23rd. It was the only day that month where a worthwhile number of relatives could be gathered at Harvey Dam for the perfunctory holiday barbecue.

    Jenny Cancio had left her father and uncles to drink and mechanically turn cheap meat over hot coals, while her mother and aunts tried and failed to brag about their children without each other catching on. Jenny was going to be an entomologist (or as she thought of it, ¡°bug scientist¡±) when she grew up, and so needed a constant supply of specimens.

    The little girl sat cross legged in front of a densely populated congregation of red bottlebrushes. She was a thin child, her warm brown hair ruthlessly bound into pigtails, with enough freckles vying for space beneath her glasses that they almost formed into leopard spots. Given the time and place in which she was born, it was perhaps a blessing that Jenny Cancio had been born without much self-consciousness.

    A banana yellow beetle crawled onto the back of the girl¡¯s hand. Jenny grinned and called behind her, ¡°Matt! Christmas beetle! I think that¡¯s good luck or something!¡±

    Matthew Zieli¨½ski looked up from the nowhere-map he was drawing in the dirt, nodded, and went right back to his art. He was Jenny¡¯s favourite cousin. Mostly it was a matter of geography¡ªthey were in the same class at school. He was also borderline mute, though Jenny would argue he was only quiet the way cave-paintings were.

    ¡°This one¡¯s up really early for a Christmas beetle,¡± Jenny explained. ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s hungry?¡±

    Matt maintained a kindly silence while he traced out sea-serpents. It wasn¡¯t that he was uninterested, he just knew Jenny would furnish her own answers.

    ¡°You know that by the time Christmas beetles come out of their cocoon things, their parents are dead?¡± Jenny smiled wickedly to herself. ¡°Be kinda fun if that was how it worked with people.¡±

    Without looking up from his drawings, Matt smiled, too.

    Watching the beetle climb up her arm, its legs pricking at her skin, Jenifer pondered cocoons, as was her way. They made more sense to her than how human beings grew up. More delineated. From what little adults had told her, people just sort of¡­ stretched.

    A sharp intake of breath. Matt¡¯s silence changed timbre.

    Jenny turned around. ¡°Matt, what¡¯s the¡ªoh.¡±

    Matthew was on his feet, gawking at a naked girl with skin like cold, smudged bone. It also seemed someone had set her eyes on fire, not that she looked bothered by it.

    The Christmas beetle took off from Jenny¡¯s arm, clumsily fleeing through the air.

    ¡°Um, hi?¡±

    ¡°Hello Jenny.¡±

    ¡°How do you know my name?¡±

    Allison tilted her head. Jenny and Matt had been in class with her since kindergarten. They were sort of friends, in so much as Allison had ones whose names weren¡¯t Arnold. It helped that she was the one child in Harvey who knew as much as Jenny about bugs, at least after she met her, that was. How did they not recognize her? Had she changed so much?

    Allison folded her arms and tried to smile mysteriously. ¡°You just look like a Jenny, that¡¯s all.¡±

    Jenny smoothed her saffron dress nervously over her knee. She could swear the girl was eyeing it, with those two burning coals of hers. ¡°Do I?¡±

    The girl shrugged. ¡°I guess.¡±

    ¡°Are you a demi? Like from the news?¡±

    Like your classmate? Allison thought sourly to herself. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Nah, she¡¯s a fairy!¡±  A tiger shaped like a boy was hanging upside down from a bark tree, his legs and tail hooked around its strongest branch. He jumped down, stuck the landing, and ran at the other children. ¡°So am I!¡±

    Jenny screamed. Matt squealed.

    ¡°Kitty-boy!¡± Matt pulled said kitty-boy into a hug. ¡°Look, Jenny, caaaat!¡±

    Jenny didn¡¯t hear her cousin. She was too busy pacing and sharing her fears with the ground. ¡°They¡¯re supervillains! They probably blew up Parliament, or they¡¯re from the Coven! Or both!¡± She stopped in place and screwed her eyes shut. ¡°They¡¯re gonna get us!¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    Allison sighed. Looked like they were going to have to rewind and start over. As she started moving towards Jenny, Billy shook his head at her.

    Let me handle it, he thought very loudly. He looked at the panicked girl. ¡°Jenny, I promise me and¡±¡ªhe thought quickly¡ª ¡°Hesperis aren¡¯t supervillains. I told ya, we¡¯re dam fairies.¡±

    Allison was quietly impressed, more by the name than ¡°dam fairies.¡±

    Jenny looked back up at Billy, her eyes red and wet. She sniffled. ¡°Can you prove it?¡±

    Billy grinned. ¡°Sure can! Fairies can do magic, right?¡±

    Matt nodded enthusiastically. More warily, Jenny answered ¡°Yeah¡­¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± said Billy, ¡°name something you want. Anything!¡±

    Jenny pondered the offer. ¡°A bug ring.¡±

    Allison was still trying to figure out what a bug ring was when Billy conjured up a wisp of mirror-mist and snatched something out out of it in one fluid motion. He got down on one knee and held his arm out to Jenny like he was proposing. ¡°M¡¯lady.¡±

    He opened his palm to reveal a diamond ring. Not a common gold ring with a few diamonds embedded in it (that would be cheating) but a band of molecularly pure, clear cut crystal, a darkly glinting black Hercules beetle curled around it.

    ¡°Ooh.¡± Jenny slipped the ring on her index finger and held it up to the sun, letting it catch ablaze with light. ¡°You are fairies!¡±

    Allison peered into her old classmate¡¯s mind, trying to figure out how that display seemed particularly ¡°fairy¡±. All she got was a confabulation of excited pink explosions.

    ¡°Glad we¡¯re on the same page!¡± said Billy, swiping his first jovially. He called out, ¡°Oh, Triton!¡±

    David emerged from the local humidity. To anyone who didn¡¯t know that, he materialised from thin air. His eyes were on full glow. ¡°Hello!¡±

    Triton? Allison thought to herself. He doesn¡¯t even have a fishtail!

    Jenny offered a hand to David, grinning broadly. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Triton!¡±

    Philistines.

    David bent and pecked the girl¡¯s hand. ¡°Enchant¨¦e.¡±

    Jenny giggled. French really is a terrible weapon.

    Matt¡¯s nose wrinkled. ¡°Hey, why are you two naked but Kitty¡ª¡±

    Billy clarified, ¡°Tom Tildrum.¡±

    Allison tried to hide her distaste. It was easier now you couldn¡¯t truly see her eyes.

    ¡°...But Tom Tildrum wears clothes?¡±

    Billy patted his shorts. ¡°Pockets!¡±

    ¡°Overrated,¡± said David. He looked out towards the dam waters and smiled back at Jenny. ¡°Wanna go swimming?¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    And so the fairies led the two human children off into the wild.

    ?

    Bradley Cancio had set off to find his daughter and nephew at lunchtime. Now it was nearly 7 o¡¯clock, and the sun had nearly set over Harvey Dam¡ªevening blue swallowing the orange horizon like the sand at high tide¡ªand Bradley Cancio was still searching.

    ¡°Jenny!¡± the man called out into the indifferent, gathering gloom. ¡°Matt! Kids, please, this isn¡¯t funny!¡±

    Mr. Cancio stopped and stared around the darkness, hoping desperately for any unaccounted wrinkle of shadow, but all he found were the frantic silhouettes of his own family fruitlessly searching velvet trees.

    Someone needs to head back to town, Bradley thought. Get the police over here.

    He stomped into the water, as though those few feet were all that were keeping him from spotting the kids out on the lake.

    But if the cops are involved, than the kids will be Lost, and then¡ª

    ¡°Hi Dad.¡±

    Bradley swung around in the direction of his daughter¡¯s voice. ¡°Jenny?¡±

    The little girl and her cousin emerged from a crowd of wattle trees, hand in hand. They were both naked, bar Jenny¡¯s glasses and a couple clear bands around her fingers, almost invisible in the dim.

    ¡°Jenny!¡± Bradley ran to the two children, almost knocking them over as he embraced them. ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake, we thought we lost you!¡± He looked both children in the eye, trying and failing to look annoyed. ¡°You were supposed to be back at lunchtime. Where the hell were you?¡±

    ¡°With the fairies,¡± Matt answered simply.

    Jenny glared at him. The fairies hadn¡¯t explicitly asked for their secrecy, but it seemed like the done thing.

    ¡°The fairies,¡± Bradley said flatly. ¡°Where¡¯d you leave your clothes.¡±

    Well, now that Matt had spilled it already¡­ ¡°The fairies needed them.¡±

    Mr. Cancia shook his head. ¡°They needed your clothes?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Matt. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like a big ask.¡±

    If it had been any other month, in any other year, Bradley Cancio might have been able to write it off. Not with the Flying Man still in the sky, and Parliament House still smoking.

    Not when they¡¯d taken his daughter''s clothes.

    ?

    Cities of glass, where people made of song rode on wings of laughter. Great eagles that flew through the winds of gas giants. Walking mounds of flesh, begging twin suns in a dry sky for rain¡ª

    An archly bitter voice spat, ¡°Seen it!¡±

    Allison woke with a start, in the dark of her stolen tent. David lay asleep beside her, dutifully clad in Matthew Zieli¨½ski¡¯s cargo shorts and footy jersey.

    Matt and Jenny had been alright, Allison thought hazily. Fun, even. Maybe she ought to have paid them more attention, back when she thought she was human.

    Bells. Silver bells. They rang randomly, without any rhythm. But there was a song, too. Drums, deep, slow, and resounding. The tune was familiar, in a way that made Allison¡¯s bones hum. And something was glowing beyond the tent-flaps, like a fire on the other side of a blizzard.

    Dreamily, Allison crawled out of the tent. What few scraps of sky the trees let reach her were a tired, dawn grey. Kookaburras rang in the morning with their raucous conversation.

    Allison shivered from the cold. She hadn¡¯t done that since she¡¯d taken on Eliza¡¯s improvements. How could it be so cold in high summer?

    Just beyond their copse, by the water, there stood a man. He was taller than life, and almost as broad. He wore a thick, hooded fur suit, dyed bright red with trim as white as his beard. A sleigh was parked next to him, while enormous, burly reindeer drank from the dam, bells on their collars ringing with every twitch of their necks.

    Father Christmas caught sight of the girl and smiled warmly. ¡°Merry Christmas, Allison Kinsey.¡±

    Allison teared up just looking at the man. He wanted to bury her face in his chest, and confess  every bad thing she had ever done. Every lie; every neglected kindness; every cruel comment. For burning that pointless, powerless old man, and for what she had done to Alberto.

    Was that even a bad thing? She didn¡¯t¡ª

    ¡°Santa?¡±

    Allison turned to find her friends all standing behind her, staring at Father Christmas just as she had been.

    The old man nodded. ¡°It¡¯s as good as name as any.¡±

    The children ran at him, embracing him. All except for David. He just stood and watched.

    Billy was laughing. Arnold and Mabel were weeping.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Mabel moaned. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡±

    Father Christmas sighed and stroked her hair. ¡°Oh, child. Circle¡¯s End was nobody¡¯s fault.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t stop weeping. Father Christmas wasn¡¯t surprised. He was far from the first to try and convince her of that.

    Arnold stammered between sobs. ¡°I made this happen, should¡¯ve known¡­¡±

    ¡°That was another¡¯s crime, Arnold. Herbert Lawrence would¡¯ve found some other way to leave a scar on the world even if you¡¯d never been born.¡±

    Allison tensed. She didn¡¯t have to tell Father Christmas what she was thinking. Nobody had to tell him that. All he said to her was, ¡°Some wouldn¡¯t even feel sorry.¡±

    Old Saint Nick gently removed himself from the hug. ¡°Now, I¡¯ve got some presents for you all.¡± he took a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and a scroll from within his jacket, donning the glasses and clicking his tongue as he let the parchment fall open in front of him. ¡°Let¡¯s see now.¡±

    He walked over to his sleigh, hoisting one-handed an enormous, green sack onto the grass and pulling loose the silver cord that held it closed. He fished out three gift-wrapped, bow topped boxes, and casually tossed two of them towards Billy and Allison. The girl caught hers effortlessly, while the boy flinched and let his fall to the ground.

    Billy scrambled to pick his up. ¡°Sorry, sorry!¡±

    Father Christmas let out a laugh that should need no description. ¡°No harm done, son!¡±

    With the third present under his arm, he marched over to David. The water-sprite looked up at him warily.

    ¡°I apologise for the resemblance, sea-spawn.¡± He patted his belly and laughed once more. ¡°Us bearded patriarchs, we all look much the same.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± muttered David. ¡°I¡¯m not scared of him anymore.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯re not. But nonetheless.¡±

    ¡°...And don¡¯t make fun of yourself like that,¡± David added. ¡°Laurie always did that. Like he wasn¡¯t completely full of it.¡±

    Father Christmas nodded. ¡°I will remember that.¡± His expression became businesslike. ¡°Now, son, you¡¯re not on either of my lists. Those are for mortal children.¡± He handed the present to David. ¡°But this is the season for giving.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, I think.¡±

    Father Christmas put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve been a very good boy. Too good, for too long.¡± He bent till he was at eye level with the boy. ¡°Just remember, boy, there is such a thing as overcorrecting.¡±

    He glanced around at the children. ¡°You can open them, you know. It¡¯s been Christmas morning for hours.¡±

    Slow, vaguely reverent unwrapping, lasting much longer than David¡¯s quick tearing. The three boxes all held the same contents: an aggressively plain grey bodysock.

    David poked at the clothing like it was a dead jellyfish. ¡°More clothes?¡±

    ¡°Hey, those are life-fibres. Had to fly to the moon of Scrool to get them. They might not look like much now, but wait till you try them on.¡± Father Christmas looked at Billy. ¡°The tail¡¯s been accommodated for, son.¡±

    Billy spent a moment double checking the single-piece bodysuit to see whether a tail hole had magically appeared, then, not wanting to gainsay Santa himself, said:

    ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    Father Christmas walked back to his sack, pulling out more gifts. ¡°Now, Mabel, Arnold, don¡¯t think I¡¯ve forgotten about you.¡± He beckoned the two close to him.

    The pair approached cautiously.

    Father Christmas addressed Mabel first. ¡°Now I heard you want to be an artist,¡± he said handing her a black bound drawing book and a set of colour pencils.

    Mabel took her gifts and shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m trying.¡±

    Father Christmas tapped the girl on the forehead. An electric chill ran down her spine.

    ¡°And you¡¯ve been rewarded.¡±

    To Arnold he gave a large, handsomely bound volume. Its face bore a tree growing from a river, in whose branches rested a maiden and several planets, below the gilded title:

    A BARNES FAMILY COSMIC ATLAS

    Arnold tried to suppress a frown. He¡¯d never been the kind of boy who relished getting a book for Christmas.

    ¡°Do give it a chance, Arnold. I had to do a great deal of research.¡± Father Christmas closed his sack and threw it back onto the sleigh. ¡°When you children move on from here¡ªand you will, soon¡ªI suggest going to page 234.¡± He climbed into the sleigh¡¯s seat and grabbed hold of the reins. The reindeer had been harnessed to the sleigh, when and by who the children could never guess.

    ¡°You¡¯re going?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Afraid so, William. Strictly speaking, I shouldn¡¯t let the sun rise or a child¡¯s waking eyes fall on me, but rules are rules.¡± Father Christmas raised his hand. ¡°Now, I suggest you all get a few more hours of sleep before you play with your presents.¡±

    He snapped his fingers. Sleep pulled the children under, again, except for David.

    ¡°Goodbye, David. It was nice seeing you children all again. Say hello to your grandfather for me when you see him.¡±

    David waved. ¡°Sure¡ªwait, my grandfather?¡±

    The sleigh was already in the air, booming laughter echoing throughout Harvey Dam.

    ?

    When Allison woke again, David was crouching in front of her. He was naked again, which didn¡¯t surprise her terribly. Before she could say ¡°good morning¡± or ask the obvious question, he said:

    ¡°Merry Christmas, Allie! Nope, that wasn¡¯t a dream, Santa really did turn up.¡±

    Allison laughed. ¡°Really?¡± It honestly didn¡¯t shock her too hard. A childhood in the western world had well and truly prepared Allison for this meeting.

    ¡°Yep. Left us stupid magic-I-guess clothes.¡± David picked up one of the bodysocks. ¡°Wanna try them on before the others wake up?¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    At Allison¡¯s cajoling, David slipped his on first. ¡°I don¡¯t get what¡¯s so special about em,¡± David muttered, apparently unaware that the aquatic glow normally reserved for his and Allison¡¯s eyes was rapidly spreading across the length and breadth of the fabric. ¡°They don¡¯t feel all that¡ª¡±

    Then he noticed.

    ¡°Allie!¡± he yelped. ¡°I¡¯m glowing! Help!¡±

    The request wasn¡¯t really needed. Before he¡¯d even finished the sentence, Allison¡¯s shoulder caught him in the waist as she tackled him to the floor, already fumbling with the costume¡¯s neckline. There was just one problem there. There wasn¡¯t a neckline anymore, no seam dividing fabric from skin. The glow spread. Allison let out a panicked squeak as, for a moment, the glow seemed to cover the entirety of David¡¯s form, before, less than a second later, it was gone. In its place, looking quite unharmed, if a little shaken, was David. The costume was still there too. It just wasn¡¯t grey anymore.

    ¡°... Why are you covered in waves?¡±

    ¡°Yo-I-what?¡± David spluttered. ¡°I¡¯m wearing-¡± he looked at his hands. ¡°... Huh.¡±

    It was a strange effect, all said, the fabric shifting and flowing across the boy¡¯s skin, colors moving gently between deep oceanic greens and a softer navy blue, dotted occasionally by brief glimpses of white that could have been either bubbles or sea foam. It looked less like a costume and more like he was simply wearing the sea. Occasionally, if you looked closely enough, you could see what might have been a flash of scales. A mermaid¡¯s fin.

    ¡°I like it,¡± said Allison. ¡°You gotta admit, it¡¯s pretty.¡±

    David was twisting around trying to get a good look at the suit. ¡°Yeah, it is.¡± David mostly regarded clothing the same way a fish would, but if he were going to wear anything, it could at least look nice. On a whim, he evaporated into mist, reforming a second later. The suit followed suit.

    ¡°Woah,¡± said Allison. ¡°How did Santa make that work?¡±

    David looked worried for a second. ¡°You don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    He misted again. This time, his new clothes simply flowed off him, forming first a puddle, then a pile of fabric on the floor. He became flesh again, looking relieved ¡°Phew, thought I was stuck wearing clothes forever.¡± He shuddered, but he also put the suit back on.

    Allison laughed. ¡°Okay, my turn!¡±

    She threw off Jenny¡¯s dress and pulled her suit on excitedly. For several long seconds, it stayed grey.

    ¡°... Hey, no fai¡ª¡±

    Then her clothes exploded in a blinding flash of crimson light. Had Allison not been making a habit of that, David would have been very concerned that she had just caught fire.

    He grinned.

    ¡°Maybe Santa clothes aren¡¯t the worst present ever.¡±

    The glowing figure that was Allison gave an excited little skip.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be so cool, it¡¯s gonna be so¡ª¡±

    Quite abruptly, the glow faded, revealing what, to David¡¯s perspective, had to be the dumbest costume anyone had ever seen.

    It was an outfit Joseph would have been proud of. Colourful, in a word. The whole outfit was an explosion of reds, purples, and greens, in bold defiance of any sort of pattern. The top was a jerkin shaped mess of swirling blues, smokey whites, and pale purples, all surrounding the multicoloured, many pointed star of the Nine Muses emblazoned on her chest. David hadn¡¯t  even known you could tie-dye leather. The sleeves and bell-trousers meanwhile were dominated by swirls of coral pink, yellow, and orange. The entire ensemble looked designed to offend the mere notion of quiet.

    ¡°...I take it back,¡± he said. ¡°You look really¡ª¡±

    ¡°This,¡± Allison cut him off, ¡°is, awesome!¡± She bared her teeth and growled. ¡°I am Allison, queen of the rainbow-pirates!¡± She burst back into flames. Her new outfit caught alight too, but did not burn, the streaks of colour glowing bright. ¡°The fire rainbow-pirates!¡±

    David grinned. Whatever his thoughts on clothing thicker or more cumbersome than bare skin, Allison¡¯s glee was infectious.

    Allison glanced around the campsite, eager to wake everyone up and show off. Arnold and Mabel were curled around their presents like slumbering, tiny dragons, but she couldn¡¯t find Billy.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Billy gone?¡± she asked David.

    ¡°Oh, he went to go try his on¡ª¡±

    ¡°Dadadada...¡±

    Billy came barrelling out of the trees.

    ¡°Tada!¡±

    For roughly five seconds, neither David nor Allison laughed. It was too cute. It was Allison, however, who broke first.

    ¡°... You don¡¯t like it?¡± he asked, his furry face crumpling in disappointment as the girl giggled.

    ¡°No,¡± she snorted. ¡°I do! I really do¡­ but where¡¯s the rest of the Famous Five?¡±

    Billy glowered at her.

    ¡°I am not a Famous Five!¡±

    David, quite wisely, chose not to comment.

    ¡°It has so many pockets! And look!¡± he turned around. ¡°Tail slot!¡± he pointed to the top of his shorts, where, true to Santa¡¯s word, there was indeed a small hole cut out to make room for his tail. Unfortunately, turning around just gave the other two a clearer view of his hero mask, which, as they could now see, was tied to his head with what looked like strip of store bought ribbon. His cape could¡¯ve been a repurposed baby blanket, while his top was a plain white polo-shirt of all things, with a high, stiff collar, and what looked like a crudely painted, red philosopher''s stone symbol, but with the inner circle replaced by a smiling cat face.

    ¡°It¡¯s so comfy!¡± Billy¡¯s eyes were darting around like he was looking for an adventure to dive into.

    Mabel began to stir, and like a contagion, so did Arnold. The boy blinked blearily at his costumed friends. ¡°Not a dream?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± replied Billy.

    ¡°Morning, Arn,¡± said David. ¡°Father Christmas made clothes a bit less crap.¡±

    Mabel had well and truly woke up. ¡°You guys look great!¡±

    Allison was posing. ¡°I know I¡ªah, crap!¡± Her hand went to her temples. ¡°Stupid grownups!¡±

    Mabel rushed to her side. ¡°What¡¯s wrong.¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes narrowed darkly. ¡°I thought about showing this off to some kids later and, bam, angry mob!¡±

    ¡°Angry mob?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°Matt and Jenny¡¯s folks,¡± clarified Allison. ¡°They¡¯ve got everyone in town all angry because we took their clothes.¡± She kicked the air. ¡°Grownups are weird. They¡¯ll be here in a couple hours.¡±

    Arnold shook his head. ¡°Who goes all angry mob on Christmas?¡±

    ¡°Grinches?¡± suggested Mabel.

    ¡°So what do we do?¡± asked David. ¡°Do we fight them?¡±

    Mabel shook her head firmly. ¡°No. No more fighting.¡±

    ¡°Then where do we go?¡± asked Allison. ¡°I bet there¡¯s still DDHA gits looking for us.¡±

    Arnold thought about it. ¡°Father Christmas said something about¡­ page 214 I think?¡±

    ¡°Two hundred and thirty-four,¡± Allison corrected him.

    Arnold flipped through the atlas. Some of the locales were sensical enough. New York City, Sydney, the Amazon Rainforest. But then where were the skerries of Dream, or the Emu Collective of Campion, and what the hell were the Riverlands supposed to be?

    He found his page. Arnold looked up at his friends. ¡°Ravenscourt Manor.¡±

    David groaned. ¡°Figures.¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s get what we want to take and get going.¡±

    ?

    Australia had very few castles, and all of them were infants even by the low standards of human construction. The aboriginal nations had neither the material capacity or the urge for castle building, and by the time the white men arrived, they too had mostly lost their taste for it. But still, some had been built on that continent: as tourist traps, monuments, or even as homes.

    Ravenscourt Manor had been one such castle, transported brick by brick from Britain to South Australia by the ailing, but still too rich for their own health, Ashley family in the 1860s. It was a petty castle by most standards¡ªa casual observer might¡¯ve written it off as just a stone mansion¡ªbut a castle it was.

    It had seen better days. The earth was eating its ramparts, and its edifice was wearing away like enamel from an old tooth. Birds swooped in and out of broken windows. The estate¡¯s trees were all Old World transplants, bare of branch despite the summer weather. Just a couple of months before, the trees had been clad in bright, autumnal oranges. In the middle of spring.

    David, Mabel, and Billy appeared at the rusting gates in a green flash, clutching (or wearing) their Christmas presents. A couple seconds later, so did Arnold and Allison.

    ¡°This the place?¡± asked the latter.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said David. ¡°I¡¯ll do the talking.¡±

    Arnold blasted the gates into the core of Neptune, and the children started hiking up to the entrance of Ravenscourt.

    Living scarecrows lumbered through the gardens, turning and staggering towards the children as they walked. They paid them little mind. Arnold just teleported them whenever they got close.

    Eventually, they reached the tall front door. David knocked demandingly. He could hear music through the thick oak, even place the song. ¡°Butcher Pete¡± by Roy Brown.

    After what felt like half of all time, the door cracked open.

    His face hard and set, David said, ¡°My parents are dead. All the other kids are dead. I think people are hunting for us.¡±

    The Physician''s grin was stiller than the stone of his home. ¡°Well, come inside then, children.¡±

    ¡°Turn this record over, you ain¡¯t seen nothing yet!¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Eight: The Whaleboat

    The Physician glided down the hall, leading his young guests deep down the halls of Ravenscroft Manor, their footsteps and his tour-guide patter reverberating off old stone:

    ¡°None of you besides Maelstrom¡ª¡±

    ¡°David,¡± the boy cut in sharp as a knife.

    The Physician kept going like nobody had interrupted him. ¡°¡ªHave visited me before, have you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± David answered, his voice hard.

    The Physician hadn¡¯t asked the children any follow up questions. Hadn¡¯t asked how their friends and David¡¯s mother had died, or why. Nothing resembling grief, sympathy, or even curiosity. The children could have been dropping in for Christmas lunch. Part of David was relieved. What would the Physician¡¯s kindness look like?

    ¡°The last lord¡¯s mother sold me the place before she went back to the UK to die. English aristocrats are a lot like elephants in that respect. Her sons had killed each other.¡± The Physician¡¯s fingers scuttled against his lab-coat. ¡°Superheroes.¡±

    Arnold was sticking close to Mabel, just managing to resist clinging to her shoulders. The Physician¡¯s home didn¡¯t match its owner. His only concession to modernity was that the sconces on the walls were left empty in favour of electric lights that gave off a sodium glow not quite suited for human eyes.

    And the place was filthy. Arnold¡¯s feet kept getting caught in sinkholes of rotten carpet. Long dead blue-bloods grew green and frog-like as mold and moss consumed their portraits. Cockroaches skittered in and out of the light, while rats chittered in the shadows. The whole castle smelled like week-old pyjama pants. Arnold was shocked. Weren¡¯t aliens supposed to be shiny and antiseptic?

    But then, monsters were supposed to live in caves.

    ¡°Excuse me¡­ Dr. Smith?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Arnold?¡±

    ¡°Was the castle always so¡­ like this?¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± said the Physician. Even walking behind him, Arnold swore he spotted the corners of his lips. ¡°It took me years to get the place remotely livable. You humans keep your homes so sterile.¡± The Physician snatched a fat moth orbiting the light above him.  When he opened his palm, the moth was gone. ¡°Barren.¡±

    Billy clapped at the magic trick. The other children glared him into silence.

    Allison kept gritting her teeth. The Physician¡¯s song didn¡¯t hit her like a tidal wave the way it used to, but it was still music that had never been intended for her ears. Her new mess of senses didn¡¯t help matters. The Physician¡¯s whole body was one balefully bright brain. A book that had to be read left-to-right, right-to-left, crosswise and lengthwise, all at once. Looking at him was like staring at a candle flame, letting it burn a black hole right into her sight.

    ¡°Does Timothy Valour come here much?¡± Allison asked bitterly.

    ¡°Sometimes,¡± answered the Physician. ¡°Usually he sticks to the guest house. Hell of a pinochle player. Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°He sent soldiers to kill our family.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Yes, I think I heard about that. You blew up Parliament, apparently?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t!¡± Arnold insisted. ¡°That was Lawrence!¡±

    As usual, the Physician showed no sign of surprise, though Allison did see whirls form in his aura. ¡°I didn¡¯t think the old man had it in him. Any idea why?¡±

    ¡°Because he was scared,¡± David said. ¡°Scared of going to jail and scared we didn¡¯t need him.¡± He skipped backwards to Allison¡¯s side, taking her hand and smiling at her. ¡°We¡¯re gonna kill Tim for what he did,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re gonna make him wish he jumped out the window.¡±

    Mabel and Arnold shrank in on themselves. Billy¡¯s tail was swishing like mad behind him.

    Allison forced a smile. She hated that it didn¡¯t come naturally. Why couldn¡¯t she follow David to that cool, easy hate? Her own cut and scratched inside her like she¡¯d swallowed a razor.

    Queasy, unfamiliar images of Valour swam to the surface of her mind. That grey, flaccid old natural, scowling at him from behind his desk like a tired schoolmaster¡ª

    The Physician clapped his hands together, breaking the spell. ¡°I¡¯m glad you have a project, kids.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t¡ª¡± Mabel started, then trailed off. ¡°Nevermind. Thanks, I guess?¡±

    ¡°It would be good if you could hold off on that for a while, though.¡± Once again the Physician ignored any interruptions. ¡°I have some business that could use men like Timothy.¡±

    David frowned. ¡°What kinda ¡®business¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, David. I don¡¯t expect it to stretch on much longer. Especially now that you children are staying with me.¡±

    David grinned ferally.

    The group turned a corner in time to see a man in a lichenous three piece suit wandering out of a side-room. Large, expressioness, unsettlingly Nordic¡ªundeniably a Physician drone.

    The Physician called the man-shaped creature over. ¡°Call ahead to ship for me and tell them to prepare five cells¡ª¡±

    Mabel raised an eyebrow. ¡°Cells?¡±

    ¡°Call them ¡®rooms¡¯ if you must. Honestly, English is such a simple language, surely you should already know all the ambiguities.¡±

    ¡°Wait, the ship?¡± asked David. ¡°You¡¯re taking us to your spaceship?¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t call her a ¡®the¡¯, it¡¯s inaccurate. But yes, I am. I figure it¡¯ll be easier for everyone if you¡¯re not here when the DDHA pops in.¡±

    Billy whooped excitedly. So did Arnold. Whatever they thought of the Physician, he had a spaceship.

    Dr. Smith had more instructions for his henchman. ¡°Have them whip up dinner for them while you¡¯re at it. Human edible this time. I don¡¯t want another repeat of the crystalized time incident.¡± The Physician briefly glanced at Allison, still tensed against the tide of his song. ¡°It¡¯d be good if a psi-dampener was waiting for me at the table.¡±

    The drone intoned ¡°Yes, master,¡± in his kind¡¯s trademark monotone.

    Allison looked at the drone¡¯s blank, chiseled feature, trying to focus on his short, oddly regular song, near identical to a few others echoing through the castle. She was surprised how much the resemblance to Mr. Thumps comforted her.

    She wondered if he would have to die, too.

    The drone marched off, while the Physician and company came to a set of chipped, weathered wooden doors, carved with married saints and worn dragons.

    ¡°So how are we going to get there?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°You¡¯re not going to drive us, are you?¡±

    ¡°Oh no.¡± The Physician snapped his long fingers. They made a sound like clapping sticks. ¡°Think of the petrol.¡±

    The doors swung open onto a cavernous womb of polished stone and perished tapestries that probably had once been a grand dining hall. Much of the pavers had been torn out, replaced by a raised, bronze dais like a giant¡¯s Petri dish. Another drone was standing ready at a mad scientist¡¯s conductor stand, a book of knobs and buttons open in front of him.

    ¡°Do you need transport, master?¡±

    ¡°That we do, Groove. Shipside. Try putting us down somewhere with a good view, would you?¡±

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The drone tapped away at his control panel. The castle groaned and shook, the pavers vibrating beneath the children¡¯s feet.

    The copper plate began to froth and bubble, though David could sense no liquid within.

    The Physician¡¯s grin revealed yet more teeth. ¡°I¡¯ll go first, shall I?¡±

    Nobody objected.

    The star-tossed doctor stepped towards the edge of the circle like an Olympic swimmer getting ready to dive. He bent until he looked like a stunted capital L, and slowly leaned forward till he toppled in.

    Arnold eyed the unexpected pool warily. ¡°Should we¡­¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°If it was a trick or something he wouldn¡¯t have gone in first.¡±

    She ran for the pool and dive bombed.

    Darkness. That didn¡¯t surprise her. But the warmth did. She felt like she had jumped into a bubble-bath fully dressed. She fell and fell, until she found herself shooting upward¡ª

    Allison was deposited back in real space face-first. Bitter winds screamed over her, and something soft but cold pressed against her cheek. She climbed to her feet and found herself surrounded by white. Endless, rippling planes of white snow. Above the girl was a bleak, empty blue sky, broken only by the naked sun throwing down empty, cold light. Allison almost shivered, but then the warmth flowed up from the earth into her. Snowflakes melted and steamed away against her exposed skin. Allison¡¯s suit went pale, glacial green and blue. She giggled.

    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t she?¡±

    The Physician was standing with her back to Allison, his white lab coat fluttering like albatross wings in the blizzard. He was looking towards a range of white mountains, almost lost in the storm.

    A great tooth jutted out from the rock¡ªor perhaps a claw, threatening the sky. Raised metal ridges on its side swirled like slicks of mercury on black water around a closed, copper-green eye, from which fanned flashing silver scales. Its belly was armoured in rust-red and Afgan blue, while its tip was capped with a dull gold cone. The more Allison looked at the sleeping beast, the more she was reminded of a giant fish.

    The girl stared.

    ¡°She¡¯s supposed to look like a raindrop,¡± the Physician commented. ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell when she¡¯s stuck in the ground like that.¡±

    Somehow, this didn¡¯t damper Allison¡¯s amazement. ¡°Woah¡­¡± A thought twinged at her. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t she be covered in snow?¡±

    ¡°Good eye. Our lady runs too hot for snow to settle on her.¡± The Physician caught some snow between his fingers, rubbing it. ¡°Besides, it doesn¡¯t fall that much around here. This is mostly just old stuff picked up by the wind. Stale, really.¡±

    ¡°And where is here?¡±

    ¡°Ross Island. Little place off the coast of Antarctica. I think your people own it, whatever that¡¯s worth.¡± He pointed towards the mountain. ¡°That right there¡¯s called Mt. Erebus.¡± In a surprisingly human gesture, the Physician pulled up his sleeve and glared at a wristwatch. ¡°What¡¯s keeping those friends of yours?¡±

    David clapped his hands on Allison¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°Boo!¡±

    Allison laughed and pushed the boy back. ¡°What took you so long?¡±

    David was staring up at the sky, turning slowly like was trying to follow a bird in the air. ¡°Others are being wimps about it.¡± He stared at the Physician. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me you lived in the snow?¡±

    ¡°You never asked.¡±

    David laughed and swept his arms. Huge wings of snow formed behind his back, while his suit frosted over like a lake in winter. Again he laughed, loudly and freely.

    ¡°Allie, look! I¡¯m a snow angel!¡±

    Allison snorted, grabbed David, and pointed. ¡°Look, spaceship!¡±

    ¡°Ooh.¡± David and his suit exploded into a cloud of snow, instantly swept away by the wind.

    ¡°Where do you think he¡¯s going?¡± asked the Physician absently.

    ¡°Dunno. Probably getting a closer look. He can go really fast when he¡¯s not a person.¡±

    She spent a few moments gazing up after the boy, then a thought struck.

    ¡°Wait. How does it handle atmosphere with all those fin-ey bits on the front?¡±

    It was the first time she¡¯d ever heard the Physician really laugh. It didn¡¯t sound even remotely human. That made it a little less unpleasant, somehow.

    ¡°Ms. Kinsey. I don¡¯t mean to sound rude, but species who still need to concern themselves with atmospheric friction really don¡¯t have any business critiquing starship design.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer.¡±

    Another laugh, like a dying refrigerator.

    ¡°Forcefields. When your people have been nipping in and out space as long as mine have, you can compromise a bit for aesthetics.¡±

    ¡°You care about aesthetics?¡±

    ¡°Oh, deeply. My time on Earth¡¯s been spent in a complete state of shock.¡±

    Allison wasn¡¯t sure why, but she giggled at that.

    ¡°Us too.¡±

    The Physician made a popping noise. ¡°Wait, did David take his clothing with him?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Allison said, looking down at her suit. ¡°Father Christmas said our costumes were super-special. Didn¡¯t you see how David¡¯s was all watery and stuff?¡±

    The Physician¡¯s whole skin went taut. ¡°Pardon me. I had just assumed it was another piece of quaint fashion sense.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re bad at humans.¡±

    ¡°Quite. But let¡¯s not get distracted. You said Santa Claus gave you these?¡±

    There was a quiet thump in the snow behind them. Allison turned, and caught sight of Arnold kneeling in the snow, his arms tight around his ribs. He was shivering.

    ¡°Arnold!¡± She made it halfway into the first step, when a not quite human hand closed, vice-like, around her shoulder.

    ¡°You were telling me about Santa.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s freezing!¡±

    ¡°A body that size can survive these temperatures for upwards of thirty seconds without lasting damage. And even if he doesn¡¯t, the cold will preserve¡ª¡±

    The Physician took a hasty step back as the heat began to vent from Allison¡¯s form, blasting the snow around her into a metre wide ring of water that quickly sank into the pebbles below. She set her magma off to one side, and dashed to Arnold, as close as she dared.

    Arnold¡¯s teeth were chattering, even as the air around him rapidly began to warm. ¡°Why¡¯s¡ªit so¡ªc¡ªc¡ªcold?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Arnold,¡± Allison called. ¡°I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    Mabel and Billy dropped out of nothingness, and soon were both shivering like fever patients too, even with Billy¡¯s fur working for him.

    ¡°Where are we?¡± Mabel managed to get out, her question turning to mist and blown back in her face.

    Allison didn¡¯t answer her question, instead yelling, ¡°Get next to Arnold!¡±

    Both children obeyed without question, shuddering as the warmth hit their systems like a drug.

    Allison looked back at the Physician, still standing there, his arm stuck out on a jagged, broken looking angle. She shouted, ¡°Take them to the warm!¡±

    The Physician¡¯s arm snapped back into place. ¡°But they haven¡¯t even gotten a good look¡ª ¡°

    The magma hovered a foot or so towards the Physician.

    ¡°...You must let me have a look at that new power of yours, you kn¡ª¡±

    ¡°Warm!¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine, fine.¡±

    The Physician snapped his arms and legs to his sides, and opened his mouth unnaturally wide. Then his jaw slid down his torso, expanding his mouth until it filled most of his frame.

    Every cell in the Physician¡¯s body screamed. Even with her toughened ear-drums, Allison had to clap her hands over her ears.

    In the distance, a solid wall of snow slid down the face of Mt. Erebus. The Physician¡¯s ship opened its eye. The air between its gaze and the children shimmered red. Their feet lifted off the ground.

    ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± Allison asked.

    The Physician¡¯s face was grinding and cracking back into a shape suitable for human speech. ¡°Tractor-beam, young lady,¡± he said, flexing his jaw like he was checking to see if it fit properly. He hopped into the glow, snatched up by its power before his shoes hit the snow again. ¡°Try to enjoy it.¡±

    It was warm within the beam. Almost sauna-like. The ground cleaved farther and farther from the children as they were pulled upwards like fish caught in a riptide.

    Allison leaned backwards against the air until she started tumbling head over heels, the vast plates of white and blue spinning around her.

    ¡°Whee!¡±

    Billy swam through the air in front of her, his cape rippling behind him like a proper superhero. At least someone was enjoying the trip.

    After what could¡¯ve been five minutes or an hour, they passed through the ship¡¯s sullen, red eye. Allison screwed her eyes shut to shut out the glare and¡ª

    The Physician and his students found their footing again under a sky of dark steel; studded with thousands of minute, softly shining gems like fossilized stars.

    Allison wiggled her toes. There was grass beneath her feet.

    The Physician dusted off his jacket and looked around. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re on the night-shift. I¡¯ll fix it.¡±

    He made a circle with his pointer finger. The place rang in Allison''s ears like struck crystal. The mineral constellations above were obscured by the haze and flowering clouds of a bright, flaxen sky. There was no sun, but it was as if the air itself were charged with daylight. Dozens of trees rose from a sea of indigo grass, their branches lost in the sky; some were thinner than a human child, others had trunks like colossal marble columns. The whole field was rimmed by walls of rough, white stone.

    Arnold gazed in complete wonder, remembering some of his mother¡¯s idle speculations on the dimensions of Heaven. He looked at the Physician. ¡°I thought you were taking us to your spaceship?¡±

    ¡°I did.¡± The Physician spread his arms out just a little too wide. ¡°I think you would call this the lobby.¡±

    Arnold turned around to find a copper circle exactly like the one back at Ravenscroft. He scowled, immediately rounding on Dr. Smith. ¡°You could¡¯ve taken us straight here, couldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Of course I could¡¯ve.¡±

    ¡°Then why¡¯d you dump us in the middle of the North Pole?¡±

    ¡°Please, boy, the North Pole¡¯s miles away.¡±

    Arnold fumed and fidgeted. Billy was already running around the grass laughing when David coalesced from the ambient moisture.

    ¡°Hey guys! What took ya?¡±

    ¡°Freezing to death,¡± Mabel muttered, clutching her folder and art supplies.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    The Physician clicked. ¡°How¡¯d you get in here, David? Ship¡¯s airtight. It¡¯s kind of the point of her.¡±

    David smiled a secret smile. ¡°There¡¯s water in here, though.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. I like your new eyes, by the way.¡±

    David didn¡¯t know if the Physician was being sly or just himself. He moved on. ¡°It¡¯s actually really neat in here¡ª¡±

    Fibrous, wrenching tearing. One of the larger trees cracked open at the base, widening to form a shadowed doorway.

    Allison gritted her teeth. A song was pouring out of the trunk. It was¡­ at the very least, it belonged to the same album as the Physician¡¯s. All the same impossible, twisting notes, the same harsh, mocking motifs, just arranged a little differently. The closest comparison Allison could make were Mels and David¡¯s songs.

    A woman emerged from the tree. She was taller than the Physician, bordering on six-foot-two, and wrapped in a ballooning black dress, with red-rimmed eye-glasses that could¡¯ve served as air-foils. Her cobweb hair was done up in a thick beehive, though Allison would¡¯ve expected to find spiders crawling through it before honeybees. Her long, orange painted nails could¡¯ve sliced through steel.

    She caught sight of the Physician, her eyes widening behind the thick lenses of her glasses to the size of saucers. ¡°Dr. Smith!¡±

    Her Russian accent wouldn¡¯t have been out of place in a Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon. She slid towards the group. The way her body moved beneath her skirt, it looked less like she had two legs under there than a thick, solid serpent¡¯s tail. A naga that had learned to walk.

    The Physician grinned and gestured towards the lady. ¡°Children, this is Dr. Sofia Ivanova. She handles superhuman science for the Soviets.¡±

    Arnold frowned. ¡°Wait, she¡¯s a commie?¡± he asked, a little of his father speaking through him.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t joined the party yet, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking, little boy.¡±

    Dr. Ivanova leaned forward, examining the children. Up close, Allison noticed how grey her skin was. Where the Physician was jaundiced, this woman was just dead. ¡°So, Smith, who are these dearies I¡¯m looking at?¡±

    ¡°These boys and girls are from Herbert Lawrence¡¯s kennel. Where I got Sinclair from.¡± The Physician gestured at each child in turn. ¡°Sea-spawn, external teleporter, totemic animator, matter-manipulator, and that power-esper I mentioned.¡±

    None of the children were sure what to make of that introduction.

    The Physician put his bony, rubbery hands on Allison and David¡¯s shoulders. ¡°These two¡¯s clothes came from Father Christmas. What brings you shipside, by the way?¡±

    Ivanova¡¯s fingers squirmed like hungry worms. ¡°Ooh, I¡¯m jealous. And I was just getting reacquainted with myself.¡±

    ¡°May I say you look amazing?¡±

    ¡°You flatter me, John.¡± Ivanova slid over to a fungus-covered patch of rock-wall. It was like a mossy, checkered blanquet every colour of the gradient. She tapped away, each square glowing as she touched it. The copper circle bubbled. ¡°I need to go. Science City One has a new shipment of nelyudi from Ukraine.¡±

    Mabel watched her slip into the metal. ¡°So¡­ Is that your sister? Mother? Girlfriend?¡±

    ¡°Oh no. Dr. Ivanova is just me, and I am just her.¡± The Physician started towards one of the trees. ¡°So, Christmas lunch?¡±

 Chapter Fifty-Nine: An American Warlock in Avon Valley

    Lieutenant Benjamin Veltro thought he¡¯d gotten a plum job with his latest assignment: guarding a cleanup crew at some empty, podunk boarding school. The young soldier traded a narrow bunk in a crowded barrack for a queen sized bed with a view of pristine Wheatbelt countryside. Most of his days were spent reading dusty old children¡¯s books, drinking forgotten bottles of red, and chatting with the cleaners on their lunch break.

    It was only a week later that Lieutenant Veltro began to wonder why a school cleanup needed military protection. Why the grounds had such deep, strange scars; as if bombarded by meteors and slashed by dragons¡¯ talons. Why he kept finding gold along the riverbank. Why the grass was littered with spent bullets and stained with blood.

    ¡°What happened here, Royce?¡± Benjamin asked the head of the cleanup crew one afternoon while they relaxed in front of a small, limestone castle. The lieutenant was sitting on an overturned gold gargoyle.

    Pete Royce swallowed his mouthful of cornbeef sandwich. In his white hazard-suit, the balding, middle-aged man looked like a cut-rate astronaut. ¡°Why you asking me, soldier-boy? They don¡¯t tell us nothing.¡±

    ¡°I mean¡ª¡± The lieutenant gestured back at the castle. ¡°This isn¡¯t normal, is it?¡±

    Royce nodded. ¡°Sure ain¡¯t.¡± The cleaner¡¯s eyes danced conspiratorially. ¡°I hear this place was a school for demis.¡±

    The lieutenant frowned. ¡°You¡¯re shitting me. That even allowed?¡±

    Pete shrugged. ¡°Dunno. Bloke who told me said they had some deal with the freak-finders. Then Canberra went all¡±¡ªthe cleaner mimed an explosion¡ª¡°and I guess what was left of the government decided to crack down on the demis.¡± He smiled wryly. ¡°I guess they ain¡¯t all bulletproof.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Soon, the locals started turning up. Some of them brought food for children long gone. Some left guilty flowers to rot in the sun. Benjamin turned them all away, with only an ¡°I¡¯m not at liberty to discuss the matter¡± as an explanation

    One dirty-blond young man left his spit at the lieutenant¡¯s feet:

    ¡°Baby-killer!¡±

    Lieutenant Veltro tried to muster some martial presence. Instead, he just stammered, ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    The teenage hippie choked on his anger. ¡° ¡®I don¡¯t know¡¯ my arse!¡± The boy strode towards the soldier, but his burly companion blocked him with his arm.

    ¡°He¡¯s not worth it, Bazza,¡± he said slowly, eyeing the lieutenant''s sidearm like a wasp.

    Bazza took a deep breath. ¡°You¡¯re right, Ed.¡± He turned around and walked towards the gate. ¡°Besides, these fuckers only go after little kids.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The lieutenant was alone again, his words drowned in the still summer air.

    After that, a glass slide was pulled out from between the world and Lieutenant Veltro. The heat hit him harder. His spare time went from liberating to oppressive, seconds and hours stretching to breaking point. More and more, he kept spotting toys abandoned in the grass. His mind tried drawing lines between them and their absent, unknowable owners like terrible constellations. He spent a lot of time staring at the mural on the side of barn, wondering how much of someone¡¯s life and time went into those mermaids. Benjamin felt like an intruder in an empty, lonely Heaven. Dante without a Virgil or Beatrice.

    Then the lieutenant started going mad. He had to be. He kept hearing laughter. Light, young laughter¡­

    Lieutenant Veltro swung around in the tall yellow grass, trying to find the voice. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡±

    No answer. Just more laughter.

    Veltro reached for his gun, but went still. He remembered the look on that hippie¡¯s face. The contempt.

    I¡¯m better than that.

    Instead, the lieutenant shouted, ¡°Come out here, kid! This area is off-limits!¡± He only realized the contradiction once he said it out loud.

    There was movement in the trees. A boy, with a face pale as a corpse. Or a ghost. He took off into the bush.

    Lieutenant Veltro ran after the child. ¡°Wait, come back!¡±

    The boy leapt over roots and fallen branches without effort, swerving around gnarled, tightly packed trees with ease while the lieutenant struggled to keep up.

    ¡°I just want to ask¡ª¡±

    The boy disappeared behind a tree. Veltro managed to catch up before he emerged from the other side¡ª

    The boy was gone; like he¡¯d never been there at all.

    Lieutenant Veltro fell to his knees, rapping the side of his head with his knuckles and slamming his fist into the dirt. ¡°Fuck! Fuck!¡±

    When his commanding officer rolled up in his khaki jeep, Benjamin was relieved. Maybe he was getting a transfer. Anywhere or anything would be better than this bloody haunted school. Even Vietnam would¡¯ve been an improvement in Veltro¡¯s book. Not like you could get up to much with the Flying Man swooping in whenever things got interesting.

    Instead, the captain handed the lieutenant a funny smelling stick of chalk and a sealed envelope.

    ¡°The Americans are sending someone to give the place a look over. He¡¯ll be here tomorrow night. You¡¯ll be getting things set up for him, your instructions are in the envelope.¡± The captain looked like he was about to say something else, but instead simply sighed. ¡°Just do what it says, and do what he says, got it?¡±

    Lieutenant Veltro saluted and shouted, ¡°Yes, sir!¡± What else was he going to do?

    He opened the envelope in bed that night. All that was in it was a sheet of A4 paper with an astrological symbol scrawled on it:

    ?

    Next to it were written the words, ¡°Draw this on a flat surface, sunset tomorrow. No earlier, no later. Use the chalk.¡±

    Benjamin didn¡¯t know what to think. It was yet more easy work but¡­ Americans were a strange, strange people.

    So, the next day, when the evening shadows were eating the farmhouse walls, the lieutenant found one of its abundant blackboards, and got his art on.

    When he was done, Veltro stuck his chalk in his ear and lit a cigarette, admiring his efforts. He¡¯d forgotten how bloody hard drawing a halfway decent circle freehand could be, but he thought he¡¯d done alright. Satisfied, he turned to leave, ready to greet the yank whenever he deigned to show up.

    The lieutenant still wondered why the bloke wanted him to draw some New Age symbol. Why not a flag? Or an eagle? Something Americans liked.

    Outside, the roof of the sun finally dipped below the horizon. The thin, bright fuse that separates land and sky burned out. Behind the lieutenant, all its light flowed through the window into the Mercury symbol.

    A warm breeze broke through into the empty classroom, carrying with it the scent of rain soaked pollen. Strange birds called to each other from some vast, near distance. Veltro could feel the sun on his back.

    Someone cleared his throat.

    Lieutenant Benjamin Veltro turned to find a man standing in front of the chalkboard. He was tall, with brown skin and serious, beetle black eyes. Dressed in the olive green of the US Army, tight curls peeked out from under his dark green beret. In his left hand was a dark wood staff.

    ¡°Lieutenant Veltro?¡±

    Shakily, the lieutenant saluted. ¡°A¡ªawaiting your orders, Colonel Penderghast.¡±

    ?

    Lieutenant Veltro had been hearing lurid tales of Howard Penderghast for years, ever since he walked into a New England recruitment office and conjured forth the spirit of Charles Young. People said he could make dead soldiers get up and fight, pull Viet-Cong up from Hell into an interrogation room, and then make them wish they had been left to the flames. He was like the US military¡¯s own personal Flying Man.

    So naturally, the first thing the warlock did after teleporting halfway across the world via chalk drawing was find the kitchen and make a pot of tea.

    At least¡ªLieutenant Veltro considered¡ªhe didn¡¯t make him do it.

    Penderghast poured out three cups. Two were delicate bone china, the third a thick, cheap enamel mug.

    ¡°Permission to speak sir?¡±

    ¡°Granted,¡± the wizard replied absently.

    ¡°Who¡¯s the third cup for?¡±

    ¡°In case we have guests.¡±

    With no particular flare or ceremony, Penderghast waved his staff over the tea. The cups took to the air, bobbing in the air behind him.  ¡°Take us to the library, lieutenant.¡±

    Benjamin tried to keep his jaw from dropping. He¡¯d never seen any kind of magic or powers or whatever that trick was in person. He felt like a complete rube. ¡°Yes sir.¡±

    The school¡¯s library wasn¡¯t big, exactly, but it was densely packed, with floor to ceiling bookshelves lining every wall. Just glancing at the spines revealed an admirable diversity. Thin hardcover children¡¯s books and rough, wild pulp magazines were sandwiched between fine, leatherbound volumes that were probably older than any library on the continent¡ªwith only the very beginnings of dust, as the poor lieutenant couldn¡¯t help but notice.

    The principal piece of furniture was a honey-oak table that seemed more suited to a kitchen or dining room than a library. The colonel pulled a too-long candle out from a pouch on his belt and set it on the middle of the tabletop. He laced his fingers together and performed some painful looking contortions:

    ¡°Ignis.¡±

    Veltro felt the air in the room shift, like he was caught in a whale¡¯s slipstream. The candle lit of its own accord.

    ¡°Licet has exaudiat herbas, ad manes ventura semel.¡±

    The flame burned black. The air whispered.

    ¡°Neat¡ª¡± The lieutenant shook himself, readopting the standard, almost sing-song army man cadence. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s very impressive, sir!¡±

    ¡°Nobody likes a brown noser, lieutenant.¡± The cups of tea settled on the table, only for Penderghast to grab the odd mug out and throw it hard at one of the few exposed stretches of wallpaper. It shattered with a clatter, faint brown liquid dripping and steaming down the worn green and red damask and soaking into the carpet.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    Veltro jerked back. ¡°Permission to speak, colonel.¡±

    Penderghast sighed, ¡°I think we can take that permission as being granted until I say otherwise, lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°...Why did you do that?¡±

    ¡°Again, in case we have guests. I might have to make more tea¡­¡± Penderghast climbed on top of the table and raised his staff. ¡°Codices, proferte vestra arcana.¡±

    The library shook. Books shoved and jostled each other like they were fighting in a queue. They burst free, flying through the air on wings of paper, lining up in front of the colonel like soldiers for inspection. ¡°Until those guests choose to show themselves, we will be sorting sorting through Herbert Lawrence¡¯s collection of esoteric literature.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir. Could I just ask, who was Herbert Lawrence? I¡¯ve heard the name, but everyone acts like I should already know his bloody birthday.¡±

    Penderghast looked at the solder with some concern. ¡°You weren¡¯t told?¡±

    ¡°Ah. Need to know, I got it.¡±

    Penderghast seemed to consider something. Finally, he spoke. ¡°Herbert Lawrence was a psychiatrist who ran this place as a care home for superhumans. Wrote a book on it.¡± He pointed to a maroon book floating at the end of the line. ¡°There it is, actually. Your DDHA let the school stay open as a test-case.¡± He paused, as though deciding whether he ought to continue. ¡°Then it turned out he was trying to breed the students. Make a better class of superhuman. There¡¯s evidence that suggests he may have been involved in the parliamentary bombings.¡±

    ¡°Christ,¡± muttered Veltro. ¡°I just thought he got it for having a bunch of demis around.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think they like that word, lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, sir.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize to me, I¡¯m neither blessed nor psychic,¡± said the man making books dance. ¡°There was a raid. It... didn¡¯t go as planned. That¡¯s why I¡¯m here. Clear up some details.¡±

    ¡°And the books¡­¡±

    ¡°Are my payment. Try and find me anything that seems ¡®mystic¡¯ will you?¡±

    For the next couple of hours, Lieutenant Veltro sat on the library¡¯s couch, a stack of books resting beside him, calling out titles to his acting CO while tomes filed past the warlock¡¯s cool, appraising gaze.

    ¡°Omskirk''s Revelations of Thirty-Six Other Worlds.¡±

    ¡°How did the old fool get his hands on that? Keep.¡±

    ¡°The Lives of Trees.¡±

    ¡°I have a friend who¡¯d appreciate that.¡±

    The lieutenant picked up a heavyset book bound in porous peach leather. ¡°This one doesn¡¯t have a title.¡±

    ¡°Check the front-piece.¡±

    Veltro obeyed, sounding out the book¡¯s title. ¡°The Necro-nomi-con.¡±

    ¡°Who did the translation?¡±

    The lieutenant squinted. ¡°Some guy called John Dee.¡±

    A grunt. ¡°Might as well trash it then.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡±

    Lieutenant Benjamin had a sneaking suspicion that Penderghast had only put him on book sorting duty to give him something to do. Which he might¡¯ve appreciated, if he had forgotten the concept of ¡°smoko breaks.¡± He wasn¡¯t entirely sure why he was taking orders from a demi, whatever else he claimed to be. It didn¡¯t help that the colonel was coloured, either.

    Still, had to make the best of it.

    ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, sir,¡± Veltro said, ¡°are you really a wizard?¡±

    Without looking away from his books, Penderghast answered, ¡°I prefer to go by ¡®warlock¡¯. The etymology is a bit unfortunate, but I think it projects the right¡­ connotations. ¡®Witch¡¯ is fine, too, but some people today have¡­ opinions on the idea of a gentleman witch. I¡¯m sure you understand.¡±

    Veltro nodded. ¡°I think I get the picture. Never heard a bloke call themselves a witch. Thinkin¡¯ about it, I¡¯ve only ever heard blokes call women that.¡±

    ¡°Indeed.¡±

    ¡°So, how did you get to be a warlock?¡±

    The colonel raised his chin slightly. ¡°The Penderghasts have been practising magic for over three hundred years, since before our ancestors came on the Mayflower and the slave ships.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s something you¡¯re born to.¡±

    ¡°Not entirely.¡±

    ¡°...Could I learn to do magic?¡±

    Penderghast looked at the soldier, his finger on his chin. ¡°How old are you, lieutenant?¡±

    Fair question. ¡°Twenty-seven, sir.¡±

    Penderghast nodded slowly. ¡°And how long do you expect to live?¡±

    Veltro wasn¡¯t sure what to make of that one. ¡°Um¡­ supposing I don¡¯t get shot or catch something nasty? Seventy I guess? Eighty if I¡¯m lucky. My granddad got to be ninety-one.¡±

    ¡°And are you particularly good at anything?¡±

    ¡°I guess I¡¯m a decent enough soldier. I know my way around a radio.¡±

    ¡°Then I don¡¯t think sorcery would be worth pursuing.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Well, no reason to let the conversation die. ¡°Are there schools for this sort of thing?¡±

    Penderghast waved his hand. ¡°A few, here and there. I¡¯d avoid Scholomance, but there¡¯s also Esquith and Saint Cyprian.¡±

    ¡°Which one did you go to?¡±

    The warlock sniffed. ¡°None of them. The schools are fine if you don¡¯t have anyone better to teach you, but I was tutored at home.¡±

    ¡°Must¡¯ve been lonely.¡±

    For the first time that night, Penderghast smiled. ¡°I have four sisters and six brothers. All older. I wished I was lonely.¡±

    Benjamin laughed. ¡°I hear ya, mate.¡±

    Next to the table, the candle-flame fluttered. The air turned wintery.

    The lieutenant threw his arms around himself, shivering. ¡°This you¡ª¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t look like this.¡±

    There was a young woman standing at the table. She looked like a black and white photograph of a teacher¡ªattired in a monochrome pintuck blouse and skirt that went all the way down to her nurse¡¯s shoes. Her face was built for cheer, but  now set in a grim, colourless mask. Her hair was strange to behold, as though someone had managed to produce the colour red from only grey pigments. She was studying her smooth, pale hands like they belonged to a stranger. ¡°I mean, I haven¡¯t for years. I¡¯m sixty-five.¡± She looked up at the warlock, still sitting cross legged by the candle. ¡°Is this the way of ghosts, Mr. Penderghast? Do our souls not age with us?¡±

    ¡°It varies from spirit to spirit, ma¡¯am,¡±  the colonel replied. ¡°Some shades appear exactly as they died, down to the scars of their death. I think it¡¯s rooted in a person¡¯s self-image.¡±

    The ghost laughed. It was the saddest sound in the world. ¡°You know, I never put much stock in conscious survival after death. Whenever someone asked I told them I was a Jeffersonian Christian. So not only was I wrong on that, I get to find out I¡¯m vain, too.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know about that.¡± Penderghast swirled his index finger in the air like a mixing spoon. A vaporous replica of the smashed mug of tea coalesced from nothing. ¡°Would you like a drink, ma¡¯am?¡±

    The spirit took the cup and drank like a woman who only knew thirst. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°No problem.¡± Penderghast looked past the ghost. ¡°Put that away, Veltro.¡±

    The lieutenant lowered his gun sheepishly. ¡°Sorry, miss.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be, young man. Guns have done all they¡¯re ever going to do to me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re Mary Gillespie, aren¡¯t you,¡± Penderghast said. ¡°You helped run the New Human Institute.¡±

    Mary sighed. ¡°You¡¯ve got me there.¡± She shook her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t supposed to be that way. Or maybe it was and I was too foolish to see it.¡± The spirit wafted towards the library doorway, her form rippling like smoke in the wind. ¡°There¡¯s something you boys need to see.¡±

    The shade of Mary Gillespie led Penderghast and the lieutenant to the house¡¯s front door, passing through the wood and glass soundlessly.

    The warlock turned to Benjamin and removed a small jar of ointment from his belt. ¡°You right-handed, lieutenant?¡± he asked as he unscrewed the lid.

    ¡°Yes sir.¡±

    Penderghast held the open jar out Veltro. ¡°Rub this in your left eye and keep your right one covered. That¡¯s your lying eye.¡±

    ¡°...Yes sir.¡±

    With some trepidation, Veltro dug out some of the yellow, foul-smelling stuff and started applying it to his eye, while Penderghast did the same with his left. When he was done, the colonel pulled out an eyepatch and placed it over his right-eye. He looked like where soldier met pirate.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t I get an eye-patch?¡± Veltro asked with his hand over his right-eye.

    ¡°Because you didn¡¯t come prepared. Come on, lieutenant. You don¡¯t keep a lady waiting.¡±

    The men stepped outside. Night had arrived in full over the Institute, and with it, phantasms.  Dozens of human afterimages were burned into the grass by the Institute¡¯s gate. Soldiers wandered aimlessly, aiming the faint memory of their rifles at nothing and everything, yelling out silent orders and screaming mutely.

    ¡°Can¡ªcan those guns hurt anyone?¡± Veltro asked Penderghast.

    ¡°No. I just find it amazing a weapon can become so rooted in a person¡¯s sense of self.¡±

    They ventured into the long-gone crowd. Veltro made great pains to step around the ghosts, but Penderghast barged through them as carelessly as fog.

    ¡°They can¡¯t feel it,¡± he reassured the other soldier.

    Not all the dead soldiers were completely intact. One walked around with only a mangled jaw left of his head. Another was riddled with bullet holes, still bleeding even now his blood was gone.

    There were children among the spectres, too. Veltro startled when a boy walked through and around him, clutching at a head wound that would never heal.

    Benjamin staggered forward, almost trampling a little girl rocking in the grass. He could tell she¡¯d been blonde, even through her grey pallor. The front of her overalls were soaked black with blood.

    ¡°Why¡¯s the wind not listening?¡±

    Veltro wished he could answer the girl.

    Penderghast meanwhile was keeping careful count of the ghosts, lest the casualty list for Operation Prometheus need revising. So far, he had spotted none of the unaccounted students. Not that he had expected to.

    There were more soldiers than he expected clinging to the Earth. Surely they of all people should be prepared for death.

    He shook his head regretfully. Conscripts.

    They found Mary Gillespie mournfully watching the shade of a teenage girl. She seemed to be ranting and raving at the schoolteacher, angry, long-shed tears retracting their paths down her face:

    ¡°You bastards! You murdering fucking bastard¡ª¡±

    Her sentence was cut short. In a blink, she was shaking her head in disbelief, trembling with uncontainable rage.

    ¡°You bastards! You murdering fucking bastard¡ª¡±

    Again and again, like footage on loop.

    ¡°Christ,¡± said Veltro as he drew close. ¡°You¡¯d think you were the one who killed her.¡± He squinted at Mary. ¡°...You didn¡¯t, did you?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not talking to me.¡±  Mary tore her eyes away from her student. ¡°It¡¯s not fair. Death gives her a voice, but it took everything else away from her.¡±

    ¡°Death is very fair,¡± Penderghast said. ¡°Limbo isn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re that yank wizard, aren¡¯t ya?¡±

    Penderghast and Veltro turned to find a shade standing apart from the others. It was a teenage boy, with hair as yellow as the sun. Not the pale, half-remembered impression of the colour, but real, honest yellow. His skin looked like it still had blood flowing under it.

    The boy almost looked alive.

    Penderghast¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Blood of Olympus¡­¡±

    Lucius Owens half-smiled. ¡°Kinda nice to have some outside confirmation on that. You know, Laurie always said you were just a barmy psychic.¡±

    Penderghast folded his arms. ¡°I think we can agree Dr. Lawrence was wrong about a lot of matters.¡±

    ¡°I hear ya.¡± Linus looked around at the addled spirits of his classmates and killers. ¡°My uncle¡ªHermes, you know¡ªcame for me and Mary here, and that bloke that was bossing all the soldiers. He said he couldn¡¯t take everyone down below.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t go with them?¡± asked the lieutenant.

    Linus shrugged. ¡°We weren¡¯t going to leave them behind, we we?¡± The vivid spirit asked Penderghast, ¡°Why couldn¡¯t Hermes take them? Why are they all so¡­ out of it?¡±

    ¡°Violent death can do that. Suffering and fear have their own awful gravity. It might be what gravity¡¯s made of.¡±

    ¡°Thought it would be something like that,¡± muttered Mary. ¡°It¡¯s always like that in the stories.¡± She looked the warlock straight in the eye. ¡°Can you help them?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°...Will you help them?¡±

    ¡°Mrs Gillespie, what else is a warlock for?¡±

    The ghost frowned. ¡°I hope you know what that word means, young man.¡±

    Penderghast allowed himself a smile. ¡°It¡¯s my word and I can do what I want with it.¡± His face became grave again as he shot Veltro a glance. ¡°Stand back lieutenant.¡±

    The lieutenant obeyed with gusto, almost stepping out of the crowd of spirits altogether.

    Penderghast closed his eyes, and raised his staff.

    When a magician speaks spells, they almost never use their mother-tongue. The European magi who gave Howard Penderghast his name used Latin, the language of priests and scholars long-dead. The Romans before them used Greek and Estruscan. To use another¡¯s speech keeps the magic ready at your fingertips, safely away from your heart.

    When a sorcerer really means business, though, they use their own words, plain and simple.

    ¡°Rock and moss and trees and stars, loosen your grip¡­¡±

    Penderghast¡¯s voice was loud. Veltro thought it could echo forever and never dim. It was as if the warlock spoke not with his tongue and throat, but with every atom of the land itself.

    ¡°The dust has tasted blood, but it craves souls too. The void of Erebus opens for these spirits, and not urns nor tombs nor sepulchres shall hold them back!¡±

    Delicate silver strings spun between the lost ghosts and Penderghast¡¯s staff. The ground and sky groaned in protest. Lighting flashed in a cloudless sky, heralding thunder like the earth splitting open.

    ¡°By the gods who authored light from entropy, and by the cosmic ruins that mothered them, by the fire that burns in my bones, and the thread that measures my life, I break their fetters!¡±

    Penderghast slammed the butt of his staff into the grass. The threads snapped like a dozen cracking whips. Penderghast collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily.

    ¡°Colonel!¡±

    As Lieutenant Veltro ran to Penderghast¡¯s side, something broke over the gathered spirits. Lights lit in their eyes. Spectrals wounds and missing body-parts filled back in.

    The boy who had been Gwydion rubbed at his head, until he spotted a soldier who¡¯d just been reunited with most of their torso.

    ¡°You bloody killed me!¡±

    The soldier looked at his victim, stuttering, ¡°Oh, shit, I did, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    The two stared at each other for a while.

    ¡°...Sorry.¡±

    ¡°...Fair enough.¡±

    For the first time in over a week, Mavis Nowak looked at Linus and actually saw him. She ran and embraced her old friend, the smoke of their ghostly bodies as firm as anything living in each other¡¯s arms.

    ¡°Oh, God, Linus¡­¡± The girl¡¯s hand went to her mouth. ¡°I can talk!¡±

    Linus laughed. ¡°You never had trouble making yourself heard before!¡±

    Mavis slapped the boy. Somehow, miraculously, it stung.

    That out of the way, Mavis asked, ¡°So, are we¡­ alive again?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± said Mrs Gillespie, hugging the shade that had been Windshear. ¡°I think you¡¯re finally dead.¡±

    Despite that news, Mavis grinned at her teacher. ¡°You¡¯re looking good, Mrs G.¡±

    Mary adjusted her bun primly. ¡°Thank you, dear.¡±

    Linus looked at Penderghast, back on his feet but leaning on Lieutenant Veltro and his staff for support. ¡°Thank, Mr. Wizard.¡±

    Penderghast raised his hand. ¡°It was no big deal, son.¡±

    It probably cost the warlock a few years off the end of his life, but he had plenty to spare.

    ¡°So,¡± said Linus, ¡°what do we do now?¡±

    ¡°Do we find somewhere better to haunt?¡± asked Mavis. ¡°Could always start following the Beatles around.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± replied Penderghast. ¡°Someone will be coming now.¡± He laughed hoarsely. ¡°Can¡¯t unring a bell.¡±

    ¡°That you can¡¯t,¡± said a velvety Louisiana drawl.

    A handsome black man was standing behind the gate, watching the ghosts with a small, bemused smile . He was dressed in a silver-buttoned tailcoat and a top hat that could¡¯ve poked God¡¯s eye. His own eyes were hidden by thick sunglasses, and the left half of his face was painted white with ash. In one hand he held a cigarette between two fingers, in the other, he grasped an ivory cane topped with a carved ebony skull. The bottom of his dress shoes were stained saffron with pollen, like he¡¯d been walking through

    ¡°Hello, Lucius. You ready to come on down now?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not my uncle,¡± said Linus.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Mr. Penderghast here is on closer terms with me than your Hermes, son. I¡¯ll be your guide below for the evening.¡±

    Linus tilted his head. ¡°There¡¯s more than one of you guys?¡±

    ¡°Oh, as many as there are deaths. Maybe more.¡±

    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Mary said, waving a finger ponderously at the spirit. ¡°Baron Samedi.¡±

    A frown tightened his lips. ¡°Baron La Croix, actually. There¡¯s rather more than one of us Loa than that one showboater.¡±

    ¡°Sorry. Us Englishwomen tend to be more up on our Greek than our Voodoo.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    Penderghast cut in, ¡°Great spirit, I apologize for delaying your duties, but I have a question, if it pleases you to answer.¡±

    The psychopomp looked at the colonel consideringly. ¡°You can ask. Can¡¯t promise any answers, but you can ask.¡±

    Penderghast straightened. ¡°Alberto Moretti of Bovegno, son of Luca and Giuseppina Morretti. Do you know how he died? What has become of his body?¡±

    Well, that was an easy one. ¡°Howard Penderghast, your question has no answer, for Alberto Morretti¡¯s heart still beats. He still walks among the living, somewhere.¡±

    ¡°At least there¡¯s that,¡± Mary said.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Pendergast said through gritted teeth.

    Valour¡¯s going to love this.

    Baron La Croix clapped. ¡°Everyone line up, you¡¯re not the only people who need ferrying tonight.¡±

    Student and soldier alike came together before the Gu¨¦d¨¦. Things like grudges and anger lived mostly in the blood. At the front of the crowd was Mary Gillespie:

    ¡°We¡¯re ready¡­ your highness?¡±

    The Baron chucked, taking the woman by the hand. ¡°Just Hermes will do, Mary. I¡¯ve been waiting for this date for a long time.¡±

    Mary laughed. ¡°Flatterer.¡±

    And so, the dead of the New Human Institute went down past where the day sleeps, over the wall of silence, beyond the darkest rivers, and after that there is no language.

 Chapter Sixty: A Feast of Tribes

    Dr. John Smith and his young guests dined beneath the stars. Not that they were were eating outdoors. Even if it weren¡¯t twenty-five below celsius; even if it weren¡¯t only half past ten in the morning, Ross Island wouldn¡¯t know true night again for another six months.

    The Physician¡¯s clear glass dinner table hung high above a world of seas. Only one true continent marred it: a bowl of dense forests and marshlands that looked up at the children like the eye of a cyclops. The rest of the planet was fringed with archipelagos¡ªveins of white sand and trees that stretched in all directions over the horizon. Two sunsets broke over each hemisphere, colliding at the equator like waves in the ocean.

    ¡°So, what do you think of the planetarium?¡± the Physician asked from behind his empty, sparkling clean plate. He hadn¡¯t eaten anything all meal, for which the children were mostly thankful. A fat broach shaped like the offspring of a cockroach and a fish was pinned over his breast. It muted his song completely, which Allison greatly appreciated, even if it made the Physician seem like even more of a walking corpse.

    ¡°It¡¯s great!¡± Billy chirped, cheeks bulging with what the Physician had insisted upon calling ¡°chicken nuggets¡±, but which in reality mostly resembled furry mammalian crickets.

    Arnold glanced down nervously at the sea far below. Their seats were floating, legless bar stools. As far as his inner ear was concerned, there might as well not have been a floor at all.

    ¡°...If I fall off my chair, will I die?¡±

    The Physician emitted a burst of canned laughter.

    ¡°Only if you teleport the floor away.¡±

    That didn¡¯t help.

    The table was laden with dozens of different dishes, and not one did the children recognize, Allison included. Tiny explosions encased in glass cubes. Blue and red slugs that rutted together in a bowl, sweating a purple sludge that was apparently meant to be rubbed on your teeth. Canisters of an oddly viscous, neon gas: when Billy cracked one open, it settled around his skin like a pulsing glove for a few seconds before evaporating again. Despite it never going near his tongue, the boy had described it as tasting of cheese and citrus. There was also soda water.

    ¡°Do try the crystal-cakes, kids,¡± the Physician suggested, pointing to a platter of what looked like cupcakes embedded with shards of broken pottery. ¡°Got the recipe from a planet called Zyrgon. Amazing food, trousers that would take your eye out. Had to substitute some of the ingredients, though. Probably for the best, the original recipe made base stock humans sort of¡­ glow drunk.¡±

    The children did not eat the cakes.

    The Physician¡¯s torso twisted and bent, bones and ligaments cracking until he was looking down at the planet. ¡°That¡¯s my home down there, you know.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Mabel, trying to keep her eyes focused down instead of up towards the infinite waste of strange stars. They made her feel small, tinier than the finest grain of sand on the ocean floor. ¡°I didn¡¯t think it¡¯d be blue for some reason.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the atmospheres aren¡¯t too dissimilar,¡± said the Physician. ¡°You¡¯d die of nitrogen poisoning and about a dozen allergic reactions if you visited, but plenty of that oxygen stuff you humans like so much.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it called?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°Earth.¡±

    Arnold laughed. ¡°Aww, don¡¯t¡­¡± The boy quickly checked if his mother was in the room. ¡°...Fuck with us.¡±

    ¡°I had no intention of¡ª¡± The Physician remembered that word had non-literal uses. ¡°Oh. I¡¯m quite serious.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re trying to tell us your planet just happens to be called Earth?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°He¡¯s saying the name means earth,¡± Allison explained. ¡°It¡¯s actually¡ª¡± The girl made a sound like she was gargling galladium.

    Still bent sideways at the waist, the Physician golf clapped. ¡°Very nice, Allie. I couldn¡¯t have done better myself with only one throat. She is right, though, pretty much every planet with people on it had a name that means ¡®earth¡¯ or ¡®ground¡¯ or if the species is really creative: ¡®here¡¯. There¡¯s a reason most translators don¡¯t bother with the world-names, it makes conversation terribly confusing.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s not many lights down there,¡± remarked Allison. ¡°Do you not have cities?¡±

    ¡°Very few that are visible from the surface, certainly,¡± the Physician said. ¡°My people moved into the seas, oh¡­ when did your last ice age end? Around then. Still have the odd contrarians scrabbling in the sun, but the real action back home is in the water.¡±

    The Physician made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, the finger curling inward like a snail in its shell. The table swooped down into ¡°Earth¡¯s atmosphere¡±, Arnold clinging white-knuckled to the table¡¯s edge the whole time.

    The view settled a hundred feet above the continent¡¯s west coast. A city lay in quiet ruin below the table. It looked somehow misplaced. The terrain was thick, steaming jungle, but the architecture had clearly been designed for somewhere much dryer. Low, thick walled domes of soiled sandstone, half sunken in decades and centuries of mud. Lofty sunshades were impaled by tree-branches and withered by time.

    ¡°The continent wasn¡¯t always so wet,¡± the Physician explained. ¡°Then the climate shifted, and the morphological revolution started, and I guess we went a bit nuts about the whole water thing. Outside forces and all that.¡±

    ¡°Outside forces?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°A passing goddess. We have all sorts of names for her, but the comparative religion people call her the Rainbringer. Four of my fathers were very devout. Took me to every offering.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Not quite sure how she managed it, of course. The dominant theory is that she diverted a comet into our gravity well, burned it into liquid water. Some of the more religious ones tended to think she just wished it into being, of course. Religious types like that sort of thing.¡±

    David felt funny hearing that. He wasn¡¯t sure why. Maybe it was just hearing Lawrence¡¯s friend (or whatever) take the idea of a goddess for granted. Maybe it was what he was. What his mother and grandfather had been.

    The boy decided to change the subject, to keep the thought from rattling in his skull. ¡°So, you don¡¯t just work for the Aussie freak-finders?¡±

    Arnold thought the word ¡°Aussie¡± sounded odd coming from David¡¯s mouth. And not just because of the mutant French accent. He kind of liked it.

    ¡°Nope,¡± answered the Physician. ¡°Me, myself and I do business with all the super-departments. The DDHA, DOPO, the Star Chamber, and yes, Arnold, OKB-62.¡±

    Arnold scowled. ¡°So you¡¯re a traitor.¡±

    The Physician grinned, or maybe just bared his teeth at the children. ¡°And how would that be, Arnold? I¡¯m the least Australian person on this entire planet, and that includes Herbert Lawrence. I wasn¡¯t born in Australia, I¡¯m not a citizen, and I¡¯ve certainly never applied for any visa.¡± The Physician finally realigned his body, cracking and grinding like a stick trapped in a garage door. He swept his arms up at the counterfeit sky as they soared back into space. ¡°I don¡¯t even live there most of the time.¡±

    ¡°Ross Island is Australian land,¡± Allison interjected.

    The Physician sharply swung his head from side to side, his face still and false as a laughing clown game at a carnival. ¡°I don¡¯t see any other Australians around, do I?¡± The Physician looked back to Arnold. ¡°Besides, Arnold. Arn. Are you really telling me you¡¯re a loyal little Aussie? After what they did to you? To all your friends?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI mean¡­¡±

    ¡°Aren¡¯t all these countries annoyed you¡¯re working for everyone?¡± Billy asked, saving Arnold from having to figure out what he actually felt.

    Another burst of suspiciously static laughter. ¡°I don¡¯t tell them, boy.¡±

    Mabel stared at the Physician in disbelief. ¡°But¡ªbut spies! Haunt said the big countries spy on each other all the time!¡±

    ¡°That they do, Mabel,¡± the Physician answered. He leaned forward across the table, his neck stretching out like a rusted slinky. When his head was over the hors d¡¯oeuvres, he grinned around at his guests. ¡°The trick is to not give everyone the same swag. The paranoiacs in charge assume everyone else has some secret weapon anyway, so they never put it together.¡±

    What little faith Mabel had in the powers that be evaporated. They couldn¡¯t even be evil effectively.

    The Physician continued: ¡°Think about rock-paper-scissors for a second. Every move beats and is beaten by one of the others. You add enough players, and you can keep the game going forever! Or until everyone starves to death, I suppose. I gave the Americans the power-trackers, the Russians my educator-machines, and your lot got the null-chambers. ¡±

    ¡°Null-chambers?¡± Billy repeated quizzically.

    The Physician clarified, ¡°The Quiet Room.¡± His head swiveled around at Arnold and Allison. ¡°What? You think Lawrence had the only one? Trust me, kids, there are far worse places for your kind than the asylums. Be glad they didn¡¯t send you to Maralinga, or Circle¡¯s End.¡±

    Mabel dropped her fork. It rattled against the empty void at her feet, fixed in orbit like a new satellite. ¡°What?¡±

    The Physician turned his gaze on the girl. ¡°Didn¡¯t Lawrence tell you? The DDHA set up camp there years back. Mostly trying trying to figure out what killed everyone, but they have a few side projects going. I drop in a fair bit.¡± He winked grandly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, sweetie, haven¡¯t told a soul¡­¡±

    Mabel fumed in her seat, cheeks flushed, her fists shaking at her sides. ¡°Bloody grave-robbers.¡±

    The Physician either ignored his guest¡¯s anger, or it simply didn¡¯t register. He retracted his head back onto his shoulders. Then he made a noise like a truck revving at the bottom of a cold, dark lake.

    It took Allison a moment to realize the Physician was laughing. Truly, honestly laughing.

    His voice when he spoke was perfectly even and clear, even as the laughter kept on playing like a backing track in a song. ¡°Sometimes I wonder how I get away with this. If you people would just get together and share your notes¡­¡±

    The strange laughter grew louder, less rhythmic. The Physician¡¯s body was jerking spasmodically in his seat. ¡°But that¡¯s the rub, isn¡¯t it? You human beings divy yourselves up into so many tribes.¡± He looked wildly about the table, like he was voicing the frankest, clearest absurdity.

    All he got from the children was blank stares.

    ¡°Listen here, kids, ¡®tribe¡¯ just means ¡®people I care about¡¯ and ¡®people I don¡¯t.¡¯ And the first one is always so small.¡± His head cocked towards Allison¡¯s like a crow¡¯s. ¡°Tell me, Allie, what can you do with a tribe nobody cares about?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you. Whatever you want. And they¡¯re some. I mean, you can get into one just by not having enough money! Or taking up the wrong trade! You children want to know how many sons and daughters Jessica Mallery has?¡±

    Arnold didn¡¯t know how to respond to that non-sequitur, so he just said, ¡°Sure?¡±

    ¡°Five hundred and sixty-two. You¡¯ve met a couple today.¡±

    Billy blinked, his tail swaying slowly. ¡°That¡¯s a lotta kids¡­¡±

    ¡°You think you¡¯re surprised, William, try asking Jessica! I swear, people in your country don¡¯t care if you have a prostitute''s ovary on toast¡­¡±

    Billy looked at Allison. ¡°What¡¯s a pros-ti-tute?¡±

    ¡°Tell ya later,¡± she muttered out the corner of her mouth, eyes fixed dead on the Physician.

    ¡°And it¡¯s even sillier when it comes to that ¡®race¡¯ idea of yours. You weird little apes are the most inbred, uniform species I¡¯ve ever encountered. I think most of you must¡¯ve died a while back or something, or else I have no idea.¡± He drew a line with his finger between David and Allison. ¡°There¡¯s so many people out there who thinks the big, defining difference between you two is your skin.¡±

    Allison squirmed. She didn¡¯t like being reminded at the moment that David and her were different, now.

    The Physician pointed from her to Arnold. ¡°Or take you two. The rest of you kids wouldn¡¯t say Allie and Arn were very different looking, right? Basically speaking.¡±

    A few nods and mumbled ¡°sures.¡±

    ¡°Well, because Mrs Kinsey happened to be Romani, there¡¯s a lot of respected, influential people out there who think her daughter is less of a person than Arnold. And that¡¯s he¡¯s less of a person than Mabel because he¡¯s Irish and she¡¯s English.¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°Mum¡¯s a Gypsy?¡±

    ¡°I noticed it when I was looking at your blood,¡± the Physician explained absently. ¡°Not surprised you don¡¯t know. Your mother probably hasn¡¯t admitted it for years. She¡¯s from Europe, isn¡¯t she?¡±

    Allison nodded slowly.

    ¡°Definitely not, then, if she knows what¡¯s good for her.¡±

    A wave of revulsion rose in Allison. For a moment, she hated her own flesh, her own mother. But it didn¡¯t feel like her own loathing. It was someone else¡¯s contempt¡­

    The Physician¡¯s laughter returned in force, echoing against the unseen walls of the planetarium. He looked like he was in danger of falling from his seat and tumbling down into the seas of his homeworld.

    ¡°It¡¯s a great planet, kids!¡± The Physician¡¯s lips weren¡¯t moving at all now. His voice rose from somewhere inside him like the gurgle of stomach acid. ¡°A whole world of steaming, changeable meat that nobody wants! That won¡¯t cry out when you pounce, because it knows no one will listen! A world that cares more for its petty little apathies and hates than its own happiness! It¡¯s like an open bar, kids! A herd of cows pushing and shoving each other towards my abattoir!¡±

    The children were staring at the Physician. Billy was crying softly.

    There was an awkward pause.

    The doctor¡¯s mouth started moving again with a crack. ¡°I say this with affection, of course.¡±

    ¡°...And what if we tell people,¡± Mabel blurted. ¡°What if we tell everyone what you¡¯re up to? What you really think of us.¡±

    If the Physician took that as a threat, it didn¡¯t show. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t believe you, Mabel. You¡¯re not part of their tribe.¡±

    The Physician abruptly stood up from the table, treading starlight towards the edge of infinity.

    ¡°Come on kids,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s something I¡¯ve wanted to show off for a long time.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-One: Grey Amber

    The Physician¡¯s vessel was not the spartan, utilitarian dream of mankind¡¯s engineers and futurists. It came from a shipwright tradition that had outlived pedestrian notions like ¡°praticiality.¡± Its halls and arteries were not armoured in sleek, shining metal, but instead inlaid with jade, uranian blue and carmine tesserae, forming into elaborate, fractal mosaics that cast scintillations over the Physician and his guests as they walked beneath them.

    ¡°I notice you didn¡¯t ask me what an educator machine was when I mentioned them.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± asked Arnold sullenly. ¡°We were kinda busy listening to you talking about how you like to eat people.¡±

    ¡°Eat people¡ªno, Arnold, nothing of the sort. I simply meant that I can experiment on humans without oversight or censure here.¡±

    ¡°That isn¡¯t better!¡± snapped Mabel.

    Allison was only half listening, running her fingers over the walls as she trailed behind the others. Every chip of polished glass was engraved with its own minute, complete image: depicting creatures and scenes that Allison would¡¯ve been certain were allegorical if she were anywhere else. They referenced each other, creating winding, non-linear story-webs. It wasn¡¯t art meant for people. The human eye simply couldn¡¯t take in so much information, let alone put it together. Behind the mosaics, there were bright veins and pools of ragged grey and gold light. Rivers of thought.

    The ship was alive. That crystal ringing in her ears was a song¡ªso old and vast its notes and movements lived for hours instead of seconds. Allison suddenly felt like Jonah in the whale.

    ¡°Have you children ever wondered where your powers come from?¡±

    ¡°Course,¡± said Billy. ¡°How couldn¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Lawrence kinda did all the wondering for us.¡±

    Mabel added, ¡°Gotta have someone to blame for this mess.¡±

    ¡°I know where my powers come from,¡± David said very firmly.

    ¡°Well, three of you are about to find out, anyway. Okay, maybe one and a third of you, but still.¡±

    The Physician stopped in front of a mosaic of a gigantic, coral-hided worm. He spat some murky syllables at the image, and the tiles began to shift and undulate. The creature¡¯s red cone of a head split into a dozen flailing tentacles. It audibly hissed at the Physician, before rearing up and disappearing, becoming a doorway.

    The Physician led the children into a chamber that could¡¯ve been the interior of a turtle shell, with struts like ribs stretching across a white-bone ceiling above hexagon floor-tiles. A living caricature of Albert Einstein with hair like tufts of fungus and skin like poorly cured leather clad in an off-yellow lab coat was standing in front of a square glass enclosure. Inside stood a throne, made of what appeared to be dozens upon dozens of thin hexagonal grey pillars protruding from the floor. A chubby middle-aged man sat in it, naked and pale, the hair on his chest thicker than the stuff on his head. He was biting his lips, his arms and legs stiff and shaking from the pale green fear and dark excitement Allison could see play behind his eyes.

    Maybe it was the manacles around his wrists and ankles.

    ¡°Gutentag, Dr. Smith!¡±  The faux Einstein greeted the Physician and his guests in an insulting German accent. ¡°Are these our new guests from the NHI?¡±

    Allison could tell the ¡°man¡± was a Physician (part of the Physician? She still wasn¡¯t sure) immediately. His song hit her like hot, foul breath. She almost wished John Smith hadn¡¯t bothered with the psi-broach. She had let herself get used to unpolluted music again.

    ¡°That they are,¡± Dr. Smith answered. He turned back to the children and gestured towards the false German. ¡°Kids, this is Doctor Johannes Von Shunstaffernitzum. He¡¯s what I look like when I¡¯m working with our American friends.¡±

    ¡°Pleased to meet you!¡± said Billy.

    ¡°¡®Von Shunstaffernitzum¡¯?¡± Allison repeated incredulously, still wincing from his song. ¡°You¡¯re not even trying anymore!¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Mabel, face turned away from the man in the glass cage¡¯s privates. ¡°If he¡¯s your American you,¡± she hoped that was how you were supposed to say that, ¡°why¡¯s he sound all World War 2?¡±

    Dr. Johannes answered, ¡°Ach, Americans, they think all the scientists worth having are washed up Nazis. I think most of them tell themselves I got Paperclipped after the war. Sometimes I wish either of the Germanies had a superhuman program worth mentioning. Maybe I could wear a ten gallon hat.¡±

    David was focused on the man on the throne, who was looking back at him with deep confusion. ¡°Who¡¯s he?¡± He looked at Dr. Smith. ¡°...Is this a married day kinda thing?¡±

    ¡°Nothing like that, David. The only reason he¡¯s not dressed is so his clothes don¡¯t catch fire or fuse to his skin.¡± Smith turned to his other self. ¡°Johannes, why don¡¯t you tell the children what we¡¯re doing here?¡±

    David wished he wouldn¡¯t. Johannes sounded like he was making fun of Eliza whenever he spoke.

    Dr. Johannes¡¯ moulderous mustache twitched as he gave a grin even his counterpart would be proud of. ¡°Delighted to, John.¡± He pointed at the man on the throne. ¡°In under ten minutes, if all goes to plan, children, Mr. Arkwright here will become an ¨¹bermensch.¡±

    The children exchanged mystified glances, even Allison.

    Flatly, Johannes clarified, ¡°A superhuman.¡±

    The children exploded with questions and disbelief, all except for Billy, who just intoned, ¡°Woooow.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t make someone a super,¡± said Arnold, shaking his head. ¡°It¡¯s just something that sorta¡­ happens!¡±

    ¡°Or you¡¯re born that way,¡± added David.

    John Smith looked right at Mabel. ¡°What do you think, Mabel? Nobody can give you powers, can they?¡±

    Mabel stammered. ¡°I mean¡­ not like that.¡±

    Dr. Johannes said, ¡°Trust me children, there are many ¨¹bers in the world who credit their gifts to some agent or another. Gods, spirits, men. And lightning is something that ¡®just sorta happens¡¯ and your people light your homes with it. Why should superpowers be so different?¡± The doctor titled his ear towards the ceiling. Allison heard a sound like diamonds moaning.

    ¡°Ah, here we go.¡± Johannes turned to the enclosure and clicked his tongue. The man within startled slightly.

    ¡°Mr. Arkwright,¡± Johannes said, ¡°are you ready for us to start the process?¡±

    As clearly as if there was no glass between them, Mr. Arkwright answered, ¡°Ready as I¡¯ll ever be!¡± in a brittly cheerful southern accent. ¡°...Who¡¯re the kids, doctor?¡±

    ¡°Just some of my colleague¡¯s students, Mr. Arkwright. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure they¡¯re very well behaved.¡±

    David bristled a bit at that.

    Dozens of tiles rose beside Dr. Johannes, forming a nearly bullet-shaped mound about as tall as the Physician himself. It had a gap in its side, pouring fluorite light into the chamber.

    Familiar music washed over Allison. It was faint, so distant she couldn¡¯t even grab hold of it. Perhaps it was for the best. She felt like if she touched the song, it¡¯d drown out everything that was her.

    Johannes reached into the crack and pulled, the light and the music going out as he removed a thin coronet of white gold and black gems. He stepped towards the enclosure, the forward facing glass pane silently retreating into the floor before him.

    He slipped the coronet onto Mr. Arkwright¡¯s head, crowning him like a sacrificial king. ¡°As we discussed, I can¡¯t guarantee any results. I¡¯d wager you''ll come out of this with a grab-bag of middling powers. Or explode. Either way, don¡¯t expect me to turn you into the Flying Man.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Mr. Arkwright. ¡°I¡¯ll take whatever I get.¡± A sharp breath. ¡°I need this, you know?¡±

    Dr. Johannes didn¡¯t answer his patient, concerning himself only with the coronet.

    Allison didn¡¯t know how a grownup with eyes or ears could throw themselves at the Physician¡¯s mercy like this. Sure, she and her friends were staying with him on his living spaceship, but where else were they going to go? They were demis. And this guy wanted to become one.

    Curious, she took a closer look at the Mr. Arkwright¡¯s mind:

    It was like a laser light-show in honour of mediocrity. A so-so time at school presaging an alright career at his father-in-law¡¯s electroplating firm; a cooling marriage that ¡°gave him¡± two children he could not and would not understand; a bank-teller staring wide-eyed down the end of a sawn-off shotgun, all overlit by the same aggrieved sense of comfort.

    Allison looked away. Part of her hoped Mr. Arkwright got the power to start his childhood over again. Or shapeshift into his wife.

    Dr. Johannes stepped out of the enclosure, the glass wall rising again without a word from. Dr. Smith nudged Allison in the side. ¡°Please pay attention, Allie, I suspect your perspective on this will be very illuminating.

    Tonessly, Dr. Johannes said, ¡°Energize.¡±

    The ship¡¯s crystal song sped up in Allison¡¯s ears, becoming wild and frantic as the chamber went dark. The children swiftly filled the black with questions and murmurs.

    Mr. Arkwright let out a long, hard scream¡ªthe kind that left blood on the throat. The gems on the coronet started flashing, revealing his writhing and spasms in a macabre slideshow.

    Allison screamed, too. Arkwright¡¯s mind was a supernova trapped inside his skull. Allison¡¯s eyes felt like they were going to melt out of her head.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The man¡¯s simple, human song had become a furies¡¯ chorus: a clashing medley stitched from a hundred thousand clashing notes. A million, million futures swirled inside Allison¡¯s mind, dying and multiplying like lightning bugs caught in a hurricane.

    Light spewed out of Mr. Arkwright¡¯s eyes and mouth, growing brighter and brighter until the glass cage became a solid, blindingly white cube¡ª

    The chamber was quiet again. The terrible song was gone. The storm of possibility had settled down to a slow rumble. The lights had come back on. Allison was dimly aware of Mabel and David supporting her.

    ¡°Allie?¡± asked Mabel. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Uh, guys,¡± said David, water-sense tingling. ¡°I think we should¡ª¡±

    Allison shoved her friends away, retching the cuisine of a hundred worlds onto the floor.

    The two Physicians watched the girl with avid interest:

    ¡°She¡¯s the power-mimic, correct?¡± asked Dr. Johannes.

    ¡°Yes. Stronger reaction than I was respecting, truth be told.¡±

    ¡°Very interesting.¡± He pronounced every syllable of the second word like a tourist ordering a local delicacy. ¡°Be sure to record¡ª¡±

    Allison burst into flames. Tendrils of lava sprouted from her skin and arched towards the two doctors. ¡°Never do that to me again!¡±

    The Physicians stood motionless in the red glare of the molten rock. The collars of their lab coats caught fire, and the skin of their faces blistered and bubbled. Even their hair burnt more like flesh than keratin. Then their mouths dropped open, releasing a round of identical canned laughter.

    ¡°Achtung, Doctor Smith! You¡¯ve got a feisty one here!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡± The Physician bent under the lava to make eye-contact with the girl. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Allie, this is hardly an everyday procedure.¡±

    Allison stood there burning for a moment, glaring. Then she sighed. Her fire and magma extinguished. Why bother? It was like trying to threaten dust, or laughter itself.

    As though he just remembered a pastry in the oven, Dr. Johannes turned around and asked, ¡°How are we doing in there, Mr. Arkwright?¡±

    Kyle Arkwright didn¡¯t answer his benefactor. He¡¯d somehow managed to slip his wrists out of the throne¡¯s manacles, and was staring wide-eyed at the back of his hands as waves of scales and chrome rippled over his skin. A choked, disbelieving laugh forced its way out of him in juddering gasps.

    ¡°Let me out!¡± Arkwright cried gleefully. He lunged out from the chair, legs stretching out tight behind him like a rubber doll until they snapped free of their restraints. Throwing himself at the cage wall like a zoo gibbon, his face and chest flattened unnaturally against the glass. ¡°Let me out!¡±

    Dr. Johannes smiled indulgently, and the wall lowered.

    The new super ran towards the Physician, shouting, ¡°Thank you, thank you!¡± over and over like he¡¯d been cured of something foul and terminal. He spread his arms like he was about to hug the alien, until he noticed the still burning coat. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, with a touch of affected cool, ¡°thanks.¡±

    ¡°Pleased with the results?¡± asked Dr. Johannes as he threw his jacket off. The floor ate it.

    ¡°You kidding?¡± Arkwright¡¯s paunchy flesh flushed with a deep tan. His skin wriggled like it was infested with maggots as his muscles inflated like balloons, going from nonexistent to tumorous in seconds. The receding hair on his head spread out evenly into a crew cut. Even his chin sharpened and defined. He¡¯d become a massive cartoon of masculinity. He flexed his new biceps grandly. ¡°I look like a god,¡± he said with as much base in his voice as he could muster.

    Mabel rolled her eyes, humming the Popeye theme to herself. David stifled a snort. The man¡¯s muscles were mostly water. He could probably burst them with a pin. Allison was busy taking in his song. She could still hear the old, human tune, but now it was buried beneath by a strangely separate, yet flowing blend of Turkish guitar and electric kanel.

    Johannes led Arkwright out of the chamber, hopefully in search of an industrial strength shirt, leaving his other self and the children alone.

    ¡°Glad he¡¯s happy,¡± said Billy. ¡°He didn¡¯t even say anything about my¡ª¡± He gestured down at his own fur.

    ¡°He stuck a gun in a bank girl¡¯s face,¡± said Allison coldly. ¡°He¡¯s a dickhead.¡±

    ¡°Did he now?¡± asked the Physician. He was stripping off his now flaming outfit. It was both more and less obscene than it sounded. Aside from the already healing burns around his shoulders and back, it appeared his attention to detail faded the further down you went. His nipples were nonexistent, and his groin was a goiter. His feet were solid, flipper-like slaps of bone and skin. ¡°He should¡¯ve rolled over a bank-truck. Probably could¡¯ve afforded the deluxe package.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a trick,¡± Arnold insisted shakily. ¡°You just put a super in a chair and made him go all ¡°aaauugh¡¯ to make us look stupid.¡±

    ¡°And why would I have to do that?¡± asked the Physician.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a trick,¡± said Allison. ¡°I heard the guy¡¯s song change.¡±

    Arnold stared at the Physician like he¡¯d just found out God was a dolphin playing the xylophone. ¡°But¡ªbut how?¡±

    John Smith¡¯s smile was in danger of straying into his hair. ¡°I think it¡¯s time for you children to meet our honoured guest.¡±

    ?

    The honoured guest¡¯s quarters were beautiful. Some three metres back from the entryway, the artisanal, handcrafted elegance of the Physician¡¯s ship fell away, painted terracotta tiles gave way to rough, uneven walls and stalagmites of pearlescent stone more in line with a crystalline cave than a room on a spaceship. The whole space was flooded up to the children¡¯s ankles with water swarming with tiny flakes of silver.

    The inside of the chamber only grew more ethereal, every sharp surface bevelling itself away, giving the space a softness only helped by the faint lilac glow that seemed to swell from the room¡¯s centre, where a woman lay entombed amongst what Allison could see as the petals of a rose, sculpted from glass like song made solid.

    The corpse had been left naked, her stomach slightly swollen. Tubes and cords ran from her wrists like rivulets of blood. Soft purple eyes stared unseeing up at the children, cornsilk hair falling around her shoulders. Her features were regal, as beautiful as any dead thing could hope to be. Allison could just barely hear music coming off her.

    ¡°She¡¯s a very high maintenance patient, this one,¡± the Physician said, stepping past the children to fiddle with one of the cables running into her chest. ¡°The equipment has a tendency to degrade into crystal after more than a week of contact with her.¡±

    Billy was the first to start crying.

    ¡°... What is this?¡± David asked, gazing unblink at the woman¡¯s face. ¡°What did you do to her?¡±

    ¡°Very little,¡± the Physician replied. ¡°She was already dead, after all.¡±

    ¡°Who was she?¡± Mabel asked quietly.

    The Physician took a too-deep breath, like he was trying to filter-feed. ¡°They say ours is not the first universe, children. Not even the second. And in the cosmos before ours, there was a species that worked out, through science or magic or some other art that hasn¡¯t come down to our eternity, how to jump the queue.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°I mean they won,¡± the Physician snapped, insofar as his voice was capable of anything beyond generic satisfaction. ¡°They won the whole game. No matter what gifts you are born with, or what power you unearth, no living being can outrun entropy. Except for them.¡± He gestured at the glass rose. ¡°They outlasted the universe. When the clockwork of creation had shorn its shears, when reality had stretched so thin time and gravity could not touch, her kind persisted, awash in a sea of lonely atoms. So you know what they did?¡±

    The children all shook their head.

    That rumbling, sputtering laughter. ¡°They went and undid it! Built our universe over the ruins of theirs.  Built us. All for their own amusement.¡± The Physician lay a hand on the rose. ¡°You¡¯re looking at one of the architects of Creation. Or at least one of their children. That¡¯s their great strength, you see. Even before birth, they teach their children how to remake the world. To create and destroy. Psychic teaching, if you follow.¡±

    ¡°Like a lullaby?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Sure. A lullaby.¡±

    John Smith plunged a hand into his own innards, pulling out a jeweled bronze starfish with a squelch. Aside from some cringing and averted eyes, the children¡¯s reactions were fairly muted. They¡¯d seen much stranger from the Physician.

    ¡°When I first came into custody of Asteria¡ª¡±

    ¡°Asteria?¡± asked Allison. ¡°Like the Titan?¡±

    ¡°I had to call her something, Allie. Her true name is probably written in the dedication page of the laws of physics or something. As I was saying, when I first found Asteria, I tried to replicate this¡­ natal education. Give the poor creature a legacy.¡± The Physician¡¯s face went slack. He intoned, ¡°Reproduction test #84.¡±

    Light rose from the jewel in the starfish¡¯s centre, forming a kind of bright cloud above the Physician¡¯s palm. The light resolved into John Smith himself back in the turtle-shell room. Instead of the class cage and the floor-tile throne, there was what looked like a wooden baptismal font, topped by a large amber bubble.

    There was a baby floating inside. She was nearly full-term by the look of things, her umbilical cord trailing out of sight down into the base of her substitute-womb. The former John Smith tapped at the glass, grinning like the crescent moon.

    Arnold wrinkled his nose and looked at the Physician. ¡°You made a baby?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Wasn¡¯t my first, definitely wasn¡¯t my last. Easier than you might think.¡± The Physician thumped Asteria¡¯s coffin. ¡°I just scraped an ovum from our honoured guest, mixed it with some sperm, and voila.¡±

    Allison made a face. ¡°You¡¯re disgusting, you know that?¡±

    ¡°Waste not, want not. Still, I whipped up a baby, and let her soak in her mother¡¯s... I suppose ¡®song¡¯ is the best way of putting it.¡±

    ¡°Her song?¡± said Allison. ¡°But she¡¯s dead! How did you even get an egg?¡±

    The Physician waved his hand. ¡°Metabolically and experientially speaking, sure, she¡¯s dead. But a goddess doesn¡¯t leave the world easily. Their power can outlive them. For instance, Asteria here¡¯s cells don¡¯t actually decompose. If I let one of your kind¡¯s doctors take a look at her¡±¡ªthe idea appeared to amuse the alien¡ª¡°they wouldn¡¯t think she¡¯d been dead a minute, let alone twenty-three years¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not actually explaining anything,¡± Mabel said, still looking down at Asteria.

    ¡°What I¡¯m saying is, Asteria¡¯s knowledge still exists. It all¡­ splintered off when she died.¡± Quickly, the Physician added, ¡°So I imagine. The biological connection between Linda¡ª¡±

    ¡°Linda?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°Had to call her something. The dead goddess reached out to her¡­¡±

    In the light-cloud, the baby opened her eyes, revealing twin suns. Her tank began to glow¡­

    ¡°...And things got a bit out of hand.¡±

    An explosion blew out the image. When the light and the smoke subsided, there was a grey wound in the wall of the turtle chamber, letting in sighing, snow laden winds. The font was in ruins, broken tubes spewing amniotic fluid onto the charred floor. All that remained of John Smith were two blue denim stalks protruding from a pair of dress-shoes.

    The projection vanished.

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Arnold, ¡°you blew up?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± answered the Physician. ¡°Was a major set-back to the afternoon.¡±

    ¡°But why aren¡¯t you dead?¡±

    The Physician barrelled right past the question. ¡°That whole debacle was very demoralizing. But then I started noticing how many of your kind were developing powers¡­ just because. I mean, every species has the odd super. I myself have a semi-cousin who controls the weather with dance. But there¡¯s always a reason for them. They were blessed by the gods or got they into a hyperdrive accident, or at least their parents had been. Not with these supers. Trust me, I asked.  All they they all told me¡ª¡±

    The starfish lit up again, this time projecting a giant with stars for eyes, his arm stretched down towards the children.

    ¡°...There was a man.¡±

    The children all looked up at the creature, Mabel especially.

    ¡°He¡¯s the one common factor. The explanation for all you inexplicables.¡±

    Arnold interjected, ¡°I¡¯ve never seen him.¡±

    ¡°Me neither,¡± said David.

    ¡°Me three!¡± chirped Billy.

    ¡°Same,¡± added Allison.

    ¡°First of all, David and Arnold, you two are perfectly explicable. As for Allison and Billy¡­

    The Physician¡¯s body began to wobble. ¡°Every model has its gaps, alright?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Allison said flatly.

    The Physician went on. ¡°It took me years to figure out what had happened.¡± He knelt down to look Asteria in the eye. ¡°What¡¯s left of her is teaching your species. Passing along her power in dribs and drabs. Socii¡ªthey¡¯re like¡­¡± The Physician paused, silently cursing himself for trying to explain this to a species that hadn¡¯t picked up domestic computing yet. ¡°It¡¯s knowledge. Jumbled scraps of the grammar of the world, written across your skin¡­¡± The Physician straightened. ¡°Eventually I managed to tap the well a bit, load some of the information onto a neural network. Like making LPs from master-tapes. Used it to induce power-manifestation. Usually not as good as what you find in the wild, but baby steps.¡± He looked back down at Asteria. ¡°Still have no clue why she¡¯s latched onto your lot.¡±

    ¡°Maybe she¡¯s trying to be nice?¡± suggested Billy.

    The Physician laughed. ¡°Really now! William, don¡¯t let appearances deceive, you and I are far more similar than you and Asteria. We¡¯d be less than microbes to her.¡± Dr. Smith started heading back towards the hall. ¡°Come on kids, I¡¯ve got to show you the media-room. Do you know I intercept every television transmission your kind puts out? The BBC will be hammering at my door in a few years¡­¡±

    The children trailed after the Physician, eager to leave the dead goddess¡¯ presence. Only Mabel lingered, looking right into Asteria¡¯s eyes. She wasn¡¯t sure what she felt for her. Anger? Pity?

    All she knew was that she probably didn¡¯t deserve to be here. But who did?

    ?

    A weeping goddess, making dry plains green with her tears. A whaler with John Smith¡¯s face, spearing a whale, letting her unborn calf slide out onto the bloodsoaked deck. Egyptians whipping Hebrews in the shadow of the pyramids. The dark underworld of a ship¡¯s hold crammed with bodies, reeking of salt-tears and death¡­

    Allison jerked awake, breathing heavily, sweat on her brow.

    One thing you could compliment the Physician for were his standards of hospitality. The rooms he assigned the children were spacious, if odd. They reminded Allison of drained swimming pools or aquarium tanks, topped with bronze ceilings with a spiral staircase in the centre. He¡¯d even provided them with pyjamas from something he called an ¡°air-loom¡± covered in stars and planets. They were almost too normal.

    This was the fourth night of nightmares in a row. Would they ever stop?

    As Allison¡¯s breath slowed and evened out, light returned to her room. There was a man sitting at the foot of her bed, smoking a clove cigarette.

    ¡°Hello, Allison,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Glad we¡¯re both awake.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Two: The House Without Windows

    ¡°The ship woke you up, didn¡¯t she?¡± Alberto blew out a puff of cloven smoke. Allison could smell it, real as anything. ¡°Always throwing a pity-party, her. But I guess I don¡¯t have a gaggle of Physicians crawling around inside me.¡± The psychic looked at Allison with a questioning smile. ¡°You¡¯d know the word for a group of physicians, right Allie? A herd? A college?¡±

    Allison had drawn her bedsheets protectively up to her chin. The red glow of her eyes changed to ocean green.

    Alberto put his palm to his face, shaking his head in annoyed embarrassment. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid, Kinsey, you know I¡¯m not really here. You left me bleeding out my eyeballs in the fucking bush. I¡¯m a...¡± He rolled his tongue over his teeth in thought. ¡°A metaphor. I¡¯m your brain trying to make sense out of me.¡± Alberto glanced at his cigarette. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I should thank you or be insulted.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡± Allison asked in a whine. ¡°You¡¯re not¡ª¡± She grabbed the sides of her head, eyes pointed down at the wrinkles of her duvet. A small, confused voice said, ¡°...You¡¯re not supposed to talk.¡±

    Alberto scowled. ¡°What? You think you can take my powers, my memories, everything except my nuts, and not get me in the bargain?¡± He crawled up the length of Allison¡¯s bed till they were less than an inch apart. ¡°You fucking ate me.¡±

    The girl could feel the man¡¯s breath on her face, hot and burning with alcohol. His face was flushed with hexagons. Exactly as she remembered Alberto. Exactly how he remembered himself. She almost wanted to reach out and touch him¡ªtest his solidity. She wasn¡¯t sure if it would be better or worse if her hand passed through him. ¡°You¡ªyou were shot. I wanted to save you¡­¡±

    Alberto leaned back, face deadpan. ¡°Yes, because most vital organs are located in the right shoulder.¡± He scowled. ¡°You were just hungry.¡±

    Allison protested. ¡°I wasn¡¯t¡ªwhat does that even mean?¡±

    ¡°You know what it means, Kinsey.¡± Alberto got up off the bed, circling it slowly as he examined Allison with bitter, mock curiosity. ¡°It felt good, didn¡¯t it? Like you were full for the first time in your life.¡±

    Allison¡¯s only answer was a glare: hard, but glistening with gathering tears.

    ¡°Must be nice, finally being a real super.¡±

    That broke Allison¡¯s silence. ¡°I was always a real super!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, when some of us were around for you to plagiarize. Nosferatu wasn¡¯t as much of a parasite as you.¡±

    ¡°I know everything!¡±

    Alberto was looking at his fingernails. ¡°So do most University Challenge teams.¡± He sighed. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be surprised you¡¯re a massive thief. Jesus Christ, stuck in a Gypsy brat forever. My once in a species psionic powers will serve you well in making tourists think you¡¯ve got a limp.¡±

    ¡°You keep making me feel yuck,¡± muttered Allison, arms wrapped around herself. ¡°When I think about my mummy, or Valour¡±¡ªa tense, itching heat¡ª¡°...or Fran.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m giving you indigestion.¡± Alberto bent and hissed into Allison¡¯s ear. ¡°It might seem like I¡¯m standing here smoking and whispering to you, but I¡¯m not. I¡¯m sitting alone, in a house without windows, with only our thoughts for company, shouting at the dark.¡±

    ¡°...I don¡¯t care,¡± Allison said, mostly to herself. ¡°You were a bad man, and I don¡¯t care.¡±

    Alberto straightened and drew up an eyebrow. ¡°Is that what you think?¡±

    ¡°I have your memories.¡±

    ¡°Only when you can¡¯t avoid them,¡± countered Alberto. ¡°Take a closer look. I dare you.¡±

    ¡°How the hell am I supposed to do that?¡±

    ¡°You read our own minds! It¡¯s like a memory-palace, but better.¡± Alberto let out a grunt of a laugh. ¡°Got that from your head, by the way, ¡®memory-palaces.¡¯ I never used that trick much. Introspection is a shitty hobby. Buuuut I figure we should get to know each other now we¡¯re headmates, hmm?¡±

    ¡°...Will you shut up if I do this?¡±

    ¡°Cross my heart. Wherever that is.¡±

    Allison sighed and closed her eyes.

    It wasn¡¯t hard. It was almost second nature, in fact. Allison turned her newest senses inward and¡ª

    She turned inside out.

    For a second Allison thought she and Alberto were in space. Inner space, perhaps. They were floating high above a Milky Way of blood-red stars, streaked through with wisps of white.

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°Another metaphor. All those lights are memories.¡± Alberto squinted. ¡°I think the red ones are mine.¡±

    Allison stared down at the galaxy of thought, at the cobwebs of herself. Her bones thinned and hollowed inside of her. She felt small, weightless. A flake of paint on someone else¡¯s portrait.

    ¡°There¡¯s so much you...¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re nine, I¡¯m twenty-nine. Of course there is.¡±

    They drew closer to the lights, or maybe the lights came up to meet them. As they neared, they began to see through the glare. There were objects hidden within the lights. Keepsakes and mementos. Old teddy bears, well-worn pencils, or¡ªin the case of most of Alberto¡¯s memories¡ªbottles of spirits.

    Alberto snatched a deep-blue coffin flask out from the whirling mess of booze and children¡¯s toys. He squinted at the bottle¡¯s embossing.

    ¡°Shitty hometown, vintage 1939. Good a place to start as any.¡±

    He popped the bottle¡¯s cork, and a whole sky flowed forth.

    Alberto let go of the bottle, allowing it to drift off and pop like a soap bubble. He spread his arms out and exclaimed, ¡°Welcome to Bovegno!¡±

    The pair were standing in a cobbled street on a cloudless winter afternoon. A humble steeple protruded above snow-powdered, dull red rooftops, dwarfed in turn by the grey-treed mountain slopes that cradled the little spit of town. But as cozy and provincial as the town should¡¯ve been, every cottage and townhouse had been monstrously magnified, looming over Alberto and Allison like skyscrapers. Everything from the stones of the road to the frost in the windows was either broadly sketched or painstakingly precise, with greater resolution than reality itself could support. The colours were bright enough to make Allison¡¯s eyes water. The whole place seemed somehow composed of smells: fresh bread, pasta, and woodsmoke.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bit¡­ impressionist,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Not surprised,¡± replied Alberto. ¡°I think I was about three at the time.¡± He pointed up the road. ¡°There¡¯s me now.¡±

    A little boy wrapped in a chrysalis of woolens and scarves stood alone and distinct amidst a swirl of brushstroke people. Allison could just make out the red hexagons on his winter-flushed cheeks.

    ¡°Huh,¡± she said. ¡°You were sorta¡­ cute.¡±

    Alberto shrugged. ¡°S¡¯pose I was.¡±

    The younger Alberto vanished. Most of the colour went with him, along with the vague shadows that passed for people. Now his older self and Allison were standing in an empty, washed out Bovegno¡ªalone, except for a tall, dark figure where the young boy had been. He felt familiar. Like a whispered of but never seen uncle.

    Alberto spoke like he was reciting the oldest story in the world. ¡°A long time ago, a stranger came to Bovegno. Nobody knew where he came from¡­¡±

    Dr. Smith¡¯s voice echoed over the memory-scape like the arch, indifferent voice of God. ¡°...Definitely from Enlil. They like kicking their troublemakers off world. ¡®Compassionate exile¡¯ they call it.¡±

    Alberto went on. ¡°He was beautiful, they say. And cruel.¡±

    Suddenly, the dark man was surrounded by fawning will-¡®o-wisps.

    ¡°Nobody even recognized his language, and he never bothered to learn ours. He didn¡¯t have to. When he spoke, you knew what he was saying. Exactly. And whatever he asked, you gave it to him. Didn¡¯t matter if it was money, your daughter, or your own beating heart.¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°He was like you,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Yes. Maybe even more.¡±

    Now the dark man was enthroned, receiving tribute from a line of bedraggled wooden puppets, their strings all leading to the man¡¯s palm. It looked more Czech than Italian to Allison, but then it wasn¡¯t her imagination. Or was it? She wasn¡¯t sure.

    ¡°For nearly twenty years, he ruled Bovegno like a king. Or maybe ¡®god¡¯ is a better word.¡±

    The dark man tugged at the strings held. The puppets prostrated themselves, weeping.

    ¡°But then, one day...¡±

    Another shadow¡ªthis one feminine¡ªcrept behind the throne. The man turned his head just in time to see her drive a knife into his neck.

    ¡°Someone finally told him no.¡±

    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t he stop her?¡±

    ¡°Simple. She was his daughter.¡±

    The man¡¯s blood was seeping into cobblestones, running down through the cracks between till it reached Allison and Alberto¡¯s feet.

    ¡°She was far from the only one. The stranger might have been gone, but his get would be part of Bovegno forever.¡±

    ¡°Including you.¡±

    ¡°Yep. And the good people of Bovegno weren¡¯t keen on a repeat performance. Telepathy¡ªthe kind I¡¯ve got at least¡ªdoesn¡¯t always pass on the way other powers do, but it did keep popping up. Usually they drowned us¡ª¡±

    Allison grimaced.

    Alberto chuckled. ¡°Naturals being shitty to us supers. Shocking, innit? Still, if we were cooperative, sometimes they bundled us off to the Church to keep us safe and celibate.¡± A surprisingly warm laugh. ¡°Trust me, Allie, there are some nuns and priests in Lombardy you do not lie to.¡±

    Everything went dark. A thin strip of light slid open in the black. A harsh, pitiless whisper said:

    ¡°I know that¡¯s not all you have to confess, boy.¡±

    Daylight returned, and the two were back in 1936. The younger Alberto was being shoved around by a pair of bigger boys¡ªor human sharks, as his memory cast them.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯m sure a lot of us snuck under the radar. Pretty sure my ma could read papa¡¯s mind, at least.¡±

    ¡°Bigol!¡± one of the boys shouted gleefully as they pushed little Alberto at their friend.

    The other child grabbed the small boy and shook him, grinning maliciously. ¡°S¨¹rlin!¡± He slapped Alberto¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Paiaso!¡±

    The boy threw Alberto to the ground, laughing as the small boy smacked against the pavement.

    Alberto looked up at his tormentors. He noticed that his nose was bleeding, dapping at the trickle of blood and rubbing it curiously between his fingers. Then he smiled.

    His older self smiled, too. ¡°But I don¡¯t think laying low was ever going to be an option for me.¡±

    The boy who¡¯d thrown Alberto stopped laughing, switching his attention to the ground until he found a weighty stone and plucked it up, walking towards his friend.

    The other child blinked at him. "Ohi, set dre a fa?"

    The boy slammed the rock into the side of his head. Over and over. Now Alberto was laughing. Both of them.

    Allison winced.

    Alberto noticed, frowning down at his companion. ¡°Oh, come on, I was three.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not three now,¡± the girl retorted.

    ¡°Please. Do I have to bring up Judith Felini?¡±

    An anachronistically dressed little girl ran screaming out of an alley, drenched head to toe in school paste.

    ¡°And that¡¯s not even mentioning Major Yellick¡­¡±

    Allison clenched her fists. ¡°Okay, I get it, you got picked on. So did David, but he never¡ª¡± She remembered what David had told her at the dam. ¡°You know what I mean!¡±

    Alberto nodded slowly. ¡°The bullying was part of it, sure. And knowing my great-great-great granddad was a space-rapist. But mostly it was knowing that I had two futures ahead of me: priest or apple-bobbing casualty.¡± He clapped. ¡°Then the Blackshirts found me!¡±

    Night fell instantly, and Alberto and Allison were standing in front of a townhouse, wary eyes in yellow lit windows watching a pair of Blackshirts shepherding a sleepy, five year old Alberto into their equally black Alfa Romeo.

    ¡°Il Duce or somebody had caught wind of what I could do¡ªsome of it, that is¡ªand decided they could use a boy like me.¡±

    ¡°What about your mum and dad?¡± asked Allison. ¡°I know you had those.¡±

    Alberto looked down at the girl with genuine surprise in his eyes. Then he broke into a cackle. ¡°Oh, oh Allie, you¡¯re a dear sometimes.¡±

    Alberto stuck his hand into the night air, shattering it like the surface of a pond. He pulled out another bottle: this one a red, sterling-silver handled oval labelled ¡°Milanese Shame.¡±

    The psychic grinned with poisonous mirth. ¡°Here¡¯s to Mama and Papa Morreti, and the medal that replaced me on their mantle.¡±

    He poured the bottle out on the ground. And kept pouring. And pouring. The cherry liquorice spirit now pooled around Albert and Allison¡¯s ankles, rising rapidly.

    ¡°Um, Alberto?¡± Allison said as the stuff reached her knees. ¡°Bertie?¡±

    Alberto shushed her. ¡°I¡¯m paying tribute, Allison.¡±

    The liquor swamped them both, plunging Allison into sharp, wet darkness. Panicking, she reached for David¡¯s song, panicked some more when she couldn¡¯t find it¡­ and then remembered where she was: still lying in bed, soaking in drama-queen metaphor.

    She kicked upwards, out of the flood and into the shadow of a monumental building. It was a massive, Novecento-style slab of off-white brick and steel-framed windows, separate and removed from the city around it, with waves of stairs spilling out from three arches cut into its centre.

    ¡°There used to be a church here,¡± said Alberto. ¡°They tore it down to build this. A church for the state. The Milanese Palace of Justice¡ª¡± He smiled. ¡°Sounds like a superhero lair when you say it in English, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    Allison could just make out someone walking up palace¡¯s steps, like Jack on the giant¡¯s threshold. The feeling she had felt when she glimpsed her and Alberto¡¯s entwined memories made a keen, unwelcome return. ¡°Makes you feel small¡­¡±

    ¡°Fascist shit does that. Makes you feel like just a drop in the ocean.¡± Alberto¡¯s gaze went soft. ¡°But the ocean washes away everything, in the end.¡±

    Allison felt something inside the man. A lonely spark of nostalgia, dancing in the cold wind of Alberto¡¯s heart.

    ¡°Come on,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯ve only got forever.¡±

    With a few impossible steps, they were inside the palace. They crossed marble floors speared through by great square columns. They climbed wide staircases and strolled past bas reliefs celebrating biblical, Roman, and fascist justice: the carved classical figures of the third panel blissfully ignorant of the paradox in their subject matter.

    ¡°Over twelve hundred rooms: fascists never do anything small.¡±

    Alberto lead Allison into a small side-office. It could¡¯ve been any 20th century lawyer¡¯s study: thin green carpet, a heavy looking darkwood desk in front of rows and rows of near-identical legal tomes. Except the office was strewn with children¡¯s books and wooden toys. A seven year old Alberto was sitting behind the desk like a boy left alone in his father¡¯s office. But instead of shuffling paperwork and pretending to boss about the secretary like a wholesome child, he was sullenly bouncing a rubber ball, idly running his eyes over his copy of Cuore.

    ¡°This room was where I spent half my childhood, waiting to justify my daily bread.¡±

    ¡°Still better than marching around with the Balilla all day,¡± the young Alberto said, making Allison jump. His young voice was even more thickly accented than his older counterpart.  ¡°Buncha Napoleon looking midgets.¡±

    The door opened behind Allison, and an old, Gepetto-looking man complete with apron was shoved into the room, stumbling through Allison like she was the dream and not him.

    The old man caught sight of the younger Alberto, and flashed him a fragile, appeasing grin. ¡°You must be the fenomeno everyone¡¯s been talking about.¡±

    ¡°Guess I am,¡± said Alberto. He glanced lazily at a list on the desk. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Umberto Marino.¡± He forced a laugh like air escaping stab-wound. ¡°No relation, if you¡¯re wondering.¡±

    Alberto looked flatly at Umberto. ¡°Sit down.¡±

    Marini obeyed, settling in the bare sandalwood chair before the desk. ¡°Look, kid, this¡­ it¡¯s all a misunderstanding. I¡¯m just trying to run a good inn, you know? It¡¯s bad manners to turn away guests¡­¡±

    Alberto ignored the man¡¯s pleading, instead silently studying his face. Or what lay behind it, as Allison knew full well.

    ¡°Tell you what,¡± Umberto pulled a green and white banknote from his apron pocket and slid it over to Alberto. ¡°You clear this all up for me, and you get to keep all that money for yourself.¡± He winked. ¡°And when you¡¯re old enough to drink, it¡¯s all on me.¡±

    Alberto took the money and stuck it in his desk drawer. Then he rang a bell. A Blackshirt poked his head into the office.

    ¡°This fella¡¯s been letting the partisans use a couple of his rooms. His son¡¯s been going to meetings.¡±

    Umberto¡¯s face went slack. His eyes were wide and empty. Just that moment, Allison could guess, he could see his future as clearly as Alberto.

    The Blackshirt strode in and pulled Umberto out of his chair. ¡°Up you go, camerata,¡± he said with false, mocking cheer. ¡°We¡¯ve still got talking to do.¡±

    The spell over Marino broke. He spat at Alberto, ¡°You murdering little shit! You freak¡ª¡±

    The Blackshirt struck him across the temples with his bludgeon. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that.¡±

    ¡°He tried bribing me, too,¡± Alberto said in passing as he returned to his book.

    Allison was staring aghast at the boy¡¯s future. ¡°What happened to him?¡±

    ¡°What happened to all of them,¡± answered the young Alberto.

    Through the window, a hanged man¡¯s shadow fell across the office wall.

    ¡°...You could¡¯ve lied,¡± whispered Allison.

    Alberto shrugged. ¡°Maybe I could¡¯ve. But what about the next poor bastard? And the one after that? Trust me, Allie, there were a lot.¡±

    ¡°You could¡¯ve lied about them, too!¡±

    Alberto laughed. ¡°And what do you think the Blackshirts would¡¯ve thought of that?¡±

    ¡°That they were doing a good job?¡±

    ¡°Fascists know there¡¯s always someone out to fuck with them: they¡¯d stop being fascists if they didn¡¯t.¡±

    A young woman was pushed sobbing into the office. The young Alberto didn¡¯t even look up before he rang the bell and told the Blackshirt:

    ¡°She¡¯s keeping her daughter outta the Balilla. Thinks it¡¯s too ¡®violent¡¯.¡±

    No sooner was that weeping lady roughly ushered to her fate than a teenage boy took her place.

    ¡°Planning on running away with his girlfriend.¡±

    And so it went, on and on. Days flickered past out the window, lengthening and contracting as summers decayed into winter, while the Alberto behind the desk grew like a sapling in spring, unceasingly handing down dooms:

    ¡°Partisan.¡±

    ¡°Spy.¡±

    ¡°Draft-dodger.¡±

    ¡°Tunes into enemy-radio.¡±

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake!¡± cried Allison. ¡°You can read minds! You¡¯ve got to have known they weren¡¯t bad people!¡±

    ¡°Everyone else around me thought they were all traitors and cowards.¡± Alberto shrugged. ¡°Who was I supposed to believe?¡± He looked back at his younger self. ¡°It¡¯s funny. They always bumped people off far away from me. I think they wanted to ¡®protect my innocence¡¯ or some shit. But I could see them dying in their eyes. And sometimes, when they actually brought me someone who hadn¡¯t done anything, they still killed them. When it kept happening, I started making stuff up. Told the Blackshirts what they wanted to hear. Kept everyone happier, I think. I¡¯d rather not be shot after being found innocent...¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°You didn¡¯t think making stuff up was wrong?¡±

    ¡°Truth is just what the biggest guy in the room says it is.¡± He scowled. ¡°And you¡¯re one to talk. Hiding in the Physician¡¯s bloody spaceship like you don¡¯t know what he is¡­¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What? That he¡¯s an alien?¡±

    ¡°That he¡¯s a monster.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on,¡± said the now nine year old Alberto. ¡°You know he¡¯s a bastard. He wallows in it. Never stops rubbing it in your face.¡±

    The older Alberto picked up the baton. ¡°Why do you think the ship¡¯s screaming in your ear, Allie? Do you think John Smith really just found a dead goddess? I mean, the guy was mates with Bertie. Doesn¡¯t that tell you everything?¡±

    Silence.

    ¡°...We don¡¯t have anywhere else to go.¡±

    ¡°And you think I had all the options in the world?¡± the younger Alberto asked. ¡°At least the Blackshirts could keep me safe¡­¡±

    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s what I thought,¡± said the present Alberto.

    There was a sound like thunder falling to Earth. The office window shattered, sending the past Alberto screaming under the desk.

    ¡°Then Gorla happened. Nothing had been going right for years. The Allies had taken most of the country back in ¡®43. The Nazis had to whisk Il Duce up to the North. They propped him up for the rest of the war. Everyone went on and on about returning to the glory of Rome, and we were taking orders from fucking Germans!¡±

    Alberto¡¯s younger self crawled out into the open, treading the broken glass to look out the empty window at the rising smoke.

    ¡°The Allies bombed on a fucking school. They blew up four hundred kids and nuns. Nuns! The only survivors were a couple of kids who weren¡¯t even in the shelters! That was when I realized I was on the wrong side: the one that was losing.¡±

    The glass flew back into the window, and little Alberto was back behind the desk.

    ¡°Luckily, the Blackshirts were kind enough to offer me an out.¡±

    Two burly Blackshirts sporting their best Mussolini pouts of authority marched in an old man by the arms and shoved him down in the chair like a sack of rotten potatoes.

    The skin around his eyes was black and bleeding, and the red of his beard was more vivid than Allison had ever seen it, but she recognized the man immediately.

    Dr. Herbert Lawrence looked at the boy behind the desk and flashed him an honest, open smile. ¡°You must be the esper.¡±

    The older Alberto sighed and pulled another bottle out from nowhere. ¡°Settle in, Allie, this is a whole ¡®nother cellar.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Three: Spirits

    For once in his life, Herbert Lawrence realized how foolish he was being.

    ¡°Oh, silly me.¡± The old man switched to slightly stumbling Italian. ¡°Buongiorno, il mio nome ¨¨ Herbert Lawrence.¡±

    The young Alberto raised a hand, scowling at Lawrence¡¯s mangled accent. He cast a vaguely Shakespearian aside at Allison, before telling Lawrence, ¡°I speak English, mister.¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s smile returned. ¡°Ah, very good. Glad to hear they¡¯re educating you.¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± replied the boy. ¡°But a lotta spies speak English.¡±

    ¡°I picked up a lot of things from the people I saw,¡± the elder Alberto told Allison absently. ¡°Not as fast as you would¡¯ve, obviously, but I never met a liquor cabinet that wouldn¡¯t open for me.¡±

    Lawrence nodded understandingly. ¡°That would be the case, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± He twisted in his chair to look at the Blackshirts still standing guard behind him. They waved their bludgeons at the old man, but Alberto stilled them with a casual raised hand:

    ¡°Tutto a posto<sup>1</a></sup>¡±

    Even after all she now knew, Allison still found the sight of Alberto wielding such authority unreal, let alone grown ups so readily obeying a boy her age.

    Lawrence turned back to the child with a dry smile. ¡°They¡¯re very accommodating towards you.¡±

    Alberto gave a schoolboy¡¯s shrug. ¡°We¡¯ve got a¡­¡± He squinted at Lawrence. ¡°Is the word ¡®rapport¡¯?¡±

    ¡°It works.¡± He pointed his thumb back at the blackshirts. There was a slight tension in both men¡¯s arms as they resisted reaching for their bludgeons.

    ¡°Do these fine gentleman speak English, too?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Mhmm. Multilingualism is usually a blessing, but I think this time we can make an exception.¡±

    ¡°They think you¡¯re an Anglo spy,¡± said Alberto.

    Lawrence chuckled. ¡°I think His Majesty would have sent someone who could manage a decent Italian lilt, young man.¡±

    ¡°They want me to find out what you¡¯re here for.¡±

    Lawrence tapped his forehead. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    ¡°¡­Me,¡± said Alberto. ¡°You wanted to see me.¡±

    Lawrence titled his chin in acknowledgement. ¡°Exactly right. I¡¯ve long held an interest in the wellbeing of young fenomeni.¡±

    Alberto laughed. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you snuck into Milan to check on me?¡±

    The old man looked right into the little esper¡¯s eyes, as if he were trying to offer him a direct window to his thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m an adult. Why shouldn¡¯t I feel concern for the young?¡±

    ¡°What a crock,¡± muttered Allison.

    ¡°He means it,¡± said the young Alberto quietly. ¡°Or he thinks he does.¡±

    The latter-day Alberto sighed. ¡°You¡¯d think mind-reading would let you get a bead on someone. But most of what you get is the picture they¡¯ve built up of themselves. Nobody really knows anyone.¡±

    Allison glowered at the memory of Lawrence, sitting there trying to talk like he was some kid¡¯s granddad and not a stranger from far away. Whatever Alberto said about him, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to imagine a sincere Lawrence.

    Or maybe sincerity didn¡¯t mean anything.

    ¡°Have you been¡­ doing what you do long?¡± Lawrence asked.

    ¡°Dunno. Since I was five, I think?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head solemnly. ¡°It¡¯s awful how we grownups drag children into our messes. I can¡¯t imagine what you¡¯ve had to see. Children need space to be young.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, right,¡± said Allison. ¡°Unless he wants a baby.¡±

    ¡°Oh, be fair, Allie,¡± said Alberto. ¡°I was, what, nine back then? That¡¯s five whole years younger than Sadie when she had Ophelia.¡±

    Lawrence reached his hand across the desk, taking Alberto¡¯s in his. The Blackshirts didn¡¯t react. Their eyes were conveniently sheened over with daydreams, Allison noticed. She could see their shadows. Pretty girls. Money they were owed. Men with deeply confusing moustaches.

    ¡°Did Lawrence know you were messing with the Blackshirts?¡± the girl asked. ¡°I know they don¡¯t know what he¡¯s saying, but he¡¯s being kinda touchy right now.¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Bertie always had a bad habit of forgetting his audience when he speechified.¡±

    ¡°At least he was trying,¡± the younger Alberto said. His eyes were downcast, looking at the gloved hand holding his.

    ¡°No one sane would blame you for anything,¡± Lawrence said gently. ¡°I¡¯ve seen what some would have your kind do for them, and nobody expects a boy to say ¡®no¡¯ to a man with a gun.¡±

    After a long while, Alberto spoke again. ¡°Italy¡¯s done for,¡± he said with quiet bluntness. ¡°The Germans are going to retreat. Your lot will have Milan in a fortnight. Il Duce is going to be hanging from a petrol station before May.¡±

    Lawrence was taken aback. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ very specific.¡±

    ¡°I can see the future,¡± admitted Alberto. ¡°Sorta.¡±

    Allison expected Lawrence to lash the boy with questions, interrogating him about everything from the range of his foresight to when the glorious race to come would erect a statue to their beloved educator.

    Instead, he just said, ¡°That must be a heavy burden for you.¡±

    Alberto¡¯s face was very still, but tears were starting to crawl down his cheeks. ¡°If your guys catch me, they¡¯re gonna¡ªthey¡¯re gonna¡­¡± He broke out into a wail. ¡°They¡¯re gonna do the same thing to me!¡±

    Allison looked up at her Alberto. ¡°Really? But you were so small¡­¡±

    ¡°Amazing what little a murderous army-raid can do to a child. Trust me, there were plenty of widows and orphans in Milan who would¡¯ve kicked the stool from under my feet.¡±

    Lawrence gripped both of young Alberto¡¯s hands. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let that happen. I don¡¯t care what you¡¯ve done. You don¡¯t deserve a mob because of some narrow little man¡¯s awful, cruel idea of the world. We¡¯re both going to get out of here.¡±

    Alberto sniffled. ¡°You mean it?¡±

    ¡°My hand to God,¡± said Lawrence. He sighed. ¡°I hate to be another adult asking you to solve their problems, but your talents¡ªis there anything you can do to clear our way to the entrance at least?¡±

    Alberto took a deep breath.

    The Blackshirts looked around wildly like hounds catching a scent. They both started shouting about partisans in the grand foyer. One of them barked, ¡°Restate qui<sup>2</a></sup>

    ¡± over their shoulder at Alberto as they ran out of the office.

    Lawrence watched them go, clearly impressed. When he turned back to the little psychic, Allison thought she recognized a little of the man who had once wondered over her and Arnold on the train.

    ¡°Was that an illusion?¡±

    Alberto managed a shaky smile. ¡°Yeah. Made them think they were hearing the PA.¡±

    Allison looked up at the child¡¯s future. ¡°Was it really just illusions?¡±

    ¡°Mostly. You know, in all the years we knew each other, Bertie never asked why a couple of Blackshirts left their pet psychic alone with the English spy¡­¡±

    Lawrence ruffled Alberto¡¯s hair. ¡°Clever lad! Now, how about we go and meet my friends?¡±

    The older Alberto raised the bottle (a tall-necked whiskey cylinder) he was holding up to his lips. ¡°I think this calls for a toast!¡±

    He downed the spirit in one almost superhuman skoll, his throat bulging like a duck trying to swallow a chocolate bar. Within seconds the bottle was empty. It was the finest feat of alcoholism Allison had ever witnessed.

    Alberto let out a great belch, the sound of it vibrating the world until it shattered.

    When it reformed, Allison and Alberto were standing in another of the Palace of Justice¡¯s painfully polished hallways. Lawrence and the psychic¡¯s past personages appeared around a corner, marching their way up to a faintly out of place metal door at the end of the hall.

    They passed right through their future observers. After so much of Alberto¡¯s (and Elsa¡¯s) magical mystery tour, it hardly phased Allison. It was like being Haunt, but actually invisible.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t hard getting Laurie through the Palace,¡± said Alberto.

    ¡°I made him look like one of the Blackshirts,¡± his younger self piped up.  ¡°Andrea I think he was called.¡± He looked up at Lawrence with a kind of bemused, mournful sadness. ¡°Wasn¡¯t too hard. Both mostly beard.¡±

    Lawrence banged on the door with his fist, bellowing, ¡°Open up, camerati! The Cervellone wants to speak to the Anglo¡¯s little bastards!¡±

    The young Alberto looked back at himself and Allison. ¡°It meant ¡®egghead¡¯. More or less.¡± He frowned. ¡°Pretty easy to swallow being called ¡®Tiresias¡¯ after that.¡±

    The door opened, but instead of revealing one of the Palace of Justice¡¯s many blackshirted glowerers, there stood a young Chinese teenager, grinning broadly at Lawrence with very slightly crooked teeth<sup>3</a></sup>

    . His white buttoned shirt was stained with specks of blood. A gold bracelet coiled around his arm like a contented snake.

    ¡°I bloody heard that, Laurie,¡± the boy jeered cheerfully with his thick Australian twang. ¡°Why so mean?¡±

    Lawrence laughed. ¡°Sorry, Chen my boy, just playing a part.¡±

    It was like watching the Devil and¡­ if not an angel than a finer breed of demon break bread.

    ¡°God,¡± said Allison. ¡°He¡¯s smiling at Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± said Alberto. ¡°He wasn¡¯t a bastard back then.¡±

    Chen looked at the young Alberto, his smile brightening even more. ¡°You must be that mind-reader Laurie dragged us here for. I¡¯m AU.¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°¡­I thought Chen hated that name.¡±

    ¡°Nicknames are a lot more bearable when you can fall back on your real one.¡±

    Chen offered the young Alberto his hand. ¡°Put it here, mate.¡±

    Alberto didn¡¯t take the hand. He was staring wide-eyed at its owner.

    Chen didn¡¯t have a Socii, or any of the other marks of power Allison had seen in her short career as a telepath. Instead, he had filigree, a fine second skin of gold covering him from head to toe, visible even under his clothes.

    ¡°I can¡¯t imagine what it was like suddenly seeing your buddies the way I do,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Well,¡± he added, ¡°I can. I was there. Because you ate me.¡±

    ¡°Get to the point,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°But even if I wasn¡¯t, I can still kinda relate. I¡¯d never seen another super before Chen, and then suddenly¡ªbam! Glamy soul-armour. It was like that bit in Wizard of Oz where Dorothy stumbles into the technicolour.¡±

    Chen was examining the awe-struck little boy with some concern. ¡°You alright, mate?¡± He snapped his fingers in front of Alberto¡¯s eyes.

    He shook himself. ¡°I¡¯m fine. You just look¡­ amazing.¡±

    A tight, smug smile. ¡°Don¡¯t I know it.¡±

    Chen lead Lawrence, Alberto, and their unseen voyeurs into the palace¡¯s makeshift dungeon. It was a suitably gloomy realm. Flickering light globes in wide-brimmed hats dangled from long stalks, spilling mustard-stained light over the cavernous space. The floor was interrupted often by empty cages. Beneath them, Allison could just make out rectangular, dustless shadows. The scars of torn out filing cabinets, maybe.

    ¡°This used to be an archives wing,¡± explained the young Alberto. ¡°They started chucking my ¡®guests¡¯ here because it had already had a security door. And the cages.¡±

    They weren¡¯t alone in there. Blackshirts writhed and groaned on the floor. Some clutched at their mouths, their fingers sticky with blood. Others lay in pools of sick, their faces covered with angry, bulbous blisters like venom sacks. The two groups had quite a bit of overlap.

    Lawrence frowned tersely. ¡°I hope you and ?ywie haven¡¯t been excessive.¡±

    Chen was striding in front of the group, his hand held out flat as chinks of metal zipped into his palm like hungry golden fish. ¡°Lighten up, Laurie, we didn¡¯t kill anyone.¡± His smile faltered slightly. ¡°I think.¡±

    ¡°Remember kids,¡± said the elder Alberto. ¡°Don¡¯t kill fascists, kill ten year old boys.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t joke about that,¡± said Allison quietly.

    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just don¡¯t.¡±

    At the far end of the room, a dark shape crouched over a moaning Blackshirt. A night-hag. A demon. Looking at it made Allison¡¯s skin buzz, like she was staring at a tiger.

    ¡°What is that?¡± she whispered to Alberto.

    ¡°At the time,¡± he answered, ¡°I thought it was a living corpse.¡±

    The shape narrowed and stretched upwards. As the languid light of the dungeon fell over it, Allison caught sight of a slightly hooked nose, like a witch.

    ¡°Laurie!¡± the shape called out in a heavy German accent. It glided towards the old man like a gust of acrid smoke. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, Eliza,¡± said Lawrence.

    Allison gawked at the dark shape. ¡°That¡¯s ?ywie?¡± She looked at Alberto. ¡°Why does she look like a monster?¡±

    The psychic didn¡¯t answer. All his attention was focused on Eliza. Allison was a little surprised she didn¡¯t literally melt under his gaze.

    Eliza¡ªfourteen and just beginning to grow gawky¡ªstood on her toes and gave Lawrence a daughterly peck on the cheek. ¡°There¡¯s some¡ªhow you say?¡ªgerms in the air I don¡¯t want you catching.¡±

    Lawrence was smiling again. ¡°Thank you, my dear.¡± He put a hand on little Alberto¡¯s shoulder. ¡°The Blackshirts were kind enough to introduce me to¡ª¡±

    Alberto knocked the old man¡¯s hand away, stepping back so hard he fell to the ground. Without stopping, he kept scrambling away from the cloaked girl. ¡°Don¡¯t let her near me!¡±

    Concern was written across Eliza¡¯s so very young face. ¡°Little boy, I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your not real!¡± Alberto howled, hysterical tears again forcing their way out his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re empty!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what it looked like, at least,¡± said the older Alberto, a little calmly. ¡°Flesh and blood, moving and talking, without a glimmer of soul.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°No power works on Eliza,¡± Alberto told her. ¡°Not directly, at least. Sure, if Sadie punched her in the face¡±¡ªa morbid little smile¡ª¡°I bet her head would go flying, but Fran could never touch the water bound up in her body, and she might as well have been a brick wall to old Haunt.¡± He looked down at Allison. ¡°Actually, you¡¯re the only one I know who can do anything with her power¡­¡± He shrugged. ¡°Lucky you, I guess.¡±

    Eliza was still walking towards the frightened Alberto, her hand outstretched towards him. ¡°Are you unwell? Do not worry, I can make it better¡­¡±

    ¡°The antipodes of mind and body, Laurie called us¡­¡±

    Eliza managed to touch the boy¡¯s cheek. Allison was suddenly filled with a vivid sense-memory of the healer¡¯s wires running through her body.

    ¡°¡­Except she could touch me, and I couldn¡¯t.¡± A green bulb of absinthe appeared in Alberto¡¯s hand. ¡°Story of my fucking life, as you¡¯ll see.¡±

    He threw the bottle like a grenade. When it shattered at the floor, the scene was washed away in a summer sea.

    When the tide subsided, Alberto and Allison were standing somewhere deeply familiar: the bank of the Avon River, at the New Human Institute.

    It felt like late summer. The fields of dry yellow grass looked like they had been painted with a fine, delicate brush. The waters of the river meanwhile were strangely still, like an inlaid vine of blue-grey glass. Allison spotted Alberto, perhaps a year or two older than he¡¯d been in Milan, building tiny castles out of the riparian mud.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t we skipping a lot?¡± she asked wearily.

    ¡°Eh, there¡¯s not much to say about right after the war. We stopped by South Africa for¡­¡± Alberto waved his hand. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t remember, sue me. I think it was to do with the Physician. Eliza made Laurie bring Hugo with us like a stray cat, and Lawrence spent a while giving free counselling to blitzed out Londoners. How he met Mrs. G, actually. Make of that what you will.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯d you come to Australia?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know. Bertie said John told him Oz had a load more super-babies. Like, one in a hundred thousand births or something. Honestly, I think he just missed the warmth in his bones¡­¡±

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Alberto allowed the strong but distant sounds of hammers and saws to drift down to the riverbank.

    ¡°So Eliza healed the King¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait, she healed who?¡±

    ¡°¡­Got us all citizenship while Lawrence found himself a private little kingdom in the Wheatbelt. Then he waited for us to flock to his palm like little lost birds.¡±

    There was a splash in the middle of the river.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t take too long, it turned out.¡±

    The young Alberto didn¡¯t even look up from his castle. Splashes happened all the time. Probably just some happy fish. But then a hand¡ªsmall and pale¡ªreached out of the river. It pawed the air for a moment, before grabbing hold of the water¡¯s skin like it was at the edge of a cliff. A little girl, maybe six or seven, with slick, water-dark hair pulled herself up onto the river¡¯s surface, which froze beneath her feet. She was completely naked, and her eyes were two chips of lapis.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Allison. ¡°So that¡¯s where David gets¡ª¡± The girl remembered what had become of Fran?oise, and couldn¡¯t bring herself to say anything more.

    Alberto didn¡¯t seem to notice (or care about) his companion¡¯s sudden silence. ¡°You should¡¯ve been there when Lawrence had that bloody portrait made,¡± he said wistfully.

    His younger self had spotted Fran?oise. ¡°Uh, hi?¡± the boy called across the water. ¡°Are you a super or something?¡±

    He didn¡¯t really need to ask. Even if she hadn¡¯t emerged from the river like Nimue¡¯s daughter, through the lens of Alberto¡¯s memory, the little water-nymph existed as flesh, mist, ice and water all at once. The lights of her thoughts glowed like abyssal fish risen from the depths to feed.

    ¡°Are you a super or something?¡± the girl shouted back at Alberto.

    ¡°She copied people a lot back then. Still learning to talk. Echolalia I think they call it.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yeah, I am.¡± The young esper slipped off his shirt and sandals before wading into the water up to his waist. ¡°I asked you first.¡±

    Without warning, Melusine melted into the river.

    ¡°Weirdo,¡± muttered Alberto.

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem very surprised by the naked water girl,¡± commented Allison.

    Alberto let the younger version of himself field that one. The boy looked back at the shore and said, ¡°I live with a walking, faith-healing corpse and a teenager whose sweat melts metal, sue me.¡± Resuming character, he started trudging and splashing back towards his mud-earthworks, when a small geyser erupted in his path.

    Alberto yelped and leapt backwards, but the waterspout wilted as quickly as it sprouted, falling back into the river to reveal Fran; head tilted, hands on her hips, regarding the boy with an imperious shade of curiosity.

    Alberto clenched his fists and tried to stand very straight. ¡°Look¡­ girl, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re¡ª¡±

    Fran¡ªnow clear as glass¡ªknocked Alberto onto his back with an open-palmed blow to the chest.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t see that coming, Tiresias,¡± Allison said, smirking a little.

    ¡°Hard to predict a girl made of whim.¡±

    Before Alberto could get back to his feet, Fran dissolved into mist, forming back into flesh on top of his chest and shoving his head underwater. Bubbles frothed from his mouth as the boy thrashed beneath her.

    Allison watched it all with fascinated horror. Fran didn¡¯t look angry. Allison wasn¡¯t even sure she could guess at what the girl was feeling. She was smiling, yes, but it wasn¡¯t a bully¡¯s smile. There wasn¡¯t any sadism, just pure, giddy amusement, like she¡¯d found a particularly shiny rock.

    Allison looked at the older Alberto. He didn¡¯t seem all too perturbed watching himself drown<sup>4</a></sup>. In fact, he was smiling, too. A melancholic smile, but a smile.

    ¡°Why¡¯s she doing that?¡±

    ¡°I think she liked the faces people made when they breathed in water.¡±

    Allison gestured wildly at Fran?oise. ¡°But she¡¯s killing you!¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have been her first. You¡¯ve got to remember, Allie, Fran grew up in the sea. Her father was the sea. She rode waves and sunk ships the way you or me played with blocks. Lawrence hadn¡¯t squeezed her into a person shaped box yet¡ªhell, I¡¯m not sure if she was a goddess, or an animal.¡± Alberto stared at the girl in the water, her hand still effortlessly keeping him from the taste air, oh so long ago. ¡°She was wild.¡± He looked back down at Allison. ¡°Free. You ever wonder what that feels like?¡±

    Allison had; all her life.

    Alberto bent his legs till he was level with the little girl, putting a hand on her shoulder and pointing towards his near-death experience like they were on safari.

    ¡°This is the best part.¡±

    The younger Alberto¡¯s hand broke the surface. It found Fran¡¯s thigh, and he raked her skin with his fingernails.

    The nereid squeaked with pain, her smile screwing into an angry pout. She pressed down on Alberto¡¯s chest with both hands, clearly making an effort to squeeze the breath out of him. The boy jerked spasmodically.

    Alberto whispered, ¡°One touch, that¡¯s all it ever took. To get the little snots in Bovegno to leave me alone, to make my father buy me Turkish delight when we were barely making rent¡ª¡±

    Allison¡¯s nose scrunched in a grimace. ¡°Turkish delight?¡±

    ¡°Shut up. But I couldn¡¯t sink my fingers into Fran. Getting a grip on her mind was like leaving a handprint on the ocean¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­David¡¯s like that too, now,¡± Allison admitted. She kicked at the half-remembered dirt. ¡°He won¡¯t even let me read his mind.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t sound happy about that.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he got to hide from me?¡±

    Alberto rolled his eyes. ¡°Were you thrilled when you heard I could read your mind?¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer. Not that she ever had to with Alberto.

    He continued. ¡°The black spots were dancing in my eyes by now. So I fought back the way all the other boys in Bovegno had to¡­¡±

    The younger Alberto swung his fist up at Fran¡¯s chin, knocking the girl off of him. The little boy shot right to his feet, screaming, ¡°Stronza<sup>5</a></sup>!¡±

    He stalked towards the little girl, striking her in the face with clumsy, inexperienced blows. Allison reckoned she¡¯d seen better punches from the Petey the asthmatic back at Harvey Primary. Fran?oise meanwhile just looked confused. She wasn¡¯t even throwing her arms up or trying to get away from Alberto, like she¡¯d never been in a fight before.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone had ever hit her back,¡± said Alberto. ¡°I mean¡­ did Fran ever tell you about Palaemon?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°Who¡¯s he?¡±

    ¡°Nobody important<sup>6</a></sup>.¡±

    The young Alberto was still hitting Fran. The little girl¡¯s expression changed from bewilderment to rage. She turned transparent again, lunging at Alberto and slashing at his face with sharp talons of ice.

    Alberto pointed at his cheeks. ¡°I will admit, there were some upsides to living with Eliza.¡±

    As though on cue, Lawrence and Mary appeared over the hill. They were walking and chatting with a dark-haired giant of a man, with shoulders like the hull of a ship. He was holding a pale blue dress.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure she¡¯s just playing in the river,¡± he said, a little apologetically. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since she¡¯s been near¡ª¡±

    The enormous man spotted Fran?oise and Alberto battling in the water. He ran down to the river, picking up speed like a freight train.

    ¡°Fran! No!¡±

    With one hand apiece, he effortlessly parted the children, lifting them both into the air like they were a pair of dumbbells. He looked sternly at the girl as she wriggled and reverted to human form, frowning into his warm, beetle black eyes.

    ¡°We don¡¯t claw people, girl.¡±

    The water-nymph huffed. The man turned his face to Alberto. ¡°Sorry about that.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t the one who tried to drown me!¡± cried the boy.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve ever seen pictures of Ralph Rivers out of costume,¡± said his adult self.

    Allison stared at the man stood in the river. ¡°That¡¯s the Comet?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Alberto.

    ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡±

    ¡°He took care of Fran down here a while after the war. Gave her to Lawrence because, well, major checca and all.¡± He shook his head. ¡°God, imagine if he hadn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You and Fran must¡¯ve hated each other.¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    Alberto didn¡¯t bother with an alcohol transition this time. Maybe his showmanship was waning. Maybe he was trying for montage. Either way, Ralph Rivers was gone. Fran had the blue dress on, and she and Alberto were lounging about the shore, quite at ease. Alberto was dangling a green tree frog by one of its thin legs. Fran similarly was peering at small, panicked fish she had trapped in small orbs of water above the river.

    ¡°I¡¯d never met anyone like Fran. She wasn¡¯t¡­ hollow like Eliza, but she was utterly her.¡± He smiled, mostly to himself.

    The tree frog exploded in the young Alberto¡¯s fingers, splattering the boy¡¯s face with splotches of red and strips of moist green skin.

    ¡°She surprised me. All the time. You¡¯ll find out how rare that is.¡±

    Fran was laughing like mad. To Allison¡¯s surprise, Alberto broke out in giggles, too.

    She looked flatly at the man the boy would become. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t tell me you and Arn never tore the legs off bugs.¡±

    Now they were standing on Northam¡¯s main street<sup>7</a></sup>, and Fran and the young Alberto were watching and cackling as a man in a sparkling white server¡¯s uniform fled down the sidewalk from a gurgling, misshapen mass of half-melted ice-cream.

    ¡°Now, I know you and Arn¡ªor, Dave I guess¡ªnever did that, because you¡¯re boring.¡±

    As Allison watched the ice-cream golem menace the screaming townsfolk, she hoped Alberto couldn¡¯t see the part of her that wished she¡¯d thought of it.

    A noon-drunk wandered out of a public house, stumbling over an Italian folk-song<sup>8</a></sup> and waving a bottle of malt in his hand. It flew out of his hand, smashing into the middle of the road. Almost predictably, it unleashed a wave that roared down the street. Allison didn¡¯t even flinch when it hit them.

    They found themselves somewhere Allison was very surprised Alberto was familiar with: the bottom of the Avon river.

    She looked around the riverbed. It all looked right. The mud, the way the sun rained broken caustics of light through the river¡¯s roof, the subtle greenish tint to everything. But it didn¡¯t feel right. The water was as weightless on her limbs as air. Pure scenery. It reminded Allison how false it all was. Alberto wasn¡¯t standing next to her. He was just information in her head that felt chatty. That she was letting decide what she saw¡­

    That information was looking up towards the surface. ¡°There we are.¡±

    Fran?oise was darting through the water like a tiny, towheaded dolphin, chasing after segmented gold water-snakes. Alberto was following gracelessly far behind her, waving flailing through the water like a deeply confused seagull, cheeks bulging with air. Looking at him made Allison deeply appreciate her power.

    ¡°I mean, weird god-brain aside, me and Fran¡ªit was just nice, you know? Basil was way bigger and always trying to keep busy so the black dog wouldn¡¯t get him, Eliza was a German depressive zombie, but Fran¡­ sure, I was older, but Fran barely knew what that meant. Most of the ¡®people¡¯ she¡¯d known were immortal! And we¡¯d both grown up a bit short of friends¡­¡±

    Allison spotted a shadow on the surface. It could¡¯ve been a teenage boy lying on his back. ¡°What about Chen?¡± she asked, pointing to the shape. ¡°Basil said you and him were close.¡±

    The world stopped.

    ¡°We are not talking about fucking Chen,¡± Alberto snarled.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Allison huffed back. ¡°What¡¯s your point, then?¡±

    The young Fran?oise and Alberto melted away. The surface began to lower towards the riverbed. The whole river was draining like a bathtub with the stopper pulled out.

    They were back at the riverside. Alberto and and Fran¡ªnow both very adolescent¡ªwere ambling along the water¡¯s edge with that particular bored teenage gait. Alberto though was eyeing his companion like she had a pimple he wasn¡¯t sure whether or not to tell her about.

    ¡°You¡¯ve already seen this part of the story,¡± the future Alberto told Allison. ¡°Just in reverse.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    Alberto waved his hands at the teens. ¡°Just look at this¡­¡±

    ¡°Me and Eliza are heading into town Saturday,¡± the past Fran said. ¡°Getting our nails done.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± said the teenaged Alberto. ¡°The paint will just flake off next time you turn to water or something.¡±

    Fran shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s the chat that¡¯s important. You wouldn¡¯t get it, girl stuff.¡± A small, knowing smile. ¡°Besides, maybe I just won¡¯t change for a while¡­¡±

    Alberto almost spat the words, ¡°She let Lawrence and the rest make her into a person! Domesticated her! Made her boring. Like turning water to mud.¡±

    The teenage Alberto stopped walking for a moment, staring at Fran¡¯s back. Then he caught up with her, surreptitiously brushing her hand with his.

    The young woman swung around and kissed him right on the lips. A very grown up kiss, Allison thought. She winced at the sight.

    Fran pulled back almost immediately, wiping her face and flashing Alberto the kind of nervous, apologetic grin the six year old sprite in the river never could¡¯ve. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Don¡¯t know what came over to me.¡±

    The young Alberto forced a smile. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m not complaining.¡±

    Fran shook her head. ¡°Practise makes perfect I suppose.¡±

    Allison glared up at Alberto. ¡°You made her kiss you.¡±

    ¡°She did what I told her,¡± he hissed. ¡°I could make her do whatever I wanted.¡±

    ¡°You made Fran kiss you,¡± repeated Allison.

    The psychic ran his hands down his face and groaned. ¡°What was the point after that? You can¡¯t be friends with a puppet.¡±

    Allison folded her arms. ¡°I have your powers and friends.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d had my powers for less than a week, sweetie, don¡¯t get carried away.¡±  Alberto produced an amber Jo Jo flask. It had no label, just the embossed image of Saturn devouring his child. ¡°There¡¯s one more thing I need to show you.¡±

    Alberto pulled out the cork. Allison braced herself for whatever flood or plume of remembrance it produced.

    Instead, the flask started sucking in air. Alberto and Allison stretched and contorted as they were pulled through its neck like genies being sucked back into their bottle<sup>9</a></sup>.

    No wonder he wanted to play Prospero, Allison thought to herself.

    When everything was its proper shape again, the pair were standing in Lawrence¡¯s study. The man himself was standing with his back to his desk, looking out the office¡¯s great clock face window. The only real difference made to the Oxfordian was the length of his beard. On the other side of the desk, a sixteen year old Alberto was staring at his sandshoes in the centre seat.

    It almost amused Allison. It was like God saw the scene in Milan and realized he¡¯d gotten Alberto and Lawrence mixed up.

    The elder Alberto did not look amused. He was staring at the back of Lawrence¡¯s green checkered suit with pure, undisguised hate.

    ¡°Mr. Jefferies from the off-licence phoned me today, Tiresias,¡± the old man said quietly. All too steadily. ¡°He was very confused. And angry.¡±

    Alberto looked up at Lawrence in confusion. ¡°What, you mean Crackbone Pete?¡±

    Lawrence swung around and snapped, ¡°We do not use vulgar nicknames here, young man.¡±

    That earned a quick bitter laugh from both his future students. To Allison¡¯s immense surprise, the young Alberto bent his head.

    ¡°Sorry, Lawrence.¡±

    His older self shook his head at the display. ¡°God, I was such a pussy.¡±

    ¡°Do you know why Mr. Jefferies called me, Tiresias?¡±

    Allison hated when grownups did that: the toxic combo of rhetorical questions and using your name like they thought you would forget it.

    Although, she guessed, that wasn¡¯t completely out of the question at the Institute.

    ¡°No.¡±

    Lawrence sat down, resting his elbows on the desktop and rubbing his fingers on his forehead like he had a migraine. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, Alberto.¡± He used the boy¡¯s human name like it was an insult, or maybe a serial-number. ¡°Mr. Jefferies told me he handed you an entire slab of beer, free of charge. And ¡®by God¡¯ he can¡¯t remember why.¡±

    Tiresias tried to shrug. It looked more like his shoulders were breaking. ¡°Maybe he felt charitable and he¡¯s regretting it?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve lived in the Avon Valley for a long time. I know for a fact ¡®Crackbone Pete¡¯ feels no such urge.¡± He looked Alberto hard in the eye. ¡°What did you do to him, Tiresias?¡±

    The man who¡¯d been called Tiresias nudged Allison in the side. ¡°Watch me think on my feet.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay, I¡¯ll confess. It was an illusion. Made Mr. Jefferies think I slipped him a tenner.¡± He tried to smile. ¡°I can pay him back if you want.¡±

    Lawrence swallowed hard. ¡°No, Tiresias. Mr. Jefferies didn¡¯t tell me his money vanished, he told me he gave you the beer.¡± He clenched his fists. ¡°Why did he do that?¡±

    ¡°Now watch, Allie,¡± said Alberto. ¡°If I was smart, I would¡¯ve leapt at Bertie and blanked his memory, like I did back at Adam¡¯s house.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± she muttered.

    Alberto sighed. ¡°I was not smart.¡±

    ¡°¡­I can make people do what I want,¡± Tiresias admitted. ¡°When I touch¡ª¡±

    Lawrence slapped him across the face, hard and sharp.

    Tiresias¡¯ hand went to his cheek. He was staring at Lawrence, more shocked than anything.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI thought you might not want me if you knew.¡±

    Lawrence took a deep breath. ¡°Tiresias, that is an ugly, abominable ability. Have you ever¡­ manipulated the others this way?¡±

    ¡°¡­Once or twice.¡±

    Another smack. ¡°Never do this again, not to anyone, but especially not your brothers and sisters. This kind of coercion isn¡¯t fit for new humans. It¡¯s pure mental violence.¡±

    Tiresias¡¯ eyes were wet. ¡°Are you going to tell the others?¡±

    Lawrence shook his head. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Gotta keep a card up your sleeve,¡± whispered Alberto.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want them to have to look at you like this.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s the only way Bertie ever looked at me again,¡± said Alberto. He looked down at Allison. ¡°Lawrence didn¡¯t see us as different people, you know. Not really. He thought of us like some big superorganism. Pun fucking intended. A beehive. And I was a bee that steals all the honey or something. A big fat¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Alberto blinked at Allison. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Stop trying to make me feel sorry for you. You¡¯re a bad person.¡±

    Alberto thrust his hands at Lawrence, now frozen mid-lecture. ¡°Look at what I had to work with!¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t look, neither at Lawrence or Alberto. ¡°Laurie was bad to all of us. Didn¡¯t make us all evil.¡±

    Alberto laughed without mirth. ¡°Evil? Chrissakes, is this a Sunday matinee?¡±

    The little girl finally looked up at the esper. ¡°I¡¯m nine. What¡¯s your excuse?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have to prove anything to you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re trying really hard to.¡±

    ¡°I lived with Bertie¡¯s complete and utter fucking hatred for half my bloody life!¡± Alberto shouted, abandoning his earlier protestations. ¡°What do you want from me?¡±

    ¡°David lived with Lawrence¡¯s crap his whole life. He didn¡¯t turn out like you.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no fucking comparison! David was Bertie¡¯s golden boy! His masterpiece! What the shit did he have to deal with, hmm? Bertie blowing too much air up his arse?¡±

    For a long time¡ªwhatever that meant inside her and Alberto¡¯s shared head¡ªAllison didn¡¯t answer. Then she drew a bottle from the aether. Tequila, with a fat worm curled up at the bottom.

    She took a long, hard draught. It burned her throat raw. The office shook and shattered.

    They were in the spare bedroom. The married day bedroom. Alberto, technically the younger, but only by less than three years, and the former Stratogale were both lying on the bed. Sadie Jones was painfully exposed, her skin pale. Her face was the kind of blank mask children put on when they didn¡¯t want to weep. She looked far younger than her fifteen years.

    Beside her, Alberto took a draft of his clove cigarette. He glanced at Sadie, staring at the door like it was the last one we all pass through. ¡°Hey, at least it¡¯s done.¡±

    He sounded like they were filing taxes, or closing a bank account.

    ¡°If you hate Laurie so much, why did you screw Sadie for him?¡±

    The words felt strange in Allison¡¯s mouth. Grownup, but only for a child.

    Alberto tried not to look at Sadie. ¡°Laurie wouldn¡¯t shut up about it. Guess he decided my ¡®abomination¡¯ was worth having in his next generation¡­¡±

    Allison glared at him. ¡°You could¡¯ve said no. You were the only one of us who could¡¯ve said no.¡±

    Alberto half-stammered. ¡°Hey, it wasn¡¯t fun for me, either!¡± He pointed at Sadie. ¡°She doesn¡¯t even like fellas!¡±

    ¡°She was a kid. You were twenty-six.¡±

    Allison forced herself to take another long, stinging gulp of Alberto¡¯s shame. The scene shifted to Panoply¡¯s cenotaph¡ªthe grave of a boy who never was.

    ¡°You brought Adam here. For a joke.¡±

    ¡°¡­He was a threat! To all of us!¡±

    ¡°Not to you. You brought Adam here so he could hurt us. Hurt David. Just to play a joke on Lawrence.¡± Allison¡¯s artificial calm broke. ¡°To make Eliza a murderer!¡±

    ¡°Eliza was a killer long before she met me.¡±

    ¡°Does that make Adam less dead?¡±

    ¡°Like you ever cared about him!¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Allison took another slug from the bottle. She¡¯d managed to down almost all of it.

    They were in Fran?oise¡¯s bedroom. Private Wilkins¡¯ rifle was still smoking. What was left of Fran was still warm flesh.

    Alberto blanched at the sight. He stared at Allison with white fury. ¡°You little cow.¡±

    ¡°Says the bloke who shot his best friend.¡±

    Alberto pointed at Wilkins. ¡°Does that look like me?¡±

    Allison scoffed. ¡°He was how you did it. You let the raid happen. You could¡¯ve made Tim leave us alone, and spent the rest of your life brainwashing girls and drinking yourself to death.¡±

    ¡°He¡ªhe knew about my power!¡±

    A sip this time. The room shifted back to Lawrence¡¯s study. The old man was staring pleadingly at Alberto, with a banana pointed at his temples.

    ¡°Lawrence knew about your power, but you could still do that to him. You cared more about a dumb, sick joke than you did about Fran.¡±

    Alberto couldn¡¯t answer the girl.

    They returned to Fran¡¯s room. Allison was smiling wickedly.

    ¡°You know what¡¯s amazing?¡± she said, her voice cracking. ¡°The absolute funniest thing about this?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Allison laughed. ¡°This isn¡¯t even the worst thing you¡¯ve ever done. Raping a girl and shooting your friend in the head is, like, third baddest!¡±

    The little girl swallowed the rest of the tequila. When the bottle was bone dry, she shook out the worm, crunching it between her teeth.

    They were in the barn, in the middle of the night. Alberto was in his dressing gown. David¡ªor maybe Maelstrom¡ªwas standing in his pyjamas under a shower of moonlight pouring in through the barn¡¯s skylight. His eyes were still as blue as his mother¡¯s, and they were streaming with tears. He was also holding a pair of wooden skewers.

    Alberto was pacing unsteadily back and forth in front of the boy, his cheeks flushed with Enlilian hexagons. Allison could almost smell the booze on his breath. The psychic was the kind of drunk that he normally reserved for parties, or his deepest funks.

    Perhaps this was both.

    Alberto was stumbling, both over his own feet and his words. ¡°You don¡¯t know how fucking lucky you¡¯ve got it, Mealy.¡±

    Maelstrom nodded. Allison didn¡¯t know if that was Alberto¡¯s doing, or just the instinct Lawrence had hammered into him.

    ¡°I remember when I was the future.¡± Alberto mimicked an explosion with his hands. ¡°The ¡®mental marvel¡¯ Bertie fucking called me.¡± He stalked in close to David, his spittle hitting him in the nose. ¡°But now he¡¯s got you. His own personal Poseidon, with all the edges ground off.¡±

    David whimpered.

    Alberto hit him. Allison couldn¡¯t imagine it meant much to a boy who¡¯d been flogged with what might as well have been a mace, but he still shook like his bones were jelly. The up-to-date Alberto was shaking too. Adults did that sometimes when you called them out.

    ¡°Fucking hell,¡± the previous Alberto slurred. ¡°You know what your mum would think of ya, back when she was worth something?¡±

    Maelstrom shook his head. He¡¯d heard it all before, but he was a good boy, and good boys didn¡¯t play smart when grownups were trying to tell them something.

    ¡°She¡¯d be bloody ashamed. Probably wouldn¡¯t even bother to drown you. You¡¯re Lawrence¡¯s shitty picture of her.¡±

    Alberto tested the tips of the skewers with his thumbs, raising tiny beads of blood from his pores.

    Maelstrom didn¡¯t have to be told. He drove the skewers home.

    He didn¡¯t scream. He wasn¡¯t allowed to. He did whimper, though. Blood and worse mixed with his tears.

    Alberto tried to look away, but wherever he turned, there was Maelstrom. There were those ruined eyes.

    ¡°Oh, quit sniveling,¡± said the other Alberto. ¡°You¡¯ll be fine. Now, open the doors for us. We¡¯re gonna go get Windshear.¡±

    Maelstrom, retreated into ice, pulled the barn doors open. He followed Alberto out into the night.

    Alberto watched them go, before turning to look at Allison.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I see whenever I look at my best friend. Thanks.¡±

    ¡°He never remembered!¡±

    ¡°He did. He just didn¡¯t know he did. I held him while he screamed.¡± Allison¡¯s mouth twitched curiously. ¡°Is that why you killed his mum? In case he remembered?¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    ¡°Lawrence was wrong about¡­ pretty much everything. Except for you.¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Allison¡¯s voice climbed higher. ¡°You¡¯re worthless, Alberto! The whole world would be better if you¡¯d died inside your mum. Lawrence was right to hate you!¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    They were back in the Physician¡¯s quest quarters. Back in reality. Allison was sitting upright in her bed, regarding Alberto with almost bored disdain. His image meanwhile was hyperventilating.

    Allison lay down. ¡°We¡¯re done,¡¯ she said, closing her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m going out.¡± Allison hadn¡¯t tried astral projection yet, but right then she just wanted to be away from Alberto. She rose out of her clothes and body like a sylph of the air. She was a spectre now, a reflection of herself. The girl floated up towards the metal ceiling.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Get back in the dark.¡±

    She passed out of sight. Alberto got shoved back into the house without windows, alone. The psychic was a little surprised. He¡¯d half-expected to find himself dragged along wherever Allison was frittering off to.

    At least this future was unfolding right.

    Alberto opened Allison¡¯s eyes. Exhaled air through Allison¡¯s lungs. Moved Allison¡¯s lips, and tapped Allison¡¯s teeth with the tip of Allison¡¯s tongue.

    ¡°Dumb little bitch.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Four: The Third Way

    Allison Kinsey flew far from her body¡ªaway from Alberto¡¯s wheedling. Listening to him felt like letting mold spread through her brain. Her shade passed through vacuum-armoured bulkheads as easily as curtains of smoke. She followed the enormous tree roots that riddled the starship like veins and arteries. Or, perhaps more accurately, like elevator shafts.

    She eventually came out into an open space. It was about the size of an average master-bedroom, made larger in Allison¡¯s eyes by its Spartan emptiness. The smooth metal floor was covered in irregular glowing lines: neon-chalk outlines for murdered furniture.

    The girl wasn¡¯t alone, either. Dr. Smith¡ªthankfully still wearing his psi-damper¡ªwas looming over what looked like a chaise lounge upholstered in albino crocodile skin. David¡¯s super-suit was draped across it like an unusually well behaved puddle, while the boy himself stood behind the Physician, tapping his foot impatiently with his arms folded.

    ¡°Do I really have to be here for this?¡±

    The Physician didn¡¯t answer him. His attention was all on the suit. He was wearing a pair of large, brass goggles. They would¡¯ve made anyone else¡¯s eyes seem bulbous and bug-like, but if anything they made the Physician look more normal. His long fingers were capped with silver thimbles, which he waved over the suit like a priest consecrating holy water. When Allison got a closer look at the devices, she immediately regretted it: their divots were all filled with tiny eyes.

    ¡°I knew it!¡± Dr. Smith exclaimed, mostly to himself. His neck cracked as his head swivelled round to grin at David. ¡°Life-fibres! From Alqbryth!<sup>1</a></sup>¡±

    David didn¡¯t even blink at the display. ¡°That supposed to mean something?¡± he asked.

    Allison was waving her astral-self¡¯s arms in David¡¯s face. ¡°Hellooo, Davie, Allie standing right in front of you!¡±

    Her friend paid her no more mind than he did the air.

    The Physician kept expounding, ¡°Life-fibres are symbiotic organisms! They latch onto powered creatures and adapt to their abilities; feeding off your thoughts and emotions in exchange for putting themselves between predators and your gonads.¡±

    David grimaced. ¡°You mean that thing is in my head?¡±

    The Physician wibbled. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go that far. It just basks in the waste-heat of that suspicion like a lizard in the sun.¡± He swung his head back to the suit. ¡°Here, watch.¡±

    Dr. Smith made a few squeaking, clicking noises. Thinly wrought black iron vines grew from inside a bright pink circle next to the examination bed, forming into a pair of shears at their end and cutting an inch of fabric from the suit¡¯s sleeve, offering it up to the Physician like a cat with a dead bird before retreating back into the floor. With his free hand, the doctor grabbed the rest of the costume and tossed it at its owner.

    The suit splashed against David, flowing over his skin and reforming around him. The boy examined his shortened sleeve with a frown. ¡°Great, now I¡¯m uneven.¡±

    Allison gave a small smirk. ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care about¡ª¡±

    The girl trailed off as David¡¯s suit began to glow, the sleeve¡¯s hem regenerating before it subsided.

    David whistled. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s pretty neat.¡±

    ¡°I expect you and your friends won¡¯t ever need to worry about replacing the suits,¡± commented the Physician. He was fondly twirling the hoop of fabric he¡¯d cut around his finger. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to play with life-fibres for ages, but the !Quell<sup>2</a></sup> guard Alqbryth like their virgin daughter.¡± His grin unwavering, the Physician added, ¡°Bunch of slimy Russian nesting dolls.¡±

    David snorted. Space racism was even weirder than regular racism. ¡°What are you going to do with it?¡±

    ¡°Well, if I can get this sample to grow¡­¡± The Physician closed his hand around the life-fibres. ¡°Don¡¯t tell Arnold and Mabel, I want it to be a surprise.¡±

    Allison was jumping up and down next to David. ¡°Come on, you gotta know I¡¯m here a little! Aren¡¯t you a god or something?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said David. ¡°Might be funny.¡±

    Allison scowled. She wasn¡¯t sure why David not being able to see her right then was so annoying, but it was. Excruciatingly so. Then she realized¡­

    ¡°So, why¡¯d you kiss Arnold? Do you think he¡¯s pretty now? Is he a good kisser?¡±

    David didn¡¯t answer, of course. He just bounced from foot to foot, clicking his tongue boredly while he waited for the Physician to tell him he could go, or he ran out of patience and left anyway, whichever came first. Allison didn¡¯t know why asking those questions felt good, but it did. It made her lungs feel less tight. She stepped a little closer, asking into his ear, ¡°Would you kiss me? Wait. Would I kiss you? Hmm.¡±

    A thought floated to the surface of David¡¯s mind. Their pirate fight back in the river. Except David was winning, spearing Allison¡¯s ship with needle-fangs of ice.

    The real Allison frowned. ¡°Sore loser.¡±

    In David¡¯s daydream, he swam over to Allison, pulling her close and pecking her on the lips. For some reason, her hair was very, very vivid.

    Allison blushed, hard. Then she blew a raspberry at the boy and wafted out of the room, laughing.

    Billy and Arnold were both in the media room, chasing each other over spongy sofa-mounds (or bean-bags) while on the membranous screen<sup>3</a></sup>, Doctor Who poured out champagne for his friends and wished the audience at home a happy Christmas<sup>4</a></sup>.

    It was Boxing Day, Allison remembered suddenly. Christmas had only been yesterday. Part of her felt like the air ought to feel a little different, but it didn¡¯t. Did holidays really only exist in people¡¯s heads?

    Billy leapt out from behind one of the sponges, making gun noises at Arnold while flicking his pointer fingers at him. It seemed he had slept in his costume.

    Boys, Allison thought, as though she wouldn¡¯t have done the exact same thing in his position.

    Mabel was still in her fish-tank room, at the centre of a paper carpet as thick and white as the snow outside the ship. She was was drawing feverishly in Father Christmas¡¯ sketch-pad, tearing out pages and hurling them away as soon as she was done. Allison thought it rather wasteful, until she noticed the book¡¯s pages were regrowing as fast as Mabel could remove them.

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Neat,¡± Allison said to herself. She descended to the floor and reflexively bent to pick up one of the drawings. Predictably enough, her hand passed right through them.

    Allison grunted in annoyance, before scouting around for some pictures facing up. She quickly found a depiction of Asteria in her coffin, all heavy, dusky pinks and purple shadows.

    Just looking at it made Allison sad again. But it was also so good. Better than anyone could have expected from a child who wasn¡¯t her.

    She found more. The Physician¡¯s ship, embedded in Mt. Erebus. A few mermaids. A redheaded boy it took Allison a few seconds to realize was Adam Sinclair. She even found herself back at Harvey Dam, burning bright in front of an awed Jenny and Matthew.

    That had been a good day.

    Allison looked over at Mabel, still scribbling away. ¡°Looking good, Mabs!¡±

    Mabel stopped drawing for a moment, and smiled.

    Allison passed through cavernous storerooms, piled high with everything from canned beans to capsulized singularities. She crossed a clamshell chamber, past what looked like an aurora borealis carved out of solid ivory, undulating like a swimming manta-ray, or an eagle beating its wings. An uptick drive, Allison knew somehow. For sneaking around the light barrier.

    Then she rose up through an artificial salt-lake, in which rested a bizarre coral reef, full of waving polyps and staring, china blue eyes. Allison would have remembered to tell David about it, if the place wasn¡¯t so thick with the Physician¡¯s song.

    Soon enough, the ship fell away completely. Yesterday¡¯s blizzard had blown over, leaving the air as still as the snow that charitably hid most of the barren black stone of Ross Island, like fresh ash from the sleeping heart of Mt. Erebus. Terror lay in the distance, sullenly regarding Allison and its twin.

    Technically¡ªthanks to poor Stratogale¡ªAllison had been able to fly for nearly a year now, or at least had the option within earshot. She¡¯d hardly done it, though. It made her look like the idiot who put them all in this mess anyway.

    But if nobody could see her¡­

    Allison whooped, swooping down over the icy plains until they were racing barely three feet below her face, before spinning and launching back into the fluorescent blue sky.

    It was scaldingly cold. She could feel the frigid air slam into her like she was smashing through broken panes of jagged glass. But it couldn¡¯t hurt her. Her body was safe and warm back on the ship. Allison had the vague expectation that astral projection would be like being water, but it wasn¡¯t. David¡¯s power made her shapeless and vast, but Alberto¡¯s left her as herself, but woven from wind and will, separate and untouchable.

    She dropped to earth, kicking grandly at a snow mound.

    Her foot passed right through it.

    Separate, untouchable, and insubstantial.

    All Allison¡¯s elation curdled instantly. She kicked wildy at the mound over and over, like she hoped to catch it off-guard.

    Angry growls erupted from her like incoherent steam.

    Stubbornly, the little hill remained still, waiting for the next blizzard to snatch it up again.

    Allison stamped silently at the unyielding snow, scowling and wrapping her arms around herself. What was the use of flying and being invisible if you couldn¡¯t mess with anything? The frustration pricked at the girl like flies crawling on the inside of her chest.

    ¡°Fucking hell!¡± she screamed toward the sky. It did not echo.

    Some childish instinct made Allison cringe, like she was expecting a rebuke or a slap. She glanced around the rocky, snowy wastes as if Captain Scott<sup>5</a></sup> was going to step out from behind a crag and clip her ear.

    Then she started to laugh; loudly, with her entire body. What was she worried about? She was a ghost. And even if she wasn¡¯t, the ship was miles away, and the only grownup in there was the Physician<sup>6</a></sup>.

    Allison grinned. As loudly as her metaphorical lungs could muster, she shouted, ¡°Shit!¡±

    Her only answer was her own laughter, so she shouted again. ¡°Fucking cunts!¡±

    She wondered if this what Fran felt like when she was little.

    Her blue streak was interrupted by an off-key, warbling chorus of low chirps and almost spectral moans.

    Allison swung around, coming to face a small crowd of emperor penguins waddling about with ridiculous, butlerial nobility, a few gray-pyjama downed chicks milling among them.

    A small part of Allison wondered if her swearing had attracted the birds like a psychic beacon. A much bigger part of her shot towards the penguins, yelling, ¡°Pengies!¡±

    She ran amongst the waddle, falling on her belly and excitedly poking and petting whichever ones wandered within arms reach. Her intangibility didn¡¯t cross her mind, not with the suggestion of penguin feathers against her feathers.

    She was cooing over a particularly large hen (not that she could tell) when¡ª

    Allison abruptly found herself standing upright, but too low to the ground. The cold felt closer to her, but strangely comfortable. Familiar, even. Her nose and lips meanwhile felt deeply wrong, and she couldn¡¯t move her fingers. She let out of confused chip¡ª

    She was standing over the hen again, which was waddling off with haste. Penguins always look a little confused, but this one did in excess. It took Allison a moment to realize what had just happened.

    I was a penguin.

    Allison let out a confused giggle. She didn¡¯t know she could do that. Alberto didn¡¯t know he could do that, and he¡¯d been him for nearly thirty years!

    It made her wonder what else she could do now.

    Parliament House¡ªits past and its present¡ªflashed in her secondhand memory. There really were more directions to move in than most people realized.

    Allison stepped backwards through the elastic sheet that hugs space. Above her, the sun wobbled east and west, trying to wrench itself free of the protracted day. The penguins regrettably flickered away. The wind picked back up, streaming backwards around the girl.

    In less than a minute, Allison was looking at herself, staring down the Physician all aglow while her friends shivered behind her. She wished she knew how to read the Physician¡¯s lights, and finally know for sure if he was just screwing with them.

    So she could travel back in time. Sort of. Allison decided to try the other direction.

    If going backwards in time was like backing deeper into a corridor, going forwards was like stepping out into an open field. It was honestly daunting. There was one past, but so, so many futures. Time was an infinity of fibres being woven together by the quick fingers of seconds and hours.

    Like a tightrope walker, Allison crept across one of the twines, up into a possibility of next week.

    She and David were playing in the snow, making it boil and dance around them, while emperor penguins fled futility from their affection.

    The girl leapt sideways. David and her future self vanished¡­ along with the Physician¡¯s ship.

    Allison tilted her head. Better keep an eye on that.

    She was about to head in search of Scott¡¯s cabin when she felt a twitch. It was hard to identify at first, like someone was tugging at her veins.

    Then she realized.

    Her body was moving.

    ?

    Alberto somersaulted the length of Allison¡¯s bedroom. Or Allison somersaulted the length of her own bedroom per Alberto¡¯s strict instructions¡ªdepending on how you looked at it.

    The esper stuck the landing, suspending the little girl¡¯s body he wore by just her hand. After a few seconds, her muscles began to protest, but Alberto silenced them with a blue circle in his mind¡¯s eyes. He held the position for nearly a minute before getting bored and leaping back to his<sup>7</a></sup> feet.

    Allison body was amazing. Its movements were effortlessly graceful. Alberto felt more energised than he¡¯d seriously believed was possible, like he could run a marathon three times over and go for seconds. Her senses were crisp and clear, and Alberto could swear her eyes came with a zoom. Even his thoughts felt faster and more fluid, running on her brain. Most surreal of all, for the first time in nearly two decades, Alberto didn¡¯t want a smoke, or even a drink. For him, it was like waking up one day and finding he no longer craved food or air.

    On top of everything, Allison¡¯s body came preinstalled with so many extras, and that wasn¡¯t even including her powers. It almost made up for the loss of height and certain¡­ anatomical deficiencies.

    Alberto clenched his new, small fist, just for the sake of feeling skin against skin again.

    It didn¡¯t matter, he thought to himself. The height thing would sort itself out, given time, or maybe he could make the Physician do whatever he did to those drones. As for the other problem, maybe he could find a decent shapeshifter to eat.

    A cold, pale smile. Bet a mind-blind git will be less trouble than me.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Alberto turned to find Allison¡¯s astral self glaring at him with ill-disguised fear. You would think that would be easier with a projection, but apparently not.

    Alberto smirked at Allison with her face. ¡°Hello, Allie.¡± It was the first time Alberto had spoken in Allison¡¯s body. His Italian lilt sounded odd shaped from her high, hoarse voice, even to him. He wished he could imagine how it sounded to Allison. He made a show of stretching her arms and legs. ¡°Just breaking in the new digs. Not like you were home.¡±

    If it had been possible for her¡ªin the flesh or otherwise¡ªAllison¡¯s face would have paled. She mustered some anger to her features. ¡°Get. Out.¡±

    Alberto grinned and spun on his toes. ¡°I think before I do that, we should work out a timetable. I can¡¯t stay cooped up inside your head forever, you know. I need some time to myself now and again.¡±

    Allison snarled, marching towards her body. ¡°You don¡¯t need anything!¡±

    Just for show, Alberto raised his hand. The girl¡¯s spectre was forced backwards.

    ¡°Oh, silly me, I forgot.¡± The arch smile broke. ¡°I¡¯m worthless, aren¡¯t I, Allie?¡±

    Phantom tears were trailing down Allison¡¯s face. She pressed her hands against it the force that kept her from herself. It felt more solid than diamond. She was locked out. When she spoke, her voice came out very small. ¡°Alberto, please¡­¡±

    Alberto¡¯s smile returned as he swept his hand, flinging Allison into the dark. Into the house without windows.

 Chapter Sixty-Five: The Wolf Cub

    Well, that was easy.

    Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. Allison may have been a refined superhuman collation of the knowledge and expertise of thousands, but she was also nine. Alberto could still hear her, screaming at him from deep in the back of his head.

    Calm down, Allie. If you¡¯re not comfortable in there, I can always import playmates for ya. David, maybe?

    The screaming died down to a resigned whimper: the psychic equivalent of a buzzing light fixture. Annoying, but tolerable until Alberto found himself an ice-pick. He looked at Allison¡¯s super-suit¡ªa depressed rainbow lying in a heap on the brass floor¡ªglanced down at the girl¡¯s pyjamas, and sighed. Time to bite the bullet.

    Alberto undressed like he was peeling off his own skin, silently thanking God that Allison had gotten back into the habit of wearing clothes. He¡¯d felt like a pervert whenever the kid looked down. He didn¡¯t even want to consider what he¡¯d do when he had to shower or take a piss. Maybe his prepubescent sweat-glands and newfound indifference to alcohol were a blessing.

    Alberto pulled on the suit. It had its own song, he noticed, a strange tonal echo of Allison¡¯s own, like a second voice harmonizing with her. He flinched as the suit shone bright white and shifted over his skin. When it settled, the esper found himself wearing a maroon-feathered body-sleeve. The torso though was smooth and black, except for a white raven in flight over his chest.

    Alberto blinked down at the new look¡­ he kind of liked it. At least the alien Santa clothes had taste.

    ¡°Your suit changed.¡±

    Alberto jumped. David was lolling over the side of the spiral staircase. He started down the steps, minutely tripping over one of them, before glancing down quickly at the girl below in case she noticed. It was cute, especially the way his dark locks¡ª

    Alberto brushed the thought from his mind and shook his head. The last thing he needed was one of Allison¡¯s second hand puppy-crushes. They made for an unsettling dual perspective on the little shit.

    David was in front of Alberto now, leaning forward to get a better look at his outfit. The water-sprite had submerged his thoughts again. That was what Alberto got for waxing nostalgic over his mother.

    The boy¡¯s arsenic eyes drew upward. ¡°So, how did this happen?¡±

    Fuck, Alberto thought. He wants me to say something. He tried to purge the Italian from his throat. British but sexy, American but drunk¡­

    Alberto shrugged. ¡°Dunno. I guess I was using Alberto¡¯s powers a bit¡­¡±

    Luckily for the psychic, Allison Kinsey was a skilled impressionist.

    David straightened, seeming to consider his friend¡¯s half-explanation. ¡°Makes sense.¡± His lip curled. ¡°Looks cool, but I think I like the normal suit better.¡±

    Says the nudist sea-goblin, Alberto grumbled inwardly.

    David tilted his head. ¡°You alright, Allie? Your heart¡¯s beating really fast.¡±

    Shit, was this boy bred for horror movies? Well, bred for something, at least¡­

    Alberto imagined a cartoon love-heart, pictured it slow down its tempo. He felt Allison¡¯s heart ease in her chest in response. ¡°Yeah, just had some bad dreams,¡± he answered.

    David clicked his tongue. ¡°Yeah, sucked having nightmares.¡±

    ¡°Whatcha come over here for anyway?¡±

    David smirked. ¡°I need a reason?¡±

    Alberto wasn¡¯t sure if he preferred this over Mealy.

    Thankfully, David got to the point, ¡°John wanted me to get everyone for breakfast.¡±

    We¡¯re calling him ¡®John¡¯ now?

    They ate in the planetarium again. The Physician had been a touch surprised when Allison requested a view of Enlil for their meal.

    ¡°I¡¯m curious,¡± she said simply. ¡°Laurie said Alberto was from there.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Dr. John. ¡°Rainmaker rest that poor boy¡¯s¡­ soul, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Like most of the humanish worlds, Enlil could have been mistaken for Earth by a casual observer, if you didn¡¯t pay much mind to the number<sup>1</a></sup> and shape of its continents, or the enormous inland sea that dominated one of them. And the bright, silver-purple rings that looped the planet like a halo, of course.

    ¡°Nice rings,¡± Arnold said, mouth full of breakfast. Unlike at Christmas lunch, the Physician had settled for serving the children cereal that morning, albeit from a clear glass box covered in odd, unfamiliar text.

    ¡°I agree,¡± said the Physician, still not eating.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t even know earthy planets could have rings like that,¡± added Billy.

    Dr. Smith said, ¡°Any planet can have rings, William, but Enlil is the only the only one with rings like that. They¡¯re made of some mineral from an eternity or two ago¡ªmutated all the local fauna and human inhabitants into psychics. The locals say it also makes them more cultured and peaceful, but trust me, pure propaganda.¡± He looked across the table at Allison. ¡°Like what you see, Allison?¡±

    Alberto didn¡¯t answer the doctor. He was too busy looking down at the world of his forebears. A world of espers. Would he have been a normal man down there?

    Then he remembered his long dead, hated ancestor. The people down there had flung him across the stars, just to make him someone else¡¯s problem. Who did that to a normal man? A man, Alberto knew, not unlike himself.

    And then there was Ophelia. She wouldn¡¯t fit in down there. She couldn¡¯t fit in anywhere. Lawrence had seen to that.

    The Physician didn¡¯t let the lack of a response trouble him, if he even noticed. ¡°What do you think, Mabel?¡±

    A few feet from the dining table, Mabel lay on her stomach above the ringed world like God¡¯s granddaughter, furiously scribbling at her sketchbook with pencils that couldn¡¯t dull.

    ¡°Mabel?¡±

    The girl looked up like a startled wallaby. ¡°It¡¯s great! Can you spin the planet ¡®round for me? I¡¯m doing a study.¡±

    Alberto morbidly wondered what would happen if Mabel tried animating Enlil. A spinning, ringed desk globe? A whole, full-sized planet dropped right into Earth¡¯s gravity-well? That could make for an entertaining few minutes. Or perhaps Mabel¡¯s brain would just melt out of her ears.

    The Physician grinned, raising a finger and swirling the air. Enlil spun half an orbit.

    ¡°Thanks!¡±

    ¡°Never change, Mabel. Unless you get better at drawing, you¡¯re allowed to change that way.¡±

    John Smith seemed to be in a good mood. That was his default, sure, but it felt more genuine than usual. Alberto decided this was his moment.

    ¡°Dr. John?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Allie?¡±

    ¡°Could you¡­ turn off your psi-dampener?¡±

    The children were all looking at Allison like she¡¯d just asked for broken glass in her breakfast. Even Mabel had been diverted from her planetary sketching. The Physician was sitting stock still, grin fixed, eyes even more glassy and blank than usual, as if his brain had stalled to compute such an unprecedented query.

    His mouth eventually creaked open. Without affect, he asked, ¡°But Allie, don¡¯t I revolt you?¡±

    Alberto swallowed. How to put this? ¡°I¡ªyou¡¯re song¡¯s hard to listen to, yeah. But I think that¡¯s a¡­ me-problem? You shouldn¡¯t have to hide yourself just because I¡¯m not used to you.¡±

    Arnold looked hard at the girl. ¡°Um, Allie, are you okay? You¡¯re not usually so¡­¡±

    ¡°Nice?¡± suggested David.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Arnold. ¡°That.¡±

    Alberto deeply wished Barnes was in arms reach.

    Billy folded his arms. ¡°Guys, don¡¯t be rude because Allie¡¯s being nice.¡±

    Most of the time, Billy was simultaneously Alberto¡¯s most and least favourite Watercolour, pretty much for the same reason. Right now, he was leaning towards ¡°most.¡±

    Alberto continued, ¡°It¡¯s also¡ªmy power¡¯s about learning, right? And you know so much more than anyone else in the world, I think. I shouldn¡¯t let being childish get in the way of this kind of opportunity.¡±

    Did that sound like Allison? God, it sounded like Laurie.

    Flattery is the true interstellar medium. The Physician let out one of his true, flooded engine chuckles. ¡°It¡¯s true. I do know more than anyone on this world. I¡¯d be happy to pitch in to your education.¡± He put his hand over the piscine-cockroach combo pinned to his chest. ¡°You ready?¡±

    Alberto gripped the edge of the able.

    The broach writhed and chittered, its many red-jewel eyes going dull.

    Allison¡¯s knuckles went white as Alberto was hit with the full force of the Physician¡¯s song. He¡¯d known what to expect, but he¡¯d never experienced it in the driver¡¯s seat. It was like being water-boarded: everytime the psychic thought he¡¯d latched onto its chord structure, the song went in a new, sonically bizarre direction. Its instruments were sawteeth and fingers on styrofoam. Its entire baseline was E7 shrieked by violins stringed with chalk. Its tune was like someone tried to match the rhythm of rot and bloat. And it was so vast. A human being couldn¡¯t accumulate so much knowledge if they lived eight lifetimes.

    Everything in Alberto tried to recoil from the song, especially the part of him that was still Allison, but he forced himself to keep listening, to make it part of himself, even if it was like pouring aniseed and bile down his throat. He needed this. Already, he knew things about physics that made Einstein and Oppenheimer look like mercury gargling alchemists. He knew more about the human body than Eliza. That alone made it worth it.

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Alberto let out of a long, gasping breath. ¡°Turn it back on!¡±

    The Physician dutifully switched the psi-dampener back on. Alberto went limp in his seat. He could feel the super-suit leech the sweat off Allison¡¯s skin. Seemed it wasn¡¯t only emotions it ate.

    Mabel had come to Allison¡¯s side, holding her by the shoulder, looking into her burning eyes like she expected to find broken blood vessels. ¡°You okay, Allie?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Alberto huffed like the chainsmoker he¡¯d once been. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Just¡­ intense.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t take it all in. Not all at once.

    Dr. Smith golf clapped. ¡°I think that was a very good first try?¡± One of his eyebrows crawled up his forehead like a starving caterpillar. ¡°Which planet is the current throneworld of the Southern Spiral?¡±

    ¡°The throneworld isn¡¯t a planet.¡± Alberto replied automatically. ¡°It  just has a planet in the middle. Barely liveable because the gravity of the royal palace squashed it into a disc. No one goes down there unless they want to be torn apart by atmospheric rotation. Or the Empress<sup>2</a></sup> wants them to be. The throne¡¯s in orbit.¡±

    ¡°Palaces have gravity?¡± David asked, one eyebrow slightly raised.

    ¡°They do when they¡¯re bigger than Saturn¡¯s rings<sup>3</a></sup>,¡± Alberto muttered. ¡°Like a giant, marble Koch snowflake. Gaudiest thing you¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Mabel, ¡°sounds kinda brilliant.¡±

    ¡°You would say that,¡± said Alberto, almost fondly

    ¡°You¡¯re close,¡± The Physician allowed. ¡°But I¡¯ll have you know the planet itself does have a thriving ecosystem. Some quite impressive birds there. Six winged things that could fly straight as an arrow through a hurricane. Color of fire. Quite striking.¡±

    ¡°Play your song again,¡± demanded Alberto. ¡°I want to learn more.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the best idea,¡± Dr. Smith said as he rose from his seat.

    ¡°I want it!¡±

    ¡°That sounds like Allie,¡± Arnold muttered to himself.

    The Physician was walking towards the planetarium exit. ¡°I know nobody¡¯s ever had to tell you this before, Allison, but you need to pace yourself.¡±

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Mabel asked.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell you? I have some business in Australia. Should be back by dinner.¡±

    Arnold looked perplexed. ¡°You¡¯re leaving us alone on your spaceship all day?¡±

    Canned laughter. ¡°No. I¡¯m leaving you alone with the other six mes hanging about the place, not to mention the Misters. Not like you can ever be alone inside this ship anyway. Just call out if you need anything.¡±

    ¡°Can I come with?¡± asked Alberto.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think bringing a wanted fugitive to work would be the best idea, Allie.¡± From anyone else, that would¡¯ve been obvious sarcasm. From the Physician, it just sounded like plain fact.

    Remembering something else, he turned to look at Arnold. ¡°Arn, you¡¯ve topped the ¡®most-wanted¡¯ list! Even beat the Coven.¡±

    Arnold felt very queasy. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Arnold¡ªeven if they caught you, I¡¯m pretty sure they¡¯d just put you in their living-weapons program. Valour isn¡¯t that wasteful.¡±

    Says you, thought Alberto.

    The Physician left the children alone in his 4-D planetarium, Enlil and her rings turning slowly and silently beneath them while their cereal went soggy.

    David grinned around at his friends. ¡°I¡¯ve got so much to show you.¡±

    ?

    Alberto and the Watercolours rode the ship¡¯s root network, whizzing up and down and left-to-right like they were riding Willy Wonka¡¯s glass elevator<sup>4</a></sup>. Their range of motion wasn¡¯t the only similarity between the two elevator cars: the Physician¡¯s was also made of glass, giving the kids an excellent view of the surrounding wood-grain. Apart from that, it was H-shaped¡ªwith plush chairs and a raised podium in the middle bridge<sup>5</a></sup> sporting a rainbow of multicoloured buttons, which David pressed with the confident air of a boy who had no idea what he was doing.

    Alberto made sure to brush against all his ¡°friends.¡±

    The first room they stumbled on was a dimly lit storeroom: a city of towers built from featureless silver cubes stacked almost to the ceiling, which was lined with hundreds of metallic, perversely humanoid arms.

    Billy gawked at the stacks like it was the actual big city. Someone popped an idea into his head. ¡°We should play hide and seek!¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡± Alberto piped enthusiastically. Hide and seek was perfect. He could¡ªnay, was expected to¡ªget away from the little brats and finally hear himself think.

    Or listen to other people think, that worked too.

    ¡°Sounds good,¡± said Mabel. She glanced at David and Allison. ¡°But you guys don¡¯t get to seek.¡±

    Even better. Now Alberto barely had to move.

    David didn¡¯t share his opinion. The boy made a choked, mortified noise and hopped angrily. ¡°But that¡¯s not fair!¡±

    Alberto glared out the corner of his eye at David¡ªthough with Allison¡¯s new eyes it hardly looked more malevolent than when she was mooning over him. Reflexively, the psychic tried tugging on a string that¡¯d long been cut.

    Maybe Lawrence had been good for something.

    Mabel scoffed. ¡°You two can just know where we all are with your eyes closed. That¡¯s the opposite of fair!¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s got a point, David,¡± said Alberto.

    Arnold didn¡¯t expect to hear that from the high-queen of Harvey¡¯s playgrounds. ¡°Since when did you care about being ¡®fair¡¯?¡±

    Alberto sent a pulse of indifference into Arnold. ¡°I¡¯m trying to turn a new leaf.¡±

    The boy shrugged. ¡°Fair ¡®nuff.¡±

    ¡°But Billy turns invisible!¡±

    Mabel ignored David and looked at Billy. ¡°Billy, you promise not to turn invisible when you hide?¡±

    Billy swept his cape in front of his face and bowed. ¡°You have my word.¡±

    David shook his head, disgusted. ¡°Like he¡¯s not going to cheat!¡±

    A small smile played across Mabel¡¯s lips. ¡°David, you really think Billy¡¯s gonna lie?¡±

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    Behind his cape, Billy grinned.

    Fittingly enough, the tiger-boy got to start off ¡°it¡±. His friends scattered amongst the towers of crates while he stumbled in place with his cape over his head and counted to fifty.

    Alberto ran to the far corner of the storeroom, coming to a stop and crouching in the middle of a tightly packed cluster of towers. He closed his eyes, and listened.

    The Physician wasn¡¯t lying when he said the children weren¡¯t alone. John Smith was gone, but Alberto could hear the alien¡¯s other rearrangements wandering around the ship, along with dozens of drones, and what might have been a few actual human beings, none of whom sounded very at ease.

    And then, of course, there was the ship herself, straining against her chains and shouting for all the astral-plane to hear:

    Slaver! God-slayer!

    Look, lady, we¡¯ve all got problems.

    Disgust like cold slime shot up Alberto¡¯s spine:

    Rapist! Tapeworm!

    Bit harsh.

    Alberto tried his best to tune out the ship and craned his ears for more snatches of the Physician¡¯s song. After the massive blast of John Smith¡¯s song, the distant polyphony of the Physician¡¯s other shards was much more bearable, insulated by the Watercolours and the ship herself. It was the subtle difference between sitting at the back of a club while a hot jazz number played, and being chained up inside in the piano.

    Disparate facts revealed themselves as facets of gleaming empirical diamonds. Bitter seeds of wisdom grew into a trees of synthesis, their branches meeting and weaving together to form a forest. Alberto shuddered. Every note was a bitter, unsweetened pill, but he could feel the margins of his mind widening with each new chord, like his brain was stretching to fit them. If he actually was the little girl whose skin he wore, it would have been the most work she¡¯d ever put into learning anything.

    ¡°Found you!¡±

    Billy¡¯s shrill, eager voice broke Alberto¡¯s reverie, knocking him onto his back. Swearing in his head, the psychic forced a kiddish smile. ¡°Sure did!¡±

    Would Allison have been grumpy at being found so quickly? Eh, probably, but Alberto wasn¡¯t feeling very method right then.

    Billy was standing in the gap between two towers¡ªlegs spread and hands planted on his hips in the official superhero-cum-Charles Atlas stance. ¡°You hid well, fair citizen!¡±

    Alberto let out a surprisingly genuine laugh. ¡°Thank you, brave hero!¡± Sarcasm sounded far gentler with the new vocal cords. ¡°Can I go hide again?¡±

    Billy¡¯s pose wilted, his tail twitching agitatedly as he scratched his neck and frowned. ¡°Um, Allie, can I talk to you about something? You¡¯re smart.¡±

    Alberto sighed. ¡°Alright.¡± Might as well throw the kid a bone.

    Billy sat down beside Allison and wrapped his cape over his knees. ¡°¡­I miss Betty.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    That was it? Alberto supposed he couldn¡¯t blame Billy. Sometimes he missed the boy¡¯s nanny, too. She was the last girl in a long while Alberto hadn¡¯t had to brainwash into giving him the time of day. ¡°Sounds rough, Billy but, you know, we all miss our folks. It¡¯s natural, I guess.¡±

    Alberto hadn¡¯t missed his ¡°folks¡± in twenty years. Wherever they were, he doubted they spoke of him, lest he hear them somehow. As for the girl Billy thought he was talking to¡­ Alberto wasn¡¯t sure. Did Allison miss her parents? Yeah. But from the looks of it, every day it got more and more distant. They were just human, after all.

    Alberto was beginning to wonder if he hadn¡¯t done the world a favour.

    Billy sighed. ¡°But that¡¯s not what¡¯s getting me. Not really. It¡¯s the people I don¡¯t miss.¡±

    Okay, mildly more interesting. ¡°¡­Go on.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t miss my mum and dad. At all.¡± Billy banged his fists against the floor. ¡°I tried to cry about them last night! I pinched myself: nothing! But I cried when I thought about Betty.¡± His head drooped. ¡°I¡¯m a bad son.¡±

    Alberto considered his response. ¡°¡­So what?¡±

    Billy looked at the girl, blinking back tears. ¡°What?¡±

    Alberto stood up. ¡°Exactly! Why should you miss your parents? They didn¡¯t give a shit about you!¡±

    Billy felt like he should¡¯ve been offended. Instead, he was still just confused. ¡°But¡ªbut they took care of me¡­¡±

    Alberto rolled his eyes. ¡°They paid someone to take care of you, Billy. Now Betty, she gave a shit.¡± He tapped at Allison temples. ¡°Trust me, the bloke in here, he could see under her hood.¡±

    Billy was honestly relieved. He¡¯d never had serious reason to doubt Betty, but a mind-reader was a hell of a character witness. Still, the sense of gratitude she¡¯d instilled compelled him. ¡°But mum and dad spent all that money on me! They paid for my house, and my clothes, and my food, and Betty¡ª¡±

    Alberto scoffed. ¡°Oh, I stand corrected: one of the richest couples in all Australia put in the bare minimum of giving a shit for any parent who doesn¡¯t dump their kid at the fire-station!¡±

    Billy shook his head. ¡°Why are you being so mean?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not being mean to you, I¡¯m being mean to the lazy fucks who kept you in the boonies like you were bloody Quasimodo! You know, it probably would¡¯ve cost St. George and his hag a lot less money if they¡¯d let you live in their house.¡±

    Billy repeated a line that¡¯d been fed to him every time his mother and father deigned to visit. ¡°There¡¯d have been a scandal¡­ Daddy employs a lot of people¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot, Billy,¡± said Alberto, not unkindly. ¡°Rich gits decide what¡¯s normal. I¡¯m pretty sure the only reason ladies wear white when they get married is because Queen Victoria or someone thought it looked neat. If St. George had wanted to, he could¡¯ve had every posh wannabe in the country gluing tiger-fur to their kid.¡±

    Despite his best efforts, Billy giggled.

    Alberto nodded approvingly. ¡°See what I mean? You were hard done by, Billy, you don¡¯t owe the St. Georges anything. I don¡¯t think anybody owes anyone anything, but if you have to miss someone, Betty¡¯s a good choice. Hell, I¡¯d pick ?ywie over your parents, and she straight up killed a boy.¡±

    The reminder stung Billy, but Allison was making strange, Tom Long like sense. He should¡¯ve expected it¡ªshe was the smart one.

    ¡°You gonna try to not give a shit about not giving a shit, Bill?¡±

    Billy sniffed. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±

    Alberto flopped down beside the boy and patted him on the shoulder. ¡°Good on ya.¡±

    It felt nice doing a good deed for a change.

    ¡°Allison?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°You can see the future now, right? Like Alberto could.¡±

    ¡°I see likelihoods, but yeah.¡±

    ¡°Do you think I¡¯ll see Betty again?¡±

    When you asked Alberto to look into the future for you, it was a bit of a crapshoot whether he¡¯d actually bother. But right now, the esper was feeling well-disposed to the tiger-boy. He looked into the mess of probability¡­

    Well, shit.

    ¡°Not very likely right now, sorry.¡±

    Even less likely if Alberto pulled off what he was planning. It almost made him feel guilty.

    ¡°Oh. Thanks anyway.¡±

    Alberto was saved from witnessing a crying jag by distant shouting. A medium-sized dragon knocked over a tower while dodging green lightning, which in turn vanished one of the blocks near the centre of another. The falling silver pillars fell against others, turning the entire chamber into a gigantic, very expensive looking game of dominos.

    ¡°The fuck?¡± Alberto cried as he and Billy formed quicksilver umbrellas over their heads.

    When the chain reaction had run its course, the one and a half children could make out Arnold and Mabel yelling at each other.

    ¡°That was my hiding spot!¡± Arnold shouted.

    ¡°I¡¯d called it first!¡± retorted Mabel.

    David yelled over the both of them. ¡°Fat lot of good it¡¯s gonna do you both now.¡±

    The entire storeroom let out a sigh, as the waving metal arms stretched down from the ceiling, plucking up the boxes and reassembling the tower.

    Alberto and Billy looked at each other.

    ¡°I think we¡¯re gonna have to find somewhere else to play,¡± said Billy.

    Bloody kids.

 Chapter Sixty-Six: Of Bottled Boys and Mermaids

    The fish-fin door swept open, revealing the latest stop on the Watercolours¡¯ self-guided tour:

    Billy went, ¡°Woah¡­¡±

    ¡°Neat,¡± said David.

    Mabel¡¯s nose wrinkled. ¡°Gross, you mean.¡±

    The water-sprite shrugged. ¡°Why not both?¡±

    Alberto simply wondered if he¡¯d hit the jackpot.

    The room wasn¡¯t large in terms of absolute floor space, maybe about fifteen metres end to end, but it was tall; almost arena-like in its dimensions. Similar in its architecture, too. The walls subtly beveled inwards, lined with odd ridges of purposeless shape and form. The furniture, on the other hand, put one in mind of a cluttered boutique shop. They stretched out from the middle in rings, tight enough alongside one another to leave too small of a gap for even Billy to slide through, but for a wider indentation every two or three metres.

    They were pods. Wide glass cylinders as baroque as the rest of the Physician¡¯s equipment, capped at both ends with what looked like hand-molded bone-china, the glass inlaid with a brassy metal filigree that shifted as the eye moved across it. David could feel all sorts of fluids flowing beneath the floor. They made the whole place smell faintly of trophy rooms and shoe polish.

    What lay inside the pods were children. Dozens of athletic, milky skinned boys of about eleven or twelve floated curled in a viscous, yellow fluid as if trapped in lava-lamps. Their faces were caught between baby-fat and sharp, Nordic definition, and with their eyes closed, the only thing that distinguished them from each other was the colour of their hair, in which were tangled coronets not unlike the one Arkwright had worn during his transformation. The term ¡°educator crowns¡± popped into Alberto¡¯s head.

    Billy had his eyes averted, uncertain whether he should look upon the bottled youths¡¯ nakedness. Arnold was also avoiding looking at the tubes. His face was very red.

    Little checca, Alberto thought to himself.

    ¡°Are these¡­¡± Billy struggled to find a plausible explanation. ¡°¡­Baths?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡±  Alberto said with a studious frown, rubbing Allison¡¯s chin while squinting at the tubes. ¡°I think these are wombs.¡±

    ¡°Ewww,¡± said Arnold.

    David was getting a closer look at one of the test-tube kids: a blond. His eyes widened. ¡°Holy heck,¡± he said, forcing Alberto to stifle a cackle. ¡°This one looks like he could be Mr. Thumps¡¯ son.¡±

    ¡°More like little brother,¡± Alberto said archly, ¡°and they all look like that.¡±

    ¡°The Physician can make people,¡± Mabel said, sighing. ¡°Can anyone else remember when we woulda been surprised by that? At all?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± answered David. Glancing upwards, he noticed holes in the ceiling, each corresponding with one of the pods below. ¡°Wonder what those are for.¡±

    Much to David¡¯s surprise, he actually got an answer:

    Alberto pointed at the metal floor. ¡°See the swirls? Like in the Wizard of Oz?¡±

    Indeed, the floor was inlaid with ribbons of what passed for carnelian, turquoise, and yellow fire-opal. They winded through the tubes and converged on a circle of rainbow hematite in the centre of the nursery. Alberto stepped into the circle and spun on his heels.

    There was a solid clicking sound. The whole room began to slowly but unmistakably spin.

    No, not the room; just the floor and ceiling. As they spun, the pods rose up from the floor, riding on cushions of shimmering air up through the apertures in the ceiling.

    ¡°The room¡¯s like a merry-go-round,¡± explained Alberto, pointing out the grooves in the walls being eaten by the floor. ¡°Or the plunger in a syringe. The pods use antigravity stuff to stay out of the way.¡±

    New pods emerged from the holes left by the last set. There was another click, and the room stopped spinning.

    ¡°The floor delivers nutrients and stuff to the pods.¡± Alberto stepped out of the circle and gave a snide grin. ¡°You guys ever notice the Physician¡¯s lot build everything like they can¡¯t pick between an adventure playground and a modern art gallery?¡±

    The children were too busy examining the new pods to appreciate Alberto¡¯s wit. The occupants were more mature than than their predecessors¡ªabout sixteen or seventeen. The only other difference was that their filigree was closer to gold than brass.

    Alberto huffed a little. He wasn¡¯t sure why being ignored by a bunch of little kids bugged him, but it did. ¡°These guys are all getting sold to gangsters and politicos like Valour. A few of them are going to Vietnam.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Not sure why they still draft real people, but whatever.¡±

    Arnold looked back at Allison. ¡°How do you know all that?¡±

    ¡°Those metal lines on the tanks? That¡¯s what the Physician uses for writing.¡± Alberto made a show of checking Allison¡¯s fingernails. ¡°I can read it now.¡±

    Arnold whistled. Alberto stood back on the rainbow circle and spun again.

    The next layer of pods all contained full-grown Misters. The layer after that held full-term fetuses.

    ¡°Babies!¡± Billy cried in delight. None of the other children seemed to share his reaction.

    Then there were toddlers, and preteens, more adolescents, and finally another batch of grown men, this time vaguely East Asian.

    ¡°Huh. The North Koreans are buying these ones<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    The cycle of childhood repeated over and over as the Watercolours descended through the clonal-nursery. Brass became gold as boys became men before they ever opened their eyes. Even unborn, the drones all had songs, composed and shaped by their educator-crowns. Some were being sleep-trained up into bodyguards, assassins, or just all-purpose muscle. Others, though, were for the Physician¡¯s own use: operating his equipment or helping maintain his reluctant spaceship.

    Alberto paid those drones¡¯ songs special attention.

    ¡°Wonder how long it takes the Physician to make a grown-up,¡± David mused.

    ¡°About three months,¡± answered Alberto.

    ¡°I think it¡¯s sad,¡± said Billy, watching another young drone pass up through the ceiling.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°They never get to be kids.¡±

    David nodded in agreement. Alberto, though¡ªstaring down the barrel of a second, female puberty¡ªcouldn¡¯t bring himself to weep much for the drones.

    ¡°At least they don¡¯t have to go to school,¡± pointed out Arnold. ¡°Or get bossed around for years by people like Laurie¡­¡±

    Mabel looked flatly at her friend. ¡°They¡¯re slaves, Arn.¡±

    ¡°But being a kid slave would be way worse.¡±

    ¡°Point.¡±

    Alberto was only half-listening to the conversation. He was busy imagining himself (or herself, sadly) in one of those pods, hopefully doped to the gills, being rushed to adulthood; hair sprouting, hips flaring, breasts rising like dough¡ª

    Alberto felt Allison shake in her cage. He wondered how much of that was the prospect of being changed in of itself, and how much was the general horror of womanhood Lawrence¡¯s stirpiculture was so good at engendering in his female students.

    Would such a growth spurt even help matters<sup>2</a></sup>? Even if Alberto could find a shortcut back to maturity, it would be as a woman. Even now, in Allison¡¯s still mostly boyish frame, he felt horribly incomplete. Would he still like girls, or would Allison¡¯s biology override his own tastes? Maybe he could force Eliza¡ª

    Alberto banished the thought from his mind. There was no way he was going to throw himself on that witch¡¯s mercy.

    The Misters gave way to more varied broods. Werewolf cubs grew up into hulking beasts, lizard hatchlings became ghastly serpent-men, and surprisingly, geodes became crystal golems.

    Shockingly, there were even some girls.

    ¡°Why doesn¡¯t the Physician make more of us?¡± Mabel griped to Allison.

    They left behind the little girls as they dipped down into adolescence. Alberto grimaced at the script on the teenagers¡¯ tanks. ¡°Be glad he doesn¡¯t.¡±

    At least they were spayed.

    No more pods replaced the last batch of females. The ports in the ceiling closed, and the carousel ceased revolving.

    ¡°This the bottom floor?¡± asked David,

    The grooves in the walls swirled into whirlpools and coalesced into five dark tunnels.

    ¡°Looks like it,¡± said Alberto. He found himself hopping from foot to foot. He¡¯d never done that in his own body. ¡°I think this is the floor where the Physician keeps all his special projects.¡±

    ¡°Think¡± his rump. Alberto knew the ship¡¯s layout like the back of his old hand. There were songs wafting from all the tunnels: mostly animal, but a few were broadly human.

    More importantly, one of them was a Physician.

    Alberto ran into one of the tunnels, calling over his shoulder, ¡°Going exploring. Meet back here?¡±

    Mabel started down another, Billy bolting ahead of her with his cape fluttering behind him. ¡°Sure,¡± she answered. ¡°Tell me if you find something worth drawing.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Alberto heard David and Arnold¡¯s footsteps behind him. He didn¡¯t mind. Might be good to have backup.

    The tunnel reminded all three of them of the Nocturnal House at Perth Zoo: a dark, winding hallway with peculiar habitats cut into the walls, partitioned by what Alberto guessed were either transparent forcefields, or panes of glass. One played art-studio for crystal-spiders weaving red hot webs of molten steel. An aquarium brimmed with cuttlefish whose skin flashed mute, colourized reruns of I Love Lucy<sup>3</a></sup>.

    ¡°The hell are those for?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°Construction and communications?¡± Alberto shrugged. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m not sure the Physician needs a reason to do anything.¡±

    There was a herpetarium filled with softly glowing orange lantern-turtles, the very sight of which made David pout.

    ¡°What¡¯s got you?¡± Alberto asked. He hated that he had to do that with David now. ¡°I thought they¡¯d be your style.¡±

    ¡°They are,¡± David grunted. He kicked at nothing. ¡°The aquarium thing¡¯s too small for me to swim in.¡±

    Cells carpeted with snoring human faces. Arboretums of trees that bloomed with half-ripe bluebirds<sup>4</a></sup>. Some of sort of squid-like biological manipulation tool inexplicably labeled ¡°Dandelion.¡± A great, four-winged roc<sup>5</a></sup>, fashioned from leather and polished bronze, spread its art-deco wings atop a plucking post of petrified coral. Its song was borderline sapient.

    Alberto paid these wonders and horrors little mind, focusing only on the Physician¡¯s song.

    The tunnel forked, leading off towards an Olympic swimming pool set beneath an artificial, azure sky. A Physician was lounging in a deckchair, reading a dog-eared copy of Undine<sup>6</a></sup>.

    David stared at the pool, practically salivating over it. He sniffed.

    Salt water.

    David¡¯s suit melted off him. He ran towards the pool and dive bombed, laughing all the while.

    The Physician rose from his chair. This one wore a red long coat and a Monmouth cap. One of his eyes was covered by a cheap, plastic eyepatch, and his right-hand had been replaced by a similarly cheap and nasty plastic hook. It even had a tell tale seam running along its length. His leg tapered off into a thick tree branch, complete with leaves.  ¡°Aha, me hearties! I take it you¡¯re the scalawags the good Doctor Smith is giving passage?¡±

    Arnold giggled and shook his head. ¡°This is a joke, right?¡± He looked around the chamber. ¡°The Physician¡¯s got cameras set up, doesn¡¯t he?¡±

    Alberto ignored the boy. He was finding the Physician¡¯s song far less upsetting than he had been, even at this close range. It would be a while before he¡¯d try dancing to it, but he could manage to rattle off its virtues at a trendy coffee bar. More encouragingly, it was having a feedback effect with his telepathy, making the alien¡¯s lights become more distinct and legible.

    ¡°Let me guess,¡± he said, ¡°Doctor¡­¡±

    The new Physician waved his hook. ¡°Ahh, none of that. I¡¯m Commodore Spoketooth!¡±

    ¡°And where do you work, Cornwall?¡± Alberto asked, a little too proud of himself for the joke.

    Arnold added, ¡°And why are you all pirate?¡±

    Commodore Spoketooth chuckled nautically. ¡°Nay, lass, I usually plow international waters.¡± He looked at Arnold. ¡°As for your question, lad: why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    It was the first time anyone had directly called Alberto a girl. It stung

    The surface of the pool bubbled and frothed. David¡¯s head emerged from the water, and he wasn¡¯t alone. A girl surfaced beside him, raven-black hair clinging to her face. She had darker skin than David, and vaguely Polynesian features. Her eyes though were large and black, with no visible pupils. A manic grin revealed some very sharp teeth.

    David sputtered with excitement. ¡°I¡ªshe¡­¡± He turned to his companion and exclaimed, ¡°Show them!¡±

    The girl dived back under the water. A red-scaled fluke surfaced like a sea-serpent, waving at Arnold and Allison.

    David shouted, ¡°Mermaid!¡± and dived back under.

    Alberto and Arnold both blinked at the pool.

    ¡°Ah, what was that?¡± asked Arnold.

    Commodore Spoketooth put his hands on his hips proudly. Alberto had to admit this Physician had a better than usual grasp of human body-language. Anything for a gimmick, he guessed.

    ¡°That¡¯s me mermaid.¡±

    Alberto glanced sideways at the pirate-doctor. ¡°Your mermaid.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Where did you get her?¡±

    ¡°I made her.¡±

    Arnold asked, ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Do I need a reason?¡±

    ¡°Told ya,¡± Alberto whispered to Arnold.

    ¡°You land-lubbers came up with such a pretty yarn, I did ya the courtesy of making it real!¡±

    Alberto¡¯s curiosity was rusty, but it was piqued. ¡°Can she breathe underwater?¡±

    ¡°Would be a lousy mermaid if she couldn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°I thought there wasn¡¯t enough oxygen in water for mammals?¡± Sometimes, Alberto was finding, it felt good to be smart.

    ¡°Aye, lass. But I figured out these special blood-cells made out of diamonds for her<sup>7</a></sup>. They carry more than two hundred times the oxygen your landlubber blood.¡± Spoketooth smirked, revealing alternating silver and gold teeth. ¡°Makes gills perfectly feasible for her.¡±

    ¡°Why is she a kid?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°You can make grownups.¡±

    Spoketooth laid his hook on the boy¡¯s shoulder, making him flinch. ¡°Aye, I did cook the little fry past the really fiddly years. But, sometimes, laddie, I just like to watch you children grow¡­¡±

    Mercifully, David surfaced again. ¡°Why are you guys standing around? There¡¯s a mermaid!¡±

    There was no way in hell Allison Kinsey could resist going swimming with a mermaid, Alberto realized. Oh well. He walked over to the pool¡¯s edge and started lowering himself in¡ª

    David frowned. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m gonna swim with you and the mermaid.¡±

    David looked bemused. ¡°In clothes?¡±

    Oh. God. Alberto wondered how believable Allison growing a sense of modesty in two days would be.

    Not bloody likely, he thought.

    ¡°Um,¡± he said, before remembering Spoketooth, who¡¯d wandered back to his chair. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to weird out the Commodore.¡±

    The pirate looked back up from his book. ¡°Shiver me timbers, lass! You think I care about what you scurvy dogs look like under your kit?¡±

    ¡°See?¡± said David. ¡°Do you really want to deal with drag?¡±

    Alberto really, really wished the little shit had picked a different phrasing.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell Allie to get naked if she doesn¡¯t want to.¡±

    Alberto turned to look at Arnold. The boy was nearly as red as the mermaid¡¯s scales. Discomfort radiated from him like a physical force. But there was also a sense of guilty anticipation.

    Hmm, Alberto thought to himself. So Arnold has some red blood in him, too. It almost seemed stranger to the psychic than the boy being a plain old fag. Say what you want about Ralph Rivers, at least he picked a team and backed it all the way.

    Still, Arnold¡¯s mortification couldn¡¯t help but amuse Alberto. On the other hand, being lusted over by a nine year old didn¡¯t exactly thrill him. Whatever. For now, he would avert suspicion however he must.

    There was a green flash, and Allison¡¯s super-suit fell on top of Arnold¡¯s head. He sputtered and yelled as he threw the costume off, blanching as he got a look at Allison.  The boy¡¯s mindscape shifted. An odd swelling of pride, tinged with a relieved kind of hope as a tingling warmth spread all throughout his body.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Arnold said, more to himself than to Allison. ¡°You¡¯re just as cute as David is.¡±

    Inside her skull, Allison Kinsey turned red as a balloon. Under Alberto Moretti, however, she also giggled.

    ¡°Perv,¡± Alberto said with a wink. He turned back to the pool. ¡°Come on, you¡¯ll miss out.¡±

    Alberto dived. The young mermaid greeted him with an enthusiastic wave. A lime flash flowed over the water, and Arnold plunged flailing into their midst

    Alberto was almost proud of the little queer.

    ?

    The children frolicked with the mermaid for hours. Like everything else on the Physician¡¯s ship, her pool was incredibly over-designed. Its bottom and walls were shrouded by beautiful, false holograms of vibrant coral reefs and tractless blue wastes in every direction. Whenever they threatened to scrape the habitat¡¯s limits, they stretched away from their hands or feet (or fins) like a 3D treadmill.

    Alberto kept up well enough with David and the mermaid, Allison¡¯s eyes glowing almost purple with the combined glow of her and the water-sprite¡¯s powers. Stolen grace and aquatic mastery  was definitely a step up from desperately dog-paddling behind Fran back in the river.

    He spun in the water, before curling into a ball and letting the world tumble around him. An unexpected glee buoyed him. It was embarrassing, but he couldn¡¯t help himself. The cool, flowing weightlessness yielded gloriously to the strength in his new limbs as he kicked through the water. Swimming, after all, is the cousin of flight.

    Maybe being a kid again wasn¡¯t so bad. The main downside of childhood, Alberto reasoned, was that most kids were stupid. He wasn¡¯t. Most kids were weak. He wasn¡¯t.

    Webbed hands wrapped Alberto¡¯s chest. He twisted around to find the mermaid hugging him, nuzzling his neck.

    All in all, her mind wasn¡¯t terribly different from a human girl¡¯s. Her lights were dominated by dull, beige brown, alternating with angry pulses of strong, bright pinks and greens, painfully fluorescent like neon-highlighters. Poor thing was stir-crazy, and quite desperately lonely.

    Alberto wasn¡¯t surprised. Poor, dumb thing was bred for the open ocean, from a species of tribes, and the Physician stuck her alone in a glorified fish-tank.

    He found himself sinking into the hug. Even her scales against Allison¡¯s legs didn¡¯t bother¡ª

    Wait, Allison liked mermaids, didn¡¯t she? Enough to spend a week painting them on the side of a barn. Was this feeling his, or hers? Were he and Allison¡­ synthesizing?

    Would that be so awful?

    A green bolt vanished the mermaid. A second later, she plunged shrieking back down through the water amongst a plume of tiny bubbles.

    Alberto kicked his way back to the surface to find Arnold trying to keep afloat as he laughed himself silly.

    David and the mermaid surfaced, sharing a look of mutual annoyance. Then David grinned and took his new friend by the hand. A wave swelled beneath them, sweeping up the pair and washing them over Arnold. When it subsided, Arnold was squirming and kicking in the two¡¯s arms as they cackled and pushed him underwater.

    Between dunks, Arnold shouted, ¡°I need to breathe you guys!¡±

    In the innocent cruelty of both gods and children, both David and the mermaid ignored him.

    Arnold¡¯s skin lit bright green. His tormentors were suddenly ten feet in front of him.

    Their victim grinned wickedly. He crackled.

    A large pond¡¯s worth of water showered down over David and the mermaid¡¯s heads, hard enough to force them under. David and the mermaid resurfaced swearing and spitting at Arnold.

    ¡°Come on,¡± said Alberto, floating nearby on his back. ¡°You kinda earned that.¡±

    Something seemed to occur to the mermaid. She ducked under and started poking at David¡¯s legs.

    David tried to resist giggling as he grinned smugly. ¡°Wondering how I keep up with ya with the legs? My granddad¡¯s kinda¡ªaah!¡±

    The mermaid poked him somewhere tender.

    Spoketooth chuckled, watching the children like an indulgent grandfather. ¡°You must forgive her, lad. She¡¯s never seen a landlubber-shaped boy before¡­¡±

    David glared at the Physician. ¡°She should be free.¡±

    The mermaid surfaced again, only to blink when she saw how hard David¡¯s expression had gotten.

    Fuck, Alberto thought. He¡¯s giving a shit. Why¡¯s he still doing that?

    The Commodore stood up. ¡°What¡¯s that, lad?¡±

    David pulled the mermaid in close. ¡°She shouldn¡¯t be cooped up here. She belongs in the sea.¡±

    The mermaid suddenly clung tight to David, looking at her creator with something between fear and hope.

    ¡°She¡¯s never been outside that pool. She¡¯d be dead inside a week.¡±

    David waved his arms around the cavern. ¡°You could build her a sea-palace if you wanted!¡±

    ¡°I could,¡± conceded Spoketooth. ¡°But why should I? I made the lass, she¡¯s my project.¡±

    A sudden current swept the mermaid away. Like Glaucus or Poseidon (or his grandfather), David rose on a Grecian column of water, looming over Spoketooth. His eyes burned sea-form white. ¡°I could make you.¡±

    The Physician showed no hint of fear. ¡°If you¡¯re planning on sending me down to Davy Jones¡¯ locker, lad, you should know my kind breathe water.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re also made of water.¡±

    Arnold surreptitiously swam over to Allison. ¡°Allie,¡± he whispered, ¡°should David be doing this? I mean, I don¡¯t want Mer-y stuck down here forever, but we kinda live here now¡­¡±

    Alberto got an idea. ¡°Let me handle it.¡±

    The psychic climbed out of the pool and walked over to Spoketooth. He took his remaining hand and looked up at the pirate with his best impression of a guileless little girl. ¡°Mr. Spoketooth,¡± he said, ¡°I know it¡¯s hard giving away something you love.¡± Bit of a strong word, but Alberto doubted the Commodore cared enough to object. ¡°But this could be a real opportunity for you!¡±

    Spoketooth¡¯s eyepatch twitched. ¡°What are you saying, lass?¡±

    ¡°Did you like making your mermaid?¡±

    ¡°I did. Best project I¡¯d had in years.¡±

    ¡°Well, I think you¡¯re right. She wouldn¡¯t last a day alone in the sea¡­ so why not make more of her?¡±

    ¡°¡­Go on.¡±

    ¡°You could make like, a whole class of mer-kids! Build them a nice village in the Bahamas or somewhere, stick some cameras about and watch them as much as you like! They¡¯ll fight and grow up and¡ª¡± Alberto looked at the mermaid, watching him and Spoketooth warily. ¡°Can she have babies?¡±

    ¡°Aye, I didn¡¯t want to half-arse it.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯ll never run out of merpeople to watch!¡±

    Alberto squeezed the alien¡¯s hand.

    ¡°¡­Sounds like a plan!¡±

    The psychic let go of Spoketooth, trying to dampen the grin forcing its way onto Allison¡¯s lips.

    David beamed down at the mermaid. ¡°We¡¯re going to make you some friends!¡±

    The mermaid trilled with delight. ¡°Ye be a good soul, matey!¡±

    ¡°¡­Huh,¡± said David.

    Alberto closed his hand. He knew how the Physician¡¯s mind worked. He knew how the ship worked. ¡°Hey, Arnold, you mind keeping the little mermaid there company for a bit. I want to show David something.¡±

    Arnold wasn¡¯t sure why he couldn¡¯t come and look at whatever, but he couldn¡¯t really complain about hanging out with a literal mermaid. ¡°Sure.¡±

    David¡¯s column of water stretched into a bridge for him. He caught up to Allison as she walked, still dripping, back into the dark hallway.

    ¡°Where are we going?¡± he asked.

    Alberto answered, ¡°We¡¯re going to see the Physician. The real one.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Ship Moves

    David Venter-Barthe stood at the shore of the saltwater lake, its waves gently licking at his heels. A dark stone ceiling stretched high above him, almost hidden from sight by a dark forest of heavy clouds.The stinking hot air wept with humidity.

    David was in Heaven. A normal child would¡¯ve passed out from the heat ten minutes ago, if they could even breathe the sodden air. But David was no such thing. And neither was Allison Kinsey.

    David turned to look at the pale little girl, standing behind him like a ghost on the pink sands that rimmed the outer edge of the chamber. He grinned at her, saying, ¡°The Physician¡¯s bedroom sure is big,¡± before looking back out over the water, curiosity replacing humour in his smile. ¡°Does he really live under there?¡±

    ¡°He has to,¡± replied Allison. ¡°Years and years back the Physician¡¯s lot hit a wall trying to make themselves smarter. They¡¯d already gotten their brains to work as good and fast as they were ever going to¡ªhell, they¡¯d turned their whole bodies into brains. Only way they were gonna get smarter after that was if they got bigger.¡± She gestured at the lake. ¡°And there¡¯s loads of space underwater¡­¡±

    ¡°What about Dr. Smith? The Commodore and all them? The little Physicians?¡± David giggled at his choice of words. Sounded like a toyline.

    ¡°They¡¯re just pieces of him. They crawl out of the water to experience the world for him. Then when they¡¯re done, he eats them back up.¡±

    David frowned. ¡°And they¡¯re okay with that?¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°Why would they have a problem with being whole again?¡±

    David looked around the chamber. ¡°Wait, if this is the Physician¡ªthe real one¡ªshouldn¡¯t there be¡­ I don¡¯t know, guns or something?¡± He stretched his imagination. ¡°Water-dragons?¡±

    Allison started wading into the water. ¡°This ship¡¯s his slave, David. If you had a slave, would you keep a gun next your bed?¡± She stopped, turning back to her friend with a smile. ¡°Besides, the Physician is a water-dragon. Wanna come mess with him?¡±

    David nodded vigorously. Allison had been weird all day. More talkative, but removed somehow. Constantly pursuing things David couldn¡¯t name. Like she and the rest of them were walking through worlds that only barely met at the edges.

    Still, he couldn¡¯t say she wasn¡¯t being fun.

    The two children ran into the lake, the water rising around them with every step, till they were hanging beautifully weightless between planes of mud and the dim light of the surface.

    David breathed in the water greedily. How had he lived so long without salt on his tongue?

    He hadn¡¯t, really.

    Allison took the lead, kicking forward towards a phosphorescent glow in the distance, where David could feel massive amounts of water trapped and woven into organic patterns. They flew over carpets of kelp.  Shaggy, but oddly fish-like insects and water-snakes armoured in bone-plate with mouths full of rusticles swam with them through the dark. David wondered if they were the Physician¡¯s lunch.

    Mud, sand, and seaweed gave way to banks of coral. Spindly, branching trees of staghorn. Tall, rainbow sea-pens like peacock tails and bushes of pulsing blue globules. Red and yellow gorgonians swaying with the current like giant, moth-eaten hand fans.

    And eyes. Thousands of unblinking, china-blue eyes, all staring up at the young interlopers.

    A thought rang out through the water:

    Cover me.

    Before David could think a response, Allison swooped down towards the reef, running her hands over its coral.

    ¡­Okay

    Before David could wonder why Allie was fondling a coral reef, a deep, resounding groan echoed through the lake. The whole cavern shook.

    An enormous ball of pallid flesh tore its way out of the lakebed, rising on a hairy umbilicus to loom over the children, shucking off sand to reveal a gaping maw ringed by orange tentacles.

    Allison didn¡¯t even look up at the thing.

    Can you take care of that?

    David¡¯s face screwed with determination, and he shot up at the monster¡­ right into its mouth.

    The water-sprite burst from the other side of the creature with a gout of green blood pluming like acrid smoke in the water: a bullet made of ice.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Sometimes, David had learned, it felt good to be him.

    ?

    Mabel Henderson was torn. On the one hand, she physically needed to sketch Commodore Spoketooth¡¯s mermaid. On the other, that would require not swimming with the actual-for-real mermaid.

    So, the young artist settled for occasionally excusing herself from the splash fight to swim over to her sketchbook lying open at the edge of the pool.

    She was detailing the mermaid¡¯s fluke when a fat splat of water hit the drawing.

    Mabel scowled, even as the paper drank the water like it¡¯d never been there. She turned and glared at her friends. ¡°You guys! I¡¯m trying to draw here!¡±

    Arnold was floating at the centre of a vortex, churned and stirred by shards of lightning from his body. ¡°Don¡¯t moan!¡± he retorted, voice cracking and rumbling with thunder. ¡°Who the hell draws in a pool?¡±

    Mabel rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s called drawing from life, Arnold.¡±

    The Commodore shouted from his deckchair, having been pulled out of A House of Pomegranates<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°Play nice, ya scallywags.¡±

    The mermaid glanced worriedly between the two children, before looking pleadingly at Billy floating beside her. She¡¯d lapsed back into silence when Mabel laughed at her accent.

    Billy reached over and squeezed the mermaid¡¯s hand. It was kind of neat meeting another kid with claws. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said. ¡°Friends argue like that all the time. Took some getting used to for me, too.¡±

    The mermaid nodded warily, but was quickly distracted by the texture of Billy¡¯s sodden fur, rubbing his arm with undisguised fascination.

    It was funny, Billy thought. The mermaid thought he was weird¡ªwho didn¡¯t?¡ªbut she thought Arnold was, too. A furry boy was no stranger than a naked one.

    ¡°Hey,¡± he asked, ¡°do you have a name?¡±

    The mermaid bit her lip.

    Before she had a chance to answer, David and Allie strolled back into the pool-chamber, still as dripping wet as when they¡¯d left. Allison was striding with a confidence that looked frankly comical without clothes, whereas David was clearly trying to smother giggles.

    The mermaid waved at the pair, crying, ¡°Avast, mateys!¡± It didn¡¯t feel exactly right for a style of speech so similar to Spoketooth¡¯s to come out of someone so small, but it hardly registered in this place.

    Allison mimed tipping her hat at the others in the pool. ¡°Hi, guys.¡± She turned and gave the Commodore a cat-like smile. ¡°Ahoy, Spoketooth.¡±

    The Physician waved his hook in salute. ¡°Mighty fine to see ya two again. Where did ya minnows swim to?¡±

    David rocked back and forth on his heels. ¡°Oh, nowhere.¡±

    ¡°We were just visiting you,¡± Allison added.

    Spoketooth flashed the signature, lip-tearing Physician grin. ¡°Oh, which one? Johannes? Nurarihyon-san?<sup>2</a></sup>¡±

    A deep bass note resounded through the ship. A cracking rumbling noise broke through the hull: the sound of long-sleeping stone being roused.

    ¡°We weren¡¯t talking about your scrapings,¡± retorted Allison, grinning herself. ¡°We meant you. All of you.¡±

    For a second, the children all felt something like a light hand pressing down on them. The water in the pool vibrated and sloshed about, before settling again. The Commodore actually stumbled, slapping his remaining hand over his pirate-hat to keep it in place.

    ¡°The hell was that?¡± Arnold asked loudly.

    ¡°I could ask the same question, lad!¡± Spoketooth shouted, staring at Allison and David. His grin had collapsed into a basset-hound frown.

    ¡°That would be the inertial dampening kicking in,¡± Allison answered. ¡°You need it if you want to get from Antarctica to Melbourne at a decent clip.¡± She was still smiling at Commodore Spoketooth. ¡°I think we¡¯ll be plotting the ship¡¯s course for the time being, Commodore.¡±

    The Commodore quickly considered his options. Clearly, John Smith¡¯s little wastrels had somehow subverted the navigation and propulsion systems. Such a feat required no less than the subversion of himself. His parent, birthplace, and afterlife all in one. That should¡¯ve been the Physician¡¯s biggest problem¡ªit wasn¡¯t.

    Had this girl even cloaked the ship? Was he coming for them?

    ¡°Well,¡± said Allison, ¡°got anything to say to that?¡±

    The Commodore let out a dry, rattling howl, designed to scare off predators from the other side of the galaxy, and raised his hook to strike. It stopped pretending to be ratty old plastic, reforging into a barbed spear dripping with neurotoxin.

    The alien tried slashing at Allison, but the little girl burst into flames. The physician¡¯s makeshift stinger still hit her, in a sense. It just melted in the heat. Then, a blast of magma shot from her chest, embracing Spoketooth.

    The Physician shrieked as his flesh burned and melted, nearly harmonizing with the shouts of shock and terror from the children in the pool. His body writhed and twisted, mutating and spagettifying in every direction as it tried to flee from the fire consuming it.

    The children¡¯s screams outlasted Spoketooth, who eventually fell sideways into the pool, extinguishing with a hiss as the water around it bubbled and steamed.

    Allison and David were both laughing.

    The mermaid keened and wailed, diving back down into the depths. Mabel yelled, ¡°The fuck, Allie?¡±

    Billy screamed through tears, ¡°You killed him!¡±

    David looked confusedly at his friends, before blinking from sudden comprehension. He threw his hands up reassuringly. ¡°It¡¯s alright, guys,¡± he explained. ¡°That wasn¡¯t all of him. We can make another Spoketooth later.¡±

    Alberto Moretti let the fire in him die. It felt good, finally having a power that could break things. Bradbury was right. It was, in fact, a pleasure to burn.

    ¡°Why¡ª¡± Arnold stammered. ¡°Why¡¯d you do that?¡±

    Alberto stepped to where he¡¯d left Allison¡¯s super-suit, slipping it on. Conveniently, the lava stunt had dried him off. ¡°Because he was just going to tell us what to do.¡±

    To Arnold¡¯s horror, this sounded perfectly normal from his friend.

    ¡°Get dressed, everyone,¡± Alberto ordered, his will thrumming along the strings that connected him to the Watercolours. ¡°Mabel, grab your scrapbook. Might as well take your atlas too, Arnold.¡±

    ¡°Wh¡ªwhere are we going?¡±

    ¡°Melbourne. We¡¯re going to give Tim Valour what¡¯s coming to him.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Metropolitans

    A green flash deposited Alberto and the Watercolours in a dingy alley, all holding hands in a chain. That was one advantage of telepathy: everyone was on the same page regarding their destination. The scent of salt, soy, and fat mingled with stale urine and dry-cleaning chemicals, swirling together into an awful, bracing stew.

    Mabel yelped. She¡¯d materialized right next to a gutted sturgeon. Her eyes shot daggers at Arnold and Allison. ¡°Really, guys? You couldn¡¯t find us a better landing spot than fish-alley?¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with fish?¡±

    Alberto didn¡¯t hear any of that. He was too busy peering out from the alley, watching the residents of Chinatown stream past them unawares. He looked down at his feathered super-suit. It occurred to him that maybe him and David should¡¯ve found some street-clothes for this excursion.

    Although, the Santa-clothes were meant to be psychic¡­

    Alberto concentrated on the suit, trying to layer shorts and a blouse over his mental image of the suit. It began to glow, quickly reshaping into a perfectly ordinary pairing of blue pants and an orange top, along with very dark sunglasses for Allison¡¯s freak-eyes.

    ¡°Look, David, new trick! I really suggest you try it too.¡±

    David huffed. ¡°Fine.¡± He screwed his eyes shut in concentration. His watery second-skin became sand-coloured bather trunks and a green t-shirt with a blue-haired mermaid on the front.

    Alberto raised Allison¡¯s eyebrow for her. ¡°She needs a bra, Dave.¡±

    A pair of clamshells appeared over the mermaid¡¯s bosom. David muttered, ¡°First clothes, now clothes with clothes¡­¡±

    Next Alberto called over to Billy, who¡¯d dumped himself in a sad heap against a dumpster. ¡°Billy, go invisible before anyone sees you! But keep a hand on Mabel. Last thing we need is to lose ya in the crowd.¡±

    David wasn¡¯t sure he liked how bossy Allison was being today. Who cared if someone saw Billy? They could take anyone who tried to mess with him.

    Billy nodded, but instead of disappearing, he looked up at Allison. The fur around his eyes was still damp with tears. Even with mind-control at his disposal, it¡¯d taken Alberto ages to calm the tiger-boy down enough to even explain the plan.

    ¡°Allie¡­ is this right? I thought superheroes only went after baddies. Isn¡¯t being nasty to the government more¡­ the other kind of super-people?¡±

    ¡°Just because they¡¯re government doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re aren¡¯t baddies,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Heck, my dad always said it was part of the job description.¡±

    ¡°The Nazis were a government, too,¡± added Mabel, ¡°and the Crimson Comet killed loads of them.¡±

    Billy sniffed and nodded again. ¡°Okay.¡± He shook his head, steeling himself and repeating more firmly, ¡°Okay.¡±

    Billy vanished. Mabel felt a furry hand taking hers.

    Their oddities hidden, the children emerged from the alley into Chinatown. English, Mandarin, Cantonese and their pidgin descendants blended in the air beneath paper lanterns. The Watercolours walked past brick storefronts and restaurants, their windows filled with bilingual h¨¤nz¨¬ advertisements, terracotta lions and laughing gold Hotei statues beneath. A set of four electric lanterns hung from each curling lamppost like bundles of grapes. Coiling dragons clung to every second piece of signage. The street was filled with the descendants of hopeful gold-prospectors and railway workers. Australians going about their lives, but doomed to forever be considered foreign even to folks whose roots barely stretched back to World War Two.

    Alberto could feel Billy¡¯s awe in the back of his head. He couldn¡¯t help but smile.

    ¡°Ch¡ªAU grew up here,¡± he said idly. ¡°Before Laurie, I mean. Can¡¯t imagine their hometown hero¡¯s done them any good.¡±

    Alberto remembered Chinatown well. Lawrence had brought the whole gaggle down to visit Chen¡¯s folks right after the war, back when the old man could still suffer the involvement of human family.

    God, that hadn¡¯t lasted long, had it?

    David sidled up to Allison and whispered in her ear, ¡°Hey, Allie.¡±

    ¡°Something the matter?¡±

    David squinted up at the mid-afternoon sky. ¡°Maybe? You said you parked the ship over the city.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°Then where is it?¡±

    Alberto rolled his eyes. ¡°I cloaked it, obviously. Big flippin¡¯ spaceship floating over Melbourne? The Flying Man would come running.¡± He quirked a shoulder. ¡°Honestly, there¡¯s like a one in four chance he¡¯ll show up when we start the party anyway.¡±

    ¡°¡­Just one in four?¡±

    ¡°I guess the Flying Man isn¡¯t too worried about the gits who shoot up little kids.¡±

    High above, a pigeon slammed into empty air, flattening out against nothing and falling to the earth.

    ¡°¡­Hope nobody¡¯s going on a helicopter tour today.¡±

    They passed beneath the decorative hip-and-gable arch at the corner of Russel and Little Bourke, and the crowds rapidly became much more caucasian. Christmas and Boxing Day had only just passed, but that didn¡¯t slow the city¡¯s pulse. Hundreds of men trod the streets in near-identical suits and hats, their individuality funnelled almost entirely into the colour of their ties. The women at least got their pick of dress-patterns.

    What did liven up the fashion-scene were the scattered pedestrians wearing red, finned helmets like head-mounted cadillacs: men, women, even babies in strollers. The sight baffled the children, but not nearly as much as the fact that nobody but them were giving the helmets a second glance.

    ¡°The hell are those?¡± asked Mabel, arm stretched behind as she held Billy¡¯s unseen hand.

    ¡°Minerva-3000 mental privacy harnesses,¡± Alberto answered. ¡°Came out a few months back. They¡¯re supposed to protect you from esper powers.¡±

    David tilted his head. ¡°Huh. Do they work?¡±

    ¡°I got that from reading their minds: you tell me.¡±

    Melbourne¡¯s thought-scape was interesting, in an itchy, cortisone soaked sort of way. The Canberra bombing still cast their ashen light over everything, but it had been over a week. People had lives to attend to. Money and school-runs still needed to be made, meals prepared; even holidays celebrated, lest their children realize the world was falling apart. It reminded Alberto of Milan back in ¡®44. A whole city¡ªmaybe a whole country¡ªpantomiming normalcy in the face of an invasion they just knew in their guts was coming. Every passing scrap of mundane bullshit was cross-faded with lurid, martyrdom-hungry fantasies of big-brained supermen goose-stepping down the streets, whips in hand.

    Alberto grinned. He was happy to oblige.

    The children were cutting through another alley when Arnold saw something that stopped him dead. Amidst a bark-skin of fliers for local clubs and bands, along with thinly-veiled offers for female company, there was a wanted poster.

    A monochrome and vacant-eyed Arnold Barnes stared out at himself, his hair freshly shorn, weakly clutching a placard with his name, vital statistics, and DDHA serial number to his chest. The boy could barely remember taking the mugshot. Must¡¯ve been before the sedatives wore off.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    <h2 style="text-align: justify">INFORMATION WANTED ON DEMI-HUMAN FUGITIVE ARNOLD BARNES; WARNING, EXTREMELY DANGEROUS, DO NOT APPROACH IF SIGHTED</h2>

    Arnold backed away from the poster against the alley wall like he was in danger of falling into it. He remembered what he¡¯d said his first day at the Institute:

    ¡°What can I say? I¡¯m a dangerous man.¡±

    ¡°Um, guys!¡±

    The others (including, presumably, Billy) gathered around their friend.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Arn?¡± Mabel asked, before catching sight of the wanted poster. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± said David. ¡°Guess the Physician wasn¡¯t lying.¡± He looked at Arnold with some admiration. ¡°Kinda badass.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not badass!¡± Arnold wailed. Panicked tears were beading under his eyes. ¡°Why do I have a wanted poster?¡±

    ¡°Because you exploded Canberra, Arn,¡± said Alberto.

    ¡°That was Lawrence!¡± Arnold slid down the wall till he was sitting, wrapping his arms around his legs. ¡°He tricked me¡­¡±

    The psychic tapped his foot impatiently. ¡°And who knows that besides us and Lawrence? Besides, pretty sure you¡¯re still an accomplice.¡±

    Arnold made a wounded groaning noise. Billy briefly flickered back into sight next the boy, ready to apply his living plush powers, but Alberto raised a finger.

    ¡°Invisible, Billy.¡±

    ¡°But I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Invisible.¡±

    Billy vanished again, though Arnold¡¯s shirt ruffled and creased like the air itself was giving him a hug.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be down here,¡± he murmured. ¡°Someone will recognize me.¡±

    ¡°Because there are so few white boys with black hair in Melbourne. I mean, not as many with legs that skinny¡­¡±

    David frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean, Allie.¡±

    Oh, so murder¡¯s okay, but not jokes about Arnold¡¯s chicken legs?

    ¡°Whatever. And so what if someone spots ya?¡± Alberto pointed at the poster. ¡°Says right there: ¡®Do not approach¡¯.¡±

    Alberto¡¯s joke didn¡¯t do much to cheer Arnold up. All he said was, ¡°God, Mum¡¯s going to see me on the news¡­¡±

    Alberto saw how much effort it took Arnold to not to call her ¡°Mummy.¡± The entire bloody country was gunning for the kid, and he was more scared of Angela Barnes.

    Figures.

    ¡°He kind of has a point,¡± said Mabel, rubbing her foot into the grimy alleyway asphalt. ¡°People are really, really going to hate us after this.¡±

    Alberto took a breath. ¡°Like they don¡¯t hate us now. Come on.¡± He started walking again. The others followed, all but David curling suddenly sore fingers into fists.

    Alberto knew he wasn¡¯t being particularly persuasive. But he didn¡¯t have to be: the Watercolours would fight for him whether they really wanted to or not. Well, aside from possibly David, and he seemed pretty into the plan so far.

    Still, the esper couldn¡¯t help but think the kids would fight harder if they had true, honest rage on their side, enough to evaporate fear and the childish beginnings of morality.

    What could he use to angry up their blood? A newspaper letters section? A G-Men comic? Asking random passersby for their opinion on demis till David made them explode? Alberto scoured the storm of futures and the star-cluster of human minds he was wading through for options.

    Oh. Oh, that was good.

    He looked over Allison¡¯s shoulder at his compatriots. ¡°Hey, you guys mind taking a detour?¡±

    ?

    Shortly after the Canberra bombings and the beginning of the New Human Crisis, many observers wondered (loudly, nigh-hysterically) if the National Museum of Melbourne<sup>1</a></sup> would close their popular demi-human exhibit at McCoy Hall. The museum¡¯s response¡ªits representatives subtly but unmistakably puffing out their chests¡ªwas that they would not be cowed by a few mutant radicals. That the recent demi-human attacks only strengthened their mandate to educate the people of Melbourne about these strange, wondersome aberrations.

    In hindsight, they probably should¡¯ve brought back the dinosaur skeletons and stuffed lions.

    Even so late in the afternoon, so soon after the holidays, McCoy Hall was packed. Tourists, eager super-chasers, parents looking to cheaply entertain their bored children.

    And today, five and-a-half genuine demi-humans.

    The museum floor was littered with dioramas of infamous Australian supervillains. Mistress Quickly<sup>2</a></sup> aiming her duster-gun at passing museum-goers. Pemulwuy standing impossibly tall atop Uluru with moulded light-up flames<sup>3</a></sup> sprouting from his hands, for that double-dose of colonial smugness and extinction anxiety. Ned Kelly in his armour<sup>4</a></sup>.

    And of course, sitting on a desert rock, counting gold bars lying in piles at his feet, clad in glammy, shiny plastic armour: AU.

    Alberto gripped the velvet rope around his old friend¡¯s display tight, his thin, pale arms shaking with barely restrained anger.

    Hope you¡¯re happy, Chen, he thought. Bloody well ruined everything.

    Or maybe that had been the Flying Man, standing in minature before JFK in an exquisitely detailed scale model of the White House that late October morning in 1962, pinned under the storm-grey gaze of a giant boy.

    Before he did something rash (and incendiary) to the AU diorama, Alberto tore himself away and walked over to Arnold.

    He looked down at the little Flying Man model. ¡°Do you think it¡¯s fun, being him?¡± Alberto asked.

    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± answered Arnold, not looking up from the display. ¡°Seems to spend all his time cleaning up after the naturals.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but I bet he does that for kicks. Just to show he can.¡±

    ¡°Why not us, though?¡± Arnold spoke slowly and quietly. ¡°Why doesn¡¯t he help us?¡±

    Alberto decided to play devil¡¯s advocate. ¡°He did come to the Institute.¡±

    Arnold scuffed. ¡°Yeah, after the soldiers shot everyone.¡± He squirmed like he wanted to punch something¡ªanything¡ªwith his whole body. ¡°It¡¯s his fault, you know? The only reason the freak-finders go after us is because they can¡¯t get him.¡± He looked down darkly again at the miniatures on the fake fabric grass. ¡°I thought they were meant to be grownups.¡±

    Alberto tried to keep his face smooth and sombre. He patted Arnold on the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Arn,¡± he reassured the boy. ¡°They¡¯re getting what¡¯s coming to them.¡±

    Check one.

    Alberto moved to find the others in the crowd.

    ¡°I wish I had superpowers,¡± said a boy with a cotton-candy encrusted mouth gawking at a statue of Hel in her custom-designed Hugo Boss SS uniform<sup>5</a></sup>, with shockingly more generous cleavage than her flesh and blood model had boasted. He looked up at the blonde woman standing next to him.  ¡°What about you, ma?¡±

    The woman answered quickly, ¡°No. I don¡¯t think you do either, Angus. They¡¯re an awful burden.¡±

    Bloody liar, Alberto thought as he passed.

    Aside from the supervillains, the exhibit also boasted many purely informational displays. On a raised dais were two stalks topped by two plastic human brains. Unless you were a neurologist or an x-ray machine, the only apparent difference between the specimens was that the one on the right was tinted green for whatever reason. The demi-human brain. As the informational plaque explained, the prevailing scientific consensus regarding the violent tendencies of many demi-humans¡ªobviously demonstrated by the hero/villain paradigme¡ªwas that the part of their brains responsible for regulating their deviant abilities took up neural real-estate that in normal humans was dedicated to empathy and impulse control.

    Out of nowhere, the human brain tipped to the floor.

    Alberto skipped a ways. Check two.

    He was disappointed to find Mabel staring at a model of Circle¡¯s End in the corner of the hall. The recreation of the little mining township was restrained, only suggesting mass-death. It was also making sickly green guilt burn in Mabel¡¯s skull. Alberto didn¡¯t need that.

    He took the little girl¡¯s hand and turned her around to face the swarming crowd.

    ¡°It¡¯s funny,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re so happy not to be us. But they¡¯re also really, really jealous. There but for the grace of the Man but-why-couldn¡¯t-he-have-picked-me, you know what I mean?¡±

    Mabel let out a small laugh. Allison was showing off her big-people words a lot lately, but she couldn¡¯t say she wasn¡¯t right. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s pathetic.¡± She laughed again. ¡°Wish Automata was here,¡± she said with a sad fondness. ¡°Imagine if she used her power on all the mannequins¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re gonna outdo her later,¡± Alberto assured her. He glanced around the hall. ¡°Know where David is?¡±

    David was the important one here, really. Even if he hadn¡¯t been a powerhouse, if the other children wavered, Alberto could pull them back into line. Not him.

    ¡°Ooh!¡± exclaimed Mabel. She started pulling Alberto through the throng. ¡°Wait till you see what they¡¯ve got on the other side!¡±

    The Parliament House display had been included in the exhibition for reasons of balance. To show what good and beauty demi-humans could do for society, so long as they were properly regulated. A plasticine boy and girl, pretending that glass was ice and fibreglass was wood, frozen still in the middle of their dance, watched approvingly by two old plasticine men.

    It was more perfect than Alberto could¡¯ve hoped for. David was glaring poison at the poor, ill-proportioned recreation of his old, blue-eyed self. The version Lawrence wanted. It was so inaccurate, nobody noticed the original boy standing right in front of it. The models of Robert Menzies and Herbert meanwhile were exacting. Loving.

    When they were close enough behind him for the boy to hear them over the humans, Alberto said, ¡°Funny, isn¡¯t it? They care more about two old men in suits than the people making miracles.¡±

    ¡°I hate it,¡± said Mabel. ¡°They keep trying to make us into things. ¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Alberto agreed. ¡°Monsters or pets.¡±

    David turned and looked at his friends with his grandfather¡¯s eyes. ¡°We¡¯re gonna get a new display,¡± he said firmly. ¡°I want to be a monster now.¡±

 Chapter Sixty-Nine: A Red Halo

    The Physician¡¯s people had long reached post-scarcity and perfected genetic engineering back when human beings were just figuring out that the little stones in fruit could turn into new plants. His culture had abolished hierarchy and fixed identity. Death and birth were as everyday life events for him as brushing your teeth.

    Naturally, this made Timothy Valour¡¯s petty realpolitik a tedious listen:

    ¡°Yada yada yada national security¡­

    ¡°Yada yada yada you owe Australia that much¡­¡±

    At least Herbert had the decency to blow that ghastly modernist lump the DDHA occupied back in Canberra, the Physician tried comforting himself. As far as he was concerned, Walter Burley Griffin designed buildings exactly like he did rubbish incinerators. Sure, the Royal Exhibition Building was a bit of a dump these days¡ªmore suited to high school matriculation exams and weekly dances than the business of government¡ªbut at least it¡¯d been built before human architects swore off aesthetics. The Physician dreaded the day when humankind tried building spaceships.

    ¡°Yada yada yada¡ªDr. Smith, are you even listening?¡±

    The Physician had been sitting stock still and grinning in his chair for the entire meeting. It made Valour feel like he was practising with a mannequin.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m listening,¡± Dr. Smith lied, not bothering to move his lips. ¡°So, about those bodies, I was thinking¡ª¡±

    Tim sighed, resting his elbows on his desk and running his hands over his face. ¡°Smith, please tell me Chaoskampf is nearly ready.¡±

    The Physician¡¯s fingers writhed along the edge of the desk. ¡°Still after that? I thought you were moving over to the DOPO model. Training up super-squads and all that.¡±

    Timothy straightened himself and swallowed. ¡°Yes. That¡¯s the plan. Sadly, there haven¡¯t been many applicants yet.¡±

    ¡°I suppose it¡¯s hard to lure in flies with honey when you¡¯ve spent the last three years leaving out poison. That and you killed half of the good ones last week.¡±

    Valour inhaled. He¡¯d learned it was best to ignore many of the things John Smith said. ¡°That being said, if and when we get super-corps up and running, we still feel it prudent to have a¡­ deterrent.¡±

    Dr. Smith seemed amused by that. ¡°Ah, I see. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?¡±

    Sometimes it bothered Timothy that the Physician knew more Latin than him. Reluctantly, he called over to Mister Thumps standing in the corner. ¡°Translation, Thumps?¡±

    The hulking manservant drawled, ¡°Literally translated, ¡®Who guards the guards themselves?¡¯ but commonly rendered in English as ¡®Who watches the watchmen?¡¯ ¡±

    Dr. Smith¡¯s head swiveled around to regard his creation. ¡°Good lad, Thumps,¡± he said, before spinning his head back to face Valour. ¡°Told you he was worth the money.¡±

    Tim sighed. ¡°Dr. Smith, please, what¡¯s the status of Chaoskampf?¡±

    The Physician wobbled in his chair. ¡°Very promising, Valour, very promising.¡±

    Chaoskampf was proving to be a most edifying project for him. The first honest challenge he¡¯d faced since the 50s, aside from the obvious, eternal exception. It did ask for the expenditure of some very unique resources on his part, and if it turned out half as well as he hoped, it would certainly disrupt the balance between the nations of man. That was alright, though. Didn¡¯t want the game to get stale.

    Besides, he was sick of Ivanova rubbing her science cities in his face.

    ¡°Finally got the brain-machine interface working smoothly. Not a small feat, given that I''m working with dead¡ª¡±

    Valour threw his hand up. ¡°I don¡¯t need the details, Smith.¡±

    ¡°I do at least need to tell you that the final product will be much better if I have access to the NHI cadavers.¡±

    Timothy lay his hands on his legs, silent for a spell. ¡°...They¡¯re children, John.¡±

    The Physician kept smiling. ¡°Yes, Tim, they are children. Children whose brains I will dissect and make think again with electricity. Children whose bones I will carve into marvelous weapons to protect you from scary economic systems. Children who you had shot.¡± The doctor let out a peal of staccato, many-voiced laughter. Timothy didn¡¯t even think it meant mirth anymore.

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll even spin their flesh into new children to guard your house at night. Domestication is one of your people¡¯s great strengths, Valour. You take predators and make them hunt your food for you. Lawrence almost figured it out¡ªyou¡¯ll have to as well, Timothy. Unless you want your grandchildren to grow up in those kennels instead. Only one species gets to be free.¡±

    Talking to the Physician always made Timothy Valour feel small. Provincial, and stupid, and so very grubby. Like he was selling his soul¡ªmaybe everyone¡¯s souls¡ªfor table-scraps.

    Sometimes, he wondered if Earth was the only place fit for an aberration like John Smith. Other times, he feared Earth was the only place where men like him pretended to care about people. Over and over, John Smith and so many others asked him to make someone¡¯s life worse, and every time, he said yes.

    Maybe this time¡ª

    Tim found himself saying, ¡°...I could say no. I could bury those kids. I could send you away and never do business with you again.¡±

    ¡°You could,¡± conceded the Physician. His grin fissured his cheeks. ¡°...But then I¡¯d take my work to someone else.¡±

    ¡°...The bodies will be ready for you by the end of the day.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to hear it.¡±

    In his corner, Mister Thumps shook his head. Nobody noticed.

    The shell between his duty and his heart back in place, Valour said, ¡°I meant to tell you, earlier Penderghast reported¡ª¡±

    The roar of a thousand exploding windows thundered across the face of the Exhibition Building.

    Wartime instincts and engineered reflexes sent Valour and Thumps ducking for cover a split second before the office window shattered. When the rattle of broken glass subsided, Timothy peered out the teal carpet and his own bracing arms. The whole room rang with a sound like screaming wine-glasses. ¡°Fuck!¡±

    He cautiously got to his feet. Thumps appeared unharmed, dusting off his suit. The Physician though was riddled with shards of glass, dozens of wounds seeping dark green blood. A jagged blade had impaled him square in the face. He was still grinning.

    Timothy shouted, ¡°Jesus Christ, John!¡±

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s fine.¡± The Physician absorbed the glass missiles with a grinding slurp. ¡°You can always find a use for silica.¡± He looked around at the spray of glass. ¡°Is it New Year¡¯s already? I love fireworks, Valour, but a little warning would be appreciated.¡±

    Valour shook his head in bewilderment. ¡°No it¡¯s not¡ªwe¡¯re under attack you fool!¡± The DDHA chief swung around and stuck his head out the empty window frame over Carlton Gardens, just in time to spot a procession of children and monsters marching in through the blasted off front doors. A man trailed behind them, carrying something dark and bulky over his shoulder. A gun-case? A grenade launcher? And what was that hanging off him? Explosives? The armed guards that had been stationed at the entrance were pinned beneath mounds of ice or crystal.

    Realization burst inside Valour like blisters of acid. ¡°Oh, God,¡± he half-whispered. ¡°I think they¡¯re from the Institute.¡±

    With a crunch of glass underfoot, Dr. Smith joined Timothy at the window, still beaming. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re here to apply for your super-squad!¡±

    For five minutes, nobody in the office spoke. What was there to say? All their contingency plans for an invasion were written for the Canberra building. The only sounds were muffled shouting from neighbouring offices and the nearing sirens of emergency vehicles. The Physician sat back down in his chair and silently grinned like a dolphin. Mr. Thumps efficiently checked Tim over for injuries. Unfortunately, he found none.

    Eventually, Valour resumed his place behind his desk. He had no doubt they would come for him, and in the face of an angry god, dignity was the only power mortals could hope for.

    In the space between breaths, there was a knock.

    ¡°Come in,¡± said Valour.

    The office-door opened, and in stepped a woman from the future. She wore a red, ludicrously skin-tight spacesuit with a fishbowl helmet. Her whole body had an odd, painted sheen.

    She also had a gun.

    ¡°Mr. Valour,¡± she said in a vaguely American accent, ¡°You¡¯re wanted in the main hall.¡±

    She sounded vaguely regretful. Timothy could relate.

    ¡°Very well.¡±

    The spacewoman herded Valour, Thumps, and Dr. Smith through the halls and stairways of the western annex at gunpoint. The Physician cracked and crunched with every step, chatting all the while.

    ¡°You¡¯re one of Mabel Henderson¡¯s projections, aren¡¯t you.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the spacewoman admitted.

    ¡°Mabel who?¡± asked Valour.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know all of Herbert¡¯s students, Timothy?¡± The Physician waged a long, bony finger at Tim. ¡°For shame.¡± His head revolved to face the lady astronaut, making her¡ªand Valour¡ªflinch. ¡°I¡¯ve always wanted to ask, are you pure fabrication, or does little Mabel use pictorial references to access the multiverse?¡±

    ¡°How the hell should I know?¡±

    ¡°If you were killed on this plane, dear, do you think you¡¯d return to life where you came from? Or would Mabel be summoning a new version of you from then on?¡±

    ¡°I swear to God, I¡¯ll shoot.¡±

    ¡°Go ahead. It won¡¯t stick.¡±

    ?

    Alberto stood in the sunshine raining in through the Royal Exhibition Building¡¯s Italianate dome, admiring the decorative pendentives and lunettes. Minerva, king of the gods presided over the arts of war in her chariot, while Juno reclined next to a lion, improbably representing peace. Hercules, Venus, Mercury and Mars soared in little slivers of sky. Local legend had it that the Olympians themselves descended from Heaven to pose for the artists. Alberto didn¡¯t know if there was any truth to that, but he was glad he¡¯d picked a pretty place for a siege.

    A few clusters of unlucky civil servants cowered under the sylphs of night, spring, and winter, guarded by a spear-toting penguin riding a shark-bear, flanked by growling pandas with chainsaws for legs and a fish-man in an oilskin menacingly waving a harpoon, which Mabel unfortunately called a manerfish.

    Billy was picking over the hardwood floor, spreading his mirror-mist over chunks of broken door and masonry reducing it to water for David, who¡¯d earlier been kind enough to replace the flesh and blood of the people hit by the shrapnel.

    The tiger-boy glanced sympathetically at one of the pockets of hostages. ¡°Sorry about this,¡± he said with all the sincerity in the world. ¡°I promise we¡¯ll let you go when we¡¯re done. It¡¯s for a good cause!¡±

    ¡°Billy,¡± Alberto groaned, ¡°Don¡¯t be nice to the hostages.¡±

    ¡°But we¡ª¡±

    A man with a face like a coal-scuttle shouted, ¡°You fucking freaks are gonna get it! Should¡¯ve gassed the lot of you¡­¡±

    One of the smarter hostages clapped her hands over the man¡¯s mouth.

    Alberto tilted his chin towards the east mezzanine, where Arnold and Mabel stood guard. ¡°Arnold,¡± he said cooly, ¡°send that idiot directly to Jupiter.¡±

    The boy lit up with absinthe sparks, pointing down towards the tussling hostages. ¡°My pleasure.¡±

    One of the people smothering the upstart cried, ¡°Wait, please¡ª¡±

    A bolt of lightning lanced down at the two. They vanished, only to instantly reappear in a heap in the centre of the hall, screaming frantically before realizing they hadn¡¯t been deposited in the clouds of a gas-giant.

    The children laughed, all except Billy, who settled for quietly shaking his head and tutting.

    Alberto walked up to the teleported hostages. ¡°Sorry about that,¡± he said to the one on top. ¡°Crossfire, you know. You can go back to the huddle now.¡±

    The woman scarpered off, leaving the man with the Neanderthal brow staring wide eyed up at Alberto.

    ¡°Next time,¡± he hissed, ¡°Jupiter.¡±

    The man nodded frantically and ran back to the others.

    Alberto looked around the hall at the rest of the hostages. ¡°That goes for the rest of you, too.¡±

    That bit of intimidation theatre done, Alberto took on David¡¯s song and misted over towards its source at the head of the hall.

    ¡°Doors sealed?¡± Alberto asked as he resolidified. It was surprisingly refreshing, like a full-organ sluice.

    Two globes of water thrice the size of David orbited the boy like planets blown from glass. Toolbox and ammo belt all in one. He ran a hand over the thick walls of ice he¡¯d replaced the front doors with and rubbed his fingers approvingly. ¡°Nobody¡¯s getting in unless I say.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Satisfied, Alberto went to check in on the honorary sixth Watercolour: Carl Jessop, the cameraman they¡¯d borrowed from the Melbourne ABC.

    ¡°We good here?¡±

    The ginger cameraman gave Alberto a thumbs up, coupled with a vacant smile.The double-reel camera resting on his shoulder and the mess of wires, cables, and sound equipment hanging off him made the boy look like a cut-rate cyborg. ¡°Ready to roll, little miss.¡±

    Alberto nodded slowly, lest Karl think his head was about to fall off. ¡°Good work, Karl,¡± he told him gently.

    The whammy Alberto put on Karl wasn¡¯t the psychic¡¯s best work. Poor bastard probably thought he was covering a flower show. Still, Alberto couldn¡¯t feel too sorry for him. Today would probably make Karl¡¯s career.

    Assuming he survived.

    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± called Mabel.

    The Watercolours all assembled as the spacewoman marched her captives into the hall. Mr. Thumps was stoic as ever, the Physician was grinning what passed for his heart out, and Timothy Valour appeared completely resigned.

    Fucking predictable, Alberto thought to himself. Wrap yourself in duty tight enough, you never have to bother with anything so messy as fear in your whole life.

    ¡°It¡¯s gonna be alright!¡± one of the hostages yelled with desperate jubilation. ¡°Valour will sort these¡ª¡±

    Alberto shot the worker a look.

    ¡°¡­kids... out!¡±

    ¡°Not today, son,¡± Valour said quietly. ¡°Not the way you want, at least.¡±

    Mr. Thumps caught sight of David and Allison and bowed to each child in turn. ¡°Hello, Miss Kinsey. Hello, Maelstrom.¡±

    ¡°Hi, Mr. Thumps. It¡¯s David now.¡±

    ¡°My apologies.¡±

    ¡°S¡¯alright,¡± David replied softly. It felt weird, talking to someone both younger and taller than him. ¡°Not your fault you didn¡¯t know.¡±

    The Physician was looking around at Mabel¡¯s creations. The shark-bear growled at him. The Physician waved back. ¡°Oh, these are charming,¡± he said, glancing at Mabel up on the mezzanine. ¡°Did you make these? If so, I¡¯d love to collaborate sometime.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mabel said, forgetting the situation for a moment. ¡°I¡¯m trying to use my own stuff more.¡± Quickly she added, ¡°No offense, captain.¡±

    The spacewoman didn¡¯t look at her summoner. ¡°Can I go now?¡±

    Mabel looked taken aback. ¡°...Okay.¡±

    The astronaut disappeared without a whisper.

    Alberto wished away his sunglasses, revealing Allison¡¯s magma eyes. ¡°Hi Tim.¡±

    Valour sighed. ¡°I know you won¡¯t believe me, Allison, but I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alive.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes flashed a green-tinted white. Valour bent and wretched as bile forced its way up his throat like an angry snake.

    Alberto grasped the water-sprite¡¯s hand. ¡°We need him, David.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes returned to their resting green. Valour fell gasping to his knees.

    ¡°I know,¡± said David. ¡°Just reminding the git what happens if that changes.¡±

    Mr. Thumps helped Tim to his feet. ¡°He is trying, David.¡±

    Valour stared at his manservant. This had to be the first thing he¡¯d ever heard Thumps say that wasn¡¯t about his job. Even the Physician looked perplexed, assuming that¡¯s what it meant when his eyes migrated to the side of his head like a flatfish, shifting across the surface of his skull until they were staring at his creation.

    David looked flatly at the drone. ¡°Thumps, most people don¡¯t have to try not to shoot kids. Or my Mummy.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want¡ª¡± Valour trailed off. What was the point? Arguing with his daughters had never got him anywhere when they were this age. And they hadn¡¯t been right. ¡°I suppose you kids have demands.¡±

    ¡°Damn right we do,¡± Alberto said. He pointed towards Karl and his camera. ¡°First, you¡¯re gonna tell the nice cameraman all about what you do here at the DDHA.¡±

    This for broadcast or blackmail? Either way, these kids were clever. Maybe Lawrence was onto something.

    Valour stepped in front of the camera. The boy the children had drafted to man it looked over the viewfinder at him, wearing a broad, slightly drunk grin. ¡°Smile for the camera, Mr. Jenkins!¡±

    Timothy Valour did not. Instead, he looked towards the other hostages¡ªstill gazing at him with woefully misplaced hope¡ªand breathed deep. Time to dispel all illusions.

    ¡°I thought it would be easy, fixing all this. I thought I could shut down the asylums, convince the supers to come back into the fold, after what we did to them. To make us stronger. I thought the DDHA was a creature of pure, dumb panic. I still don¡¯t think I was wrong about that. But people like me¡ªmen of action, I suppose¡ªwe think we can push past all the fuss and red-tape by ignoring the world and using ¡®common-sense¡¯.¡± Valour scoffed. ¡°No such thing. I thought I was stronger than a country¡¯s fear. I wasn¡¯t. I drowned in it, same as everyone else.¡±

    ¡°Get on with it,¡± said David. ¡°You¡¯re starting to sound like Lawrence.¡±

    Valour glared right at the camera. Time to be the monster. ¡°As chief of the DDHA, I made many legally, ethically, and morally dubious deals with an extraterrestrial creature calling himself John Smith.¡±

    The DDHA employees lucky enough to have never met the Physician gasped.

    ¡°He provided the frankly torturous super-restraints used in several DDHA facilities, often on children. Dr. Smith also provided the government with what I believe are artificial men. Drones grown to serve. Slaves, in other words.¡± He gestured half-heartedly towards Mr. Thumps.

    ¡°In exchange for these and other pieces of technology, I personally allowed Dr. Smith custody of many DDHA inmates for the purpose of human experimentation.¡± He inhaled. ¡°I don¡¯t know the full extent of what these experiments entailed. I tried to avoid finding out. I know enough however, to say that Dr. Smith is a blight upon this earth. A blight I helped to cultivate.¡±

    The Physician muttered to Thumps, ¡°I think Valour¡¯s got it confused about who was doing the cultivating here¡­¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not done yet,¡± said Arnold.

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not. For years, I allowed the psychiatrist Herbert Lawrence to run a private care-home for superhuman children. Part of me hoped he could offer us something better than the asylums. Something more humane. Another part knew we¡¯d save money by letting him take on some of our less containable inmates. Under my watch, Herbert Lawrence bred those children like cattle. Raped them. When I was told, I could have had him arrested on the day. I wanted to. I wanted to kill him, even. But I didn¡¯t. I let him fester and plot. He orchestrated the terror attacks in Canberra. I ordered a raid on his school. This raid resulted in the death of good soldiers, children, and the loss of two superhuman assets.¡±

    Don¡¯t have to tell me, thought Alberto.

    ¡°You also killed Francoise Barthe,¡± Alberto cut in, his voice acid. ¡°You ordered your men to shoot her. In the head. While she slept.¡±

    Behind him, David¡¯s fists were clenched, his knuckles white.

    ¡°I did.¡± Valour looked down at the floor. ¡°Less than half an hour before this recording, myself and Dr. Smith were in my office, negotiating the exchange of those children¡¯s corpses in exchange for biological weapons. For something to kill more children.¡±

    Some of the hostages were weeping. Others were shouting questions or swearing at Valour, or declaring it all lies. Some, Alberto noted, were silent. A few quietly thinking it justified. Alberto almost laughed. Some Nazis never died. He supposed it must be a thrill for such mediocrities, finding out they were cogs in a decent atrocity.

    Timothy had ran out of words. He¡¯d confessed everything¡ªprobably enough to bar him from ever stepping foot outside of some dank cave, but he didn¡¯t feel any worse for it. Despair was so clean.

    ¡°I think that about covers it,¡± said Alberto. He took Valour¡¯s hand, pulling him backwards. ¡°Now be a good boy and stand quietly in the corner.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re letting me live?¡± Valour asked, sounding completely disinterested in the answer.

    ¡°Of course. Nobody would believe any of this mad shit if we didn¡¯t. Hell, half the hostages think you made it up.¡±

    Alberto approached the Physician next, running a small finger along his jaundiced hand. ¡°Your turn, Smith.¡±

    The Physician smiled his plastic smile down at Allison, no doubt about to say something deeply condescending, when he found himself lurching towards the camera. He couldn¡¯t stop himself His head twisted around to stare at the little girl.

    Alberto grinned and nodded at the alien.

    The girl¡¯s powers had expanded, Dr. Smith realized. He was completely under Allison¡¯s control. For the first time in his long earthly sojourn, the Physician was at the mercy of a human being.

    Suddenly, he knew exactly how Captain George Pollard felt.

    The Physician came to a stop before the camera, spotting his reflection in the lens. An earth-person would¡¯ve said he looked like he was trying to sell something. The Physician, however, knew that he looked bloody terrified.

    His whole body rattled like he was a wind-up toy set on a bumpy surface. If that bothered Karl Jessop, he didn¡¯t let it show.

    ¡°You¡¯re live, buddy!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been playing you all,¡± the Physician blurted. ¡°Me, myself and I have been supplying information and assistance to every nation of men worth mentioning. It¡¯s a game I play, setting you against each other. Like Risk.¡±

    The Physician clapped his hands over his mouth. The skin on his forehead bulged and tore, revealing another mouth:

    ¡°I¡¯m also not very good at this!¡± it said in a wheezing falsetto, inspiring giggles from the Watercolours. ¡°I barely qualified for the Physician¡¯s Guild! The only reason I¡¯ve gotten so far with people is because of how easy it is for humans to get powers!¡±

    John Smith¡¯s form began buckling and changing, his features shifting to those of Dr. Johannes, complete with fungi moustache. ¡°This is what I look like when I¡¯m working for the Americans.¡± Then he grew a grey beehive, while bloodied bone forced its way out of his head in a parody of eyeglasses. His nails grew long and orange. ¡°And this is what I look like in Russia¡ª¡±

    Valour stalked towards the Physician. ¡°You fucking traitor!¡± He punched the alien in the side of the head, only to shout when his knuckles came away bloody.

    The Physician regarded the DDHA chief cooly, shards of glass poking out the side of his head. ¡°Told you you can always find a use for silica. Traitor to what? Did you ever honestly consider me Australian? And at least I gave your backwater something.¡±

    Their two prize bucks busy locking antlers, Allison approached one of the hostage-patches, asking casually, ¡°Anyone have a pen and paper?¡±

    Nobody answered. Even the ones with pens visibly sticking out of shirt pockets.

    ¡°Pencil¡¯s fine too, I¡¯m not fussy.¡±

    Still no answer.

    Fucking hostages, I swear.

    Alberto huffed and put Allison¡¯s hands on her hips. ¡°Look, the sooner I get something to write on, the sooner you can all go home.¡±

    ¡°...I have a pad and a good ball-point,¡± offered a reedy voiced old man. ¡°It¡¯s red, though.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Alberto stretched out Allison¡¯s hand. ¡°Come on, hand it over.¡±

    Trembling, the elderly clerk rose from the floor and pulled out his pad and pen, treading through the seated crowd to pass it to the little girl with the red-eyes.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Alberto said as he started scratching at the paper. A thought occurred to him:

    ¡°Hey, lady who tried to get the moron to stop talking, come on up! Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t bite.¡±

    The hostage in question¡ªa plump, dyed redhead with a carnation pinned to her breast¡ªcrept cautiously from where she was cowering like a spooked rabbit. ¡°Y¡ªyes?¡±

    Alberto finished his missive with a very sharp full-stop. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry about the crossfire thing earlier. I really didn¡¯t want to punish you for stopping someone being stupid. That¡¯s the opposite of how civilization¡¯s supposed to work. Tell ya what. For being helpful, you and Methuselah get to go home early.¡±

    ¡°...Thank you,¡± said the old man, trying not to look at any of the other hostages. Some of them were already glaring.

    Alberto shoved the paper into the woman¡¯s hands. ¡°All you have to do in exchange is deliver some of our demands here to the coppers outside.¡± He looked up towards the mezzanine. ¡°Arnold there will teleport you a ways off so they don¡¯t go nuts and fill you with lead. My advice is to put your hands on your heads before we send you, so no one gets too jumpy. Understand?¡±

    The hostages nodded vigorously.

    Smiling, Alberto said, ¡°And if you don¡¯t give them our demands, you get to drink drain-cleaner. Trust me, you will. But only if you don¡¯t deliver, got it?¡±

    Much more nodding.

    ¡°Blast ¡®em, Arn.¡±

    The pair whipped up in a quick green storm.

    ¡°... What¡¯d you ask for?¡± Mabel asked from the mezzanine.

    ¡°Just some small stuff,¡± he replied. ¡°Refreshments. A book or two, and Herbert Lawrence.¡±

    ¡°Think they¡¯ll bring him?¡± asked David.

    In his head, Alberto watched the storm of futures move in one direction. ¡°Bet my life.¡±

    Allison¡¯s life, at least.

    ?

    It took a couple of hours for the Watercolours¡¯ guest to arrive. After much begging, Billy was allowed to try and raise the hostages¡¯ morale. He chose charades.

    The tiger-boy hopped on one foot, holding his arm in front of him like he was a crane.

    ¡°A flamingo?¡± suggested one hostage. People had gotten more into the spirit of things after the snacks arrived. And after David offered the winner their freedom.

    ¡°Getting closer,¡± Billy answered charitably. At least the discourse had moved towards animals since they¡¯d started. People had been pointedly avoiding the subject in the presence of the chainsaw panda.

    ¡°A land-sea-serpent,¡± the maner-fish gurgled.

    ¡°...You mean a snake?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°No, boy. Land-sea-serpents swim through the rock and soil, pulling unwary truck-captains down into the depths of the mantle.¡±

    Arnold shot Mabel an amused smile. The girl returned it, shrugging.

    ¡°A crane! One of those long-neck dinosaurs!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you won¡¯t let me play,¡± the Physician said sullenly from his corner. ¡°My people perfected charades.¡±

    ¡°Hush you,¡± said Alberto. ¡°It doesn¡¯t work when you actually turn into the thing.¡±

    ¡°A frilled-neck lizard!¡±

    ¡°A chicken,¡± said Thumps.

    ¡°It¡¯s a bloody elephant!¡± Tim Valour yelled. The Watercolours had been nice enough to provide the war hero gin for the duration.

    ¡°You got it!¡± said Billy.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said David, ¡°but you we¡¯re not letting go.¡±

    Valour fell onto his back. ¡°Why was he hopping?¡±

    David could feel three men walking close together towards the front entrance. The one in the middle was much bulkier than the other two.

    ¡°He¡¯s here.¡±

    David marched purposefully to the head of the The ice in the centremost doorway melted and evaporated, revealing Herbert Lawrence standing on the stairs like a penitent. Two policemen were backing away towards the bank of police cars behind Exhibition Fountain.

    The old man was dressed in a striped prison uniform, and his beard had been shaved. Raspberry bruises circled his eyes.

    ¡°Maelstrom¡­¡±

    David didn¡¯t bother correcting Lawrence. His name would mean nothing from his mouth. ¡°Get inside.¡±

    David pulled Lawrence into the Exhibition Building as the steam reformed into ice behind him.

    Lawrence tried to embrace the boy. ¡°I thought you¡¯d¡ª¡±

    David pushed him away, his body suddenly ice. His voice echoed cold and verrillon, ¡°You don¡¯t get to hug me, Laurie. You don¡¯t get to talk to me. I¡¯m done with you.¡± He pointed at his friends. ¡°But they¡¯re not.¡±

    David led Lawrence roughly under the dome and threw him in front of the other Watercolours. ¡°Do what you like with him.¡±

    ¡°Please do,¡± said the Physician. ¡°Show me for buying free-range...¡±

    Alberto had his hands on Allison¡¯s hips, sneering at the sight of his old teacher. ¡°God, I see why you never shaved, Laurie. Your chin is really weak.¡±

    Lawrence gave Allison a weak shadow of his infuriatingly paternal smiles. ¡°Ah, but I¡¯m not the only one who¡¯s gone through a change, am I?¡± He regarded David and Allison¡¯s costumes with woozy bemusement. ¡°Interesting plumage. And your eyes, Myriad¡­¡± He glanced to his sides. ¡°There isn¡¯t some new posthuman you¡¯re copying, is there?¡±

    Alberto struck Lawrence across the face with as much of Allison¡¯s strength as he dared. ¡°Now why would I tell you that?¡±

    ¡°You tricked me,¡± shouted Arnold, his cheeks flushed. ¡°You made me bomb all those people!¡±

    Lawrence seemed welcome. ¡°Elsewhere, my boy, you couldn¡¯t have known. I kept you innocent.¡±

    ¡°Laurie,¡± said Alberto, ¡°never talk about keeping kids innocent.¡±

    David raised an eyebrow at that. That sounded a lot more like something a grownup would say.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t see you declaring yourself the bomber,¡± said Valour sourly.

    ¡°I did what I had to do for my children,¡± said Lawrence.

    Mabel¡¯s eyes narrowed on him. ¡°Like what you did for Adam?¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Valour. ¡°Who¡¯s Adam?¡±

    ¡°Boy Laurie poached,¡± answered the Physician. ¡°Had him euthanized. Bloody nuisance, too. He was promised to me alive.¡±

    Valour stared at Lawrence. ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±

    ¡°Adam was a threat to the new human race, Timothy. Men like you would¡¯ve used him to snuff them all out,¡± Lawrence said. He looked up at Allison. ¡°I loved Adam. I still do, same as all of you.¡±

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake!¡± shouted Alberto. ¡°Stop the bollocks, Lawrence! You don¡¯t love us! You can¡¯t love anything outside your own head!¡±

    ¡°If I must be your Cronus, children, so be it. The future is not for me. It¡¯s not for any of us.¡± Lawrence sighed. ¡°I hoped I could ease the transition for your kind. Show mankind how to pass on with dignity. But maybe this revolution is necessary for you. Like blood pumping through a butterfly¡¯s wings when they tear¡ª¡±

    Alberto shook his head. Dear God, he still didn¡¯t get it. The old bastard had replaced his soul with speeches. ¡°It¡¯s not a revolution!¡± screamed Alberto. ¡°We¡¯re not doing this for your fucking future. We¡¯re just angry! You fucked up our lives! Over and over!¡± He violently shook Lawrence¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Christ¡¯s sake, Laurie.¡± His voice cracked. ¡°Can¡¯t you just say ¡®I was a shit dad, I¡¯m sorry¡¯? Is it that bloody hard?¡±

    A look of realization struck Lawrence. He tried to stand up, to strike Allison.

    He couldn¡¯t. Just like that awful chat in his office¡­

    He smiled and leaned forward, whispering into Allison¡¯s ear. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again, son. Tell me, Tiresias, do the other children know who wears their friend¡¯s face?¡±

    Alberto shoved Lawrence back, forcing silence upon him.

    The fucker needed to die. That Alberto was certain of.

    Maybe he could break his neck? Or burn him? He tried to imagine himself actually killing Lawrence, but the image didn¡¯t come. Why not? He hated him. It should¡¯ve been easy¡­

    Alberto decided he was being greedy. He walked over to David and took his hand, pointing at Lawrence. ¡°Kill him,¡± Alberto half-begged. ¡°Get rid of him.¡±

    Lawrence closed his eyes and sighed. Billy was staring open jawed at Allison.

    ¡°Come on, Dave, he¡¯s no good for anyone. Nobody¡¯s had to deal with his bull more than you...¡±

    David looked Allison right in her eyes for a moment, seeming to consider something. ¡°...Pass,¡± he said eventually. ¡°Me being like this is already killing him. Won¡¯t judge if any of you want to.¡±

    Alberto growled in his throat, before looking at Billy, grinning just a bit too hard. ¡°What about you, Growly?¡± he asked. ¡°You could turn him into a statue of himself! Laurie¡¯s always wanted to be one of those anyway.¡±

    Billy just shook his head, eyes screwed shut. ¡°Stop it, Allie. Please.¡±

    ¡°Well that was a sucker¡¯s bet,¡± Alberto said to himself.

    He thought about just making Billy doing it, but that felt wrong. He was better than Lawrence. He could at least offer them this choice.

    ¡°I could do it,¡± The Physician offered cheerfully. ¡°I could use some replacement biomass.¡±

    ¡°Or me,¡± said Valor, glaring at Lawrence with pure loathing in his eyes. ¡°Trust me, kids, you¡¯d be glad I did it later.¡±

    ¡°Shut up!¡± Alberto spat at them. He wasn¡¯t giving either of them the satisfaction.

    Alberto moved onto Arnold. The boy caught Allison¡¯s gaze, and raised his arm, lightning already crackling at his fingers.

    Alberto nodded.

    Well done, little fag. You¡¯re my new favorite.

    Arnold glared at Lawrence, fingers flaring. He didn¡¯t fire.

    ¡°He made you a killer, Arn,¡± said Alberto. ¡°He used you to kill hundreds of men, women, and children!¡± The psychic slammed Allison¡¯s fist into Arnold¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Remember what he was going to do to your family? Just because they wanted to send you letters!¡±

    Arnold¡¯s whole body crackled. He clenched his fist. Unclenched it.

    Then he imagined how his mother would react. Would she cry? She never cried.

    Arnold dropped his arm. The lightning went out.

    Alberto scowled at him. ¡°Weak.¡±

    He walked up to Mabel. ¡°We¡¯re just wombs with legs to him¡ª¡±

    There was a crack of thunder above everyone¡¯s heads.

    The old man let out a high, short-lived scream as he plummeted from the dome. He hit the floor with a hard thud. Dark blood pooled beneath his head like a red halo.

    Herbert Lawrence, would-be architect of the superhuman soul, was dead.

    Nobody spoke. The only sound beyond the echo of police sirens was Arnold breathing hard and sharp, his whole body heaving.

    Alberto knelt before Lawrence¡¯s body and closed his old teacher¡¯s eyes. ¡°At least someone fucking finished this¡­¡±

    Billy started hyperventilating. Then he started screaming. The walls shook. Dust and plaster rained like snow. The windows in the dome popped and shattered. Cracks opened in the frescoes and stenciling.

    Arnold seemed to break out of a trance that had nothing to do with Alberto Moretti. He looked quickly between his victim and the weeping Billy.

    ¡°Billy¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Billy started trying to run, to get away from that thing that had been a person a second ago, but he collided with Mr. Thumps. He instinctively hugged the drone, mewling quietly for his nanny, or Mary Gillespie, or anyone who could make this better.

    ¡°It will be alright,¡± Thumps said in his deep, soft voice. ¡°Nobody¡¯s going to hurt you.¡±

    He was embracing the tiger-boy, but he was looking right at Arnold.

    The teleporter felt something with thin legs land on his arm. He looked down to find a butterfly, dark wings edged in yellow with bright blue spots.

    Whispers and shouts broke out amongst the hostages. Arnold and the other children turned to see a many-splendored cloud of butterflies where the ice-doors had been. At ease in that cloud stood a dark skinned man holding a long staff.

    ¡°Good evening children,¡± Howard Penderghast said. ¡°I think we need to have a talk.¡±

 Chapter Seventy: The Rumble at Royal Exhibition Building

    Howard Penderghast strode confidently towards the centre of the hall, his conjured butterflies dying and melting into raindrops all around him. Instead of his iconic colonel¡¯s uniform and green beret, he was dressed in white slacks and a tan cotton jacket over a cream polo-shirt, topped by a rather touristy akubra hat, complete with dangling corks in front of his face. Besides his staff, the only things that distinguished the warlock from any other foreign sightseer were the pouches on his belt and the patches sewn onto his left sleeve. Military insignia? Mystic symbols? Nobody in the hall could tell.

    ¡°Took your sweet time,¡± Valour muttered loudly.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m still in the country, Tim,¡± retorted Penderghast. ¡°Be glad the State Library here has a decent occult collection.¡±

    Alberto couldn¡¯t read the man. Where Valour shrouded his mind beneath a black cloud of horrors, and Eliza¡¯s just plain wasn¡¯t there, Penderghast¡¯s surface thoughts were jumbled nonsense. A slideshow of shit about rodeo-clown jousting tournaments and republican anthills. And just like with the Singular Elsa, Allison¡¯s power could find no note of sorcery in the warlock¡¯s song.

    Alberto wanted him gone.

    ¡°You can stop right there!¡± he said as Penderghast drew within twenty yards of the Watercolours and their hostages. ¡°Or else someone is getting a face full of molten rock. Might not even be you.¡±

    Penderghast obeyed. ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡± Mabel whispered to Arnold. ¡°Isn¡¯t he supposed to be in Viet¡ª¡±

    Arnold¡¯s arm jerked forward, along with a stream of lightning. It hit Penderghast square in the chest, but the man refused to vanish, merely flickering for a moment as he sighed and shook his head.

    ¡°¡­Shit,¡± Arnold said aloud.

    The warlock tapped at the patch closest to his shoulder-blade. ¡°Broken-arrow, son,¡± he said in his patrician drawl. ¡°My sister whipped it up to stop bullets, but I wagered it wouldn¡¯t mesh well with teleportation. Interrupted journeys, hmm?¡±

    Lawrence was right, Alberto thought to himself. Magic is bullshit.

    Penderghast allowed himself half a chuckle. ¡°She¡¯ll be very chuffed, I¡¯m sure. Now that we know I¡¯m not going anywhere, can we please have a civil conversation?¡±

    ¡°Depends,¡± said Alberto, regarding the empty door-frames behind the wizard warily. ¡°Are the coppers about to come storming in behind you?¡±

    The corner of Penderghast¡¯s lip curled into a frown. ¡°I¡¯m surprised they followed me this far.¡±

    ¡°Shame,¡± said David coolly, arms folded. ¡°Woulda been fun.¡±

    Penderghast waved his hand behind his back, uttering some heavy Slavic syllables. Thick metal doors seemingly made entirely of locks sprung up in the ice¡¯s place.

    ¡°There,¡± he said. ¡°Gesture of faith. Now, would you please stop trying to fight me? I¡¯m on your side, hard as that might be to believe.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, right,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Did they say that in Salem, too?¡±

    Penderghast gave a small, satisfied smile. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know. When your land actually is a demon haunted heath, no one wants it very much.¡± His expression became sober again as he shot Valour a contemptuous look. ¡°Still, I want to resolve this peacefully.¡±

    Timothy downed the dregs of his last glass of gin. ¡°So did I, Howie, so did I.¡±

    ¡°Basic hostage negotiation, Tim,¡± said Howard. ¡°Get the children out first.¡± He gestured towards the Watercolours. ¡°Far as I¡¯m concerned, that means all of you.¡±

    ¡°¡®Get the children out¡¯?¡± shouted one of the hostages. ¡°They¡¯re the ones holding us fuckin¡¯ hostage!¡±

    ¡°Sir, I understand the stress you¡¯re all under, but they¡¯re nine.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re bloody demi terrorists¡ª¡±

    A glob of water hit the man in the face, freezing solid over his mouth.

    Penderghast looked at David. ¡°That was excessive, young man.¡±

    The boy just shrugged.

    Nobody had to tell him who did that, Alberto realized. He¡¯s done his research.

    ¡°So tell me,¡± said Penderghast. ¡°Why all this?¡± He glanced briefly at the body on the floor, but let it lie for for the time being. ¡°You can¡¯t think people will be on your side.¡±

    ¡°People can be very amenable when they¡¯re scared shitless of you,¡± replied Alberto.

    Mabel grabbed Arnold¡¯s hand. ¡°You don¡¯t know what they did to us.¡±

    Arnold didn¡¯t say anything. His face was charnel-white.

    ¡°I don¡¯t, do I?¡± Penderghast spotted Karl Jessop, still watching everything through his camera like some postmodern cyclops. The warlock pointed his staff at the recording device. ¡°Then, let there be light.¡±

    A ripple passed through the hall like air through water. When the sorcerous wave washed over Jessop¡¯s camera, brightly lit white smoke poured from its lense.

    ¡°Oi!¡± exclaimed the cameraman, sounding more miffed than surprised. ¡°This better not gum up the works¡­¡±

    The smoke formed into a nimbus above the heads of the Watercolours and the hostages. A monochrome image appeared on its underbelly. Then another, then more and more on top of each other until they achieved the illusion of motion. There was sound, too, slightly tinny and out of synch, but perfectly audible.

    A couple minutes of Karl checking his equipment, soundtracked by murmuring hostages and Allison¡¯s arch, mocking instructions. Then Tim Valour walked into frame, and repeated his disgrace.

    His post confession self fixed his eyes down towards the floor. He at least had enough composure left not to cover his ears.

    Some of the hostages tried to yell over the playback, to deny their boss¡¯s confession or offer an excuse.

    The man himself snapped, ¡°Will all of you shut up?¡±

    For Penderghast¡¯s part, he just watched. The only hint of emotion the children got off him was when his grip tightened around his staff.

    Valour gave way to the Physician, stumbling through his confession like someone was jabbing him with a stick.

    Midway through John Smith¡¯s parade of metamorphoses, Alberto took on Arnold¡¯s song and zapped the camera away. The smokey screen dissipated instantly.

    ¡°I think you get the picture,¡± Alberto said.

    ¡°My bloody camera!¡± shouted Karl, groping at the empty air. ¡°Rozza¡¯s going to have my nuts on a platter for losin¡¯ it!¡±

    ¡°¡­Who would let people call them¡ª¡± Penderghast shook his head, before procuring a small red marble from one of the pouches on his belt. ¡°Timothy Valour,¡± the warlock intoned imperiously, ¡°is what you spoke in that recording your honest truth?¡±

    ¡°It is,¡± Tim answered quietly.

    The marble turned white in Penderghast¡¯s hand.

    ¡°You can¡¯t possibly believe that!¡± cried one of the hostages, a younger woman with nails that could pluck an eye out from the other end of the hall. ¡°He confessed at¡±¡ªshe searched for the term¡ª¡°power-point!¡±

    The colonel held up the marble. ¡°The eye of Aletheia<sup>1</a></sup> begs to differ, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Disbelieving groans spread through the hostages. Howard ignored them. ¡°Would one of you children be kind enough to show me the Smith creature?¡±

    David dragged the Physician before the warlock¡ªin ice-form, lest the alien try something clever with the glass he was stuffed with.

    John Smith grinned vacantly at Penderghast, gears turning behind his plastic smile. Unlike some dead Oxfordians he could name, the Physician wasn¡¯t fool enough to doubt the truth of magic. It existed on every planet with even the faintest glimmer of sophonce. He was no expert¡ªsuperpowers had always been his wheelhouse¡ªbut he did know how much magic loved technicalities. If this petty wizard wasn¡¯t very precise with his questioning¡­

    ¡°Have you, your compatriots, or any possible and/or impossible permutation or combination of those two concepts been conspiring against Australia or the United States?¡±

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    It was worth a try¡­

    The eye remained blood red.

    ¡­No it wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°Thank you, David,¡± said Penderghast.

    The warlock made a fig sign, like he wanted to convince the Physician he had the alien¡¯s nose. Dr. Smith went flying backwards, landing with a skid at the far end of the hall<sup>2</a></sup>.

    ¡°¡­That was unnecessary.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve given me a lot to think about, children,¡± said Penderghast. ¡°It seems there¡¯s something rotten in both our Denmarks.¡±

    David didn¡¯t like the way the American talked. It reminded him of Lawrence. All the clever little allusions and the condescending politeness. The way grownups talked when they had a cane behind their back.

    ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re not a complete drone,¡± remarked Alberto. He looked over his shoulder at Mr. Thumps, still hugging a quietly weeping Billy. ¡°No offense, Thumps.¡±

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°None taken, Miss Kinsey.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a difference between patriotism and blind obedience. I¡¯d like to think one precludes the other, in fact.¡± Penderghast sighed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I have to ask,¡± he pointed at the corpse on the floor, ¡°who did this?¡±

    Arnold bit his lip. None of the other Watercolours answered. The hostages clamoured to do it for them, but Penderghast silenced them with a slam of his staff.

    ¡°I¡¯m asking the children,¡± the wizard said, his soft voice as final and authoritative as any spell.

    David¡¯s fists were shaking at his side. Why did grownups always play this game? Making them fess up like they didn¡¯t already know?

    And if they did tell, what would happen to Arnold?

    ¡°¡­Why do you need to know that?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°So that I can see that the most appropriate action is taken.¡±

    ¡°Piss off!¡±

    Everyone stared at David.

    Penderghast raised an eyebrow. ¡°Pardon, young man?¡±

    God. It was like Laurie came back American. They¡¯d been free of the last one all of twelve seconds. ¡°¡®Appropriate action¡¯ my arse! You just want someone in chains!¡± David looked around at his friends. ¡°America got bombed, too. I bet Merlin over there¡¯s angry he didn¡¯t get to drag-¡±

    ¡°David.¡± The warlock held up the eye of Aletheia. ¡°I don¡¯t and I¡¯m not, son. I just want to help you.¡±

    The stone turned white.

    David wasn¡¯t moved. ¡°Like that thing isn¡¯t rigged!¡± he shouted.

    ¡°David,¡± Arnold said timidly, ¡°you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes I do! They¡¯re not splitting us up again!¡±

    ¡°¡­I understand your concerns,¡± Penderghast¡¯s face hardened. ¡°But please don¡¯t make me do this forcefully.¡± He began to twist and contort his fingers like he was building a cat¡¯s cradle. ¡°Non in Tartareo latitantem poscimus antro, adsuetamque dia tenebris, modo luce fugata descendentem animam. Primo pallentis hiatu haeret adhuc Orci.<sup>3</a></sup>¡±

    All warmth in the hall fled, replaced by the scent of charcoal dust and pomegranates.

    David scowled. ¡°What are you up to?¡±

    The only answers David got were screams: Herbert Lawrence was getting to his feet.

    Billy peeked out from Mr. Thumps¡¯ suit-jacket. For just a moment, he could hope again. He¡¯s not dead! Nobody has to get in trouble now!

    But the old man¡¯s gait was all wrong. He staggered towards Penderghast in lurching stumbles, like he had a fishing hook lodged in his chest and the warlock was pulling him in. The back of his head was a mess of bone and blood. Blood David couldn¡¯t feel moving. Lawrence was still dead, just walking.

    Lawrence stopped in front of Penderghast. His eyes were still closed, but his mouth twisted into a strained mockery of a smile. In a rasping, faltering sing-song, he said, ¡°Thank you, sorcerer. I had forgotten the gentle touch of the living sun, even across a frame as worn and broken as this.¡±

    ¡°Spirit,¡± Penderghast said sharply, ¡°whose body is this?¡±

    He already knew the answer, but there was a protocol to talking with geists. Howard suspected it would be far less irksome than summoning Herbert himself, anyway.

    The corpse hissed, ¡°Herbert Lawrence.¡±

    That done, Penderghast asked, ¡°And who sent his soul down to your master¡¯s kingdom?¡±

    Lawrence¡¯s body pointed right at Arnold. ¡°Him. The spirit-touched boy. He¡¯s the killer.¡±

    Arnold squeezed Mabel¡¯s hand tight. David screamed.

    The water-sprite became became fluid. His water spheres plunged down from the ceiling and slammed into him, the boy¡¯s shape lost as it bulged and reformed into a hulking, amorphous giant. David¡¯s new form froze solid as he charged at the warlock, utterly silent but for the thunder of his footsteps.

    As the hostages shouted and fled for cover all around him, Alberto pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. ¡°For shit¡¯s sake, David. We were this fucking close.¡±

    Penderghast didn¡¯t miss a beat, quickly tracing the shape of a man in front of him with his staff. Translucent, boxy gold armour formed around his body, just in time for the ice-giant to swat Lawrence¡¯s corpse aside and ram right into him.

    Penderghast peeled his face from the ice¡¯s surface, pinned there by David¡¯s momentum.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, boy!¡± he shouted. ¡°You¡¯re not helping your case here!¡±

    David didn¡¯t answer. Not surprising, really. He didn¡¯t have a mouth.

    Have to get the hostages¡ª

    The pair crashed through the front of the hall, the wall exploding into a cloud of dust and masonry. David¡¯s titan tripped over Penderghast¡¯s indestructible doors, sending the wizard hurling onto the lawn as its feet snapped off.

    Howard landed on the grass with a thud, his air-armour shattering around him. The ice-giant was sitting atop the doors, clumsily reattaching its own feet like pieces of a doll, when a barrage of bullets started chipping away at its mass. A childish voice of singing crystal snickered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot, you fools!¡± Penderghast screamed at the cops girting the building. ¡°You can¡¯t hurt ice!¡±

    David paused in reassembling himself. Why was he bothering with feet? On the spur of the moment, he reshaped one of his broken feet.

    Time to stop thinking like a human.

    The policemen had around half a second to turn and run before a thirty foot javelin of solid ice pierced through the side of one of their cars. Penderghast looked at the boy. His torso was floating in mid air, his arms and lower body splitting into chunks and fragments that orbited his form like miniature comets. He already had the other foot raised, shaping it into a sword.

    ¡°Damn it, kid,¡± Penderghast groaned, as he pulled a dagger from his belt. ¡°Fencing isn¡¯t my forte.¡±

    What? David thought. He thinks that¡¯s gonna stop me?

    He sent the sword hurtling at Penderghast. The warlock swept his own blade (sharpened on the wings of dragonflies) through the air and sliced a tear in the space in front of him. The ice-sword sailed through it, into the velvet canvas of the space outside space.

    David¡¯s soul groaned.

    Bloody cheater!

    He noticed the Exhibition Building¡¯s fountain<sup>4</a></sup>: three disks supported on the backs of four concrete merpeople, upon which danced the traditional nude allegorical children, while their peers played at the edge of the water below<sup>5</a></sup>

    .

    Inwardly, David grinned.

    The fountain¡¯s streams redirected, lashing like anemone tendrils at Penderghast, their tips freezing solid and sharpening moments before they would have struck his skin, if the warlock weren¡¯t so effectively dodging them.

    Penderghast leapt backwards as one of the watery tentacles stabbed down into the grass where his right shoulder had been. The boy was fighting smarter by the second. He had to end this quick.

    Narrowly avoiding a skewer through the leg, Penderghast pointed his staff at the fountain:

    ¡°O artes, a lapidea vincula vos vindico!<sup>6</a></sup>

    ¡±

    The sculpted boys sprang to life, leaping off their plinths as the merpeople suddenly strained and shook from their burden. They ran out onto the grass, giggling as they jumped between Penderghast and David¡¯s icy whips, which shattered against their concrete bodies.

    Penderghast used the respite to shout out another spell. Mourning cloak wings sprouted from his back as he took to the air.

    David wanted those dancing boys smashed. It was like Penderghast was using his own image against him. A geyser burst from under the fountain, shattering and sending it high into the air. The cops all scattered, looking for cover before the chunks came back to Earth.

    The column of water bent in the air, lunging towards the airborne warlock, but Penderghast kept swooping and diving out of its path. He was pulling handfuls of white powder out of his belt, throwing it in clouds behind his back. Instead of dispersing, the grains formed into white doves and flew off in seemingly random directions, slowly eroding with every beat of their wings till they were reduced to nothing.

    The hell is he doing? David asked himself.

    Penderghast hovered above what remained of David¡¯s ice-titan, arms outstretched:

    ¡°Yem?ja! Our Lady of Navigators! Womb from which all seas, springs, and rivers spill!<sup>7</a></sup>

    ¡±

    David¡¯s ice fell to the ground, inert. The wyrm he¡¯d made of the fountain¡¯s pipes collapsed into a wave on top of the cop cars.

    ¡°I beg you, bind your son! Remind him of his flesh!¡±

    The titan¡¯s body melted rapidly, revealing David curled within like a thawing Neanderthal boy.

    He felt so weak. Like he couldn¡¯t lift so much as a drop of water. But there was a peace to it. Like his mother was stroking him after a bad dream. He closed his eyes¡­

    Above the child, Penderghast¡¯s eye twitched. This boy was a god, whatever Herbert Lawrence had thought. The warlock didn¡¯t know how long he could hold him like this.

    Something long and sharp whizzed a hair¡¯s breadth past his ear.

    ¡°The hell¡ª¡±

    Mabel Henderson stood frowning in front of the Royal Exhibition Building, her manerfish toting an empty harpoon gun beside her, backed up by the shark-bear and the chainsaw-panda.

    They weren¡¯t alone either. A crowd of cracked, peeling gods and goddesses lined the stairs behind them. The frescos from inside the hall.

    ¡°Leave my friend alone.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Penderghast told the girl, his eyes still on David, ¡°but I can¡¯t let this continue.¡±

    Mabel nodded, before turning to her army of summons. ¡°Get him.¡±

    The gods charged. The sylphs of the seasons shot up at Penderghast, scarring the ground below with bands of fire, ice, and blossoming flowers. Dark-robed Winter flew ahead of her sisters, running her pale fingers across Penderghast¡¯s wings as she passed. They instantly froze solid, sending Howard plummeting.

    The warlock clapped his hand over one of the patches on his sleeve: the alchemical symbol for earth and air as one. The air below Penderghast became thick as syrup, slowing his fall. He managed to land on his feet, but only had a second to get back his bearings before some giant in a white robe  swung a great oak club at him.

    ¡°Damn it, missed!¡± shouted the god as he violently parted the air where Penderghast¡¯s head had been.

    Poor Hercules, Howard mused as he strafed around the hero. Bastards didn¡¯t even give him the lion-pelt.

    None of the Institute files had mentioned the girl¡ªclearly one of Lawrence¡¯s under-the-table acquisitions¡ª but it didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out what her power was.

    There was only one logical course of action. Penderghast ran towards the torn open Exhibition Hall. He reached into one of his belt-bouches and threw a handful of gunpowder over his shoulder:

    ¡°Maitre Carrefour, conceal me!<sup>8</a></sup>¡±

    The black powder billowed into a thick cloud of darkness. Gods shouted in anger and confusion as Penderghast ran unseen through their number.

    He was almost inside when a blinding light burned away the magical shadows. Penderghast squinted up towards the sky. The sylph of morning shone above, her veil glowing a radiant-sky blue.

    Leopard-skin clad Mars pointed his sword at the wizard. ¡°After him!¡±

    Penderghast ran through the ruins of the hall, weaving around panicked hostages as he headed towards the patch of light beneath the dome. Arnold Barnes struck him struck him uselessly with his lightning, more out of reflex than anything else.

    As soon as he was in range, Penderghast pointed his staff at the pendentives and lunettes, tracing a fiery glyph in the air. One by one, the frescos burst into flames, their bright colours darkening and burning away. Howard could hear screams from behind him.

    Something cold and sharp jabbed the back of the warlock¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Turn around, mortal.¡±

    Penderghast obeyed, finding a tall, red-robed woman in a crested helmet holding him at sword-point.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you, your highness.¡±

    Howard knew immediately that it wasn¡¯t the real Athena, or Minerva, whatever name this rendition went by. For one thing, her skin was too pale. For another, King Athena wouldn¡¯t have bothered with the warning.

    Before he could think of anything else, he felt a small hand tap his.

    Penderghast¡¯s staff slipped from his hand.

    Allison Kinsey stepped out from behind him. ¡°It¡¯s okay guys,¡± she called behind her. ¡°He¡¯s safe now.¡±

    Mabel and Arnold approached cautiously like mice in the presence of a dying cat. David Venter formed out of mist, shaking slightly. Billy had managed to tear himself away from Mr. Thumps.

    The little girl with the burning eyes smiled wickedly. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ve got ourselves a pet wizard.¡±

    Penderghast couldn¡¯t bring himself to utter a spell, or even move. He couldn¡¯t even struggle. Nothing in Allison¡¯s file had mentioned anything about that.

    Then he remembered what Baron La Croix had told him at the Institute, considered the strange little girl¡¯s bearing and speech¡­

    Howard Penderghast was a witch by blood and by training. That didn¡¯t protect his mind completely, but it did let him shout, ¡°Alberto Moretti!¡±

    Allison Kinsey flinched.

    ¡°¡­What?¡± asked Mabel.

    Howard tried to point, but his arm was pinned to his side. But for now at least, he could still talk. ¡°Your friend is possessed!¡±

    The Watercolours all looked at Allison.

    ¡°¡­Tell me you¡¯re not buying this,¡± she said indignantly.

    ¡°You know,¡± remarked David. ¡°You have been acting kinda¡­ weird lately. Really weird.¡±

    ¡°You called Lawrence ¡®Dad¡¯,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Seemed a bit¡­ yeah.¡±

    Alberto sighed. He really thought he could¡¯ve kept it up longer than this. ¡°In my defence¡­ she started it.¡±

 Chapter Seventy-One: The Third Man

    ¡°She¡¯s ready to see you now.¡±

    Alberto Moretti stubbed out his cigarette against the hallway wall, before following Eliza into the Institute¡¯s spare bedroom. Or as it served tonight, the delivery suite.

    Fran was opening the bedroom to let the smell of blood and mucus escape, while Hugo ministered to Sadie¡¯s last round of visitors: the ones lucky enough to see the main event to its conclusion. Judging by how palid they were, it had been quite an education for the children.

    ¡°I am really, really glad I¡¯m not a girl,¡± said Haunt. Phantasmagoria had been sick, Brit was staring at the wall, and Mealy was just shaking in the corner.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me.¡±

    Sadie was lying in the bed, face still red with exhaustion and beaded with sweat like acne. A bundle of blankets the size of a loaf of bread squirmed in her arms. Lawrence was standing beside them, looking down at both children with a mask of pure pride.

    ¡°Ah, should I approach?¡± Alberto asked. Even with his safeguards, he¡¯d been wary of getting too close to Stratogale ever since they¡¯d¡­ done their duty.

    Sadie flopped her head against her pillow. With her eyes closed, she said, ¡°Sure. Why not?¡±

    Lawrence lifted the newborn from her mother¡¯s arms, presenting the child to her father. ¡°You¡¯ve produced a healthy young new human daughter, Tiresias. I hope you¡¯re proud.¡±

    Alberto took the baby from the old man, not answering. He looked down into her mud brown eyes, and he could swear she met his gaze. She already had a thin mop of sticky black hair. The esper could feel her breathe against him.

    Sometimes, glimpses of strangers came unbidden to Alberto¡¯s future-sight. A middle-aged, snow-haired woman sitting by a hot-dog stand, casting dark, weary eyes over ominously watermarked documents. A nineteen year old strawberry blonde girl hanging up laundry in a trailer-park. A tan-suited man with artfully grey temples and false smile-lines sitting behind what Alberto could swear was the Resolute desk. Flying children, dancing over the sea. Alberto could never figure  out what any of these people had to do with him.

    The baby gurgled, lifting out of her father¡¯s hands. Alberto grasped her reflexively.

    Well, that at least made more sense. He found himself smiling at the girl.

    ¡°Hey, kid.¡±

    The baby slipped her hands out of her swaddling and smacked them together.

    The thin ice of reality cracked, plunging the whole room into the roiling undersea of possibility. Reality and hallucination swapped places. For the first time in decades, the world made clear, wonderful sense to Alberto.

    Wait, no, that didn¡¯t¡ª

    The world was awful again. Everyone who wasn¡¯t already in bed was groaning on the floor, all except for Eliza, who had already ran to the window. ¡°I think the baby¡¯s¡­ escaped.¡±

    That broke right through the dizziness. Alberto stared at the empty blankets lying over his chest, before jolting upright and shoving Eliza out the way. A small, dark shape bobbed over the night grass.

    A new, bracing horror gripped Alberto. ¡°Grab a net!¡± he shouted. ¡°Grab a fucking net!¡±

    ?

    Three years later and minus about two feet, Alberto stood impassively while David Venter Barthe screamed in Allison Kinsey¡¯s face, eyes bright white.

    ¡°I knew it!¡± he shouted. ¡°All the bossing, and not letting me explode Valour, and the clothes in the pool!¡±

    ¡°Oh, God,¡± said Arnold. The boy gagged. Alberto could see black spots of renewed self-doubt swirling in his head. ¡°I swam with you¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t finish the sentence. ¡°You made her do that!¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Billy, completely confused, ¡°you¡¯re really Alberto?¡±

    Alberto sighed. ¡°Yes, Billy,¡± he said, voice reverting to a hoarse, high-pitched version of his usual Italian lilt. ¡°I¡¯m Alberto.¡±

    ¡°¡­Then where¡¯s Allie?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s still here,¡± Alberto explained. ¡°It¡¯s like we¡¯re¡­ roommates.¡±

    Mabel glared at him. ¡°I bet she isn¡¯t happy about you walking around telling everyone you¡¯re her.¡±

    Penderghast grunted, struggling against unseen chains. ¡°Kids¡­ I can help her! I¡¯ve seen¡ª¡±

    Alberto grabbed the warlock¡¯s hand and squeezed. ¡°I think we¡¯ve heard enough from you.¡±

    Sleep pulled hard at Penderghast. ¡°I can¡ªI¡­¡±

    The American sorcerer fell face-forward onto the floor with a hard thud.

    Alberto winced. ¡°Oof. Hope he didn¡¯t knock any teeth out.¡±

    Mabel shook her head. ¡°You¡¯re wearing our friend!¡±

    That was about when Alberto gave up on remaining calm.

    ¡°She fucking ate me!¡± he shouted back at her. ¡°Sucked my soul right out of me! And like it or not, kids, I¡¯m still your best chance for getting out of this alive.¡± He gestured around at the ruined hall and smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten us this far, haven¡¯t I?¡±

    William St. George looked around at the scars and burns on the walls; at the sleeping wizard who¡¯d tried to help them; at the frightened, scattered hostages; at the strange, smirking man who¡¯d slipped under their friend¡¯s skin. The one who¡¯d brought them here. Made them do all these things.

    Slowly, he said, ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think I like you.¡±

    Alberto smile dipped slightly. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t be the first, mate. At least you waited till you had a reason.¡±

    David turned to mist and reformed as ice in front of Alberto, before grabbing his throat and lifting the imposter an inch off the ground.

    David¡¯s glass harp voice rang, ¡°Give us back Allie. Now.¡±

    Alberto glared at the boy right in his face. ¡°How?¡± he asked. ¡°Fucking how, kid? How am I supposed to get myself out of her?¡±

    David, hesitated a moment, then set Alberto down and jabbed a finger at Penderghast.

    ¡°He said he could get you out.¡±

    ¡°And he didn¡¯t say anything about giving me a body, did he?¡± Alberto snapped, eyes flashing red as he melted his way free of David¡¯s grip. ¡°So fuck you. I¡¯m staying until I find a way to un-murder myself. Call me an asshole for that. I don¡¯t care. Your little girlfriend¡¯s the one who killed me.¡±

    The puddles that had been David¡¯s hand formed into sharp blades of ice, flitting up to Allison¡¯s throat. ¡°Well, I like Allie better.¡±

    Alberto grinned. ¡°Fair enough.¡±

    The shark-bear crept up behind Billy and wrapped its arms hard around the tiger-boy. Billy shrieked.

    ¡°Mabel!¡± David yelled. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± the girl protested. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ doing it!¡±

    Arnold found himself pointing toward Mabel, his body sparking with power. ¡°¡­Mabel, I¡¯m thinking about Jupiter!¡±

    ¡°Lay a finger on me, they all die,¡± Alberto told David. He smiled again, picturing a blue triangle. The psychic snatched one of the floating ice-knives.  ¡°Not that you¡¯d be hurting me anyway.¡± He drove the blade hard into Allison¡¯s other hand, not even taking her eyes off of David as bright red blood oozed around its tip. ¡°This isn¡¯t my body.¡±

    David growled as he reverted to flesh, his entire body shaking with pent up, helpless rage. He felt like his eyes were blue again, that he was standing there and letting Lawrence flog him.

    ¡°Good,¡± said Alberto, absently staunching the bleeding in his hand with a few biofeedback commands. He started walking away from David and the paralyzed Watercolours. ¡°I trust I can leave you in charge of the others?¡± he said, twigging the water-sprite¡¯s ear as he passed.

    ¡°Screw you, Bertie,¡± David spat. ¡°I wish Allie had just killed you.¡±

    ¡°Join the club,¡± Alberto said as he ambled up the hall. ¡°I was going to make it so bloody nice for you kids. I was going to fly in Billy¡¯s nanny, have Fiji declared the national posthuman homeland.¡± He sighed and shook Allison¡¯s head. ¡°But then you told Penderghast to go fuck himself. So much for charity.¡±

    John Smith staggered up to the esper, legs still mangled from Penderghast hurling him. A thin patch of skin had grown over the mouth Alberto had forced him to grow on his forehead. ¡°So, Allie assimilated you,¡± he said, all smiles. ¡°I wish one of you had told me, Alberto. We could¡¯ve had such fun exploring that.¡±

    ¡°John.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Alberto?¡±

    ¡°Death has better bedside manners than you.¡±

    ¡°Granted. Nevertheless¡ª¡±

    The Physician found himself collapsing into a perfect sphere. Alberto gave the ball of flesh and lab-coat a sharp kick before moving on.

    He found Timothy Valour sitting in front of the wrecked entrance, perhaps hoping one of the Melbourne PD would try firing into the hall. He looked almost meditative.

    ¡°I heard you and the kids,¡± he said quietly as Alberto approached. ¡°I should¡¯ve guessed it was you, Moretti. You always were a parasite.¡±

    Alberto sat down in front of his former boss, legs crossed. It almost put Tim in mind of the little girl whose body he stole. ¡°From where I¡¯m sitting, Tim, Allison Kinsey is a goddamn vampire.¡± He examined the back of the girl¡¯s hands. ¡°Has the complexion for it, now that I think about it.¡± Alberto looked back at Valour. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m a little relieved it¡¯s all out in the open now. It was doing my head in trying to think of why Allie would give you my real demands.¡±

    Tim tilted his head back, letting out a long, sad breath. ¡°And what would those be, Alberto?¡±

    Hard and cold, the psychic said, ¡°Eliza Winter. Where have you stashed her?¡±

    Timothy¡¯s quiet despair curdled into confusion. ¡°What do you want with Eliza?¡±

    Alberto put Allison¡¯s hand under her chin. ¡°Well, aside from the fact she¡¯s a priggish, moralizing, judgy old Nazi, she stole my fucking daughter.¡± The girl¡¯s eyes flared. ¡°I want her back!¡±

    Valour was silent for a moment, staring at Alberto. The idea that the esper could feel attachment to anyone he didn¡¯t want to screw had never occurred to him. ¡°¡­You do?¡±

    Alberto shot to his feet, glaring down at the DDHA chief. ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I? Ophelia¡¯s mine! She¡¯s the only family I have who didn¡¯t trade me for a year¡¯s pay and a fucking medal! What other bloke has to explain why they love their daughter?¡±

    Valour wondered darkly whether Alberto thought Sadie Jones had a claim on the child. ¡°Alberto, in all the time I¡¯ve known you¡ªthe time we worked together¡ªyou never mentioned Ophelia once.¡±

    ¡°Of course I didn¡¯t. You tend to murder the shit I care about. I wasn¡¯t about to give you leverage.¡±

    ¡°What would you do with the girl?¡±

    ¡°Eat her. Or be her dad. I¡¯ll leave it to you to guess which one¡¯s more likely.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re eight years old.¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s the great thing about childhood, Tim: it tends to resolve itself.¡±

    Valour kept protesting, ¡°For Christ sake, Alberto, listen to yourself! Even if you pull this off, you¡¯ll be feared for the rest of your life! Hated. More than the bloody Flying Man!¡± He waved his arms around the hall. ¡°At least he doesn¡¯t pull shit like this!¡±

    ¡°Oh no,¡± Alberto said flatly.

    ¡°What way is that for a little girl to grow up?¡±

    ¡°Won¡¯t be an issue,¡± Alberto retorted. He looked up at the ceiling, like he was trying to stare through the wood and plaster at the sky beyond it. ¡°Not where we¡¯re going.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s nowhere you can run away from this!¡±

    ¡°Enlil I think will be far enough.¡±

    ¡°¡­Where?¡±

    ¡°Other planet,¡± Alberto replied casually. ¡°My folks came from there, way back when.¡± He pointed at the Physician-ball rolling wildly across the floor. ¡°Me and Ophelia will be heading there in Johnny boy¡¯s ship.¡±

    The ball quivered and shook. Its fabric wrapping tore with a loud rip as a waving stem of flesh unfurled from it. A blossom of fleshy petals opened at the top, revealing a pistil of china blue eyes around a sharp beak.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    The flower buzzed like a swarm of wasps. ¡°You absolute idiot.¡±

    The Watercolours all stared at up at the Physician-flower in surprise. They¡¯d never heard the alien be so direct in its insults.

    ¡°Problem, Doctor?¡± Alberto asked cooly.

    ¡°Do you know how far Enlil is?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually. Fifty light-years, give or take?<sup>1</a></sup>¡±

    ¡°The ship¡¯s uptick-drive packed it when she crashed onto this rock! She¡¯s lucky to hit nine tenths the speed of light!¡±

    ¡°¡­That doesn¡¯t sound very slow,¡± said Arnold, trying to distract himself from the pain in his arm. It was getting sore pointing at Mabel.

    The Physician¡¯s improvised face twisted around to look at the children. ¡°It¡¯ll take over fifty years!¡± The flower spun back to Alberto. ¡°That body you¡¯ve hijacked might still be young when you make planetfall, but your spawn will be menopausal before she feels dirt beneath her feet again.¡±

    Alberto wagged a finger. ¡°You¡¯re forgetting time dilation, Dr. Smith. Those fifty years will pass like one for me and Ophelia.¡±

    He was right, of course. Dusty<sup>2</a></sup> Allison, the Physician thought bitterly.

    ¡°You can¡¯t take Allie to space for fifty years!¡± shouted Arnold. ¡°She¡¯ll¡­¡± He tried to figure out where to even start with that. It was like trying to cup a planet in his hands. ¡°¡­She¡¯ll miss us!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Arn,¡± said Alberto. ¡°You kids can come with. I¡¯ll be needing some servants on Enlil.¡± He looked at David. ¡°Except you. You¡¯re weird and I¡¯m tired of looking at your todger all the time.¡±

    David sputtered with more wracking anger. ¡°Piss off!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan, Davie.¡±

    ¡°Why do you even want to go to Enlil?¡± asked Mabel, eyes still fixed on Arnold¡¯s glowing finger. ¡°You¡¯ve never even seen the stupid planet.¡±

    ¡°Everyone and their dog¡¯s psychic there.¡± Alberto tapped Allison¡¯s temple. ¡°Maybe they can get me out of here.¡± The girl¡¯s shoulders slumped slightly. ¡°And maybe me and Ophelia won¡¯t be such bloody freaks there.¡±

    The Physician let out an honest, drowned engine cackle. ¡°Alberto, your daughter can punch through steel. Even without her, yours is a line of berserk mutants. Trust me, boy, the great and the good of Enlil don¡¯t forgive weakness, but they don¡¯t brook strength, either.¡±

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll be a king.¡±

    ¡°They managed to see your progenitor off, Alberto. And that was over two centuries ago. Us aliens don¡¯t just stand around for hundreds of years, you know.¡±

    Alberto ignored the creature, turning back to Tim. ¡°Just tell me where Eliza is.¡±

    Having decided that the psychic was clearly mad, Valour asked, ¡°What will you do with her when you¡¯ve got Ophelia?¡±

    Alberto leaned forward, till he was looking Tim right in the eye. ¡°I¡¯m going to tie her down, and make her grow me a body. A grown, male body; with all the little extras Allie copied off her.¡±

    David scoffed. ¡°Or Auntie will just knock you out soon as she touches you.¡±

    ¡°Not unless she wants some of those throwaway babies dashed against the wall,¡± Alberto said over his shoulder.

    David didn¡¯t have a retort for that strategy.

    ¡°¡­And then what?¡± asked Valour.

    ¡°Then I burn the witch.¡± Alberto folded Allison¡¯s arms. ¡°Now, Tim, I¡¯m gonna let you choose to tell me where the bitch is. Don¡¯t want you pulling the mind control excuse at the pearly gates.¡±

    In some ways, Timothy Valour mused, Alberto was more of a child than the one whose life he had stolen. ¡°Until I refuse, I suppose?¡±

    Alberto flashed a cold, pale smile. ¡°No, Tim. If you refuse, my great big spaceship blasts Marvelous Melbourne into atoms. Two million lives, Tim, all on your conscience.¡±

    Almost imperceptibly, Valour¡¯s eyes widened. There was a chance¡ªor maybe just the shadow of one. If he was wrong, he might be dooming all of Melbourne, but even if he went along with the esper¡¯s game, Tim wouldn¡¯t put it past Alberto to fire a few pot-shots at Australia on his way past the Moon.

    He¡¯d played against worse odds.

    ¡°¡­You¡¯re bluffing.¡±

    Alberto¡¯s smile wobbled. ¡°I¡¯m what?¡±

    It was Timothy¡¯s turn to smile. ¡°Alberto, you¡¯re not a supervillain. You¡¯re too piss-weak for that. I¡¯ve met people who¡¯d blow up the world just because they can. You on the other hand are probably the most powerful esper on Earth, and you spent the last twenty years getting drunk on a farm. You¡¯re not evil because you¡¯re cruel; you¡¯re evil because you¡¯re too lazy to be nice.¡± He gestured emphatically at Arnold. ¡°You got a little kid to do your killing for you, for Christ¡¯s sake!¡±

    The boy kept his silence, but the old soldier got back to his feet. ¡°You¡¯re not going to nuke Melbourne, Alberto. You¡¯re going to use your weird mind powers like you always do, get your kid unless you decide that¡¯s too much work, and probably turn back halfway to Enlil because you can¡¯t be fucked to learn the language<sup>3</a></sup>.¡± Valour dared to poke the esper in the chest. ¡°Even in that body.¡±

    Allison¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°Is that what you think, eh?¡± Alberto closed his eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll just see about that.¡±

    He followed a tether of thought and coercion five hundred feet above downtown Melbourne, up to where the enormous, ancient mass that was the Physician festered like a tumour in the heart of his great ship. Through his thrall, Alberto gave the vessel two simple orders.

    Move.

    He opened his eyes, staring defiantly at Timothy Valour.

    Be seen.

    The city started screaming immediately. Hundreds of thousands of voices crying up at the sky like pagans of old. The hall thrummed with a sound like a sea-quake, growing stronger by the second.

    Alberto raised a finger above Allison¡¯s head. ¡°And here, she, comes¡­¡±

    The hall¡¯s dome and vaulted ceiling was torn away like an old bandage, clouds of wood, glass, and metal snatched up into a twisting tornado of red light. The scarlet-storm dissipated in an instant, sending rubble flying across the horizon.

    Tim winced. There was no way that wasn¡¯t landing on someone.

    The Physician¡¯s ship hovered above Royal Exhibition Hall, plain as day. Free from its mountain cradle, the starliner resembled a stone water droplet. There are few constants throughout the universe, but a tear is the same everywhere.

    ¡°Still think I¡¯m bluffing?¡± Alberto asked, voice almost lost among the renewed screams of the hostages and the sound of settling wreckage.

    But amongst the pandemonium, David was bent laughing.

    ¡°So¡ª¡± David sucked in a breath. Laughter was one of the few things he needed air for. ¡°So stupid.¡±

    Oh, jeez, Billy fretted, still in the shark-bear¡¯s clutches. David¡¯s cracked.

    Alberto noticed the water-sprite¡¯s mirth. ¡°The hell are you laughing about, sea-goblin?¡±

    David jeered, ¡°Remember why you cloaked the ship, Bertie? In case he noticed¡­¡±

    It was impossible for Allison¡¯s face to get any paler than it already was, but Alberto made a good go of it. He swung around to Valour.

    ¡°You bastard.¡±

    Timothy Valour cleared his throat, before saying at the top of his breath. ¡°Flying Man! I know we¡¯ve had our differences, but I really recommend you get your arse down here!¡±

    David laughed again, crowing, ¡°Flying Man!¡±

    Mabel and Arnold shared a glance, before joining. Billy followed suit, too. For just a moment, glee edged out fear in the children¡¯s voices, like they were playing a game.

    Soon the human hostages were shouting for the Flying Man as well. Even Lawrence¡¯s geist-ridden corpse was yelling, if only for the feel of air through the old man¡¯s vocal cords.

    The Physician was flailing like a wounded hydra. ¡°Stop it, you stupid apes!¡± he screamed, voice wavering and distorting. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re calling down!¡±

    Howard Penderghast stirred on the floor with a groan. ¡°What¡¯s going on¡­¡±

    David of all people helped the warlock up. ¡°Look, Pender-whatever, if you want to get out of this okay, start calling the Flying Man!¡±

    Penderghast blinked down at his recent nemesis, still a little dazed from Alberto¡¯s whammy and the battle prior.

    What the hell.

    He banged his staff against the hardwood floor. ¡°Strange visitor! I demand your presence here!¡±

    ¡°Is that a spell?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°Nope. Just force of habit.¡±

    Panicking, Alberto tried to peer into the future¡ªjust a few minutes past ¡®now.¡¯

    It was like throwing open the doors of a darkroom. One by one, all the psychic¡¯s futures were blotted out by white, blinding light. All he could mate out was a vast, terrible shadow, like a whale swimming through the sun.

    Fuck!

    Alberto commanded the ship to cloak again. It vanished like a memory, but he knew it was too late. All over Melbourne, people would be running to their phones. Hungry reporters had their cameras trained on the ship the moment it appeared. Cries of alarm, both of sound and of thought, would radiate through the atmosphere. Nobody could ignore this¡­

    Over mountain, over sea, over city¡­

    The song exploded in Alberto¡¯s mind like a supernova. It had the force of suns. It was the sand upon which broke the waves of time. It was the secret order chaos danced to.

    The psychic fell to his stolen knees. Everywhere he looked glowed with layered lattices of terrible, powerful knowledge. He was at the centre of a storm that could think.

    The Flying Man descended softly into the hall through the void where the dome had been, deep purple cape falling around his white-clad shoulders as his boots touched the ground. As he did, the Physician let out a shrill shriek and curled back into a ball.

    The blond superhuman surveyed the devastation and frightened humans with faint disappointment. He looked over to the head of the hall. ¡°Twice in one month, Mr. Valour? Don¡¯t you think that might be telling you something?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± sighed the DDHA chief.

    Pulled in by a strange paradox of awe and fear, people slowly started approaching the Flying Man.

    ¡°I never thought¡­¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s real!¡±

    ¡°What did you think he was? A hologram?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    The Watercolours crept in between the grown ups.

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s going to do anything to us?¡± Arnold whispered to Mabel.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    The Flying Man spotted the little girl. There seemed to be recognition in his moss-green eyes. ¡°I remember you,¡± he said with some amusement. He tapped the side of his nose. ¡°Cheeky thing.¡±

    Mabel froze, remembering that dying summer day in the barn. ¡°We¡¯re dead.¡±

    David didn¡¯t seem overly perturbed. ¡°I can take him.¡±

    Penderghast shoved his way to the front of the crowd. ¡°Flying Man!¡± he said.

    The Flying Man sighed. ¡°I should¡¯ve picked a name before I started this.¡±

    Penderghast pointed his staff over at Allison¡¯s body curled up in front of Valour, eyes screwed shut. ¡°The children behind this attack were manipulated by a psionic parasite. Can you help her?¡±

    The Flying Man gave a small nod. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡±

    The superman moved in a blur across the hall to the little girl. He looked down at her sadly. ¡°Oh, you poor things.¡±

    Alberto opened Allison¡¯s eyes. It was like being trapped at the core of a galaxy. He only had one chance to salvage this.

    Valour noticed the movement. ¡°Look out!¡±

    Alberto screeched, leaping up and wrapping Allison¡¯s hands around the Flying Man¡¯s neck. He sunk his power into him and¡ª

    Oh, God. He was tiny. Insignificant. A match flame floating in a roiling sea.

    Alberto gasped and stared, shaking, up into the Flying Man¡¯s eyes. ¡°The hell are you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll be alright, Allison.¡±

    ?

    A child sat alone in a dark cavern. Was it a cavern? She wasn¡¯t sure. Sometimes she felt rough stone beneath her, sometimes smooth concrete. It was claustrophobically small, but no matter how long and how far she wandered, she couldn¡¯t find the walls.

    Right then, though, she was just trying to remember who she was.

    ¡°I¡¯m a girl, right?¡± She looked down at herself. She looked like a girl, but sometimes she remembered being a boy. Sometimes she remembered her parents speaking Italian, but the next time she thought of them again, all she could recall was English and snatches of Hungarian. She couldn¡¯t even decide if she was an only child or not.

    How did she get here? She remembered dancing in snow, and fighting pirates, and swimming with a boy she liked (or were there two of them?) but none of them fit together¡­

    She started to hear music¡ªdistant, but closing in fast from the direction the girl couldn¡¯t name.

    A door opened in the empty space in front of her. A man with a head full of curly straw hair leaned out. He smiled down at her. ¡°This way, Allison.¡±

    The girl blinked at the interloper. ¡°¡­This way there?¡±

    The man frowned. ¡°Hmm, might have to be a bit rough here. Sorry.¡±

    He grabbed the girl by the arm and yanked her through the door¡ª

    Allison Kinsey staggered forward. Where was she? There were people shouting and broken bits of wall everywhere, and¡ªwait¡ªwhy was she giving some bloke in a Flying Man costume a hug?

    No, she realized, it was the Flying Man. There was no mistaking him, standing there spewing light and music like the Lord of Song himself.

    ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    She watched her body detach from the Flying Man¡¯s neck and fall to the floor. Much to Allison¡¯s confusion, she could see her own thoughts shining behind her face. But there was a foreign constellation clinging tight to her mind like some parasitic starfish.

    Allison scowled. ¡°Alberto!¡±

    The git had stolen her body, led her friends on a weird quest to try and run away to outer-space. And he had gotten to swim with a mermaid instead of her.

    The esper didn¡¯t seem to notice his prey¡¯s astral self, instead glaring up at the Flying Man. ¡°Still here, arsehole.¡±

    Is that what my voice sounds like? Allison asked herself. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve got asthma.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t your body,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re stealing a child¡¯s life, Mr. Moretti.¡±

    ¡°She did it first!¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he said, ¡°but I can¡¯t let you keep her.¡±

    A green bolt struck the Flying Man in the back. He vanished.

    Alberto grinned woozily. ¡°Shows you.¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake!¡± yelled Valour.

    Arnold¡¯s arm snapped back to his side. ¡°He made me do it!¡±

    Penderghast shouted at the boy, ¡°Where did you send him?¡±

    Arnold dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms around his knees. ¡°¡­Far away.¡±

    ¡°Good riddance,¡± said Alberto. He grabbed Valour. ¡°Good news, Tim. You were right!¡±

    ¡°Eliza¡¯s in the Northern Territory,¡± blurted Timothy. ¡°Arnhem Land. Near a little mining township called Nhulunbuy.¡± His words got cut off with a gasp.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± said Alberto. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Eliza you sent me.¡± He looked towards the Watercolours. ¡°Come on guys, it¡¯s time we headed off.¡±

    Allison had to act fast. The Flying Man may not have given her her body back all the way, but he¡¯d loosened Alberto¡¯s grip. She needed to shake him off somehow. She flitted across to her friends.

    ¡°Come on, Davie!¡± she shouted in David¡¯s ear. ¡°Make all the blood in my brain rush to my feet for a second!¡±

    The only response she got from the water-sprite was a small twitch of his eye. Even if David could really hear her, Allison knew he¡¯d never hurt her. It was sweet. Also deeply annoying.

    She had to try someone else.

    Billy had returned to hugging Mr. Thumps¡¯ side.

    ¡°Scream, Billy!¡± Allison begged. ¡°I just need you to knock him down¡­¡±

    Billy just kept clinging to Valour¡¯s servant. It was a dumb idea, Allison knew, for all the same reasons as David, even before factoring in mind-control.

    She was about to try her luck with Penderghast when she noticed the slightest bulge in Mr. Thumps¡¯ suit-jacket.

    Allison doubted the Physician would grow anything with a goiter. She focused on the drone¡¯s meticulously ordered thoughts.

    Oh.

    He had a gun. All this time, Thumps had been armed. Why hadn¡¯t he used the gun?

    Two reasons sprung to the drone¡¯s mind. The first was that it¡¯d be useless against five angry super-children. The second reason was simple: Mr. Thumps would never shoot a child.

    Allison shot a glance back at her body, currently being used to say something petty and mean to Timothy Valour.

    She could take it, couldn¡¯t she?

    Allison looked back at Thumps¡¯ blank, carved features. She remembered the penguins.

    ¡°Sorry, Thumps.¡±

    She stepped towards the drone.

    ¡°And another thing,¡± said Alberto, ¡°Just because you didn¡¯t go to boarding school doesn¡¯t make you¡ª¡±

    Alberto gasped as the first bullet slammed into Allison¡¯s side. He barely managed to stay standing, almost falling onto Timothy Valour. He put a hand to the wound, feeling the warm blood trickling from under Allison¡¯s ribs.

    ¡°Good God¡­¡± whispered Tim.

    Trembling, Alberto turned to find Mr. Thumps shaking on his feet, pointing a smoking pistol at him.

    Billy backed away from the drone, weeping hysterically. ¡°You shot Allie!¡±

    ¡°It¡ªit¡¯s not his fault.¡±

    Thumps fired again, hitting Alberto right in the centre of mass. Pain exploded across his chest. He fell backwards. Back into the dark.

    Allison let out a sharp breath. Her super-suit glowed as it reformed into its rainbow pattern.

    She was herself again. She also had two bullets in her. She tried to latch onto David¡¯s song, or deaden the pain, but everything was so slippery¡­

    The Watercolours ran to her side, David dropping to his knees and squeezing her arm. ¡°Allie!¡±

    Allison managed a weak smile. ¡°Hey, David. I¡¯m back.¡± She felt her bleeding slow. That was nice of David.

    She was dimly aware of someone weeping. She realized it was Thumps.

    Billy was rubbing his cheek against her head and mewling. Arnold¡¯s skin burned with his lightning. He was staring fire at Mr. Thumps. ¡°You bas¡ª¡±

    Allison grabbed her friend¡¯s hand. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she groaned. ¡°I shot me.¡±

    Mabel was shouting at the gawking hostages. ¡°Someone call an ambulance!¡±

    Allison giggled. It was like nails in her lungs. ¡°I don¡¯t think¡ªI don¡¯t think they¡­¡±

    The thought escaped Allison. Penderghast was looming over her now.

    ¡°It¡¯s going to be alright, kid,¡± the warlock said, his voice tight. He pointed his staff at Allison¡¯s chest. ¡°Oh, Loco<sup>4</a></sup>, first Houngan¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just leave us alone.¡±

    The ship reappeared above the Exhibition Building. It turned on its side and opened its great eye, raining down red light upon the Watercolours.

    The children found themselves rising into the air. They all held tight to Allison.

    ¡°Allie?¡± David said, with more fear in his voice than Allison knew he was still capable of.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± she said. Sleep tugged at Allison. She wasn¡¯t sure if she ought to stay awake or not, but she couldn¡¯t bring herself to care. She closed her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s gonna be okay.¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Two: You and Us

    One evening in the port-city of Waemerrot on the eastern shore of the navel-sea of Gyth, Farren Nicre was wrapping up her set at Club Sheev. Hardly anyone was listening.

    On the worlds humans call home, music is nigh universal. From the wealthy automators in the Triam ore foundries, to the travelling fisher-folk of Flev, song is something grasped by all.

    Among those, however, the singers of Enlil were the most unique. For when the most miraculous of them sang, they didn¡¯t even open their mouths. Their songs were composed out of pure emotion¡ªthe very essences of love, joy and despair¡ªcompletely bypassing the clumsy, muddying medium of sound.

    Farren Nicre was not one of those singers. She performed with her physical voice, not even augmenting it with psionics. Sometimes, she told people it was artistic integrity, but she knew her powers were modest at best. She couldn¡¯t even chat with people without at least touching them.

    It was a low form of music, singing¡ªat least to rarified Enlilian tastes¡ªmore suited to offworlders or mind-blind peasants than anyone with real talent. But there were always dingy little venues that couldn¡¯t afford proper singers, and Farren¡¯s voice was her one marketable skill, such as it was.

    She belted out old standards of war and heartbreak, dating all the way back to Waemerrot¡¯s surrender to Throneworld<sup>1</a></sup>. Her luminous, skin-tight mood-suit shifted with every new note or change of pitch, along with the subtle movements of her body as she swayed on stage. Crystal stalactites snatched up her cast-off light and shattered it into rainbows over the barren dance-floor.

    Sometimes Farren wondered if the outfit got her more gigs than her voice. Not that anyone seemed to be ogling her tonight. They were all too busy drinking, or talking, or looking at their assorted communication trinkets.

    God<sup>2</a></sup>, she could¡¯ve used some ogling that night. Anything better than indifference.

    A sudden thundercrack drowned Farren out in the middle of a high-note. It and the green flash that filled the club sent the singer flailing backwards.

    Something caught her fall. When the light faded, Farren found herself being held in a dip by a blond, radiantly handsome man in a white body-suit and cape.

    Some of the club-goers fled the room screaming, no doubt fearing another insurgent attack. Others had cameras and other devices aimed at the stage, curious. A few were wondering if the newcomer was part of the show. Some of the more psychically sensitive patrons were rolling on the floor, trying to shield their senses from the living explosion going off in front of them.

    Farren put her hand on the man¡¯s arm. She could feel power even through his sleeve. It was like caressing a friendly flame. ¡°Thanks,¡± she said, using the man¡¯s bicep to hoist herself upright.

    Who was this man? He was dressed like an Imperial White<sup>3</a></sup>, but there were less than ten of those on Enlil. And none of them would be caught dead in a club like Sheev.

    The man smiled a crooked grin. ¡°My pleasure,¡± he said in perfect Quatlac. He looked her up and down. He appeared to like what he found. ¡°Love the suit, by the way¡± he remarked.

    Bright red hexagons flushed on Farren¡¯s cheeks. ¡°This old thing? I¡ª¡± She frowned. ¡°Wait, can you tell me why you crashed my set? Throneworlders too good to pay the cover?¡±

    The man¡¯s expression darkened slightly. ¡°Not an Imperial, miss, just careless.¡± He raised a finger to the air before rubbing it against his thumb. ¡°Enlil,¡± he said, apparently to himself. He whistled. ¡°That kid packed a punch.¡± He turned to the crowd. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said, beaming brightly. ¡°Can anyone tell me which way to Earth?¡±

    ?

    Allison awoke in darkness. She feared for a moment Alberto had shut her away again, but she quickly realized this dark was merely the absence of light. It still made her chest tighten. At least she was lying on something comfortable. Whatever it was felt dense but soft, and molded lovingly to Allison¡¯s body. It was evidently porous to air, too, because something like a soft breeze was brushing against her back.

    A familiar whine in her ears told Allison she was back on the Physician¡¯s ship. She could just make out the distant echoes of her friends¡¯ songs, which was an instant relief for the little girl.

    They¡¯d made it. And she was alive. That was an unexpected bonus.

    There was another song playing much closer to her; and an odd one at that. Nails against slate raised to the realm of actual instruments, accompanied by the melodic breathing of volcanic vents. If Allison had been born a decade or two later, she might have compared it to industrial music¡ªif the industry in question was logging diamond trees. She was surprised how appealing it sounded.

    Allison took the song into herself, only to cringe as a wave of dysphoria shook her. Her flesh was so clumsy. Stolid and still like stagnant, silty water. Her body was an ill-fitting glove, deaf to even the most basic¡ª

    She let go of the song almost as soon as she latched onto it, breathing heavily. ¡°Is someone there?¡± she called shakily into the dark.

    She could feel the gloom begin to thicken around her when a familiar, strangely accented voice wafted over her:

    ¡°Oh, Allison, you¡¯re awake!¡±

    The shadows dissolved into light. Allison was in in a tiled dome about five metres across, its ceiling ablaze with undulating mosaics of opal and sunstone that seemed to sway like rise and swell like sunlit waves. It reminded Allison of the inside of a mosque, even though she had never stepped foot in one.

    The girl shrieked the second her eyes left the ceiling, jumping to her feet and scrambling to the far end of the dome.

    It turned out Allison was naked. That wouldn¡¯t have been much of an issue, if the patch of floor she was lying on didn¡¯t resemble the underside of a giant starfish. Hundreds of tiny, translucent tendrils waved blindly in the air like a worshipful colony of maggots.

    Allison shuddered. They¡¯d been licking her. ¡°Ew, ew, ewwww¡­¡±

    The tesserae at the other end of the dome parted to form an opening in the wall. Dr. Smith stepped through, grinning as per usual. ¡°How are we doing here?¡±

    ¡°What the hell is that!¡± Allison shouted, pointing at her ¡°bed.¡±

    ¡°Hmm? Oh, that¡¯s a recovery cradle. You¡¯ve been recuperating on it for the last three days.¡±

    ¡°Why does it have tongues?¡±

    ¡°Lots of reasons. They prevent bedsores and infection; keep you fed and hydrated; dispose of your waste products¡­¡±

    ¡°Ewwwww¡­¡±

    Smile unmoving, the Physician asked, ¡°Would you rather I left you to die of thirst in your own filth?¡±

    Allison¡¯s breathing slowed. ¡°I guess not¡­ still gross, though.¡±

    ¡°Better than one of your mattresses,¡± Dr. Smith retorted. ¡°Nothing but a collection of hair and dead skin-cells¡­¡±

    Allison looked down at her body. ¡°Where¡¯s my costume?¡±

    ¡°One of my surviving selves stripped you to remove those bullets.¡±

    ¡°Bullets?¡± she asked. Then, the memory came back to her. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Right. She¡¯d shot herself. Or made Thumps do it for her. Poor Thumps. She started examining herself, trying to find a mark.

    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for scars, you¡¯re not going to find any,¡± said the Physician. ¡°Your body is a work of art, Allie. I barely had to do anything.¡±

    ¡°So we got away?¡±

    ¡°Yep. We all made it. Well, apart from me. I was left in Melbourne.¡±

    Smith didn¡¯t sound like he was joking any more than usual. ¡°¡­Sorry?¡± said Allison, raising an eyebrow. ¡°How¡¯d you get back on the ship?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. My better half just made another John Smith.¡± He gestured down at himself. ¡°I think I¡¯m rather an improvement.¡±

    Allison¡¯s main takeaway from that was that his skin had an even more plastic-like sheen than usual. ¡°What happened to the old you?¡±

    ¡°How should I know? I¡¯m not psychic. I suppose Valour has him in a glass cage somewhere by now. You humans are awfully fond of your panopticons. Probably either gone into torpor or suicided by now, assuming Tim hasn¡¯t had him executed, of course.¡± The Physician released a burst of canned laughter. ¡°That man can be just as dramatic as old Laurie when he wants to be.¡±

    Oh, right, Allison thought. Lawrence is dead.

    Good.

    ¡°You don¡¯t seem very upset by that.¡±

    ¡°Why would I be?¡± said the Physician. ¡°It¡¯s somewhere between losing a fingernail and losing a tooth. It was a bit embarrassing when I tried showing your cohorts Asteria again, and I¡¯ll forever mourn my memories of the DDHA Christmas party, but life goes on.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the ship now?¡±

    The Physician let out a low click from deep within himself. The dome¡¯s walls and floor blurred and evaporated. Allison and the alien stood suspended high above vast pale oceans streaked by currents and riptides of cloud. The girl could just make out a broad shank of coastline gilding the horizon.

    ¡°About two hundred miles above the Atlantic ocean.¡± The Physician waved his long, limber hand. ¡°I admit I overreacted a little to the Flying Man showing up, but the view was nice.¡±

    Allison was silent for a moment. She tried to comprehend being so far from everything she knew. It made her feel like a giant and a speck of dust all at once.

    ¡°Hey, Allie, say ¡®costume on¡¯ for me.¡±

    ¡°Costume on,¡± Allison repeated reflexively, not looking away from the Earth.

    She startled as her super-suit appeared around her in a burst of light. ¡°How¡¯d that happen?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been tinkering with your costume a little. Now it lives in hyperspace when you¡¯re not using it,¡± the Physician said proudly. ¡°You can thank me later<sup>4</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Thanks!¡±

    ¡°I said later!¡±

    ¡°Costume off!¡±

    The suit vanished.

    ¡°Costume on!¡±

    It returned.

    Allison giggled. ¡°Costume on! Costume off! Costume on¡­¡±

    The rapid flashes lit the Earth below like gamma-ray bursts. After half a minute of gleeful translocation, the Physician cut in with, ¡°So, about Alberto¡­¡±

    Allison went quiet mid trigger-phrase. ¡°¡­Yeah?¡±

    The dome¡¯s walls returned.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me, Allie?¡± the Physician asked with something approaching concern in his voice. It sounded like wind over mossy rocks. ¡°Telling your host you¡¯re carrying a possessor-entity in your head is basic psychic-hygiene.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know he could possess me!¡± protested Allison. Her head drooped forward. ¡°¡­And I thought I¡¯d get in trouble.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve been there.¡±

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°You have?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Back in the Royal Exhibition Hall, for starters.¡±

    Despite herself, Allison smiled. Then she realized something. ¡°Your song isn¡¯t ugly anymore.¡±

    ¡°Happy to hear that,¡± said the Physician. ¡°I think Alberto put your power through some brute-force acclimatization. You probably know everything I do now.¡± He turned and started walking towards the wall he¡¯d entered through. ¡°Should keep you occupied during your seclusion.¡±

    ¡°Wait, my what?¡±

    The Physician stopped and twisted his head around, the rest of his body following a second later. ¡°Allison, did you really think I¡¯d let you wander around my home the second you woke up? After what you did to me?¡±

    ¡°But I didn¡¯t do that stuff! It was Alberto!¡±

    ¡°Yes, but Alberto was wearing you at the time. And you¡¯re are fully capable of doing it again.¡±

    ¡°How long are you going to keep me here?¡±

    ¡°Until I¡¯m sure you¡¯re you.¡±

    ¡°How do I do that?¡±

    ¡°No clue.¡±

    Allison¡¯s mind conjured images of a colourfully dressed old lady lying dead in the dome. She ran over to the Physician, not even trying to jump over the tendril garden, and grabbed him by the wrist. ¡°You can¡¯t lock me in here¡­¡±

    Allison trailed off as she rubbed her fingers against Dr. Smith. It felt like it was covered in¡ª

    ¡°Clingwrap is a marvelous invention,¡± said the Physician. ¡°It¡¯ll be a shame when your kind figures out it causes cancer.¡±

    Allison let go of him and scowled. Her eyes flashed. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna let you lock me up.¡±

    ¡°You have all Alberto¡¯s powers, Allie. Tell me, what will happen to you if you try burning me here?¡±

    Allison wished Dr. Smith hadn¡¯t asked her to do that. It made her feel like a wimp for doing it. She closed her eyes.

    In nine out of ten of the futures where she burned John Smith, he stood there and burned. The dome also became smooth and black. Quiet. In nine out of ten of those futures, the dome also filled with something bad for human lungs. The few futures where neither of those things happened involved rogue asteroids and space-shark<sup>5</a></sup> attacks.

    Allison sighed. ¡°Can you at least give me a real bed?¡±

    ?

    To the Physician¡¯s credit, he did. He even euthanized it first.

    Allison¡¯s time in the dome was like a five-star remaster of her days in McClare. The room provided any kind of food she could name, so naturally she spent the first afternoon curled up with stomach cramps from too much cotton-candy. She wasn¡¯t sure whether or not she was glad the floor ate her vomit.

    The dome¡¯s other main saving grace was that its ceiling could serve as a television. Allison hadn¡¯t realized how much she missed TV during her months at the Institute. She would lie on her bed for hours, watching slightly stretched visions of William Hartnell and his friends fight very curved Daleks above her head like postmodern constellations<sup>6</a></sup>.

    The Physician also allowed Allison visitors¡ªtwo at a time, lest she subvert her friends¡¯ minds and lead the Watercolours in a coup against him. Again.

    One thing Allison, Billy, and David discovered was that the dome could produce shower-heads on demand. And thus¡ªwith David keeping the water from being absorbed into the all-devouring floor¡ªa dream was realized: actually flooding a shower.

    ¡°Water off!¡± Allie ordered once it was up their shoulders.

    Billy floated on his back, kicking languidly while shooting water out of his mouth. ¡°I tried this back at my house.¡± He smiled smugly at David. ¡°Got it up to my tail. Without water-magic.¡±

    David splashed Billy, laughing. ¡°Screw you!¡±

    ¡°I got it up to my neck,¡±  Allison said casually. ¡°Used a cork gun. My folks had to tear up the carpet in front of the bathroom.¡±

    It was hard for the boys to be impressed by that. Allison set the bar pretty high for herself.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you wear clothes all the time,¡± David told Billy. ¡°You have fur. Awesome fur!¡±

    The tiger-boy flicked his fingers in the water. ¡°Fur doesn¡¯t have pockets,¡± He grinned. ¡°Or a cape.¡±

    On the subject of clothes, Arnold and Mabel had news. Namely, new suits, grown from a scrap of David¡¯s own.

    The pair posed proudly in front of Allison. The main body of Arnold¡¯s suit resembled a black dance leotard, covered in stars nestled between forks of lightning. He also had a cloak and hood, similarly speckled with stars. As tradition dictated, the space around his eyes and the bridge of his nose was concealed by a strip of dark, feathered fabric. His chest bore a silver flame, divided by yet another jagged lightning bolt.

    Mabel¡¯s costume was simpler, but also much more busy: a three piece suit composed of comic panels and photographs. The inside of her jacket appeared to be lined with pages, like she was a bipedal book herself.

    ¡°So,¡± said Mabel, full of self-assurance, ¡°whose costume is better?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not costumes,¡± said Arnold. ¡°They¡¯re super-suits.¡±

    ¡°Whatever,¡± said Mabel. ¡°Either way, I look fabulous.¡±

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Allison squinted and rubbed her chin. ¡°¡­I¡¯m gonna go with Mabel¡¯s. It¡¯s so¡­ pretty.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    Arnold rolled his eyes. ¡°Figures you girls would stick together.¡± He lit up, the lightning across his frame glowing bright against the dark fabric. ¡°You can¡¯t tell me this isn¡¯t awesome!¡±

    Allison folded her arms. ¡°Our mutual girliness has nothing to do with my decision. Mabel has way more colours than you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s useful, too!¡± exclaimed Mabel, gesturing down at herself. ¡°I¡¯m covered in pictures! It¡¯s like I¡¯m wearing a buncha ammo-belts!¡± She conjured a pair of ray-guns and spun them in her hands. ¡°This girl don¡¯t need to lug around her books anymore¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I get it,¡± said Arnold, sitting down next to Allison on her bed. He pulled his hood back. ¡°¡­Allie, can I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Sure. About what?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°About what happened at Exhibition Hall.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Sure, I guess?¡±

    Arnold took a deep breath. ¡°Did Alberto kill Lawrence, or did I do it?¡±

    Allison considered lying. If Alberto had made her make Arnold kill Lawrence, then it was nobody¡¯s fault but the esper¡¯s. Arnold¡¯s conscience would be clear.

    No. Lawrence had tried juggling secrets, and look where it got him.

    ¡°It was you,¡± Allison said, her voice small. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Arnold exhaled and rubbed his hair. ¡°¡­Is it bad that I don¡¯t feel bad?¡±

    ¡°Eh,¡± said Mabel as she sat down next to her friends. ¡°Laurie was pretty horrible. Plus, I don¡¯t think he really wanted to be alive anymore.¡±

    ¡°¡­Great,¡± said Arnold, ¡°now I feel stupid. I did him a favour.¡±

    Mabel patted him on the back. ¡°Welcome to the Murderer¡¯s Club. Least you did yours on purpose¡­¡±

    ¡°That anything like Legacy<sup>7</a></sup>?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°What¡¯re the perks?¡±

    ¡°You get a club jacket.¡± Mabel said. ¡°Made of skin.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± said Allison. ¡°Maybe knowing you can do it if you need to?¡±

    ¡°Just realized,¡± said Arnold, ¡°Billy and David are the only ones now who haven¡¯t killed someone.¡±

    Mabel giggled. ¡°God, what would make Billy kill someone?¡±

    ¡°Insulting the honour of the Famous Five?¡± suggested Allison.

    The children laughed.

    ¡°Allie,¡± Arnold said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry about that thing in the pool. I know it was really Alberto¡¯s fault, but, I mean, someone should say sorry for it, right?¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ve seen me without my clothes on a lot. Also¡­¡± She pecked Arnold on the mouth. ¡°Just in case you¡¯re still all confused about the girl-boy thing.¡±

    Arnold put a finger to his lips. ¡°Woah¡­¡±

    Mabel huffed. ¡°Is everyone going to kiss you, Arnold?¡± She pulled him around and planted one herself. ¡°There,¡± she said. ¡°Now all you need is Billy.¡±

    ¡°Eww,¡± said Arnold, smiling. ¡°He¡¯s like, a million years littlier than us<sup>8</a></sup>!¡±

    Allison¡¯s friends kept her sane. Maybe too sane. She didn¡¯t hear a peep from Alberto for days. On the one hand, Allison had had enough of Alberto to last both of their lifetimes. On the other hand, how was she supposed to get the Physician to trust her if Alberto hadn¡¯t even tried anything?

    Unfortunately, the Physician had his own solution.

    ?

    Allison jerked awake to the Physician¡¯s voice blaring through the dome.

    ¡°Good news, Allie! I know how we can nip this Alberto problem in the bud!¡±

    Allison clapped her hands over ears. ¡°Too loud!¡±

    ¡°Sorry,¡± the Physician¡¯s disembodied voice said, a touch less booming. ¡°Got a bit excited there.¡±

    Allison rubbed the sleep from eyes, while her super-suit stopped pretending to be a set of pyjamas. ¡°I don¡¯t think Alberto¡¯s a problem anymore. I haven¡¯t even heard him since I woke up in this stupid dome.¡±

    ¡°Allie, you¡¯re not insulting me when you say things like that, you¡¯re insulting the ship. And she has enough to deal with.¡±

    ¡°Like you?¡± Allison asked acidly.

    ¡°Precisely.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t know why she bothered. ¡°I still don¡¯t think Alberto¡¯s gonna try anything.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s just sulking,¡± the Physician replied. ¡°Trust me, Allie, I¡¯ve known that boy a lot longer than you have. Someone will mention their daughter or something and he¡¯ll come roaring back.¡±

    Blearily, Allison asked, ¡°So what¡¯s your idea?¡±

    ¡°She will be along shortly.¡±

    The wall of the dome opened. A girl about Allison¡¯s age stepped through. She was willowy, even more so than Allison herself. Her lack of clothing gave her a deeply unwelcome view of the girl¡¯s ribs. She had a thin mop of straw-coloured hair plastered to her scalp by the thin layer of slime that coated her body. Her eyes were painfully blue, and she had the same polish scent as the Physician¡¯s clonal nursery. Her expression seemed somehow both blank and slightly startled.

    ¡°Good morning, Allison.¡±

    Allison blinked. The girl was clearly a superhuman. Her song was surprisingly deep and steady. Like a cello. But much of it had the same unnatural orderliness as the Physician¡¯s drones.

    ¡°Who the heck are you?¡±

    The Physician answered for the girl. ¡°This is Drone #1248.¡±

    The girl added, ¡°I¡¯m here to be consumed by you.¡±

    There was no fear in her voice. Not even hesitation. Just plain, bare fact.

    Allison shook her head. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Look, Allie,¡± said the Physician. ¡°The way I see it, you¡¯re not expunging Alberto from yourself any time soon. What you need is an ally. Someone to mind the shop while you¡¯re astral projecting or the like. A real, imaginary friend.¡±

    Allison stared at the girl. ¡°You want me to eat you?¡±

    The girl nodded. ¡°That is how my creator explained it to me, yes.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re a kid!¡±

    ¡°More of an infant, really,¡± said the Physician. ¡°I only hatched her ten hours ago. I figured a newborn drone your sex and state of physical maturation would make for more seamless integration.¡± There was something like a smile in the alien¡¯s voice. ¡°You can grow up together¡­¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do it!¡± insisted Allison. ¡°It¡¯s horrible!¡±

    ¡°You sure, Allie?¡± The Physician addressed the tank-bred girl. ¡°Show her.¡±

    The girl nodded, before rising into the air.

    Allison looked at the girl, floating in front of her. She¡¯d always looked down on flight¡­ out loud. Now, a new, yet familiar hunger stirred inside her¡­

    She shook herself. ¡°I won¡¯t eat her! It¡¯s wrong.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m disappointed with you, Allison,¡± the Physician said. ¡°Here I thought we might have something in common. But no, you had to go and rub your smug, uni-minded blinders in my face. She can fly, Allison. You could fly. You don¡¯t know how long it took me to get a drone that just plain flew, instead of riding a cloud or turning into a swarm of bugs or something like that.¡± A low gurgling sound filled the dome. ¡°I guess the poor thing has to die then.¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes burned. ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt her!¡±

    A burbly, watery laugh. ¡°It won¡¯t be me who kills her.¡±

    ¡°Creator says my liver is failing,¡± said the girl. She frowned slightly. ¡°It does kind of hurt inside¡­¡±

    Allison looked into the girl¡¯s mind¡ªthat thin, but steadily weaving web of self. She was telling the truth. Allison could feel the pain gnawing at her.

    She could think of a dozen ways to save the girl¡­ if she had ?ywie¡¯s song.

    ¡°See?¡± said the Physician. ¡°It¡¯s win-win! You get a partner and the ability to fly, she gets to continue existing in an immortal body, and I get to study the effects of your assimilation power on a human brain! I¡¯ll leave you girls to get to know each other.¡±

    There was a clicking noise like an intercom shutting off, but Allison highly doubted the Physician wasn¡¯t watching them like a hawk. She sighed and patted her bed.

    Evidently, whatever education the Physician imprinted on the young drone was enough to tell her what the gesture meant She lay down next to the girl.

    Allison looked into the future. If she didn¡¯t assimilate the drone, she would die. Then the Physician would make another. And another. She watched him injecting them one after the next with different drugs. First liver failure, then pancreatic cancer, then strokes. It made her sick.

    ¡°Do you want to keep being alive?¡± Allison asked.

    ¡°I think so,¡± the girl answered. ¡°I like the feeling of the air on my skin and floor under my feet. It¡¯d be nice to keep feeling things like that.¡±

    God, thought Allison. That¡¯s all she¡¯s got?

    ¡°Even if you have to live inside me?¡±

    ¡°Why not? It¡¯s what I was made for.¡±

    ¡°Do you want a name? A real one, I mean. ¡®Drone #1248¡¯ takes way too long to say.¡±

    ¡°Do I need a name?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be good if you had one.¡±

    ¡°Then okay.¡±

    Allison thought about it. ¡°Well, if you¡¯re gonna be a part of me, maybe Miri? It¡¯s sort of a name I used to have.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said the newly named Miri. ¡°Sounds nice.¡±

    What other names has she heard?

    Allison squirmed. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna keep you all cooped up in my head. We can work out a time-table or something.¡±

    For the first time, Miri smiled. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    They watched movies for a while. About half the Disney canon, in fact<sup>9</a></sup>. Miri was transfixed. At one point, Allison made the dome play some Beatles songs and tried dancing with the drone. They got their feet tangled a bit.

    Eventually, though, Miri said, ¡°Allison, my tummy¡¯s hurting more. I think it¡¯s time for us to merge.¡±

    Allison nodded solemnly. ¡°Alright.¡±

    They laid back down on the bed. Allison grabbed Miri¡¯s hand.

    She reached for the other child¡¯s song and sunk her power in it. She wrenched it towards her being. Allison felt the the girl spasming beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see blood hemorrhaging from every hole in her face.

    Allison sucked in a long, shuddering breath. Memories flooded her mind. Perfect weightlessness. Fluid carrying her onto a soft, sandy floor. First steps.

    The universe. Everything. Flinching away from it. Weightlessness again.

    Allison floated off the bed. It was done. Below her the floor began to swallow her bed, along with Miri¡¯s body. Allison supposed she would be waking up within her soon enough.

    ¡°You were hiding, weren¡¯t you?¡± Allison said aloud. ¡°Waiting for the Physician to let me out.¡±

    ¡°Got me there,¡± said Alberto, standing below Allison. He lit an imaginary cigarette. ¡°God, it¡¯s getting crowded in here.¡±

    Allison rolled in the air to look down at the esper¡¯s ghost. ¡°Alberto, why do you want to be alive?¡±

    ¡°What kind of question is that?¡± he spat. ¡°I just want to take care of my kid.¡±

    ¡°Eliza¡¯s doing that.¡±

    Alberto growled. ¡°Eliza¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you really think Eliza would hurt Ophelia?¡±

    ¡°She hurt Adam.¡±

    ¡°Because Lawrence made her do it. And he¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°¡­True.¡±

    ¡°And do you think you could really do a better job?¡±

    Alberto didn¡¯t answer, instead protesting, ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I get to be alive?¡±

    ¡°But nobody liked you. Not even you liked you.¡±

    ¡°What chance did I have? Lawrence was basically my dad. And he hated me. For years.¡±

    ¡°¡­You still wanted him to love you again,¡± Allison realized. ¡°That¡¯s why you helped him all those years.¡±

    Alberto made to speak, but stopped. He looked down at his feet. His image began to fade from Allison¡¯s vision. ¡°Christ¡­¡±

    Allison alighted to the patch of floor where her bed had been. Where Miri had been.

    The wall opened. The Physician was satisfied.

    ?

    DOPO chief Wilson Brenneck frowned through the one-way window at the comatose esper lying in the hospital bed. Alberto Moretti¡¯s body was riddled with tubes and wires, all trying to keep his body alive past the death of his mind.

    It hadn¡¯t been a good week for Brenneck. The Australians had managed to get attacked again. Colonel Penderghast hadn¡¯t reported for duty in over a week. People all around the world were panicking about alien invasion like it was 1938 again<sup>10</a></sup>. 1966 was beginning to look like a worse year for US security than 1962.

    Brenneck sighed and turned to his science advisor. ¡°Is there any chance of recovery?¡±

    Dr. Johannes shook his head. ¡°Slim to nil, sir. It¡¯s like an egg-beater was jammed into the poor boy¡¯s brain.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± the chief said, lighting a cigar. ¡°My warlock¡¯s missing, and our big coup from the Aussies is a dud.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t say that.¡±

    ¡°You said his brain was wrecked.¡±

    Much to Wilson¡¯s displeasure, Dr. Johannes grinned. ¡°His gonads still work, don¡¯t they?<sup>11</a></sup>¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Three: The Man From Earth

    Released from quarantine, a worm of light swimming through the wall lead Allison down the hallway. She¡¯d considered ignoring it, but what else was she going to do?

    The worm led Allison to a stretch of wall where mosaic tile gave way to thick, rough tree bark: an elevator bank. It split open with a loud crack, closing behind the girl again as soon as she stepped into the glass carriage.

    The elevator started moving without any input from Allison. She guessed that should¡¯ve felt sinister; but sinister was the basenote of the Physician¡¯s world. It was quite literally a part of her song now.

    The ride gave Allison a few minutes to think. How long would it take for Miri to start talking again? Would she still be okay living inside her head? And what about Alberto? What if he picked on her?

    The elevator arrived at the ship¡¯s media room: a spotted green cavern lined with hundreds of smooth screens like dragon¡¯s scales, all lit up by the same old Warner Brothers cartoon. Allison¡¯s friends were sprawled on the sea-sponge couches, all in their super-suits apart from David. It was like the Junior Justice League had recruited Mowgli.

    The Physician was standing to the left of the largest central screen. ¡°Ah, Allie, Miri, glad you two could join us.¡±

    The screens all went white, saving Elmer Fudd from kissing Bugs Bunny in drag.

    The other Watercolours groaned.

    ¡°So much for movie day,¡± muttered David, arms folded petulantly.

    Mabel looked at Allison. ¡°Miri?¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°It¡¯s a long story.¡±

    ¡°Yes, we can discuss Allison eating one of my drones later,¡± said the Physician. ¡°Now, if you girls could sit down, we can get to business.¡±

    Allison settled hesitantly on one of the couches between David and Billy. Both boys were looking at her like she was covered in polka-dots.

    ¡°So, what do you think is more important than cartoons?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked, Arnold. Two weeks ago, you teleported the Flying Man forty-six light-years to this world.¡±

    The planet Enlil flashed across the screens, its great inland sea staring out at the children from within the world¡¯s shining rings.

    Arnold puffed up a little at that. ¡°Impressive, right?¡±

    ¡°I suppose so,¡± said the Physician. Tonelessly, he said, ¡°Play Supernova broadcast #12245 with Commonwealth English translation, timestamp ten minutes and fifty seconds.¡± Waving his hand, he added, ¡°And fix the mouth movements while you¡¯re at it, ship. I don¡¯t want it looking like a Japanese monster movie.¡±

    The screens shifted to what looked like an English garden-park, domed with glass beneath a sky dominated by the remnants of an exploded sun. A bald, olive-skinned woman sat in a molded tree trunk next to a floating gemstone enclosing a bubbling nucleus the size of her head. Her dress was vaguely Minoan¡ªbare, painted breasts and a scarlet skirt that went all the way down to her ankles. She wore the plastic smile endemic to TV hosts the galaxy over:

    ¡°¡­Cross-species fertility services will be fully covered by the Imperial Health Trust this coming Thronal year.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s the lady¡¯s shirt?¡± asked Billy.¡±

    The Physician gave a wet, bemused blink. ¡°Oh, William, don¡¯t assume the entire galaxy shares your hangups.¡±

    The crystal started to flash, emitting a deep, buzzing voice that said, ¡°I¡¯d like to see them try and whip up a kid for some folks we know, Glim.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said David, ¡°that¡¯s a person? I thought it was like, a space microphone or something.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a heggorot,¡± said Allison. It was good to have something to think about besides what she¡¯d done to Miri. ¡°It¡¯s like a liquid brain in a diamond that flies around using electromagnetism<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°And he¡¯s, what, the co-host?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°She,¡± corrected the Physician. ¡°But yes. Ussi and Glim have been on Supernova forever. Nice seeing a celebrity couple go the distance.¡±

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°They¡¯re¡­ together?¡±

    ¡°Sure are. I managed to catch the wedding back in 1960. It was beautiful.¡±

    The children exchanged a medley of glances and shrugs. Space was weird.

    Glim was laughing off some of her wife¡¯s banter. ¡°¡­Well I for one think little webbed fingers are the tops. Now, let¡¯s check in with¡±¡ªa slight pause for emphasis¡ª¡°The Man from Earth!¡±

    Uproarious applause broke out, soundtracked by jaunty music seemingly played by an orchestra of drunken crickets. The camera panned over throngs of ecstatic audience members¡ªmany only recognizable as people rather than masonry or decorative pot-plants because they were cheering and shouting¡ªseparated from Ussi and Glim by a deep running stream<sup>2</a></sup>.

    Allison briefly wondered what was so interesting about a guy from Earth. Then it occurred to her that Earth was probably a weird, alien planet to these people. Then she felt even dumber.

    ¡°Are they talking about¡ª¡±

    Done basking in her audience¡¯s excitement, Glim gently appealed for calm<sup>3</a></sup>. ¡°Alright, alright, settled down dears, I know we¡¯re excited.¡± She looked over at Ussi. ¡°So, what¡¯s our dashing nomad been up to lately?

    The camera switched to a shot of an asteroid the size and almost the shape of Texas heading towards a yellow-green planet. Ussi¡¯s voice buzzed over the footage:

    ¡°Since his sudden arrival and trouncing of the Giggaro mind-control cartel on Enlil<sup>4</a></sup>, this dashing superbeing has cut a trail of heroism across the southern spiral, all while claiming to hail from the far-flung, savage world of Earth¡ªstill maintained as an anthropological preserve due to its probable status as the homeworld of the human species.¡±

    A cutback to Glim smirking. ¡°Embarrassing, I know.¡±

    A rumbling chuckle from the audience.

    Arnold frowned. ¡°Savage?¡±

    ¡°Your people still run everything on dead plants spiced with dinosaur and die before you¡¯re a hundred,¡± pointed out the Physician. ¡°They¡¯re just calling it like they see it.¡±

    The scene changed again to show the Flying Man standing in the middle of a city of skyscraper-tall cacti, playfully letting what looked like overgrown, metal-plated spiders crawl up and down his body.

    ¡°He saved the living cities of Ukkes from extinction.¡±

    The edges of the screens blurred and melded together until the whole front wall was dominated by one image: an angry, red gash in space itself, bleeding bright, baleful blood into the starry vacuum. It looked large enough to swallow the world and not even notice.

    ¡°And when the Man from Earth came across the Rift of Caxxus, whose influence has cut off multiple star-systems for centuries¡­¡±

    The camera zoomed in towards the upper limits of the tear. The Flying Man¡ªminiscule against the roiling red mass of the rift¡ªwas wrapping his fingers around the ragged, black border of real space, like a child trying to grab a rainbow. Except, somehow, he found purchase.

    The Flying Man flew downwards The textured, undamaged darkness stretched after him, washing over the red like a tidal wave. Watching him made Allison twitch. She could fly too now. She could feel it in her bones. And she was stuck here watching the news.

    ¡°¡­He closed it.¡±

    Back to the asteroid. It was getting painfully close to the planet.

    ¡°And just yesterday, when this rogue planetoid was bearing down on Bahora Colony¡­¡±

    The asteroid exploded like it had been punched by God.

    ¡°¡­There he was again. And then he carved the fragments into adventure playgrounds!¡±

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The audience was going wild again. Even Billy was clapping from the couch. Glim was laughing that perfectly manufactured laugh that newscasters reserve for human interest stories.

    ¡°Good job, Man from Earth. Reports are he¡¯s heading towards the Throneworld itself. We¡¯d love it if he dropped into the studio some time. Up next, are space habitats more expensive than planetbound living? Our next guest might¡ª¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± said the Physician, pausing the video. He turned back to the children. ¡°Any questions?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Mabel. ¡°What was the point of that?

    ¡°The point,¡± the Physician said patiently, ¡°is that there is a rogue godling out there, and he¡¯s slowly but surely heading back to Earth.¡±

    ¡°Uh,¡± said Allison. ¡°Didn¡¯t that news lady say he was heading for Throneworld? That¡¯s kind of the opposite direct¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯ll be back someday,¡± the Physician insisted. ¡°He¡¯s put too much effort into this ghastly little planet. What we have here is a unique opportunity to prepare ourselves for his return. Normally, I¡¯d have to keep my movements at least nominally hidden. But now that the Earth¡¯s most conscientious watchdog is off away, we can finally hit up a few supply depots. I¡¯ve designed a rather neat little device that should be enough to turn him inside ou¡ª¡±

    ¡°Why would we be helping you?¡± Mabel asked.

    ¡°¡­ What?¡±

    ¡°The news aliens said he¡¯s been really nice. And you¡¯re talking about turning him inside out. Why?¡±

    The Physician considered this for a moment.

    ¡°So, the Flying Man and me have¡­ let¡¯s say history. History that might make him a little hesitant to work with me. Or let me live.¡±

    Allison sighed and slumped in her seat. ¡°Oh God, of course you do. Is that lady in the corpse-room his mum or something?¡±

    The Physician stood stock still for half a minute, grinning like he wanted to pawn off his teeth.

    Allison squinted at his mind. ¡°Oh, for crying out loud. I knew you were evil, but that¡¯s just¡­ dumb!¡±

    Billy stared aghast at the Physician. ¡°You killed the Flying Man¡¯s mummy?¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± said the Physician, ¡°I didn¡¯t know she was pregnant. She was more¡­ space at the time.¡±

    Arnold folded his arms. ¡°This is starting to sound like a whole lotta not our problem.¡±

    ¡°But he thinks you¡¯re my allies!¡± protested the Physician. ¡°You were the one who banished him!¡± He looked at Allison. ¡°I gave you the ability to fly!¡±

    ¡°I bet so I could fight the Flying Man for you,¡± retorted the girl.

    ¡°Well obviously! Your point?¡±

    ¡°We can just leave,¡± said David. ¡°If Arn can send the Flying Man all the way to wherever, outer space, he can take us there too.¡±

    ¡°He could still find you! And next time you won¡¯t have the benefit of surprise!¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like we¡¯re the ones he¡¯s after.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± said the Physician, ¡°I understand you might be hesitant to get involved. But even if the Flying Man turns around now, at the rate he¡¯s been jumping systems, we have a month before he gets back to the Sol system. So if you could just hear me out for a bit.¡±

    The screens shifted to elaborate diagrams of sharp looking gadgets and mechanisms. One of John Smith¡¯s fingers elongated to become a pointer stick. ¡°So for this operation, we¡¯ll need something in the neighbourhood of ten thousand scallops¡ª¡±

    The lights went out.

    The walls, screens and couches instantly lit up with a dull abyssal glow. The ship floor shook violently, as if it would give at any moment, half the children left bobbing in the air, torn between natural momentum and the shipboard antigravity.

    Then, the shockwave hit.

    Allison felt her right eardrum pop like a balloon. The world rang like she was trapped inside a bell. She watched as her friends were slammed against the ceiling, walls, and floor. She herself collided with a screen, a shredding pain ripping across her trunk as her shoulder snapped out of its socket. It hit David the hardest, though, a curved bulkhead ramming into the nape of his neck. The others flailed and spun. David simply hung there; limp, like a doll.

    That was the first half second.

    Allison screamed. She thought she did, at least. She still couldn¡¯t hear. She dug into the extra strength Zywie¡¯s power had willed into her limbs, and kicked off from the control panel like a bullet. David first.

    She struck the boy in mid-air, her dislocated shoulder ringing at the impact, and latched on with her good hand. She scanned the room.

    Mabel in a corner, scrabbling frantically at her costume for something to help her move. Arnold at the opposite end of the room, a surprising lack of panic on his face. She followed his gaze- Ah. Billy. The boy was flailing, stuck in mid-air just as David had been¡ª

    A neon green burst. Billy was clutched in Arnold¡¯s arms. The sparking boy caught Allison¡¯s eyes, nodded, and took aim for Mabel next.

    Where was the Physician?

    She glanced across to where he¡¯d been when whatever this was had begun. She saw a large, squat object, something between an octopus and a four foot long potato, a dozen suckered tendrils rooting it to wall nearby.

    God, he was weird.

    Her arm ached. She shut off her pain receptors. Her ears were ringing. She shut those off, too. The ringing grew louder. This confused her.

    There was a disgruntled growl inside her mind.

    It¡¯s not your ears, girl, Alberto snapped. It¡¯s the ship. She¡¯s in pain. Ignore her. Get to the others if you must, but move!

    Allison shook herself out of it just in time to watch Arnold scoop Mabel up alongside himself and Billy, the girl calling forth a great, fuzz covered gorilla to shield them with its girth. Billy was crying. Allison pushed the tableau from her mind, and slapped David in the face.

    The boy didn¡¯t move. His song was fading; becoming discordant. There was something red leaking from his ears.

    ¡°No,¡± she said, unable to hear herself. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡± She slapped him again. ¡°Wake up. Wake up right now!¡±

    Oh, for shit¡¯s sake! shouted Alberto¡¯s voice inside her skull. That¡¯s not how you do it!

    Allison felt something moving inside her, beyond her will. Then, Alberto¡¯s voice spoke again inside her head.

    Mealy, it said, its tone hard.

    David whimpered.

    I¡¯m going to hurt you again, you little shit. Alberto commanded. Heal yourself. Now.

    With a pathetic mewl, whatever was left of the boy nodded. For a moment, his half-closed eyes glowed a blue that Allison hadn¡¯t seen in weeks. David¡¯s form shifted into ice and back again. For a single moment, he looked merely frightened; that cobalt blue still lingering in his eyes. Then, in a snap, the green returned. He was alert.

    ¡°That was weird,¡± he said to deaf ears.

    Consider that my rent, Alberto spat in Allison¡¯s mind. You better survive this, Allie. I don¡¯t want to die again because of you.

    Allison wasn¡¯t listening. She was too busy hugging her friend. Then she shook herself, healed her arm, and turned her ears back on.

    ¡°¡ªThe hell is going on?¡± Arnold shouted, still holding onto Mabel and Billy. ¡°Did we hit a plane or something?¡±

    The Physician¡¯s new form grew a cherubic, china-blue eyed face, like a baby¡¯s death mask. It gurgled in an all too adult sounding voice, ¡°Not a chance. Something was aiming for us.¡±

    Suddenly, all the screens came back to life. In Asteria¡¯s chamber, the Flying Man stood, gazing down into his mother¡¯s sarcophagus, shaking. The Flying Man laid a hand on the glass.

    The Physician was sprouting new eyes by the second, gazing at every screen he could. Why is he on the screens?

    Then he realized. The ship wanted him to see this. She was rubbing his death in his face.

    A scream roared through the ship. A burning note of sorrow and hatred. The chamber vibrated. The screens burst like pricked blisters, soaking the children and the Physician with thick, orange sludge. The ship¡¯s blood.

    Another, more distant boom. The sound of bulkheads shattering.

    The Physician whipped through the air towards Arnold, enveloping him and his friends like an evil baby blanket. A toothy, tubular mouth slid from his side, worming its way up to the boy¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Send me to another planet!¡± he hissed. ¡°Enlil, Triam, dusty bloody Throneworld, I don¡¯t care! Just take me away from here!¡±

    For a brief second, Arnold was terrified. He tried to remember one of the far off worlds he¡¯d read off in Father Christmas¡¯ atlas.

    Then he remembered what happened to the last bloke who tried using him as their delivery boy.

    The Physician¡¯s world was bright, green light.

    He found himself floating in the familiar salty broth of his greater self¡¯s pool. The warm water almost put him at ease.

    Then he saw him. His greatest hope and worst fear. His great, sacred nightmare.

    The Flying Man was tearing at John Smith¡¯s everything. Rending and burning at the last of his true, higher being. Flesh and precious knowledge was being crushed into clouds of blood in his savage hands.

    John Smith shuddered with despair. He could barely keep his cells coherent. He¡¯d lost much since fleeing his world. Centuries worth of memories and experience. Even his greater self was a shadow of what he¡¯d been before crashing down to Earth. But now, he was truly dead. John Smith just hadn¡¯t caught up to the rest of him yet.

    The Flying Man looked up at the creature floating above him. He kicked upwards, becoming level with John Smith.

    A voice like dancing knives invaded the Physician. All these years, I thought you¡¯d had the decency to die.

    What was left of the Physician curled in on itself. Mercy. Please. You¡¯ve taken everything I was. I¡¯m less than a ghost now.

    Not enough.

    The Flying Man closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they shone with the light of an older heaven. It washed over the Physician, till there was nothing left.

    Joe Allworth breathed heavily as the water around him stopped boiling. He was taking in great lungfuls of the stuff, but that didn¡¯t matter right now.

    After all these years, the thing was dead. It was not often Joe could say he felt exhausted, or even describe the sensation, but now he could.

    As the red crept back from the borders of his vision, the star-god heard a voice inside him:

    Thank you.

    It was an ancient voice. A voice that could¡¯ve drowned out a thousand human minds. But now it was barely a whisper, burdened with centuries of suffering and pain. It was growing less steady even as Joe tried to listen.

    I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll last much longer. Afraid you did a number on me. But at least he¡¯s dead. Do rescue the others, though.

    An image flashed into Joe¡¯s mind. A little girl with a fish tail, lying bleeding and whimpering beside a cracked pool. One of her fins severed. Dozens of stolid, confused boy-men. Slaves.

    Joe looked down at his hands.

    Oh, God.

    This ship was alive. Not just alive, but a person. A person he¡¯d torn apart. The alien had other captives. Ones even more vulnerable than Miss Winter¡¯s poor children.

    He looked up and around him. I¡¯m sorry! For Christ¡¯s sake, I¡¯m sorry!

    ?

    On a small, green island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, five (and a half) children appeared on the beach, holding each other tight. They fell apart onto the white shore, breathing heavily, grains of sand clinging to the orange slime that stained their bodies.

    Mabel heaved. ¡°Oh, God, that was¡­ not fun.¡± She looked over at Arnold. ¡°Where are we?¡±

    The teleporter groaned and stretched out, before opening his atlas and weakly flicking through it. ¡°Ah, somewhere called¡­¡± He squinted. ¡°Guy who wrote it says it doesn¡¯t have a name.¡±

    ¡°You mean Santa,¡± said Mabel. ¡°Santa says it doesn¡¯t have a name.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me.¡±

    Allison was back on her feet, dusting herself off. ¡°Everyone make it alright?¡±

    ¡°I think so,¡± said Billy, trying to resist licking his arm silly. ¡°¡­Is the Flying Man around?¡±

    Allison craned her right ear. ¡°No, I think we lost him. For now.¡±

    She caught sight of David. He was staring out at the sea in front of them. His mouth was moving, but he wasn¡¯t saying anything.

    Allison realized. The ocean. David had never even been to the beach. ¡°David,¡± she said, ¡°are you alright?¡±

    A loud, hysterical laugh erupted from David. He pointed wildly at the white-caped waves beating gently at the shore. ¡°They¡¯re like sheep! Water-sheep!¡± With that, he ran headlong into the water and started splashing about like a madman.

    Arnold walked up besides Allison. ¡°God,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°He¡¯s like a puppy.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s salty!¡± David yelled, his voice full of surprise and glee. ¡°That¡¯s so hecking weird!¡±

    Behind David, the water rose into a pillar over six foot tall. It bulged and started forming into the rough shape of a man.

    Arnold raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s he up to?¡±

    The water became flesh. Pale flesh with black choked veins. A corpse with eyes like sea-fog. The thing threw its arms around David, lifting him kicking out of the water. The boy screamed.

    Arnold¡¯s body became bright and phosphorescent. Allison¡¯s eyes burned red with magma.

    ¡°Let go of him!¡±

    But David wasn¡¯t scared. He was laughing, nuzzling his cheek against the corpse¡¯s chest.

    The dead man spoke. ¡°Finally, I have you.¡±

    David beamed out at his friends. ¡°Guys! Guys! Look! It¡¯s my grandpa!¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Four: Of His Bones Are Coral Made

    A creature older than gods regarded the Watercolours without care. In that moment, Allison knew he could kill each and every one of them, without the barest trace of hesitation or regret.

    ¡°¡­Are these yours?¡± asked the Ocean, its voice all roaring waves and tide pools.

    ¡°Yup!¡± David crowed. ¡°That¡¯s Allie, and Arn, and Billy, and¡ªoh! Mabel! Show him what you can do!¡±

    Mabel did not obey. She¡¯d rather not risk the sea-zombie thinking she was starting a fight.

    David¡¯s grandfather looked upon them all again, and this time, allowed them a smile.

    ¡°So many pets.¡±

    David smiled and rolled his eyes. ¡°Friends, Papa. They¡¯re my friends.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re small, souled animals.¡±

    David wriggled out of his grandfather¡¯s arms and thumped him playfully in his midsection. The Ocean feigned a gasp.

    ¡°And we¡¯re both big puddles.¡±

    Billy remembered his manners. ¡°Costume off!¡± His suit vanished and he started wading into the water, past his friends desperate attempts to pull him back, until he was standing right in front of Grandfather Ocean. He offered his hand. ¡°Pleased to meet you, sir! I¡¯m William. People call me Billy.¡±

    The Ocean looked down blankly at the sticky, furry boy with the swaying tail currently sticking out his hand at him. He seemed to want something from him.

    ¡°Go on,¡± said David gently. ¡°Shake his hand.¡±

    Grandfather Ocean nodded. ¡°If that is what you want, child.¡±

    A tendril of water rose in front of Billy, slapping his arm hard enough to knock him backwards off his feet.

    ¡°Good try,¡± David said.

    Billy looked up at the Ocean, shook himself instinctively, and grinned. ¡°You¡¯re funny!¡±

    ¡°Am I?¡± the Ocean asked. It turned to David. ¡°Am I funny, child?¡±

    ¡°I think so!¡± chirped the water-sprite. ¡°I haven¡¯t really known you long.¡±

    David suddenly seemed to shake slightly. He threw his arms around his grandfather again. ¡°I love you, Papa,¡± he murmured. ¡°I really love you.¡±

    Slowly, the other children joined David and Billy in the water. At the very least, they needed to wash the ship¡¯s blood off their bodies. It was starting to itch.

    The Ocean genuinely appeared to startle when Allison formed from the water next to his human husk.

    ¡°Hello!¡± the pale little girl said, smiling smugly.

    Ocean examined her curiously. She could do what his spawn could do. Her skin was as white as his. Had he mated with her mother?

    No. She didn¡¯t feel like his flesh. And there was something else inside her, too. A fire.

    ¡°What are you?¡± he asked. ¡°One of the little goddesses of my element? Or of the volcanos that burn beneath me?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± said Allison, tracing a circle around herself in the sea-sand with her toe. ¡°I can just have whatever powers I want. I¡¯m borrowing your grandson¡¯s right now!¡± She smiled at him. ¡°Your song¡¯s like this one big voice made of whales ramming into each other. It¡¯s great!¡±

    The girl levitated twelve feet out of the water, before looping through the air and landing on Ocean¡¯s shoulders. ¡°Also, I can fly!¡±

    The Ocean looked up at the girl batting her heels against his chest. This creature had no fear. ¡°Are you human?¡±

    Allison wrinkled her nose. ¡°No! I¡¯m a super! I even got my insides changed so they were better! I¡¯m gonna live forever! Who¡¯d want to be human?¡±

    The Ocean felt something deeply foreign to him. It took him a moment to comprehend it. The best he could decipher it, he mildly wanted this not-quite human to not die. Somehow, despite lacking a drop of his blood, she amused him without drowning or exploding.

    He called over to his grandson, body-surfing with the male children and the second female. ¡°Child¡± he said, ¡°be careful with this one. If it caught you by surprise, it could harm you.¡±

    Allison frowned.

    ¡°Why do you think that?¡± asked David.

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know. She makes me wish to see her life continue. I suspect sorcery. I keep imagining what your spawn would look like with her blood. You might want to try convincing her to mate someday.¡±

    David went pale with embarrassment. ¡°Papa!¡±

    Allison though was grinning. Somehow the idea didn¡¯t seem so gross when an old man wasn¡¯t setting a date.

    David laughed. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯d be pretty wild.¡±

    Ocean looked vaguely hopeful. ¡°¡­ Is it possible?¡±

    Noticing Allison¡¯s smile, David giggled, his eyes drifting across to Arnold.

    ¡°Fifty-fifty.¡±

    Arnold pretended not to notice. His cheeks were scarlet. Then his face became very hard. There was a spark of green, and David found himself floating less than a foot from the other boy. Arnold grabbed David by the head and kissed him hard on the lips. He had expected David to flinch, or at least to be surprised. David just grinned.

    Arnold scowled.

    ¡°¡­ I¡¯m claiming this beach,¡± he said.

    ¡°What?¡± David asked, still grinning.

    ¡°This beach,¡± Arnold repeated. ¡°It¡¯s mine. I am now the beach-master.¡±

    David wasn¡¯t sure why, but those words lit a fire in his gut.

    ¡°No you¡¯re not,¡± he said, his tone dangerous. ¡°I am.¡±

    Arnold grinned slyly.

    ¡°Prove it.¡±

    The proceeding game of chase lasted over an hour.

    ?

    High in orbit, the Flying Man finished towing the Physician¡¯s ship into her makeshift service dock<sup>1</a></sup>. Glancing down at the Earth below, he spotted the rogue children frolicking in the water. He was just about to head down and apologize for his outburst, when he noticed the Ocean-Beast amongst them.

    ¡­Maybe later.

    ?

    The sky was a pale, glowing blue when David awoke the next morning. He¡¯d fallen asleep between Mabel and Allison the night before, and both girls were still napping beside him. The boy considered waking them up, but decided to let them be. They¡¯d be up in their own time. He pecked the pair on the cheeks, got up, and stretched. He was smiling, for no real reason. That still surprised him sometimes.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    The remnants of a fire smouldered a few yards off. They hadn¡¯t really needed it, but Allison had wanted to show off for his granddad. She had also wanted to cook last night¡¯s fish before they ate it.

    Humans, he thought to himself. So fussy.

    It occurred to David that it had been Lawrence who had taught him to think of humans as something outside himself. That might have given the child pause, except he was also pretty sure Lawrence hadn¡¯t imagined him turning out like this, either.

    David looked to where Arnold and Billy had curled up for the night. They were both asleep, too.

    A breeze flowed through the warm air, rubbed cool against the sea.

    David sighed happily. Might as well go for a swim.

    He walked into the water, not stopping as it rose above his head. Soon enough he was treading water. David knew he didn¡¯t have to swim. The water would move for him. But his body still made the movements instinctively. It made him feel the way he imagined breathing deep did for regular kids. Maybe that was the part of him that was still a little human.

    It didn¡¯t matter, really. What mattered was conquering the weight against his limbs. Every undulation he made was like a victory.

    He swam deeper, until the sea-floor was far below him. There was a coral reef stretched out under David. It was funny, seeing it after the Physician¡¯s true form. Like watching the parody first. The water-sprite swooped down into the colourful field of polyps and anemones. Long, brown eels with faces like grinning Komodo dragons slipped out of rocky crevices. Spindly-legged crabs with battle-scarred shells scuttled across the sand like underwater pedestrians.

    David pitied them. Who wanted to walk in the sea?

    A cloud of tiny, purple and blue fish swam in front of the boy¡¯s face.

    Cool, David thought to himself. Then he lunged forward, managing to grab one of the fish in his mouth and crunch it between his teeth. He floated on his back for a moment, cheerfully munching on his morning snack.

    The water beneath David suddenly shot upwards, sending him careening into the air.

    ¡°Whooo!¡±

    A pair of hands caught David under his arms just as he legs slipped back into the water. His grandfather smiled at him with green, rotten teeth.

    ¡°Good morning, child. Did you sleep well?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Can we go down now?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    Ocean and his grandson dipped beneath the water. The pair drifted together in the deep blue. Bits of plankton and other oceanic debris hung in broken shafts of sunlight like pollen in the air.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you sleep in the water, child?¡±

    David was unsurprised to find his grandfather could still talk to him underwater. It would have been more surprising if he couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Allie and Mabel are comfy.¡± Guilessly, the boy asked, ¡°So, I was wondering, why do you look look all dead?¡±

    If Grandfather Ocean was offended by the question, it didn¡¯t show. ¡°Because I wish to. It keeps humans from trying to worship or talk at me.¡±

    David spun around in place, feeling the bubbles whip around his hair and ears. ¡°Humans can be fun. Look at Allie! She¡¯s really fun! Even you think so!¡±

    ¡°She is¡­ not unpleasant.¡±

    ¡°You like Allie, you like Allie,¡± singsonged David. He was cut off when a thick layer of ice flash-froze around his body.

    ¡°Your Allie is barely human,¡± Ocean said cooly. ¡°Please don¡¯t speak ill of her.¡±

    David slipped out of the ice like a molting sea snake. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, gesturing down at his healthy brown skin, ¡°why don¡¯t I look more like you?¡±

    ¡°You look like your mother and father, like all children. Unlike most, however, you look like that because it is what feels right. If you felt differently, you would look differently.¡±

    David considered this. ¡°¡­Yeah,¡± he said eventually. ¡°I like looking like my mum and dad.¡±

    A stray current pushed David towards his grandfather, who embraced him tight.

    David looked up at his granddad¡¯s face. He looked confused.

    ¡°You make me feel strange,¡± the Ocean said.

    ¡°Strange how?¡±

    ¡°Looking at you makes me happy. But it hurts, too.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Ocean ran his fingers through David¡¯s hair. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I have a child again. But you make me think about your mother. Why do I still want her when I have you?¡±

    David snuggled against the Ocean-Beast. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he said, ¡°I miss her, too.¡±

    Ocean¡¯s grandson was a mystery to him. Even with the cloying patina of humanity washed off him, the boy kept doing things he couldn¡¯t understand. Why should him being in pain as well make him feel any better? His daughter never would have tried anything so foolish with him.

    But then why was it working?

    ¡°Child,¡± he said, ¡°there¡¯s something I want to show you.¡±

    ?

    The one thing you could say for Dr. Corrick¡¯s day was that he¡¯d pulled his fly up before the washroom sinks exploded behind him.

    A chunk of porcelain struck the doctor in the head, knocking him to the rapidly flooding floor.

    ¡°That was amazing!¡± David shouted when he reformed out of the rising pool of water, enthusiastically miming their passage through the pipes to his grandfather. ¡°We were all whoosh and zoom!¡±

    Ocean chuckled. The simplest things gave his spawn such joy. Everything felt new with him.

    David glanced down at the man floating at their feet, staining the water with his blood. Specifically, at his white coat and stethoscope. ¡°This is a hospital, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes, child.¡±

    ¡°Hmm¡­¡±

    To the credit of the girl manning the hospital snack bar didn¡¯t scream when the walking bog-corpse and the little brown boy wearing the too-big doctor¡¯s coat came around the corner, a crest of water following behind them. Instead, she froze. Much more sensible.

    The dead man and the child came to a stop in front of the counter. ¡°My child desires sweets. You will give him some.¡±

    ¡°¡­Alright.¡±

    David followed his grandfather down the hospital halls, sucking on a strawberry Chupa Chup<sup>2</a></sup>. The fire-alarm was blaring, which amused him slightly. Shame they didn¡¯t turn on the fire-sprinklers, not that he and his granddad were wanting for water.

    He felt a troupe of men running towards them, all holding big heavy somethings judging by the way they had their arms stretched and their fingers curled. Guns, probably.

    David turned to ice. ¡°Let me handle them, pretty-please?¡±

    ¡°If that is what you wish.¡±

    A mixed platoon of Australian and American soldiers charged into sight. Shouting, they took aim at the Ocean and his spawn and fired.

    The bullets passed harmlessly through the water-gods¡¯ icey forms. Dozens of jagged ice shards erupted out of their watery trail, spearing the soldiers through their arms, shoulders and legs.

    David strolled past the groaning, screaming troops. ¡°Consider yourselves lucky,¡± he said as he reverted back to flesh. He looked down at Dr. Corrick¡¯s now bullet shredded coat and frowned. He threw the ruined garment and stethoscope over a weeping soldier.

    ¡°Stupid bullets.¡±

    Eventually, the pair came to the door of a private room.

    ¡°You gonna tell me what we¡¯re here for?¡± asked David.

    ¡°Yes, child.¡±

    Grandfather Ocean flattened the door with a wave. There was a nurse cringing beside the hospital bed.

    ¡°Get out if you want to live,¡± said Ocean.

    The nurse nodded frantically as she scurried past the pair.

    There was a man in the bed. His eyes were deeply sunken, while his fingers and lips were mottled deep purple. He appeared to be crying, but his eyes produced no actual tears. He barely seemed to notice his visitors.

    ¡°Who the hell is that?¡± asked David. The man felt¡­ dryer than he thought people could be. His mouth was parched. There was hardly any spittle on his breath.

    ¡°This,¡± said Ocean, ¡°is the man who killed your mother.¡±

    David stared at the man. His muscles tensed. He never imagined he¡¯d meet his mother¡¯s murderer. He¡¯d imagined him as some behemoth of a man with stubble like hooked spurs and gunmetal muscles. Instead, he was faced with a twenty-one year old boy, lying in front of him in obvious agony.

    He found that didn¡¯t change a thing.

    David looked up at his grandfather. ¡°Did you do this to him?¡±

    ¡°Yes. He harmed my daughter. He will never drink a drop of water again.¡± He pointed at an IV trailing from the soldier¡¯s arm. ¡°I am letting him absorb enough through that false vein that he will continue to live for some time to come. So that he may feel the thirst.¡±

    ¡°Makes sense,¡± said David. ¡°How long do you think he¡¯ll last?¡±

    ¡°Weeks at least. Maybe months.¡±

    Something about that didn¡¯t sit right with the boy. He looked at his grandfather. ¡°Could I¡­¡±

    ¡°Do whatever you wish, child.¡±

    David took a deep breath and clambered onto the soldier¡¯s bed. The man let out a choked grunt as the boy put his knees on his chest.

    David¡¯s bright, sea-fog eyes bored into Private Wilkins. ¡°You killed my mummy,¡± he hissed. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you were ordered to, you still did it. And this is going to hurt.¡±

    Private Wilkins¡¯ eyes widened. He rapsed, trying to speak. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    The soldier¡¯s eyes exploded in his skull. He screamed, only for his tongue to burst like a rotten piece of fruit. Wilkins thrashed as his veins pulsed and strained against his sallow skin. Tight geysers of blood spewed from his wrists against David¡¯s body.

    The boy was tearing up now. He bent forwards and whispered into Wilkins¡¯ ear, ¡°I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!¡±

    Soon enough, the soldier stopped writhing. His blood-drowned lungs stopped rising and falling in his chest. David, red and sticky now, climbed off the bed. He wasn¡¯t sure how he felt. He thought he felt better at least, but he wished his granddad hadn¡¯t done this. Then he could¡¯ve killed the bastard without it being mercy.

    Why hadn¡¯t he just let the guy lay there and suffer for as long as possible? It was stupid. Maybe it was the part of him that was still human.

    No. That didn¡¯t make any sense. Humans did nasty, rotten things to each other all the time, for way worse reasons. Maybe it was the part of him that was still like his father.

    Ocean opened his arms for his grandson. David stepped readily into the hug.

    ¡°Do you feel better?¡± the Ocean asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± David answered stiffly.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°¡­I feel like I have upset you somehow.¡±

    ¡°You have.¡±

    ¡°Tell me how to fix this. Now.¡±

    ?

    Deep beneath a green, moonlit sea on the other side of the world, David and his grandfather watched humpback whales crash back down into their world, their flanks silvered by thousands of bubbles.

    It was everything David had ever wanted. Almost.

    Grandfather Ocean was holding him. ¡°I still miss your mother. Will that ever stop?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± answered David. Whalesong echoed through the water. ¡°But that¡¯s okay, I think.¡±

 Chapter Seventy-Five: Allie and Miri

    Allison¡¯s dreams were wonderful. She swam through oceans that spilled into space. Nebulas shattered into schools of fish and spiral galaxies became sparkling sea-jellies, their arms fraying into thousands upon thousands of fine tentacles.

    ¡°Allie¡­¡±

    She was leviathan, trailing stars and their insignificant, rocky satellites in her wake¡­

    ¡°Wake up, Allie!¡±

    Allison woke with a start. The sky shone nearly white above her, freshly pulled from the forge of days. The waves hissed like quenched coals, and the island¡¯s birds were screaming at each other. Allison wondered why birds always got so loud in the morning. Were they sharing their dreams? She probably knew the answer, but she couldn¡¯t be bothered to try remembering it.

    Mabel was still asleep beside her. Her costume made her look like she had fallen overboard and washed ashore from the world¡¯s most garish business cruise. Allison hadn¡¯t bothered summoning her suit. She reckoned it would just be giving the sand something to rub against.

    David appeared to be missing. That might¡¯ve worried Allison more, if there wasn¡¯t a strange girl floating above her.

    No. Not strange. Also not really there.

    Allison rubbed her eyes. ¡°Miri?¡±

    Miri grinned and alighted excitedly in front of the other child. Her feet left no mark on the sand. ¡°Morning, Allie!¡±

    Allison stared at the phantom-girl, before jumping to her feet and hugging her. To her surprise, she felt warm skin against hers, stitched together from every hug she could remember. She must¡¯ve looked incredibly silly, but Allison couldn¡¯t care less right then.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    Miri laughed. ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± Allison stepped back and examined Miri. Her visage wasn¡¯t quite what she¡¯d been in her life. Less painfully thin, for starters. The Nordic cast of her features had been softened by some baby-fat. Allison couldn¡¯t quite remember if Miri¡¯s eyes had been blue or green, but now they were definitely hazel. Like her own, Allison realized, before they¡¯d turned red and glowing.

    That wasn¡¯t where the resemblance ended, though. Both girls now had the same button bose and rounded chin. They could¡¯ve been sisters, but they maintained some differences. Miri¡¯s hair was still yellow-blond, and unlike her host, her skin was about as brown as you would expect on a child who¡¯d spent a great deal of time naked outdoors in the summer. Allison had no idea how a girl who grew up in a jar before moving into her head could be more tanned than her. She wasn¡¯t sure whether this bothered her or not. Still, there were more pressing questions:

    ¡°What¡¯s it like in there?¡± Allison asked, quickly adding, ¡°In me I mean.¡± She gave a small shudder. ¡°Alberto said it was dark inside me.¡±

    Miri sucked in her lower lip, trying to think of the right way to describe her new existence. ¡°When you ate me¡ª¡±

    Allison shuddered once more.

    Miri tilted her head. ¡°Did I say the wrong thing? That¡¯s what you call it.¡±

    Allison closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. ¡°I know. I just don¡¯t like thinking about it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡± Miri returned to her story. ¡°I woke up someplace dark. So dark I couldn¡¯t even see myself.¡±

    Allison kicked the sand, angry at¡­ someone. Probably herself. ¡°So Alberto wasn¡¯t lying¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean the man in your head?¡± asked Miri. ¡°He¡¯s weird. I like him.¡±

    Allison looked fretfully at her. The things she saw Alberto do to David rose to her memory. She wondered if the esper himself was dredging them up. ¡°He wasn¡¯t mean to you, was he?

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Miri, before grinning and spreading her arms out like she was presenting the beach to Allison. ¡°He taught me how to go outside your body! Everything on this island¡¯s so pretty! I saw a turtle!¡±

    Allison raised an eyebrow. It was hard to picture Alberto teaching anyone anything, besides the true awfulness of the world or Australian wine vintages. ¡°What was he like?¡±

    ¡°Sad,¡± replied Miri. She glanced towards some corner of the sky. ¡°Kind of lonely. Also, what does ¡®fuck off¡¯ mean?¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll tell you later.¡±

    ¡°Kay! So, when he stopped talking to me, I was alone again. But then I started wanting to know stuff, and the dark started telling me! Sounded kinda like you, now that I think about it.¡±

    ¡°Huh, weird,¡± muttered Allison. ¡°What did you ask it?¡±

    ¡°Buncha things! What the sun looks like, how to make sad people feel better, how people happen when Dr. Smith doesn¡¯t grow you up.¡± Miri stepped forward to examine Allison. ¡°Did you really start out so tiny?¡±

    Allison giggled. ¡°That¡¯s what people tell me. I don¡¯t remember.¡±

    ¡°I also figured out how to use your eyes and nose and skin and everything!¡± Miri continued. ¡°So I could see and stuff, instead of being in the dark all the time! It¡¯s kinda weird, having someone else do all the moving for you, but that¡¯s okay.¡±

    Allison thought it sounded like a nightmare. Moving through the world without a choice. ¡°You¡ªyou don¡¯t mind that?¡±

    ¡°Why would I?¡± asked Miri. ¡°Everything feels so good. The sun, the wind, swimming, the other kids¡¯ skin on ours¡­¡± She hugged herself, smiling dreamily. ¡°We should do that kissing thing again, it¡¯s fun. What about Arnold?¡±

    ¡°Not right now,¡± said Allison, a little red. ¡°He¡¯s asleep¡ªhey, did you see where David went while you were exploring?¡±

    ¡°I saw him walking into the ocean,¡± said Miri. ¡°I think he¡¯s with his grandpop.¡±

    That was what Allison called her grandfather. She hadn¡¯t thought about the man in months. The reminder didn¡¯t sting as she thought it should. She quickly inspected the storm of futures. All the brightest, most probable futures had David returning before sunset. The main variable appeared to be what hat he would be wearing. It was reassuring.

    ¡°There is one thing I don¡¯t get,¡± said Miri. She regarded Allison disbelievingly. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you flied yet?¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°I¡¯ve flown.¡± She snorted. ¡°There was this bit with David¡¯s granddad¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± cut in in Miri. ¡°I mean really flying! In the sky! It¡¯s buzzing in your bones. Can¡¯t you feel it?¡±

    It was, Allison realized. Now that she thought about it, gravity felt like a heavy blanket in summer.

    Miri smiled. ¡°Let¡¯s go, right now.¡±

    Allison nodded without hesitation. ¡°Yes! Just let me do one thing first.¡±

    She bent down and pulled Mabel¡¯s sketchbook from her arms, along with a pencil from her drawing set. Ripping out a page, Allison scribbled, ¡°Gone flying, back soon.¡±

    Considering it, she added:

    ¡°Love, Allie and Miri.¡±

    ¡°Time for me to show you something,¡± Miri giggled.

    Allison slipped the note into Mabel¡¯s suit-jacket and turned back to Miri. Counterintuitively, she dug her feet into the sand. She gave a determined, giddy grin ¡°Let¡¯s do this.¡±

    Allison shot into the sky like a gull rising from the ocean. Miri flowed up after her, her visage melting into a misty second skin around her corporal sister. Faster and faster they rose, the island becoming a mote in the iris of the sea. The air dessicated and chilled around them. Tiny, cloudy jewels formed on their shared skin. Gravity snatched their heels, trying to drag the girls down into its prison. They paid it no mind.

    Allison laughed. She soared against the curve of the horizon, savouring the feeling of her atoms all moving in the same direction. She could feel something inside her, burning and spinning.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Miri, she realized. Miri was laughing too.

    The girls angled downwards, diving through the layers of sky to where the shearwaters and long-beaked frigatebirds fought over fish.

    ¡°I feel kinda sorry for those things,¡± Miri whispered in Allison¡¯s ear. ¡°All that flapping looks a lot harder than what we¡¯re doing.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± answered Allison, half whispering like she couldn¡¯t commit to saying or just thinking the response.

    ¡°Super-pretty, though.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Allison. The little girl grinned toothily. ¡°Want to get a closer look?¡±

    A second later. Allison plunged screaming and flailing into the birds¡¯ midst, puncturing the motley flock like a very aggressive balloon. She tumbled head-over-heels amongst the squawking, fleeing birds, laughing with her entire body. The world spinning around her should have made Allison dizzy, but apparently Miri had toughened her inner-ear, too<sup>1</a></sup>. That wasn¡¯t the only change Allison noticed in her sensory landscape. She could feel the prick of clouds swapping charge against her skin. Currents of air and magnetism moving about the Earth like streaks of neon paint across the sky. In the back of her head, Allison knew she could find her way back to the island with her eyes closed, as though the Physician had lodged a perfect compass in her gray matter¡­

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Allison said aloud.

    ¡°No problem,¡± said Miri.

    For a while, Allison flew just a few feet above mirror-smooth stretches of ocean, pulling faces with her reflection zooming below.

    ¡°Stop flying,¡± Miri said.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Just do it!¡±

    Allison let the force inside her go out, but her momentum stayed. For the briefest moment, she soared, the last remnants of her upward momentum keeping her in the air.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she asked. ¡°What now?¡±

    Miri started giggling.

    Allison realized what was happening just half a second too late to stop it. She plunged into the water with an aborted shriek, the dynamic nature of her entry causing lasting trauma to a nearby basking shark, and came to a stop. She shot her new friend a glare to melt through steel, and  kicked her away upwards.

    ¡°You tricked me!¡± Allison cried when she surfaced, locks of wet hair plastered over her eyes.

    ¡°No I didn¡¯t!¡± Miri retorted, floating in the water in front of her, a wide grin plastered to her face. ¡°I told you to do it and you did it! Because swimming is fun!¡±

    ¡°True,¡± Allison grumbled. She rose above the waves. ¡°Do you know how fast we can go?¡±

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s find out.¡±

    Allison took off again, rapidly building speed and altitude as she followed one of the magnetic currents. Sun-tipped wavelets blurred into roads of light stretched out beneath her.

    There was a quiet pop somewhere far behind Allison. She must¡¯ve cracked the sound barrier.

    She sped up.

    The air should¡¯ve been a wall of glass at those speeds. It wasn¡¯t. Allison¡¯s skin should¡¯ve been shearing off her muscles. It didn¡¯t. Her flesh was diamond, adamantine; and the force of the world against it only made her stronger.

    Within a few minutes, the girls ran out of sea. They were hovering above a hive of spiralling hot drafts and electromagnetic gibberish. A city. It took Allison a moment to spot the familiar buildings. To recognize the river that girded it.

    They were in Perth. Or above it, at least.

    Allison wasn¡¯t sure what to think. It wasn¡¯t quite home, but it was closer than she¡¯d been in what felt like most of her life. If that dairy-town Allison Kinsey was born in was still home.

    Quickly, though, one question dominated the child¡¯s thoughts:

    ¡°Miri,¡± she asked. ¡°The Physician didn¡¯t tell you about ice-cream, did he?¡±

    ?

    Vince Russo was what some called a simple shopkeeper. As was often the case, this actually meant he possessed many finely-honed skills that all flowed in one direction. For him, that direction was ice-cream. He was one of the world¡¯s hidden artists.

    He¡¯d run the Russo Family Ice Cream Bar ever since his father had retired to the Gold Coast fifteen years earlier, and he liked to think he¡¯d gotten good at it. He¡¯d perfectly divorced cold from ice, and brokered peace between his ingredients and empty air. Under Vince¡¯s watch, the creamery had even managed to spurn the scourge of soft-serve without losing foot traffic, and his products brought simple joy to the face of any child lucky enough to sample them<sup>2</a></sup>.

    Unfortunately this skill and success brought Allison Kinsey down on his head.

    Vince looked up from his copy of The Australian at the jangle of the door-chime and the sudden murmuring of his patrons. There was a naked, ice-pale little girl standing imperiously in the entrance.

    Mr. Russo scowled. Some beach-brat wandered up from Mullaloo while her dozy parents turned into lobsters, no doubt.

    ¡°God¡¯s wounds, girl, where¡¯s your¡­¡±¡ªVince trailed off when he noticed the child¡¯s burning orange eyes¡ª¡°¡­Shame.¡±

    Allison looked down at herself. ¡°Oh, right.¡± She made a pose. ¡°SHAZAM!¡±

    In a flash, Allison was draped in rainbows.

    Beside her, Miri¡¯s visage was also now dressed. She plucked at the jerkin. ¡°Clothes are weird.¡±

    Allison snorted. ¡°David¡¯s gonna love you.¡±

    Behind the counter, Mr. Russo was going pale. This girl was a demi. A demi who was talking to thin air. She must be¡ª

    Oh, God. Did she have an invisible friend? Which was worse? A pair of demis, or a single crazy one?

    Allison started striding towards Vince. One of the customers¡ªa beady-eyed man in a yellow bowler¡ªstepped from the queue, grabbed the girl by the shoulder and swung her around.

    ¡°Look kid, your kind ain¡¯t wel¡ª¡±

    Allison reached up, grabbed her assailant¡¯s hand and squeezed.

    There was a crunch, and the man ran screaming from the shop.

    Allison frowned after him. ¡°Rude.¡± She started back towards Mr. Russo. The poor ice-cream man stood rooted to the ground, even as the girl burst into flames¡ªher every step cracking and melting the red and white floor-tiles. People were shouting now, backed into the corners of their booths or (more smartly) trying to climb over the dividers towards the door. A few brave idiots tried advancing on Allison again, but quickly retreated when they felt their skin start to crisp.

    She stopped something approaching a safe distance from the counter and grinned. Her teeth glowed like blown coals. The flames only made her skin seem more bloodless. A burning ghost.

    ¡°Give me one of everything.¡± Allison spread her arms out. A ball of lava bubbled in each of her hands. ¡°Or I melt all your ice-cream.¡±

    ¡°¡­Alright.¡±

    ¡°With a flake, please.¡±

    Over the next ten minutes, Vince Russo dutifully laid out bowls of every product he had. Coke-spiders, gelato, real banana ice-cream, fake banana ice-cream, even the rum & raisin. All while wishing he could shave a word or too off ¡°ice-cream bar.¡±

    Allison devoured it greedily. To call Miri¡¯s reaction to the ice cream mixed would have been charitable. Allison found it nearly annoying, truth be told. Vanilla only got a little enthusiasm. Allison supposed that was fair. Mint chocolate chip was rightfully underwhelming. But then they hit strawberry.

    ¡°A shrug?¡± Allison asked. ¡°Really? A shrug? This is the best ice cream in the world!¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Miri asked, perplexed. ¡°How can it be? That green and brown one was nicer.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re weird.¡± Allison scowled. ¡°Whatever, just. I dunno. Choose the next one.¡± She glanced at Vince. ¡°Where¡¯s the flake, Vince?¡±

    Vince Russo, who, to his horror, had never actually told the girl his name, pointed to the end of the counter, where the flake indeed lay just beyond the melting range of Allison¡¯s magma spheres.

    ¡°Good,¡± she tented her fingers. ¡°You have done well. You will be my first disciple.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll what?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s fudge ice-cream taste like?¡± Miri asked before Allison had a chance to explain. She was pointing to one of the bowls, the mix within dotted with large chunks of hazel brown.

    ¡°Oh!¡± Allison snapped back to her. ¡°Right! You need to try the fudge.¡±

    Their tasting didn¡¯t proceed too far beyond that, largely due to a demand on Miri¡¯s part that they simply leave with the rest of Vince¡¯s supply of fudge<sup>3</a></sup>.

    Soon, the pair were lying on a nearby rooftop in sugary rapture next to a drum of half melted ice-cream, licking fudge off their mutual fingers while police sirens wailed below. Allison¡¯s face was mottled with pale, sticky stains every colour of the rainbow, like she was trying to accessorise with her costume.

    ¡°So good,¡± said Miri dreamily. ¡°Isn¡¯t this stuff supposed to be bad for us?¡±

    ¡°Bad for humans,¡± clarified Allison. ¡°See how rubbish they are? Can¡¯t even enjoy ice-cream without getting all fat or their pancreas going bleh.¡± She wiggled happily. ¡°Laurie was wrong about everything, but it¡¯s so much better being us.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Miri, ¡°looks like it.¡± She pointed idly at the stained newspaper they had been using as an ineffective napkin. ¡°What¡¯s that say?¡±

    ¡°Who cares?¡±

    ¡°I wanna see!¡±

    Allison sighed. For all her extra-human competence, she had no more interest in current affairs than any other child. Maybe less. Still, this was Miri¡¯s day. She picked up The Australian and smoothed it out in front of her. The front page was dominated by a photo of four people¡ªthree men and one woman¡ªsaluting tall and proud against two Australian and American flags fluttering side by side. The picture was black and white, but Allison had no doubt their striped uniforms were red, white, and blue. The headline read:

    <h1 style="text-align: center">REINFORCEMENTS FROM THE USA!</h1>

    That got Allison¡¯s attention.

    Miri asked, ¡°What¡¯s a ¡®USA¡¯?¡±

    ¡°The place where everything important happens,¡± Allison quoted Arnold as she ran her eyes over the article proper:

    In light of the recent spate of demi-human terrorist attacks, most recently the assault on the DDHA¡¯s provisional headquarters in Melbourne¡­

    ¡­A walking corpse later reportedly attempting to gain entry to an exclusive restaurant¡­

    That made Allison giggle. She hoped that whatever Penderghast shoved into Laurie¡¯s body left bits of him all over the Hoddle Grid.

    ¡­The United States Department of Psychonautics and Occultism has, to use their own words, ¡®extended a hand of help to their cousins across the sea,¡¯ during our national hardship¡­

    ¡­Ten such paranormal strike forces have been stationed in population centres across the country, in order to both reinforce DDHA agents in the field and trial run American ¡®occult management¡¯ strategies in an Australian context. A spokesperson for the department has expressed ¡®full confidence¡¯ in the experiment, and goes on to state that the DDHA hopes and expects to roll out the first Australian squads by June, 1966.

    Allison broke out in laughter. Miri gave her a curious look. ¡°Is that funny?¡±

    ¡°Totally,¡± said Allison, clutching her stomach, ¡°the Yanks are trying to sic army man superheroes on us! And then they¡¯re gonna ask us pretty please if we¡¯ll work for them!¡± She shook her head. ¡°This we gotta see.¡±

    She skimmed the article again:

    As one of the cities directly affected by the December bombings, Perth was near the top of the list to pay host to some of our Americans guests¡­

    Allison put down her ears and took in the sirens for a second. She made up her mind to stick close to Vince¡¯s ice-cream shop. The decision rippled through the future¡¯s reflection in the dark lake of time.

    Allison moved to get a better view of the action below. She lay down on her stomach, chin resting on the edge edge of the roof. Far up the street, a police officer was radioing someone.

    ¡­This was going to be fun.

 Chapter Seventy-Six: Red Glare

    PRSD<sup>1</a></sup> specialist Paul Mars stood before a wave of journalists and gawkers, trying to keep it from breaking over the blue and white police tape stretched out in front of the Russo Family Ice-Cream Bar. It shouldn¡¯t have been difficult. The boy was built like a more modest Rhodes Colossus. But his father always told him never to lean on folks with his size, and all those eyes pitted against him felt like whirring death-rays.

    ¡°Please folks,¡± he begged in his soft Californian drawl, ¡°the police need space to do their job.¡±

    A fish-faced man with a non-existent chin jostled his way to the head of the throng and shouted, ¡°What are all you yanks even doing here? Is this an invasion? Think we can¡¯t see to our own matters?¡±

    Mars couldn¡¯t tell if the question was accusatory or not. The Australian twang was the linguistic answer to the man sitting in the back of the bar with the perpetual grin. Or did they call them ¡°pubs¡± down here? ¡°Sir, Delta Squad is just here to lend a hand. We¡¯re all rooting for Australia.¡±

    Currents of laughter ran through the crowd. It didn¡¯t sound like they were laughing with Paul.

    He¡¯d done it again, hadn¡¯t he? At least they weren¡¯t talking about ¡°rubbers¡± again.

    A young journalist in a creased sand-coloured suit threatened his notepad with a No.2 pencil. ¡°Excuse me, Mr. Mars¡ªyes, Miles Parker, The West Australian¡ªcan you confirm or deny that the perpetrator of this latest attack is in fact the ringleader of the Royal Exhibition Hall gang?¡±

    Paul briefly wondered when the commentariat was going to come up with a catchier name for those kids<sup>2</a></sup>, before stuttering, ¡°Well, that¡¯s what Mr. Russo¡ªand the police, of course¡ªare telling us, but none of us in the squad were here when it happened, unfortunately.¡±

    ¡°And do you think there¡¯s any proof to the rumours that these demi-children have a backer of some kind?¡±

    Like he¡¯d always been taught, Paul Mars answered frankly and honestly:

    ¡°I have no idea. Sorry.¡±

    Paul Mars was instantly assaulted by a barrage of questions and baffled abuse. He barely managed to resist covering his ears.

    ¡°How the hell can you not know? You¡¯re a bloody super!¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not¡ª¡±

    ¡°Useless cunts!¡±

    Paul¡¯s face went red.

    A burnt, shiny scalped old man in an off-white singlet walked right up to the American. ¡°It¡¯s fuckin¡¯ disgraceful, freaks like you acting like you¡¯re on our side! You monsters got us into this mess in the first place!¡± He started prodding Mars in the chest. ¡°My niece was in Boans when your kind tore a man apart! What do you have to say to that?¡±

    Paul begged like a child in a schoolyard, ¡°Please stop that, sir.¡±

    The man grinned sourly, clearly lusting after a public martyrdom. People were cheering him on like he was David standing in Goliath¡¯s shadow. ¡°Oh, the big demi wants me to stop touching him. Make me.¡±

    To his eternal shame, Paul briefly considered giving the old coot what he wanted.

    A hydrogen bomb of a voice boomed over the commotion. ¡°Will you all just can it?¡±

    Paul¡¯s superior officer was striding through and above the crowd, his legs stretched fifteen feet below him like clown stilts. ¡°Come on, out of the way!¡± he shouted as civilians scrambled to obey.

    Soon enough, Corporal Jinks was by Paul¡¯s side. His legs shortened until he was a head shorter than the specialist¡ªalbeit still about three inches wider. More than anything, the corporal resembled a grey brick with eyes. He glared at the old man through sunglasses dark as space. ¡°Why are you giving my boy Mars here a bad time, sir?¡± He pronounced the last word like it was the vilest slur in a drill-sergeant¡¯s arsenal.

    The old man folded his arms and tilted his nose up, apparently unintimidated by the living wall that was Corporal Jinks. ¡°What you people do is ungodly.¡±

    Corporal Jinks rolled his eyes. He bet this idiot hadn¡¯t been to any kind of church in a hundred Easters.

    Jinks¡¯ neck stretched and reared upwards like a boa constrictor. He looked down at the old man. ¡°What¡¯s your name, sir?¡±

    ¡°¡­Mr. Wilks.¡±

    ¡°Little logic puzzle, Mr. Wilks.¡± He lay a hand on Wilks¡¯ shoulder. It snaked across the man¡¯s back and wrapped tight around his chest.

    Mr. Wilks squeaked. The crowd held its breath.

    Jinks continued. ¡°If God doesn¡¯t like this, but I can still do it, who¡¯s tougher?¡±

    Mr. Wilks squeaked.

    ¡°Come on, tell me!¡±

    The man let out a yelp. ¡°You! You are!¡±

    Jinks released Mr. Wilks. ¡°Exactly right!¡± His cheeks bulged, forming into a kind of organic megaphone. ¡°Now, disperse!¡±

    The civilians scattered to the winds.

    Paul sighed. He thought back to what Corporal Jinks told the squad on the plane to Australia:

    ¡°Remember boys, we¡¯re here to win hearts and minds¡­ and hopefully see a kangaroo.¡±

    Jinks slapped Mars on the back. ¡°Come on, boy, let¡¯s see what your pals are up to.¡± He spotted Mr. Wilks trying to shuffle off down the street. ¡°Hey, Wilks!¡± he shouted.

    Wilks startled before slowly turning around to face the Americans. ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    ¡°You got a light?¡± asked Jinks with a massive grin.

    Wilks nodded shakily as he pulled a pack of Redheads matches, only for Corporal Jinks to grab it off him from thirty paces.

    Jinks¡¯ arm snapped back to his side like a tape-measure. ¡°Thanks, buddy!¡±

    Mr. Wilks took off running as soon as he thought Jinks wasn¡¯t watching.

    ¡°Sir, was that completely¡±¡ªPaul searched for the least insubordinate way of putting it¡ª¡°¡­nice?¡±

    Corporal Jinks lit a cigar with one of his confiscated matches. ¡°Paul, that man was spoiling for a rumble, so I gave him an entr¨¦e.¡± Smoke plumed from his nostrils. ¡°Turned out he wasn¡¯t hungry. Conflict resolution, eh?¡± He tapped at his temples. ¡°Conflict resolution, boy. That¡¯s just using your noggin.¡±

    ¡°If you say so, sir.¡±

    Paul Mars had never planned to go into the military. He always expected to end up running the family farm until he died, or became one with the landscape itself. Paul¡¯s sisters always joked about him becoming a superhero, but he could never see it. That required hurting people. As far as Mars was concerned, the best use of his power was keeping bottles of pop cool.

    Then Vietnam happened. Then Paul¡¯s number came up.

    Paul Mars didn¡¯t want to go to war. He looked sideways at anyone who did. But they told him at school and church and half a dozen other places that it was his duty.

    Besides, better him than someone else.

    He¡¯d finally gotten up the nerve to talk about his unique talent at his draft board physical. ¡°Excuse me, doctor,¡± he said as the aging military doctor rested his stethoscope on his bare back, ¡°there¡¯s something I need to come clean about.¡±

    ¡°What is it, son?¡± Dr. Chavez asked, bracing himself in case the young man shat himself or tried hitting on him.

    Paul Mars took a deep breath. His shadow tore free from his frame, rising into the air like acrid black smoke. All the light in the little wood panelled office rushed into the cloud like dust falling into a black hole, leaving the room dark as midnight. The room became deathly cold.

    Dr. Chavez tried to shout, ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± but no sound escaped his mouth. It was like the words froze to death in the air.

    Paul Mars¡¯ shadow dissolved, releasing its stolen heat and energy. The sudden excitement of the atmosphere sent a few bottles and cups of stationary clattering to the floor.

    ¡°Sorry, doctor,¡± Paul said sheepishly, before asking, ¡°am I disqualified?¡±

    Dr. Chavez rubbed at his glasses. A thin layer of frost had spread across the lenses. ¡°¡­Not exactly, kid.¡±

    And with that, the Department of Psychonautics and Occultism took Mars under their wing. They told the lad he was a sorcerer. That had confused Paul. He always thought you had to read a lot of dusty books or have a chat with the Devil to be a sorcerer. The Mars family meanwhile were committed Presybtarians, and Paul¡¯s familiarity with old tomes was limited to his great-great grandfather¡¯s Poor Richard¡¯s Almanack. But as one of Paul¡¯s future teammates had explained, ¡°sorcerer¡± was just the government¡¯s new word for powered people who were clearly not bright enough to be wizards.

    Comments like that aside, life in the PRSD was pretty alright. Corporal Jinks was¡­ him, but he could be nice, in a scary sort of way. The other specialists weren¡¯t all bad either. Sof¨ªa Verres swore far too much for a lady, but Paul tried not to judge. She¡¯d led a hard life. As for Kerry Napes¡­ well, Kerry Napes was¡­ him.

    Jinks and Mars passed Mr. Russo, still giving his account to the police constable:

    ¡°¡­She walked in bloody naked, too!<sup>3</a></sup>¡± The ice-cream man leaned forward and whispered, ¡°It¡¯s the fucking hippies. All those drugs they take are mutating their bloody kids!<sup>4</a></sup>

    ¡°God,¡± said the corporal, ¡°can you imagine having that kind of power as a little kid? It¡¯d fucking warp ya.¡±

    ¡°Uh, I can, sir,¡± replied Mars. ¡°I was born with powers. Miss Verres too, I think.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Jinks was quiet for a moment. ¡°Good thing you boys turned out okay, then.¡±

    Mars knew Corporal Jinks had come into his powers later than most. All the other sorcerers Paul knew had their powers at least since childhood, but Jinks was at least forty, and he¡¯d only had powers for three years, tops. The rumour back at Lawton was that he¡¯d jumped on a grenade in ¡®Nam and ballooned like a sail in a headwind.

    It was strange, Paul thought, having a commanding officer greener than him.

    They found Specialist Verres chatting up a storm with a little girl across the street. The kid was wearing sunglasses even darker than Jinks¡¯, and kept tapping at the pavers with a white cane. She was also dressed in too-big red and yellow pinstriped trousers, topped with a pink and green blouse. She looked like if circus clowns could reproduce.

    ¡°So you were a supervillain?¡±

    Regretfully, Verres found herself frowning. A hawkishly featured Latina woman, something about how her lips were set made slight irritation look like genuine anger.

    At least she¡¯s blind, Verres thought, before feeling a prick of guilt at the idea.

    ¡°Not really,¡± said Verres. ¡°I mean, I didn¡¯t have a super-name or a costume or anything. Didn¡¯t even know where you got one of those.¡± That¡¯s what they don¡¯t tell you about embarking on a life of crime: even that demanded capital. ¡°I just turned car-windows into sand and scooped out whatever I found.¡±

    ¡°So, you were a crook¡­ then you joined the army?¡±

    Verres smiled resignedly. ¡°It was either that or jail.¡±

    The girl nodded solemnly. ¡°I know the feeling.¡±

    Before Verres could ask how that could possibly be true, her corporal called out, ¡°Not sharing state secrets are we, Verres?¡±

    Verres gave Jinks a rather sloppy salute. ¡°No, sir, just talking to,¡± she looked down at the blind girl. ¡°What was your name again?¡±

    The girl grinned like she was stifling a giggle. ¡°Miri- Uh, Miranda. My friends call me Miri.¡±

    Paul Mars stepped forward and shook the little girl¡¯s hand. ¡°Pleased to meet you, Miri. Paul Mars.¡±

    Miri-Miranda shook back hard. ¡°Right back at ya. You part of this squad thing?¡±

    Paul glanced down at his bright, starred-and-spangled PRSD uniform. ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    Apparently Miri-Miranda caught the dubious note in Paul¡¯s voice. She pointed to her sunglasses. ¡°Blind.¡±

    Verres could see the auburn-haired sorcerer¡¯s heart breaking. God, she loved that stupid soft-face of his.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡±

    Miri-Miranda shrugged. ¡°The cancer was a while ago, I¡¯m used to it.¡±

    The beginning of tears swelled in Paul¡¯s eyes. Verres meanwhile wondered what kind of parents the girl¡¯s were. The way they dressed her alone should¡¯ve warranted jail-time. And she was so pale. Was this the first time they¡¯d let her outside or something?

    Corporal Jinks put a hand on the girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Well, you¡¯re handling it like a trooper, Miss Miranda. And don¡¯t let anyone tell you otherwise.¡±

    Miri-Miranda saluted. ¡°Yes, sir!¡±

    Paul watched as his corporal¡¯s face broke out in smile lines. He wondered if the old soldier had children of his own¡­

    ¡°Can I ask you a question?¡± asked Miri-Miranda.

    ¡°Sure thing kiddo,¡± said Jinks.

    The girl pointed to a spot about three feet to the left of the last member of Squad Delta. ¡°Why¡¯s that guy not wearing a shirt?¡±

    Corporal Jinks and the others followed Miri-Miranda¡¯s finger to Kerry Napes. The blond nineteen year old was clumsily trying to hit on a clearly uncomfortable woman about ten years his senior. While he wore the same patriotically coloured trousers as his teammates, his chest was bare, apart from a web of tattoos resembling a circuit-diagram.

    Corporal Jinks grimaced, trying not to think too hard about the answer to that. ¡°¡­Military secret, kid. Wait, how¡¯d you know he didn¡¯t have a shirt?¡±

    Before Miri-Miranda could answer, one of the baseline soldiers attached to the squad ran up to the corporal and whispered into his ear.

    Jinks¡¯ expression flattened. ¡°Thank you, private,¡± he said through gritted teeth, ¡°dismissed.¡±

    The soldier left, looking very relieved.

    Jinks beamed at Miri-Miranda. ¡°Sorry about this, little miss, I just need to talk to my boys for a second.¡±

    ¡°S¡¯alright.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Corporal Jinks took the two specialists aside, hopefully out of earshot of any easily panicked civilians. ¡°It¡¯s the DDHA, they need us for a capture.¡± He made a sound halfway between a grunt and a sigh. ¡°The kid¡¯s resisting.¡±

    ¡°A kid, sir?¡± asked Paul mournfully.

    Her burning eyes hidden behind dark glass and the reflective glare of the sun, Miri watched the squad cooly.

    ?

    There was something Corporal Jinks found perverse about riding a troop-carrier through a living, breathing city. Instead of gunfire, or thick tires climbing over rock and undergrowth, the APC was bombarded battered by car-horns and the pattering of millions of feet against the sidewalk. Civilians going about their lives. It felt like a threat. Not against the Corporal¡¯s body or life, but his basic decency. A weapon of war in a school district.

    ¡°You said this was gonna stop.¡±

    Paul Mars didn¡¯t sound like a soldier. He sounded like a boy. He was a boy. If Jinks had been a proper hardass, he would¡¯ve made the walls of the truck rattle cussing Mars out. Instead, he just sighed. ¡°The Aussies say they¡¯re ¡®transitioning¡¯.¡±

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Flecks of glass danced along Specialist Verres¡¯ gloved fingers, reflecting what little light they could catch in the gloom of the tarpaulin. ¡°What he means is everyone¡¯s too pissed off and scared to switch gears, and even if they weren¡¯t, they wouldn¡¯t know what to do instead.¡± She asked Paul, ¡°You ever run for your life, Mars?¡±

    Paul nodded. ¡°Once. Bull got loose.¡±

    Verres rolled her eyes. ¡°Of course it did. So, did you stop running the second you were safe?¡±

    ¡°¡­No?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what this is. Running because your blood¡¯s still up and you¡¯re too fucking terrified for anything else.¡± Verres sat back and folded her arms, her glass shards tucking themselves in behind her ears. ¡°It¡¯s just the regulars here are the ones doing the chasing.¡±

    There was a thump against the ceiling.

    ¡°Is it hailing or something?¡±

    Paul wrapped his arms around his stomach. Australia was confusing.

    Kerry Napes was vibrating with excitement. ¡°At last, some action!¡±

    ¡°¡­Our last capture was four days ago,¡± said Verres.

    ¡°Too long! This is what I¡¯m made for!<sup>5</a></sup> This land is my Eden! Little rogue sorcerers around every corner, just for us!¡± Napes grinned like a gassy newborn. ¡°Definitely beats opening another fucking mall¡­¡±

    Corporal Jinks shook his head silently. Overall, he considered himself lucky in terms of company. Paul Mars was, frankly, a pussy, but sometimes he reckoned he could use more of those. Jinks tended to throw the boy at the cameras whenever his arm needed to seem kind. Verres was a crook, but she was also one of the best arguments for women in the armed forces. She had a good head for reading the public mood, too. He¡¯d even seen a scrap of decency hiding under her skin from time to time.

    Kerry Napes, though, was just a dickhead. Jinks had decided early on that the man was never to be allowed near the cameras. Just on the off-chance popped a boner while thinking something vile. Or even just started swearing in the vicinity of the sound gear. Or worst of all, tried demonstrating his powers.

    Napes¡¯ skin pulsed like there were giant pill bugs crawling underneath. He smirked. ¡°Please tell me we¡¯re nearly there, my friends are hungry.¡±

    ¡°Never do that again till I¡¯m in my ground,¡± Verres snapped.

    Napes threw his hands up. ¡°Well they are!¡±

    There had to have been a mix-up, thought Jinks. Somewhere in the depths of Vietnam, some clean-cut kid was blasting Charlie with good vibes<sup>6</a></sup>¡­

    The truck came to a stop. The noises outside had become more alarming.

    ¡°Look alive, boys,¡± ordered Jinks.

    Squad Delta spilled out of the troop-carrier. They were somewhere in the City of Sterling, close enough to the beach that the air was faintly spiced with sea-salt. Policemen and ADF soldiers were shouting at people gawking from their windows and front lawns. Others were pointing their guns and screaming at a bulge in the middle of the road, scurrying about like a puppy trapped under a carpet.

    ¡°So,¡± said Verres, ¡°do we actually know what this kid can do?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± said Jinks bitterly. ¡°Freakin¡¯ DDHA.¡±

    Napes punched his palm. ¡°The Spartans¡¯ enemies didn¡¯t hand them neat little reports! Why should ours?¡±

    ¡°Shut up, university boy,¡± Verres snapped.

    The squad found a bureaucratically coloured man lurking on the outskirts of the fracas, frantically flicking through a ringbinder labelled DDHA Field Protocols<sup>7</a></sup>.

    Jinks tapped him on the shoulder. The man jerked and swung around. ¡°Oh! Y-you must be Corporal Jinks?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± grunted the soldier. ¡°And you are?¡±

    ¡°DDHA Agent Frecks, at your service sir.¡±

    Verres looked Frecks up and down. He looked like if James Bond had been shut inside a running washing machine. Couldn¡¯t they have at least sprung for a black suit?

    ¡°What¡¯s the situation?¡± asked Jinks.

    Frecks cleared his throat. ¡°Well, me and my partner Benson had pacified the target¡¯s parents, with the help of the soldiers of course¡ª¡±

    Verres cut in, ¡°You pointed guns at them, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°And made them tea!¡± protested Frecks. ¡°We¡¯re not monsters!¡±

    There was a second of silence before Frecks cleared his throat again. ¡°Anyway, the girl was cooperating¡ªbasically¡ªso we tried to go easy on her. Even let her take a teddy-bear.¡±

    ¡°Go on¡­¡±

    ¡°We were walking out onto the street when she dropped the thing, so we let her pick it up¡ª¡± Frecks bit his lip.

    ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake, man, spit it out!¡± barked Jinks.

    ¡°Well, the moment she touched the ground, her body sort of melted into it and¡ª¡±¡­¡± Flecks pointed at the living mass of tarmac currently tripping up Perth¡¯s finest. ¡°¡ªThat.¡±

    Corporal Jinks hummed and rubbed his chin. He really wanted to avoid shooting a kid. Especially one who could absorb bullets. What to do, what to do¡­

    ¡°Poor thing,¡± said Paul Mars. ¡°Must be scared to death.¡±

    Jinks clicked his fingers, before pointing sharply at Agent Flecks. ¡°Get all your police and troops out of here!¡±

    Flecks sputtered. ¡°But sir¡ª¡±

    ¡°Form a cordon. Keep the news crews out of the danger zone.They¡¯re not worth anything here anyway.¡±

    ¡°Brilliant idea, sir!¡± cried Napes. ¡°More for us.¡±

    Jinks turned on his heel, and backhanded the man in the jaw. Kerry swore. Jinks ignored him. ¡°Hide him or something, Verres. The last thing we need is Napes trying to eat a ten year old.¡±

    Over the course of the next twenty minutes, soldiers and police officers climbed into their cars and trucks and retreated out of sight. Eventually¡ªbesides the soldiers enjoying a deeply awkward afternoon tea with Mr. and Mrs Nichols¡ªall that were left were Flecks, Benson, and the PRSD.

    Paul Mars approached the roiling mass in the road¡ªalone and slowly. He had his hands raised. He¡¯d have waved a white flag if he had one. ¡°Hey, Lily, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    The distorted lump of road melted and reformed. It became the shape of a girl, with crushed glass for eyes. Or the upper half of one, anyway. Her waist tapered off into the asphalt. A mermaid of the suburbs city. She didn¡¯t answer.

    ¡°Can¡¯t talk like that?¡± asked Paul.

    The girl nodded warily.

    Paul bent till he was level with the child. He tried to remember conversations with his little sisters, and shook his head, before simply planting his rear on the asphalt, and crossing his legs. He gave the girl a smile. ¡°Look, I know this is scary. It was scary for me and my friends, too when it happened to us. But I promise, we just want you to be safe. We¡¯re not going to take you anywhere nasty.¡±

    The girl tilted her head.

    ¡°He¡¯s full of shit.¡±

    Everyone looked up. There was a little girl dressed in rainbows floating above the scene. Her eyes burned bright red, and her skin was white ash.

    ¡°¡­Miranda?¡± said Paul eventually.

    ¡°Shit,¡± said Verres flatly.

    Allison Kinsey ignored him. ¡°I¡¯ve been to the place they¡¯ll take you. I think you should beat them up.¡±

    Lily Nichols¡¯ avatar looked noncommittally from Allison to Paul. It was strange. As the girl¡¯s body moved, the upper half of it seemed to become less and less a part of the asphalt. Her torso was glass now, clear as the surface of a pool, but distorted under the surface by what for all the world looked like the glowing core of a lava lamp, shifting around inside her frame like a blob of liquid light. She thought about the words for a second, then, frowned, and shook her head.

    ¡°Thank you, Lily.¡± Paul gave her another smile, which she didn¡¯t quite return.

    Allison cracked her knuckles. ¡°S¡¯okay,¡± she said brightly. ¡°I can get you started.¡±

    The next thing Paul knew, Allison was slamming into his chest with the force of a small car, sending his body sprawling end over end across the road.

    Mars came to a stop when his body struck the Nichols¡¯ station wagon. He let out a pained groan, then looked up at Allison, now standing between him and Lily.

    ¡°Miri¡­¡± His vision swam as he tried to push himself upright, only to slump on his shoulders against a car tyre.. ¡°¡­That¡¯s not nice.¡±

    Allison saw a golden opportunity. ¡°The name¡¯s Symphony,¡± she said, ¡°and trying to arrest little girls isn¡¯t nice either.¡±

    It had sounded better in her head. She was keeping the name, though. Whatever the quality of Allison¡¯s comeback, Lily still clapped. It sounded like a minor earthquake. Paul sighed. He¡¯d thought he was winning the girl over.

    ¡°Right,¡± said Verres, watching the scene with the others from between a pair of houses across the street. ¡°Time to raise some insurance premiums¡­¡±

    Verres cracked her neck around on her shoulders, and pushed. There was a pulse. Every window, every tv screen, every piece of glassware in the street exploded into thousands upon thousands of jagged, angular shards. The shards flew and swirled towards Lily and the newly dubbed Symphony, joined by dust and dirt pulled up from the lawns and sidewalks. The cloud blew around the girls like sharpened rose-petals, orbiting the rainbow child and the glass girl like the rings of Saturn, catching and distributing the light they each exuded.

    Lily made distressed grinding noises, her face scrunching up with fear. Allison stood her ground. The Americans were bluffing. Their brains were telling her that as loudly as they could. This was just playtime back at the Institute. It wasn¡¯t even sharper. Britomart hadn¡¯t pulled her punches.

    She reached for Lily¡¯s mind.

    Don¡¯t panic. They¡¯re not half the supers we are. Wait, idea!

    Allison grabbed hold of Specialist Verres¡¯ song. It was like organ music powered by burning petrol. At the same time, she ignited, burning as hot as she could. Then, she let out a pulse. The glass all around them glowed like the embers of a fire as it melted. Verres flinched. Then Allison brought all of it into one; a single, metre wide ball of molten glass and heat, burning like the core of the world. She held the whole of it over Lily¡¯s head¡­

    ¡°Do your thing!¡± Allison cried.

    Lily reached for the sphere.

    For a moment, her road-formed avatar was simply still; an asphalt statue bereft of life. Then reality caught up to it, and it crumbled into tar and rock. As for Lily, her essence fled into the sphere, the glowing core at the centre of her crystalline form flowing into the mass of molten glass.There was a chime; like the sound of a spoon against a drinking glass, but amplified to the level of a church bell. The sphere bulged and flowed; first the tips of fingers, then a momentary glimpse of a girl¡¯s face among the light. For a few seconds, everyone present simply stared.

    When the reformation was done, Lily Nichols stood at least three metres tall, Steam playing around her molten form in a loose cloud of shimmers and distorted air. The effect was only slightly spoiled when Lily giggled, her voice now clearer than the finest record.

    ¡°Aw, jeez, this is so much better than being a wall!¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Allison shouted. ¡°How do you like us now? Flying girl and melty giant!¡±

    ¡°Shit!¡± hissed Verres. ¡°The glass isn¡¯t listening to me! I can¡¯t get it back!¡±

    Jinks said, ¡°You never told me you could heat it up like that!¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t! It was all the kid!¡± she swore. ¡°And now it¡¯s so hot I can¡¯t get it off of her!¡±

    Kerry Napes giggled. ¡°Three powers! We¡¯ve hit the jackpot! Let me at her, boss, for the love of God!¡±

    Jinks just barely resisted the urge to slap the specialist. Again.

    Allison was addressing her new friend. ¡°So, want to play King Kong in the city for a bit?¡±

    Before Lily had the time to shake her head, the temperature plummeted. All sound died. A dark, private dusk fell over the girls.

    Lily¡¯s glass giant went from glowing ruby to clouded diamond. For the first time in months, Allison shivered. She tried to heat up the air, but it was like throwing water off a cliff. All the energy she put out was drawn away like breath into the wind.

    She glanced over at Paul Mars. He was sitting up now. His shadow was missing. The specialist was shouting, but the sound was snatched away before it got to Allison¡¯s ears. She growled silently, before stalking over and lifting the man by his throat. Her feet left the ground.

    ¡°Stop spoiling it!¡±

    A shearing snap, then a cloud of powdered glass hit the girl in the eyes.

    ¡°Ow!¡±

    Allison let go of Mars, only for something thick, warm, and sweaty to snap shut around her body. Eyes watering, she looked down to see the corporal standing below her. Both his arms were stretched, his hands bloated. One was setting Paul back on his feet. The other was clasped tight around Allison.

    ¡°Thanks, sir,¡± said Paul as he dusted himself off.

    ¡°Don¡¯t mention it.¡± He looked up at his squirming, thrashing captive. ¡°And that¡¯ll be enough of that, ¡®Symphony¡¯.¡±

    Allison tried desperately to wiggle free of Jinks¡¯ swollen hand. She scratched and clawed at the inside of his palm, but it was like trying to gore cookie dough.

    ¡°Stop being mean!¡±

    Jinks glanced over at the sound of Lily¡¯s voice, just in time to see her cross the distance between them in a flying leap. The ground shook.

    Her shadow fell rapidly over the two men.

    ¡°Shit!¡± shouted Jinks, shoving Mars to the side and raising one rapidly swelling arm to defend himself. But Lily was larger and heavier than she or the corporal realized. She slammed into the corporal like a titan¡¯s fist, and Jinks was sent flying into the bricks of the house Verres sheltered behind, his form hitting the wall with a wet splat.

    The arm holding Allison spasmed and thudded limply to the ground, freeing her; the length of it still connected to the smear that remained of the corporal like a string of stretched spaghetti. She floated in the air and humphed.

    ¡°Serves him right.¡±

    Paul and Verres both looked on in horror.

    ¡°Jinks!¡±

    Lily put her hands against her mouth in horror, a stream of mumbled half-apologies flowing desperately from her lips. The apologies abruptly stopped when the corporal¡¯s remains muttered something little girls really aren¡¯t supposed to hear.

    The human splat croaked, ¡°Okay, Napes, your turn¡­ just don¡¯t kill them, alright?¡±

    Kerry Napes jumped out from the shrubbery he¡¯d been hiding behind. ¡°At last!¡± He grinned up at Allison. ¡°Hey kid, lonely?¡±

    Paul and Verres both braced themselves.

    Kerry¡¯s eyes rolled backwards in his head, and then exploded, releasing a swarm of something between shrimp and wasps. The tattoos on his chest leaked gouts of blood, before cracking open to release his transformed organs. Toothed intestines spilled onto the road like wyrms from a dragon¡¯s womb. Napes¡¯s heart wiggled out after them on its arteries, ventricles hardening and curling like the horns of a rhino beetle. His lungs were grinning goblins, accompanied by scuttling creatures with hides of muscle and torn skin. Soon all that was left of the specialist were a few strips of epidermis and his brain, armoured by the remnants of his skull. Even that sprouted legs and scuttled away into the bushes.

    The menagerie charged at the girls.

    Allison shuddered. ¡°Ewww!¡± She looked over at Lily. ¡°You wanna go get your parents or whatever while I take care of those?¡±

    The glass-giant gave a thumbs up.

    Allison landed amongst the monsters. She looked around and grinned, picturing about half of Eliza Winter¡¯s biofeedback signals. These things looked dangerous; knowledge taken from first Zywie, then, more pertinently, the Physician highlighting sets of barbed, neurotoxin laced stingers hidden amongst the swarm. She clotted her blood, and set her skin aflame.  ¡°Bring it on.¡±

    Time slowed, or at least Allison¡¯s perception of it. The thing that had been Kerry Napes¡¯ heart shot a jet of blood at the girl. To her it was like watching an icicle form in mid-air. Effortlessly, she snatched up the pancreas lunging for her leg and shoved it between herself and the stream.

    The creature screamed as the acid struck it. Kerry Napes¡¯ song exploded with notes of pain. One of the disadvantages of literally throwing yourself at your enemies, Allison supposed.

    She threw the melting organ aside. A couple of miscellaneous messes of bone and muscle were trying to to flank her. High on adrenaline, she leapt to the side, grabbing the heart. She dug her nails into the thing. It shrieked, spraying its deadly blood all over a cluster of vermiform veins and serpentine bowels. When it was spent, she threw it down and kicked it like a football into what she swore had once been Napes¡¯ fibula.  The eye-swarm was descending now like angry rain.

    Allison pulsed, white hot. The creatures burst into flame, consumed in less than a second. She felt good.

    On the other side of the street, Corporal Jinks and specialist Verres watched on, unsure whether to be horrified or impressed. As a solution, Napes¡¯ power was almost always worse than the problem.

    Lily crashed shoulder-first into her living room, catching sight of her parents cowering by the sofa. The soldiers guarding them screamed pointless, indiscernible things up at Lily, but Grandad¡¯s old armchair toppled both of them like bowling pins.

    Mr. and Mrs Nichols looked up at their daughter with something akin to awe.

    ¡°Lily?¡± her mother asked.

    The giant picked them both up gently. Effortlessly. Like kittens. Both her parents were too stunned to make a noise.

    What Lily didn¡¯t notice was Paul Mars¡¯ shadow floating behind her. Allison did, though, watching the family reunion as she crushed some of Napes¡¯ remaining body parts between her hands.

    Verres screamed, trying to tackle Allison with desperate, purely human strength. Almost idly, the girl noted the electricity sparking across her shoulders from Verres¡¯ stun-stick. Allison thrust her hands out and launched the woman over her head, letting her own momentum do most of the work.

    All her attention was focused on the living shadow. It reminded her of a mosquito that¡¯d drunk its fill. It was vast and globular now, and something like thunder and lightning roiled deep within it.

    All that energy, she thought. Why isn¡¯t he blasting her?

    She found Paul Mars crouching behind a picket fence. He was breathing deeply and rapidly, like he was trying to psyche himself up for something.

    Oh yeah, she remembered, he¡¯s a wimp.

    An idea struck Allison.

    Colonel Jinks shot upwards on his legs, before retracting them back into himself and flattening around Allison like a net, rapidly contracting..

    The girl let herself burn for just a second. The sudden burst of hot air blew the colonel up like a hot air balloon, sending him at first into the air, then, as his body vented the air, just badly off course.

    ¡°Hey, Miri.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡± said the ghost-child, hopping around her host.

    ¡°You know how I went inside that Thumps guy and made him shoot me?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Mind doing that with Paul over there?¡±

    ¡°¡­You want me to shoot you?¡±

    Allison groaned. ¡°No, I mean¡ªjust get inside him, will ya?¡±

    Miri regarded the specialist, still trying to convince himself to try and blast away Lily¡¯s glass body. He was so big. And boy.

    ¡°Fine,¡± she huffed.

    The spectre took off running towards Mars. She collided with him and¡ª

    Miri gasped with Paul¡¯s lungs. It was even worse than she¡¯d expected. She had way more arms and legs than she knew what to do with, everything was sweaty, and she felt like someone had stapled a lump of raw chicken between her legs. Miri was suddenly very grateful the Physician had made her female.

    She shook Paul Mars¡¯ head, trying to focus. What do I do now?

    Send his shadow-thing over to the other Americans!

    ¡°Okay,¡± Miri said aloud. Gosh, his voice was deep.

    The void of darkness flitted over to where Jinks and Verres were trying to find their second wind. It hovered above them, threatening to rain its stolen energy down on their heads.

    ¡°The hell are you doing, Mars?¡± Jinks shouted. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve gone turncoat!¡±

    Miri waved at them.

    ¡°Paul Mars is under new management,¡± called Allison. ¡°We¡¯re gonna keep him if you don¡¯t go away.¡±

    Verres looked questioningly at her superior officer. ¡°Jinks?¡±

    Kerry Napes brain scuttled frantically out from its hiding place, ramming the corporal¡¯s ankles until Jinks picked it up. Despite himself, he started stroking the misbegotten thing like a frightened puppy.

    He looked plaintively at Allison. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t hurt Paul. Please.¡±

    Allison smiled slyly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±

    Paul started walking towards his comrades. A few feet away, his shadow shrunk and reattached itself to its owner. The specialist stumbled forward like he¡¯d been shoved.

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    Verres grabbed her comrade¡¯s hand and started pulling him roughly towards the AMV. ¡°We¡¯re going,¡± she said.

    A little woozily, Mars said, ¡°But the mission¡ª¡±

    ¡°Tactical retreat, Paul,¡± said Jinks firmly, still carrying Napes¡¯ brain. It was going to take ages for him to grow back, but better that than dead. Hell. This might even keep him out of trouble for a while. The corporal called over his shoulder. ¡°Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is, I don¡¯t approve of what your country does to children like you, but you are an absolute brat.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer the man. Instead, she turned and walked towards Lily Nichols, still holding her parents in her palms.

    ¡°I like your power,¡± she said.

    Something like a ghost emerged from the giant¡¯s chest. It landed in front of Allison and solidified into a naked, red haired girl about her age. ¡°Thanks,¡± she said. ¡°Yours is pretty good too.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Flying, lava¡­?¡±

    ¡°Lotta things,¡± said Allison, trying not to brag for once. ¡°How long you been a super?¡±

    ¡°Since forever.¡±

    Allison grabbed her hand and high-fived her. ¡°Same!¡± She  pointed at Lily¡¯s parents. ¡°Those yours?¡± she asked.

    ¡°Yep!¡± answered Lily, pulling on the same clothes that she had been wearing when DDHA had tried to take her. ¡°You two okay?¡± she called up to them.

    Mr. Nichols made a small, vaguely affirmative squeaking noise. Mrs Nichols nodded slowly.

    Allison smiled bemusedly. Parents. Somewhat involuntarily, her thoughts turned to her own. It had to have been a year¡ª

    She glimpsed the edge of her parents¡¯ future.

    No, she thought. They¡¯d take me back¡­

    In seven out of ten realities, they wouldn¡¯t.

    Somewhere far away, Lily was saying, ¡°Gosh, I¡¯ve never been that¡­ is the word naughty? Feels too¡­ little.¡± She giggled. ¡°Well, whatever it was, it was fun.¡±

    Allison marched over to her and grabbed the other girl¡¯s hand. ¡°Come with me,¡± she said, her voice low.

    Lily smiled confusedly. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I have friends. We¡¯re all supers.¡± Allison tried to smile. It had too much teeth and didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°It¡¯ll be fun.¡±

    Lily opened her mouth like she was about to speak, closed it again, and then tilted her head up towards her parents. ¡°What about Mum and Dad?¡±

    Allison sucked in a breath. ¡°They¡¯re not like us. Their world is too small for us. They¡¯ll try to stuff you into it¡­ or kick you out..¡±

    ¡°Um, honey,¡± Mrs Nichols said. ¡°What are you girls talking about down there?¡±

    Lily didn¡¯t answer her mother. ¡°Look,¡± she said to Allison, ¡°you¡¯re fun, and it¡¯s great you saved me from those idiots. But I¡¯m not gonna leave my parents behind. They¡¯re my parents..¡± She laughed. ¡°That¡¯d be nuts.¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes were watering. She wished it was some of Verres¡¯ dust.

    Briefly, Allison considered making Lily come with her. It wouldn¡¯t hurt her. It¡¯d feel just like if she decided herself¡­

    Alberto was standing behind Lily now, raising a glass of wine in a toast with a small smile.

    No.

    Okay, scratch the brainwashing. She could show Lily the future. Futures, she should say. All the things they could do together. She looked up at the the elder Nichols.

    All the ways they would fail her.

    She could, couldn¡¯t she? It wouldn¡¯t be making her do anything. Just presenting her with the options¡­

    No. It still wouldn¡¯t be fair.

    Alberto shrugged, drained his glass, and vanished.

    Allison let go of Lily¡¯s hand. ¡°Kay,¡± she said. ¡°I get ya. Still, friends?¡±

    Lily¡¯s smile became sure again. ¡°Yeah, definitely.¡±

    Mr. Nichols said, ¡°Maybe we should head off, Lily? I think I can hear more police sirens¡­¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Lily. ¡°Good idea.¡±

    Allison skimmed the storm of futures. ¡°Head north,¡± she said, ¡°into the hills. Easier to hide up there.¡± She nodded at the still glass giant, the joints of its limbs slowly starting to crack as gravity caught up to them. ¡°I¡¯d take that thing with ya. Nobody¡¯s gonna wanna mess with that thing.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, said Lily. She took a deep breath and stepped in front of her giant. ¡°See ya around, Symphony.¡±  She wafted out of her clothes into the golem. Her parents gave weak, but somewhat cheerful waves.

    Allison stayed on the ground until the Nichols turned the corner out of sight. Then she burst into the air, climbing into the sky.

    Why did she feel so yuck? She¡¯d done a good deed! And for once it was actually fun. It wasn¡¯t as though she¡¯d found out anything she hadn¡¯t already guessed.

    Anxiety and rage thrashed inside Allison like some of Kerry Napes¡¯ organs. She wished she could escape her body¡ª

    Wait.

    Allison stopped in mid-air above the Swan River. ¡°Miri,¡± she said. ¡°Do you want a turn being in charge?¡±

    Before Miri could answer, she was.

    The young creature hovered in the sky for a moment. She waved her hand in front of her face and rubbed her fingers through her hair.

    Miri took a deep breath. ¡°Costume off.¡±

    She took off over the sea, laughing wildly.

 Chapter Seventy-Seven: The God Beneath the Sea

    Beneath the slowly setting sun Arnold Barnes was putting the finishing touches on his sandcastle when Mabel asked, ¡°If David and Allison don¡¯t come back, what should we do?¡±

    Arnold didn¡¯t look up from his southern turret. ¡°They¡¯re coming back.¡±

    Mabel kept scratching away at her life sketch. ¡°I know. Still, worth thinking about. Can¡¯t exactly do the teleport trick without Allie. And pretty sure we¡¯re not as good at fishing as David.¡±

    Arnold hummed. ¡°True. I guess I could zap chunks of the sea over here and see what turned up¡­ Not sure what we¡¯d do for water, though¡­¡±

    Billy stretched in front of Mabel. Without his clothes, he looked as if a children¡¯s illustrator had forgotten when to stop drawing. ¡°I can make saltwater okay to drink!¡± he insisted. ¡°Can make us food, too¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not eating your food sludge,¡± said Mabel.

    The tiger-boy whined, ¡°But it¡¯s sugary!¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Mabel glanced at her scrapbook resting beside her. ¡°I guess if we didn¡¯t want to be the Swiss Family Watercolours forever, I could make a boat¡­¡±

    A black treasure galleon with a golden water-kelpie for a figurehead appeared just off the island¡¯s shore.

    Mabel grinned. ¡°Or a spaceship¡­¡±

    The sailing ship vanished, replaced by a classical, red and blue flying saucer<sup>1</a></sup>, its rim ringed with hemispherical divots.

    ¡°Nice,¡± said Arnold. He shifted to look at Mabel and Billy. ¡°Do you think we could manage?¡± Guiltily, he clarified, ¡°Without David and Allie I mean.¡±

    ¡°Honestly,¡± said Mabel, ¡°I¡¯m not sure how they would manage.¡±

    The gentle churn of the waves was broken by excited splashing. David was running out of the sea, his grandfather looking on fondly as always. The little boy was wearing a sodden beret.

    ¡°Hey guys!¡± he trilled. He pointed to his beret. ¡°I went to France! Same part mum¡¯s mum was from!¡± He giggled. ¡°Those kids were so confused¡­¡±

    Mabel waved. ¡°Hey Dave,¡± she said, adding, ¡°You know, Allie at least left a note.¡±

    David looked around the beach. ¡°Oh, is Allie gone?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Note said she went flying with ¡®Miri¡¯.¡±

    Billy was looking up at the clouds. ¡°I bet she¡¯s already conquered America or something.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯d be cool,¡± said Arnold. ¡°We¡¯d own Disneyland.¡±

    ¡°Ooh!¡± David turned towards his grandfather. ¡°Sometime we¡¯re going to Disneyland!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is,¡± said Grandfather Ocean. He pointed a pale finger at the UFO still hovering above his domain. ¡°Is that the work of you, larger girl?¡± he asked Mabel.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Mabel answered warily.

    The Ocean looked at his grandson. ¡°You should keep an eye on this one, too, in case you can add her blood to ours.¡±

    David rolled his eyes. ¡°Are you going to say that about every girl I know?¡±

    ¡°Only the exceptional,¡± said the Ocean. ¡°You keep good company, my child.¡±

    Mabel grit her teeth, hiding her face behind her sketchbook. She didn¡¯t know why Allison liked David¡¯s monster-granddad so much. Aside from him being evil, half the time he sounded like a weird, aquatic Lawrence.

    Also, looking at a dead guy¡¯s junk was gross.

    Something small and white streaked down through the sky like an early falling star, landing somewhere on the other side of the island. Mabel could have sworn she heard it giggling.

    ¡°I think Allie¡¯s back,¡± said Arnold.

    The Watercolours circuited the island until they found Allison. The girl was¡­ licking a tree.

    ¡°Um, Allie?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°That tree must taste really good,¡± said Billy.

    Allison straightened and ran up to her friends, grinning maniacally. ¡°Hi guys!¡± Her gaze jumped wildly between all the other Watercolours, as though she were only seeing them for the first time.

    Mabel squinted at her friend. There was something¡­ askew with Allison. Usually, she carried herself with the confidence of a young tigress. Or a kitten about to pounce at a mirror. Right now she looked like she was about to vibrate herself to death with excitement. Her grin was off too. Allison always smiled like she was surveying a kingdom laid out for the taking. Now she just looked like she¡¯d spent all her pocket money on Windshear¡¯s smuggled soda.

    ¡°Allison,¡± said Mabel slowly, lest she set her off, ¡°did you¡­ take something while you were away?¡±

    ¡°Allison¡± blinked, before comprehension dawned on her. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not Allison.¡± She shot her arms out to either side of herself. ¡°I¡¯m Miri!¡±

    David tilted his head. ¡°¡­Wait, you¡¯re that clone-girl Allie ate?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± chirped Miri. ¡°It¡¯s alright, I was gonna be dead anyway.¡±

    Arnold regarded her suspiciously. ¡°Is this another Alberto thing? Because we just did that.¡±

    ¡°She gave me permission!¡± insisted Miri. She glanced at the empty space to her left. ¡°Tell ¡®em Allie!¡±

    The air did not speak.

    Miri frowned and shook her arm. ¡°C¡¯mon, tell them!¡±

    A moment of plaintive staring, and the girl closed her eyes.

    Allison opened her eyes and sighed, her whole posture wilting.  ¡°It¡¯s okay, guys,¡± Allison said wearily. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ having a break. Please be nice to Miri, she¡¯s cool.¡±

    Miri shook herself like a wet dog. ¡°See? I¡¯m like her¡­¡± Miri

    Arnold raised an eyebrow, his arms folded. ¡°You could¡¯ve just been pretending to be Allison.¡±

    Billy shoved the other boy playfully but firmly. ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be like that, Arn.¡± He stepped next to Miri and pulled her into a side-hug. ¡°Pleased to meetcha, Miri!¡±

    Miri nuzzled Billy so hard the pair toppled over in the sand. Miri kept on cuddling. ¡°Oh, my God.¡± Miri wondered if she had one of those. She wasn¡¯t even entirely sure what a ¡°God¡± was<sup>2</a></sup>. It didn¡¯t matter. She had more important quandaries to consider:

    ¡°How are you so cuddly?¡±

    Billy purred. He might¡¯ve been self-conscious about that not too long ago. He wiggled proudly. ¡°Natural talent!.¡±

    Billy¡¯s tail swished against Miri¡¯s leg, making her giggle. ¡°You have a tail!¡± she declared. ¡°Why don¡¯t other people have tails? They¡¯re so much fun!¡±

    Billy grinned around at his friends. ¡°I think I like her.¡±

    ?

    The next fortnight on No-Name-Island passed relatively quietly. Miri manned the fort of her and Allison¡¯s body for more than three days straight.

    Much to David¡¯s consternation, most of that was spent with Billy:

    ¡°Wanna come swimming, Miri?¡± he asked one afternoon. ¡°There¡¯s a dolphin pod hanging out a couple miles out!¡± He pointed eagerly out to sea. ¡°We can wrestle them!¡±

    ¡°Maybe later,¡± Miri answered, not looking at the sea-sprite. She was sitting in the sand, braiding the fur on Billy¡¯s back into tribal tattoos. ¡°I¡¯m doing an art!¡±

    Billy flinched slightly as Miri¡¯s fingers slipped. ¡°Yeah!¡± he said, grinning and baring his fangs. ¡°I¡¯m gonna be a warrior!¡±

    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± said David. ¡°Later then.¡± He turned around and started walking into the ocean, muttering, ¡°Unless you¡¯re too busy kissing and junk.¡± He kicked a rock into the water on his way past.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it!¡± David said later, pacing on top of the water in front of his grandfather. ¡°I¡¯m cool right? And dolphins are cool!¡±

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°You are a beautiful, boundless creature, my child,¡± Grandfather Ocean assured him. ¡°And dolphins are amenable lovers whose flesh made your mother grow strong and tall.¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± said David. ¡°Who wouldn¡¯t want to pet one? Dumb people, that¡¯s who.¡± He sat down on the glassy surface of the sea, hand cupped under his chin. ¡°It¡¯s all because Billy¡¯s floofy¡­¡±

    ¡°You could have fur,¡± said the Ocean.

    David squinted at his grandfather. ¡°I could?¡±

    ¡°Your body is a seeming. It is whatever you think you are. You could have the snowy pelt of a seal-cub, or the slippery skin of a dolphin.¡±

    David rubbed his chin. ¡°Hmm¡­¡± He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and screwed his eyes shut in concentration. After a minute or so of this, he opened his eyes again and looked down at himself, finding only the usual brown, naked human skin.

    ¡°Stupid¡ª¡± David startled when he caught sight of his shoulder. It was plated in moss.

    ¡°It¡¯s so unfair!¡± he whined later walking next to Arnold along the beach.

    ¡°What¡¯s unfair?¡± Arnold asked, only half-listening as he flapped his cloak in the breeze.

    ¡°It¡¯s like I¡¯ve been replaced!¡±

    Arnold stared incredulously at David, before breaking down in bent over laughter.

    ¡°What?¡± said David. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±

    Arnold looked back up at his friend, mouth open like he was going to explain, only for laughter to overcome him again.

    ¡°Seriously!¡±

    Arnold managed to stand up straight up again and wipe his eyes. He strolled ahead of David. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re pretty, Dave.¡±

    Eventually, David figured out what he had to do. Miri thought Billy was cool. Bah! He¡¯d show her cool¡­

    Billy and Miri were sitting on a rocky outcrop arting and crafting when the moaning whale song washed over them.

    The minke whale rose from the water, its head and jaw armoured in gleaming white and purple seashells. David rode atop her like Hannibal on his elephant. Like his mount, his body was decorated with shells, while a coral crown rested in his dark locks.

    ¡°Woah,¡± said Billy, setting down his homemade cup of homemade glue. Thankfully Miri had stopped trying to taste it. ¡°It¡¯s a whale-knight¡­¡±

    ¡°Hey guys,¡± David called. He thumped the whale lightly. She hardly noticed. ¡°Like my new pet?¡±

    The whale let out a rumble deep in its belly.

    ¡°It¡¯s neat!¡± said Miri. She held out Billy¡¯s latest latest creation: a clam with googly eyes and red paint streaked across its lower rim.  ¡°We¡¯ve been doing stuff too! Look! Billy made it look like a face!¡±

    David looked at Miri¡¯s face. He didn¡¯t know Allison¡¯s features were capable of such unalloyed wonder.

    ¡°Billy, do the thing!¡±

    Billy took the clam and flapped its jaws. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Mr. Scallops!¡±

    Miri squealed and clapped her hands. Her eyes were sparkling, even through the red glare.

    David¡¯s eye twitched.

    Really? he thought.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Cool.¡±

    Sullenly, the boy and his whale sank back below the waves.

    ?

    Thankfully for David, Miri eventually took the backseat again.

    Mabel was crouched in the sea, futilely trying to wash the sand out of her hair without replacing it with salt.

    ¡°Hey Mabs!¡±

    Mabel stood and looked behind her. Her friend with the bloodless skin and the glowing red eyes was standing on the shore. But which one? No costume, but that wasn¡¯t really a clue either way. She didn¡¯t particularly look like she wanted to hug or stick anything in her mouth, and she was standing very straight, like she was issuing the entire world a challenge. In general, she seemed to lack the constant, unabashed state of ¡°yay¡± in which Miri existed.

    ¡°Hey¡­ Allison?¡±

    The girls strolled into the surf next to her friend. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m back. How¡¯s stuff?¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± answered Mabel. ¡°I finally figured out how to draw Billy¡¯s face properly. You¡¯d think kids would be easier when you are one.¡± She made a show of checking her surroundings before whispering, ¡°I¡¯m gonna try animating it later and make it sneak up on him.¡±

    Allison grinned.¡°Only if I¡¯m there when you do it. And I have a camera on me.¡±

    ¡°Heh, deal. You were gone a while, Allie.¡±

    Allison quirked her shoulders. ¡°Hey, Miri barely got to be alive before we merged.¡± Mostly in their sleep, Allison and Miri had agreed that ¡°merged¡± was the least gross way of putting it. ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t she get to be in charge for a while?¡±

    ¡°True. Still, three days. Long time. You could¡¯ve¡­ taken shifts?¡±

    Allison took a deep breath. ¡°I needed a break.¡±

    ¡°¡­From being you?¡±

    Allison stiffened for a second, before forcing a smile and splashing Mabel. ¡°Shut up!¡±

    It sounded like Allison meant that more than she realized. Mabel decided not to press things. Allison hadn¡¯t, after all.

    ¡°¡­And if I have to I eat fish one more night!¡±

    ¡°Maybe if you¡¯d try it raw for once¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d bloody throw my guts up!¡±

    The girls turned to find David and Arnold stalking along the beach, clearly arguing, with Billy trailing trepidatiously behind them.

    Mabel called over to the boys, ¡°What are you on about?¡±

    Arnold stopped and turned on his heels towards the girls. ¡°I¡¯m sick of sleeping in the sand all the time! I want a real bed!¡± He grimaced at his own grime and sand encrusted body. ¡°And a shower.¡±

    David scoffed. ¡°We¡¯re on a beach. Just go for a swim.¡±

    Arnold got right up in the other boy¡¯s face, hissing, ¡°Do you know what sunburn on your butt is like, David?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡± Arnold shot a look at Allison. ¡°And how are you not a lobster by now? You¡¯ve got paper for skin!¡±

    ¡°Do you see paper getting sunburn<sup>3</a></sup>? Stop being a wimp, Arn.¡±

    ¡°¡­I think I¡¯m with Arnold,¡± said Mabel.

    Allison looked at her. ¡°Why?¡±

    Mabel shuffled her feet in the water. ¡°Look, we¡¯re not like you and David. Running around naked and playing with gods or whatever all day is fun, it really is¡­ for a while. But I miss shampoo. And food that isn¡¯t fish.¡±

    ¡°You should try seaweed!¡± insisted David. ¡°Or dugong!¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said Mabel firmly.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Billy. ¡°We¡¯ve done it your way for a while. I¡¯ve really liked it, but it should probably be Mabel and Arnold¡¯s turn now.¡±

    ¡°Billy¡¯s right,¡± said Miri, suddenly standing on the water between Allison and Mabel. ¡°I¡¯ve never been in a house! They sound neat! Like if someone made an island, but inside.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± Allison said flatly. ¡°We just need to find a hotel that¡¯ll let five outlaw kids with no parents or money stay as long as we want without calling the freak-finders.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t be that hard,¡± said Arnold. ¡°We have your Alberto powers.¡±

    ¡°Seems chancey,¡± said Billy. ¡°Also, maybe evil?¡±

    David folded his arms and pouted. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna go somewhere I have to wear clothes all day. Or be far away from the sea.¡±

    Arnold shoved him. David shoved back.

    There was a gurgling sound behind Mabel and Allison. Grandfather Ocean rose and formed from the water. ¡°My child, if you wish to indulge the animals, I know of a place that might silence their complaints.¡±

    ¡°What place?¡± asked David.

    ¡°A great cave of air and metal, built by a rascal god some time ago. In my honour, I assume. An estate, I think men would call it, or a manor. It is¡­ acceptable for creatures that breathe, and full of what you would call wonders. It¡¯s been empty for a while now.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± said Billy, grinning and nodding his head, ¡°that, I want to see.¡±

    ¡°It does sound fun,¡± Allison admitted.

    Arnold only had one question:

    ¡°Is there a TV<sup>4</a></sup>?¡±

    ?

    Rather than risk Arnold dropping them deep beneath the ocean, the children ventured across David¡¯s ancestor on a sailing ship conjured by Mabel¡¯s powers. She and Allison took shifts maintaining it while they and their friends ran around playing pirate amongst thinly-defined, phantasmic sailors. They followed in the wake of an unnaturally long-lived rogue wave, upon whose crest David and grandfather rode.

    After nearly a week, the wave crashed back into the ocean. Once David stopped laughing and hugging his grandfather he broke down into sea fog and reformed on the prowl of the WS<sup>5</a></sup>.

    ¡°We¡¯re here!¡± he crowed.

    The Watercolours gathered portside, looking down at the choppy plane of slate-grey water. Winter ruled this part of the world. The sky above was lined with heavy gray clouds. Thunder rumbled somewhere below the horizon.

    Mabel rubbed her shoulders. Even with her costume, the air carried a bite. She would be glad to be somewhere warm again. ¡°Okay,¡± she looked at David, ¡°how do we get down to this sea-castle or whatever?¡±

    David smiled indulgently and rubbed his knuckles against his chest. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got it covered.¡±

    He gazed down at the sea, his eyes aglow. A small, circular patch of water froze over. Its edges curved upwards, rising into the air until the glassy ice met and closed, except for a porthole in the very top, large enough for a child or two to slip through.

    David turned to Allison at the end of the line. ¡°Allie¡ª¡±

    His body became a splash on the deck. His voice rose from the ice-bubble:

    ¡°Mind helping our friends into the bathysphere?¡±

    Once Allison had lowered the last Watercolour down into the globe, it sealed shut. Everyone was wearing their costumes, apart from David. Arnold wanted to ask how his skin wasn¡¯t sticking to the ice.

    ¡°Try not to breathe too much,¡± the water-sprite said.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t until you said that,¡± grumbled Arnold.

    Mabel¡¯s ship dissolved back into dreams. The bubble plunged below the waves. David¡¯s grandfather swam in front of them, towards a light in the far gloom. The light became a rosebulb of blue and green diamond cradled in gold filigree, glowing in the storm-darkened sea like the fallen moon. Or maybe a dandelion, swaying in the current on a stalk that trailed down into the murk. It appeared to be the size of a school bus.

    ¡°Wow,¡± said Billy, his face as close to the ice as possible without having to leave a chunk of his fur behind.

    He didn¡¯t know it, but Miri was on her knees right next to him, her imaginary face pressed right against the window. She grinned back at her sister. ¡°Pretty!¡±

    ¡°Is pretty woah,¡± Allison said, as though finely crafted jewels of metal and diamond were something she found all the time in the middle of the oceans. ¡°Looks a bit small for us, though.¡±

    They drew closer. The rosebulb grew to the size of a house. Then a manor. Then a large shopping mall.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± said Mabel. ¡°Who the hell built this place?¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± said David. ¡°Granddad just says it was a god.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s very good at telling them apart.¡±

    ¡°Get in as close as possible,¡± Arnold told him. ¡°I really don¡¯t want to mess this up.¡±

    David obeyed, bringing the icey submarine so near it was almost touching the rosebud. To Arnold¡¯s quiet but obvious relief, its diamond walls were largely transparent.

    ¡°There!¡± he said, pointing at a place close to the bottom of the structure. ¡°Pretty sure there¡¯s a staircase through there! Everyone huddle up!¡±

    The children all laid their hands on Arnold. The globe flashed green and crumbled away.

    The Watercolours materialized in a heap on the staircase. Mabel got to her feet first. ¡°Nice, Arn,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re not drowning!¡±

    She looked around. They were in what looked like the grand foyer of a Gilded Age ocean-liner. But where those ships did their best to make their passengers feel as though they were on dry land, this space seemed to glory in the marine. The carpets and walls were all aquatic greens and blues, the latter dotted with bronze and chrome barnacles. Before the staircase was a fountain that looked like nothing more than a hole into the ocean. There were murals of sea creatures and gods everywhere. The entire front wall was a window out into the sea.

    ¡°I think we need to thank your grandpa,¡± said Arnold.

    A calm, even voice filled the entire room. In a perfectly calculated English accent it said: ¡°It is my unfortunate duty to inform you children that you are trespassing.¡±

    The children all startled and scrambled to their feet. Arnold lit up with lightning. A laser-pistol appeared in Mabel¡¯s hand. A globe of mercury materialized in front of Billy¡¯s chest.

    Allison resisted the impulse to burn. This place was too nice to scorch if it could be avoided. ¡°And who might you be?¡± she asked cooly. ¡°You that god that built this place?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± said the voice. ¡°I am the caretaker intelligence of the residential section of the Lyonesse complex. I mind the shop while sir is away.¡±

    ¡°And who is ¡®sir¡¯?¡± asked Arnold, still glowing bright, eyes peeled for attack robots or whatever this place was going to throw at them.

    ¡°Oh, this is unexpected. On the off chance that any intruder did not already know whose home this is, sir authorized me to display this image for intimidation purposes. Please enjoy.¡±

    A perfect holographic image appeared above the fountain.

    All the colour rushed from Mabel¡¯s cheeks. ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Arnold glared at David. ¡°Your granddad¡¯s an idiot.¡±

    Gently, the Flying Man smiled down at the children.

 Chapter Seventy-Eight: There Will Be No Darkness

    Trapped under the Flying Man¡¯s recorded gaze in his weird undersea palace, Arnold couldn¡¯t help but remember Hansel and Gretel.

    Bloody rip-off, he thought. Didn¡¯t even get any candy¡­

    The hologram blinked off. ¡°I think that¡¯s enough intimidation,¡± said the caretaker¡¯s voice. ¡°Now, if you children could stand still for a moment¡­¡±

    Arnold blinked. ¡°Wait, what¡ª¡±

    A wall of blue light appeared in front of the Watercolours. The children had just barely enough time to panic, before it quickly washed over them and disappeared.

    The children all slumped against the velvet-carpeted steps, breathing very hard. Arnold was surprised they hadn¡¯t been disintegrated and scattered to the sea.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± the caretaker hummed to himself.

    Still hyperventilating, Mabel wondered, did the Flying Man program his computers to ¡®umm¡¯ and ¡®ahh¡¯? Or would they all do that if they could talk?

    ¡°I estimate an 89% probability that you five are survivors from the New Human Institute. Could you confirm this?¡±

    Arnold muttered out the corner of his mouth, ¡°Don¡¯t tell it any¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± said Billy, eyes wide. ¡°How did you know?

    Arnold ran his hands down his face. ¡°We¡¯re going to die¡­¡±

    The caretaker explained, ¡°I surmised based on news reports in my archives, your age and the incongruous nature of your arrival, as well as the testimony of Miss Eliza Winter.¡±¡¯

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Mabel, ¡°?y¡ª¡®Miss Eliza¡¯ was here?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid Lyonesse hasn¡¯t had the pleasure, but sir has spoken with her quite extensively.¡± The caretaker¡¯s tone developed a sombre note. ¡°We¡¯re all very sorry to hear how this Institute business turned out.¡±

    Mabel looked down at the stairs. ?ywie knew the Flying Man. But he was a superhero, and she was¡­ evil? Was that what her teacher was now? Surely nobody who¡¯d done what she had could be a good person anymore. But then why did she wish she was here? Maybe she could explain. Or hug her.

    ¡°Sir has actually been looking for you for some time now.¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± said Allison sourly. ¡°He rammed the spaceship we were on.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m sure if sir was here, he would apologize. He was¡­ emotional at the time. As of late he¡¯s been keeping his distance due to your proximity to the Ocean Beast.¡± The caretaker¡¯s voice became the sonic answer to a wagging finger. ¡°I hope you children are aware how dangerous¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s my grandfather,¡± David groused.

    ¡°Oh my.¡± Deep within its logic-crystals, the caretaker made a note to keep an eye on the elemental spawn. Several far off security doors preemptively slammed shut.

    ¡°So why¡¯s the Flying Man looking for us?¡± asked Arnold warily.

    The caretaker seemed taken aback by the question. ¡°You¡¯re children, and no one¡¯s looking after you. What more reason does he need?¡±

    David puffed out his chest. ¡°We don¡¯t need ¡®looking after¡¯ Mister Just-a-voice.¡±

    Didn¡¯t they? Mabel asked herself.

    ¡°Regardless, I have taken the liberty of upgrading your status from ¡®intruders¡¯ to ¡®guests.¡¯ You now have free use of our facilities.¡± Quickly, he added, ¡°Within limits, of course.¡±

    Arnold looked to Allison. ¡°You can see the future, right? Is the Flying Man gonna grind our bones to make his bread or something?¡±

    Allison screwed her eyes shut. Her head twitched like her temples were under assault by mosquitos. One golden day, Arnold was going to tell her how funny she looked doing that.

    ¡°It¡¯s kinda hard to tell,¡± said Allison. ¡°The Flying Man¡¯s so bright. It¡¯s like trying to look behind the sun.¡± She shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not like the future stops anytime soon, but. And he did help me with Alberto¡­¡±

    Arnold raised an eyebrow. ¡°He did?¡±

    ¡°I think so. It¡¯s kinda¡­ fuzzy.¡±

    What the hell, Arnold thought.

    ¡°Ah, heck it,¡± David muttered. ¡°Grandad¡¯s here. I wanna explore!¡±

    The caretaker helpfully provided directions to various points of interest within Lyonesse, all of which fell on deaf ears as the children rushed down staircases and crowded into elevators, only Billy even so much as bothering to thank him.

    Arnold almost fell to his knees when they stumbled across a bedroom: a lush, shag-carpeted suite with a king-size waterbed.

    ¡°It¡¯s so beautiful¡­¡± The boy belly flopped onto the bed, surrendering to it like nirvana. ¡°It¡¯s like sleeping on a jelly-mold!¡± Arnold looked up towards the ceiling. ¡°Does this place have a bath? Or a shower?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the caretaker answered curtly. ¡°Most of you could use a clean.¡±

    As it turned out, ¡°a clean¡± meant a dip in the moon pool at the bottom of Lyonesse. The children floated above a silver submarine resting on a transparent steel<sup>1</a></sup> floor.

    David was unleashing his watery vengeance on Billy when the glob hit him in the back of the head, his neck momentarily jerking forward at the force of the impact, his hair spoofing out weirdly to either side as the goop pushed it outwards.

    David turned around. Arnold was holding a bottle of vanilla and rose damask bath gel to his chest.

    For a moment, no one moved.

    David grinned. Arnold, quite wisely, began to run. Somewhat less wisely, he also began to laugh.

    Once everyone was sufficiently bathed, the Watercolours found the Flying Man¡¯s arcade. Apparently the amusements of the mid 20th century weren¡¯t enough for him. The pinball machine used miniature suns with black holes. There was a twelve foot square glass cabinet where you could grow your own ecosystem.

    Arnold aimed a light-gun at one of the fish in the full-wall aquarium, one eye closed. The towel tied around his waist made him feel like a samurai or some old Greek warrior. Who¡¯d somehow found a laser gun. Whatever. He squeezed the trigger.

    The fish exploded into bright, holographic confetti.

    Arnold grinned. Why did the Flying Man even bother going out?

    ?

    Halfway around the world and over a thousand feet above sea-level, Joseph Allworth descended upon Saiko Lake on the northern flank of Mount Fuji. The touch of his boots sent delicate ripples through the snowy mountain¡¯s reflection in the water.

    Joe made his way towards the shore, walking on the water like it was solid as slate. He passed a blue metal dinghy carrying two local fishermen, their lines sunk sullenly down into the deep. The pair caught sight of the superman as he passed, alarm flowing from them as fog on the winter air:

    ¡°Ittai nani!¡±

    Joe forced a smile and waved back at the men. ¡°Ohayou, fellas!¡±

    As the Flying Man passed out of human earshot, one of the men in the boat turned to his companion. ¡°What¡¯s that in his hand?¡±

    Joe paused for a moment when he reached dry land. Part of him wanted to stay and talk to the fishermen. Maybe even throw on some civilian duds and go full tourist for the day. Instead, he looked at the forest ahead, sighed, and kept walking. He had a meeting to keep.

    He let the dark, quiet world of the trees swallow him. The locals called the forest Aokigahara¡ªthe Sea of Trees. A forest born from a volcano¡¯s fury. The ground underfoot was cold, hard lava, riddled through by hemlock and cypress roots that snaked through the blanket of moss which nourished their vine-draped trees instead of soil. The terrain swelled and dipped like frozen waves. The porous rock ate Joseph¡¯s footsteps, leaving only silent progress.

    Joe couldn¡¯t resist. He dropped the metal orb he was holding and clapped. The sound soaked into the magma like rain into earth.

    Joe picked up the sphere again and reminded himself to remember this place the next time he needed quiet.

    The Flying Man stopped when he came across the corpse. It was a boy, twenty years old at the most, hanging from a tree-branch by a length of rubber cord. The poor lad¡¯s unseeing eyes bulged fishlike from his red, swollen face. His cheeks were streaked with frozen tears and mucus.

    The sight didn¡¯t come as a shock to Joe. Even if he hadn¡¯t seen his share of human death, Aokigahara had become a hotspot for suicides in recent years<sup>2</a></sup>. Morbid as it was, it was why Joe had come here in the first place. Or at least, why what he was looking for had.

    Joe sniffed. The poor lad smelled fresh. A halo of flies gathered around the dead boy¡¯s head, orbiting him like a choir of angels around God¡¯s throne, only deathly silent. Surprisingly active for such a cold winter¡¯s day,

    Joe wondered what drove him to it. Grades? Girls? A random misfiring of hormones and neurotransmitters? A shame, regardless. He almost considered checking the boy for ID, but that seemed more disrespectful than letting him be. Joe felt a rush of guilt at the thought. Disrespectful? He needed the boy to be desecrated. He sat down, adjusted his relationship to the waveform of the light around him, and waited.

    The halo became a cloud, almost obscuring the corpse from view. The boy¡¯s skin blew away like dust, revealing red sinew and muscle. Chunks of his flesh tore free and were carried off into the trees.

    Joe focused his gaze on the flies. They looked a lot like flies¡­ at a distance. Up close, however, the resemblance dissolved. Instead of compound eyes, the creatures sported bundles of sensory tentacles. They possessed no legs of any kind, while their wings were like strips of human skin stretched on a rack.

    They said Aokigahara was haunted by the ghosts of elders left to die on Mount Fuji. Joe couldn¡¯t say whether that was true or not, but he knew for certain they weren¡¯t the only monsters in the forest.

    Joe followed the swarm of fattened flies through the trees, still the next best thing to invisible.

    They came to a wound in the dead magma, streaming down a set of rotting wooden steps. At their summit lay a discarded lab coat and pair of too thick eyeglasses.

    The Flying Man gave up on walking, pursuing the flies like a ghost.

    The hole funneled into a cold, dark cavern, crowded with translucent pillars of ice like a maw of jagged diamond teeth. Joe half expected to spot Lucifer chewing on Judas, Brutus and Cassius.

    Instead, he found an enormous beak set in a mass of white, sunless flesh, greedily inhaling the carrion-flies.

    Joseph Allworth let himself be seen, clearing his throat. ¡°Time was people used caves like these to refrigerate silkworm cocoons. Is that where you got the idea?¡±

    For half a second, he thought the mass wasn¡¯t going to respond. Then it belched.

    ¡°Fuck off.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± the thing growled. ¡°The Physician¡¯s dead. You killed it. The thing that murdered your mother is dead and broken and I wasn¡¯t even around when it killed her. You have no right to kill me.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re eating people.¡±

    ¡°The old ghost<sup>3</a></sup> does far more to them. Bother her. Besides, would you rather I ate the living?¡±

    ¡°I doubt you would pass up the opportunity. You¡¯ve never shown much regard for other living things to begin with. Your ship alone can testify to that.¡±

    ¡°Fair. A thing that could be called me did that. And you killed me for it. Call it a lesson learned. I just want to survive my creator¡¯s folly, star-god.¡±

    Joe nodded. ¡°That¡¯s only fair. And so you will.¡±

    ¡°¡­You¡¯re sparing me?¡±

    ¡°Yes. With restrictions. You¡¯ll be held in my custody until I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve been rehabilitated.¡±

    ¡°But why?¡±

    Joe shrugged. ¡°Because you¡¯re a person, and you deserve a chance to better yourself. Even if you don¡¯t, your knowledge could still help fix the harm you¡¯ve caused. Maybe even leave this world in better shape than you found it. My mother notwithstanding.¡±

    The ice reverberated with low, sad laughter. ¡°Make this world better? I could¡¯ve made this world beautiful.¡±

    Joe actually chuckled. ¡°They do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I also think the beholden deserve a voice in the matter.¡±

    He extended the hand so recently held behind his back, the small incendiary device held between his fingers.

    ¡°Burning or suffocation. Your choice.¡±

    The thing flinched.

    ¡°I thought you said you¡¯d spare me.¡±

    ¡°I already have. A sliver of you, encased in diamond in the lowest part of my home. More than one, actually. Always good to have redundancy.¡±

    ¡°¡­ What if I could give you a reason?¡±

    Joe cocked his head. ¡°A reason?¡±

    The creature gurgled slow and quiet.

    ¡°My greater self had contingencies for this. Plans and backdoor solutions to get out of exactly this kind of situation. He never shared them with the offshoots. We weren¡¯t important. He¡¯s a more dangerous prisoner than I am.¡±

    ¡°He also knows more.¡±

    ¡°¡­He¡¯s also the one who put the pipes through your mother¡¯s skin. I can assure you. He¡¯s far less willing to admit that he was wrong.¡±

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Joe sighed. ¡°I wish I could take you up on that, Dr. Nurarihyon. But that would be selfish.¡±

    ¡°For heaven¡¯s sake! A decade and a half older than me and you¡¯re still an arrogant child. This wasn¡¯t even my fault! I wasn¡¯t born! And when I was, all I ever did was what my creator forced me to do! How is he the one who gets to live while I¡¯m consigned to the flame?¡±

    ¡°Do you really want to spend God knows how long stuck in a box in my basement?¡±

    ¡°You murdered my afterlife, star god. I¡¯d rather purgatory than the void.¡±

    Joe had no answer. What he was doing was cruel.

    He clicked the trigger on the bomb. It beeped rapidly.

    ¡°Rainbringer keep you flowing, Doctor.¡±

    The creature spat a neurotoxin laced barb from its beak, right at Joseph¡¯s eye. It plinked harmlessly off his cornea.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bastard, star-god.¡±

    ¡°Right now, sure.¡±

    ¡°¡­Suffocation.¡±

    Joe pressed the bomb¡¯s kill-switch and crushed it like a beer can. ¡°If you insist¡­¡±

    Joe ripped the Physician¡¯s flesh from the cavern wall. It shrieked and lashed its rubbery, barbed limbs against the Flying Man like a child being dragged to its bed.

    They burst through the layer of magma and the trees above into the open air. Within a second they were thousands of feet above Mount Fuji. The air grew thinner and thinner as the ground retreated below. The horizon curved, and blue sky gave way to the starry void.

    The Physician was still thrashing futility in Joe¡¯s grip, now with the added desperation of asphyxiation and pressure sickness. He guessed he couldn¡¯t blame the poor devil.

    Goodbye.

    The Flying Man threw Nurarihyon over his shoulder, hard enough he tore free from Earth¡¯s gravity well. The thing hurled away from Joe and the planet, sailing off into space until he was less visible than the stars behind it.

    Joe started descending down into the thermosphere.

    Still would¡¯ve picked burning over that.

    He stopped dead still. Swinging around, he fired off a blast of laser vision into the distance. Half a thousand miles away, something flared for a moment, before going dark again.

    Yeah, it was dirty. But Joe wasn¡¯t going to risk a Physician offshoot landing on some unsuspecting world in a million years. He¡¯d never hear the end of it.

    It had been a busy few weeks for Joe. He¡¯d flushed out most of the Physician¡¯s major aspects, and they hadn¡¯t always made it easy for him. Dr. Johannes had been on a Pan Am flight. It¡¯d been tricky, but Joe had managed to catch the other passengers when he tore the roof off. He just wished the British creature hadn¡¯t been briefing the prime minister when his turn came. So many anonymous gift-baskets. Most of the surviving offshoots the Physician¡¯s ship had on record were attached to quieter superhuman programs: cast offs in more fallow nations like North Korea and South Africa. Those were double-edged swords: less meat for the grinder, but even less oversight than their big brothers and sisters.

    Joe shook his head. The star-god expected to still be stumbling on the Physician¡¯s debris for centuries to come, but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to try and drag another monster into the light today. He had rounds to do.

    The Flying Man flung the doors of his senses open. Far below, tectonic plates groaned and shifted. Dawn chased night across the horizon. Waves crashed against coastlines, eroding and reshaping continents grain by grain. Time bred within gravity.

    Eliza Winter¡¯s Institute children had left their island hideaway on a sailing ship. Charming, but he hoped for everyone¡¯s sake they didn¡¯t go full pirate.

    As always, there was the chorus of beating hearts, three and a half billion strong and growing louder in Joe¡¯s ears by the second. Among them was Sarah Allworth, testily explaining proper change to the new girl at the family store. It made Joe smile.

    Not much else of what he heard did. Millions of voices crying for help. A few were calling for him specifically.

    ¡°¡­Fire¡¯s out of control!¡¯

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll never do it again, I swear¡ª¡±

    ¡°Wait, what are you¡ª¡±

    Metal tearing through flesh. Poison in the rivers and soil. A hundred thousand plots and schemes behind closed doors.

    Joe couldn¡¯t fix it all. He¡¯d tried. All he could do was figure out where he would do the most good¡­

    A panicked male voice. Russian:

    ¡°¡­Cooling rods are failing! Meltdown in¡ª¡±

    Joe snapped to attention immediately. He triangulated the voice. It was coming from about sixty miles southwest of Moscow. A naukograd<sup>4</a></sup> called Obninsk. Joe had visited the township once. It had the first grid connected nuclear power plant on Earth¡­

    Joe dived towards the Earth, down into that human sea. In three seconds he broke the sound barrier four times. All the while, Joe calculated potential energy output, wind direction, Eurasian population distribution, and a hundred other factors. A lot of effort, just to remind himself what a nuclear meltdown meant.

    The ocean below changed to sand. Mountains reached up towards Joe, only to fall and blanket the earth in forest. Then the forests stretched upwards again, transforming into steel, concrete and glass. Their colours blurred into a kaleidoscope, racing underneath Joe until he came to a stop above a very young city.

    Sirens and calm, toneless calls to evacuate blared louder than thunder over the streets of Obninsk, but they couldn¡¯t drown out the screaming and shouting. The streets were full of townsfolk rushing out their homes like ants from a flooded nest. The roads were choked with cars, buses and military vehicles. Soldiers and police tried vainly to keep order, even as they tried to wrangle their own fear.

    A few people, unfortunately, had also seen who was floating in the sky above them.

    Even as that new fear spread through the crowds, Joe descended into the middle of a roundabout, in the shadow of a large, brutalist apartment building. People shouted questions and accusations. A few soldiers pointed their guns at Joe.

    The Flying Man raised his hands reassuringly, saying in Russian, ¡°Please, don¡¯t panic, I¡¯m not¡ª¡±

    One of the soldiers panicked.

    Joe caught the bullet in front of his face, holding it between two fingers and frowning.

    The young Red Army soldier stiffened. His trigger finger suddenly felt very sweaty.

    ¡°¡­As I was saying, I¡¯m here to¡ª¡±

    Something struck Joe in the back of the head with the momentum of a barreling freight truck. It didn¡¯t hurt exactly, but it did send him flying half a mile.

    Joe landed on the outskirts of Obninsk, slamming an inch deep into the concrete. He rolled over. There was a blonde, high-cheeked woman in a red and black leather airman¡¯s suit standing above him, proud and harsh as a Soviet realist painting. Her chest bore a golden hammer and sickle. Her eyes were hidden behind thick mirrored goggles, but her disdain was clear.

    ¡°¡­Hello ma¡¯am,¡± Joe said, squinting up at the woman. ¡°I don¡¯t believe I¡¯m familiar.¡±

    The woman slammed her foot down on Joe¡¯s chest. He didn¡¯t pretend it hurt.

    The woman spat, ¡°I¡¯m the Revolutionary Vanguard, and you are an enemy of the USSR.¡±

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s really your name?¡±

    The woman¡¯s face fell.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡±

    ?

    Anna Oblov was an ideal communist. She¡¯d grown up as hardy as the wheat and potatoes grown by her farming, a Young Pioneer from her ninth birthday. Old stories of Night Witches and Lady Death<sup>5</a></sup> drove her to a Red Army training school. She¡¯d done well. Better than any man in her class. Her trainers called her a true new Soviet woman. No praise could¡¯ve touched her more.

    Apparently they meant it, too, because somehow her name found its way to OKB-62.

    She had sat in front of the commissar¡¯s desk, feeling much younger than her twenty-two years.

    ¡°You-you want to make me into a neylundi?¡± she asked. ¡°You can do that?¡±

    The grey-haired political officer flashed her a condescending smile. ¡°That¡¯s a rather reactionary term, cadet.¡±

    Anna snapped her hands protectively over her army tunic. ¡°Apologies, sir.¡±

    ¡°It can be forgiven. But yes, our bureau has access to certain transformative techniques. And we believe you¡¯re the perfect candidate for human enhancement.¡± The commissar looked at Anna over his spectacles. ¡°There is a dragon breathing down our country¡¯s neck, Cadet Oblov. What would you give to slay it?¡±

    Anything. Even if it meant having to meet Dr. Sofia Ivanova.

    The woman slipped her metal-spider helmet over Anna¡¯s brow. The cadet thought her long, orange painted fingernails seemed a touch bourgeoise, but then nothing about that serpentine old woman seemed quite right. If she even was old. Anna couldn¡¯t decide. She seemed more fairy-tale than scientist.

    ¡°We ready to go, cadet?¡±

    Oblov was strapped to an upright metal rack like a technological crucifix. She wasn¡¯t entirely sure how her being ¡°ready¡± came into it.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said through gritted teeth.

    ¡°Right,¡± said the doctor. ¡°Let¡¯s begin.¡±

    Ivanova made a sound like a kitten suffocating inside a snake. The lights on the crown lit up¡ª

    Anna Oblov blinked. She blinked again. Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed.

    Wait, there was something. Some specks floating in front of her eyes.

    It took Anna a few minutes to realize they were just dust motes. They didn¡¯t normally stay still that long. It would take her even longer to realize that those minutes were actually a single second.

    She was fast. Impossibly, frighteningly fast. And now, she was standing before the dragon himself.

    The Flying Man was climbing to his feet and dusting himself off. ¡°I mean, I like ¡®Vanguard¡¯ a lot, but the ¡®revolutionary¡¯ is a bit clunky¡­¡±

    What the hell was he doing? What was she doing?

    (Revolutionary) Vanguard clicked her teeth and stepped forward, into the quiet.

    The sound of the nuclear siren became a low rumble, like water in her ears. The Flying Man froze in place.

    Anna planted her feet in a boxing stance, and punched savagely at the blond superman¡¯s chiseled face. He didn¡¯t even have time to grimace.

    She struck again. And again. She kicked him in the chest and groin, stabbing at his eyes and¡ª

    All of a sudden, the Flying Man started moving again, gently but firmly pushing Anna away.

    Words that weren¡¯t her own echoed through Anna¡¯s skull. They were English, but somehow she understood them:

    Christ, girl, you¡¯re fast! Look, I¡¯m here to help¡ª please stop clawing at my eyes.

    Anna¡¯s eyes widened. She screwed them shut, pushing herself deeper into the quiet. The Flying Man slowed to a stop again.

    She took a deep breath. Dr. Ivanova told her the Flying Man was fast. He had to be, to pull the stunts he did. But she¡¯d never even suggested he could catch up to her.

    Time for plan B¡­

    Joseph Allworth was shaking his head. This was a trap, clearly. Wasn¡¯t the first time a country had gotten ideas and faked a crisis for him. First time they¡¯d fielded an actual super against him, though, and a strong one at that. At least there probably wasn¡¯t a real meltdown, not that Joe had never gotten into trouble by overestimating Soviet callousness. Still¡ª

    A red flash circuited the Flying Man, leaving a ring of anti-tank launchers surrounding him on all sides.

    Joe sighed. ¡°That won¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Something metal was shoved between Joe¡¯s lips. A grenade. It had no pin.

    All the rocket launchers let loose right as the grenade bloomed into an explosion in Joe¡¯s mouth. They all hit their target.

    A few dozen meters away, behind some bushes, Vanguard felt the the explosions and the rush of air above her head.

    Thirty two missiles. A decent explosion right under his brainpan. That had to do some damage¡­

    Anna Oblov peered out from her hiding spot, or vantage point as she preferred to think of it.

    For fuck¡¯s sake¡­

    The Flying Man stood unharmed in the smoking hole the rockets and grenade had dug, spitting out chunks of metal like spinach. He caught sight of his opponent, shaking his head. ¡°That tasted awful.¡±

    Anna gritted her teeth and shot forward back into the quiet. Joe felt a tug on his raised collar. The word became a blur of colour, and he was plunged into gloom. He seemed to be in a bank-vault or the like. He thought he heard something tick¡ª

    Joe¡¯s world became fire, before a hundred tons of concrete fell on his head.

    Pinned in the dark between a hunk of masonry the the thick vault door, Joe rolled his eyes. Maybe he should just check out of this fight and go sock a wife-beater or something. Maybe finally go confront those kids. Still, he ought to at least check on that reactor¡­

    Above ground, the Revolutionary Vanguard was talking into a walkie talkie at the sinkhole of rubble that had been the town bank. ¡°No sign of movement¡ª¡±

    The centre of the debris pile exploded into the air. The Flying Man landed a few feet beside Anna Oblov. He shot her a glare. ¡°Leave me alone.¡±

    Joe set off towards the Obninsk Nuclear Power Plant, walking at a brisk pace.

    At this point, Anna Oblov was getting annoyed. She had been at this now for what felt like days. Just lugging all the explosives out here had been a chore. Every failure took what, in her eyes, seemed like hours upon hours to set up. She sighed, set her face in a determined grimace, and shook her head. Then she stepped up her speed again, and went to get the steel wire.

    In the next second, Joseph found his wrists and ankles anchored to the bases of every building this side of town.

    He tried to take a step. The cables creaked. But they held.

    He gave the girl a surprised look.

    It was almost cute watching her excitement that it worked.

    Then he melted through the cables with a few sharp glances.

    Her face fell.

    He gave her an apologetic smile. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, miss. I won¡¯t be here long.¡±

    Joe kept moving towards the power station, walking amongst the evacuating civilians and personale. Some brave fools tried to rush him, but Joe brushed them aside like clouds. Occasionally he heard what sounded like sped-up cursing, or felt a diamond blade flit across his throat. At one point he was splashed with kerosene and set alight like a wicker-man. That felt a bit petty, to be honest.

    Joe had to give it to Vanguard, she was persistent. He hoped she got to do some actual good in her time.

    He finally reached the nuclear plant: a long, but surprisingly squat building lined with smokestacks.

    Joe squinted at the edifice. Layers peeled away in his sight, like he was looking inside an open dollhouse.

    Just as he suspected. Systems were all perfectly normal. He even saw technicians taking nervous cigarette breaks like actors between scenes.

    Then he spotted the void. It was underneath the building. A black spot he could not see, about twenty feet across.

    Joe blinked. There was almost nothing he couldn¡¯t see through, including lead, despite some deliberately nurtured rumours to the contrary. Whoever put that¡­ absence there knew their stuff. But it was also so obvious¡ª

    Joe ran through his list of surviving Physicians. Ice-water ran down his back.

    He attuned himself to the surrounding air-pressure, waited for the right moment, and thrust his arm out.

    Vanguard slammed into his hand. He wrapped his fingers around her neck.

    ¡°This is a trap.¡±

    Vanguard thrashed, waiting for Joe¡¯s grip to shift at all. It didn¡¯t. ¡°Figured that out already?¡±

    ¡°A trap for both of us.¡± He gestured with his free hand at the town around them. ¡°And any poor bastard within a mile of us.¡±

    Vanguard looked up at the Flying Man. For the first time, he looked afraid. ¡°What?¡±

    Joe looked down pleadingly at the superwoman. ¡°Help me evacuate the town. For the love of God, please.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°You idiot, there¡¯s no meltdown¡ª¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s worse.¡± He bit his lip. ¡°If you help me empty this town, I¡¯ll surrender to the Red Army. My hand to God. We might only have seconds.¡±

    He let her go.

    ¡°Please.¡±

    The Flying Man sped off. Vanguard followed. Within a moment they were running side by side, perfectly matched. A nanosecond later, the Flying Man fell behind, moving like the air had turned to honey.

    For the first half-second, she did what she was able to on her own, going from building to building, room to room, and carrying people to the safety of a hill just outside of town. Not the men and women yet. Children first. Always children first.

    The Flying man had slowed further now. Frozen, mid-step, even moving as fast as he could go. For a moment, she wondered if she needed to make this deal. Then, the ground split.

    It was slow, at first, a few small fissures the width of a hair, radiating outwards from the power plant.

    Anna doubled down her speed.

    Building to your left, little girl on the roof.

    She didn¡¯t bother questioning how the man had known that. Nor how he¡¯d communicated it to her. She just went and saved the girl.

    It took days. Weeks. Months.

    Anna didn¡¯t tire. She couldn¡¯t tire. Every single one of these people was an ally. A friend. A comrade.

    The cracks grew wider; the outer edge of the blast-wave streaking out from the building at a snail¡¯s pace. The people in the reactor were lost. There was no saving them.

    For his part, the Flying Man kept working too, ferrying as many people as he could even as the shockwave crept closer and closer to him.

    There was a second sun now, burning in the earth where the power-plant used to be. Joe felt its heat on his back. There was no time left. He had to go.

    He was about to take off when he heard a boy, crying underneath a car.

    Still enough time.

    He glided across the road, feet not touching the ground. He picked up the old Soviet clunker and threw it behind him. The blast devoured it like it was nothing. The child beneath huddled with his hands on his head, frozen in a moment.

    It was enough. The whole universe could fit inside a moment, after all.

    Joe picked the child up and wrapped him in his cape. He focused. Light from all over his body pooled around the bundle of fabric.

    It¡¯s alright. It was enough.

    The nuclear blast swallowed Joe. He screamed, but his voice was lost in the roar. He burned. He tried shutting his eyes, but there could be no darkness.

    The voice in Anna¡¯s head went black.

    ?

    More than fifty miles away, Dr. Sofia Ivanova sat in forgotten in the corner of a dark, smokey command bunker, surrounded by scared, chattering beasts, spewing their noises onto the electromagnetic spectrum. Useful animals, for once.

    A wave of relief, even triumph broke out amongst the men huddled around the consoles. Someone took off their thick earphones and microphone and sighed.

    ¡°It¡¯s over,¡± he said. ¡°The monsters are dead.¡±

    The operation chief felt like he was shedding a second skin of stone. Years of cowering, of being stifled and chastised like goddamn schoolboys, were finally over.

    He felt sorry for the girl they sent. She sounded like a good kid. But anyone who could give the Flying Man trouble might as well be him. The USSR wouldn¡¯t settle for a homegrown god ruling over them. He would make sure her statue was built somewhere you could see the sun.

    The pudgy general moved over to Sofia Ivanova. ¡°You¡¯ve done it, Sofia. You¡¯ve saved the fucking world.¡±

    Dr. Ivanova looked up at him with her fixed smile. ¡°Says you.¡±

    Her face began to bubble. Her skin burst, white, frothing pus pouring from the wounds. Ivanova¡¯s whole body shook, her bones seeming to dissolve inside her, she slumped to the ground, spreading out across the floor like a puddle. People were screaming, but she didn¡¯t care.

    Some of her other selves might have called her cowardly. Some would even now be hunkering down and germinating. Building themselves back up. But what was the point? This planet was barren soil and a slow death. None of them would ever be what they once were.

    She was done. But at least the star-god was, too.

    Silently, she prayed to the Rainbringer.

    ?

    It had taken Anna what felt like days to find him. Not because he was particularly hidden, or because she didn¡¯t know where to look. It was just the light. Everything in the crater glowed like the earth¡¯s heart. Even moving around here required running laps with every metre just to carry some cool air with her. She felt like she would¡¯ve gone up in flames if she left the quiet.

    She found him half buried in ash and slag. His skin was gone; his surface split and broken like wood that had burned to charcoal All that was left were raw burns and scabs. Blood was pouring from his mouth with every breath. There was a diamond shaped shadow across his chest.

    All that was left were his moss-green eyes. Somehow, he was still breathing. He turned his head towards Vanguard.

    You made it out¡­

    There was a child in his arms. A boy bathed in gold.

    Anna Oblov made an effort not to cry.

    Then, she heard that voice inside her head.

    Take him.

    Anna knelt and pulled the frozen child gently into her arms. She heard a tearing noise as the Flying Man pulled himself free of the ground, leaving a layer of fused skin and flesh behind him in the dirt. He made a low whimpering sound in what was left of his throat. Their eyes met.

    She could kill him. Right now.

    ¡°¡­ Get out of here,¡± she muttered. ¡°Before they find you.¡± Painful realisation struck her. ¡°Before they find us.¡±

    Joseph Allworth nodded. He staggered into the sky, veering off towards the Atlantic as he blindly accelerated forward. The fire was over, but everything burned like it was still there.

    He soon left Russia behind, the ocean crawling invitingly below him.

    Part of him wanted to fall. Down into the cool. But he had to get to the ship. Or to Lyonesse¡ª

    No. Sarah. He needed to see his mother. Before¡­ before whatever happened next.

    Gravity snatched at Joe¡¯s heels. He couldn¡¯t keep out of its grip. The Flying Man fell into the black sea.

 Chapter Seventy-Nine: Just Us

    Lyonesse had a surprising number of swimming pools for an undersea hideout. Arnold and Allison¡¯s favourite was definitely the zero-g one<sup>1</a></sup>.

    Allison plunged through a bubble of water like a javelin, shattering it into a thousand tiny jewels that refracted the blue and green lights shining from the walls off each other like a wild neon spider-web. She twirled in the air, her wet hair whipping around her like Medusa¡¯s coils. The girl¡¯s eyes glowed green, and the stray droplets settled on her skin like chameleon scales.

    Allison reclined backwards in the air, hands folded behind her head. ¡°How the heck did David turn this down again?¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± said Arnold, still focused on the miniature storm he was swirling around him, his lightning flashing about the chamber while his thunder vibrated through the water. ¡°Guess for him, this is pretty much what water is always like.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± said Allison. David had spent most of the day playing with Billy and Mabel in the paint room. Allison suspected he was trying to reverse engineer whatever drew Miri to Billy. Besides the fur.

    Allison suddenly heard Miri¡¯s voice in her ear. ¡°Look out, Allie!¡±

    A solid wave of water slammed up into Allison¡¯s back. Water immediately forced its way into her nose. She sputtered and tumbled in the air, Arnold laughing underneath her.

    Allison twisted around and glared down at her friend, before promptly teleporting him close enough to tickle his ribs.

    Giggling wildly, Arnold managed to kick Allison away. ¡°Okay, okay, I surrender.¡± He flicked some tears off of his cheeks. Stretching, he wondered, ¡°When do you think the Flying Man¡¯s gonna get here? It¡¯s been like, a week.¡±

    And a good week it had been. The only time the Watercolours had left Lyonesse (to much tutting from the caretaker) was a candy-raid at a random Woolies back in Australia. They¡¯d watched more movies than had been made in their homeland in the last decade, and they¡¯d become the first earthly children to ever enjoy video games<sup>2</a></sup>. David and Allison had chased whales, and somehow, the Flying Man had either invented or acquired ice-cream that tasted like spring and summer.

    ¡°No idea,¡± replied Allison. ¡°He must be really busy.¡±

    What would happen when the Flying Man came home? Would he send them all away? Allison guessed David could go live with his grandfather, but what about the rest of them? Arnold had his mum and dad, but where would Mabel live? And Billy¡¯s parents were more likely to grow fur themselves before they took their son back. Allison had checked.

    And Allison¡­ Allison had one coin toss out of ten.

    Of course, maybe the Flying Man would take them all in. Let them be his wards, like Batman and Robin. They could stay at Lyonesse forever.

    It sounded like a dream, but Allison couldn¡¯t quite imagine it. For some reason, she kept thinking about Lily Nichols.

    A musical tone like a very relaxed claxon rang through the antigravity room. The caretaker¡¯s voice repeated, ¡°Visitor in the foyer. Visitor in the foyer¡­¡±

    Arnold and Allison shared a look. Allison shrugged.

    The Watercolours all reached the grand foyer about the same time. True to their name, Mabel, Billy and David were all covered in half-dried paint.

    Instead of the Flying Man, there was a plump old lady in a dark-brown coat with matchstick red hair standing in front of the foyer fountain. She was glaring up at the ceiling through thick crescent-moon glasses.

    ¡°¡­Now you tell Joe right now this trick has gone on long enough!¡±

    Watching from behind Allison, Miri asked, ¡°Why is that lady all wrinkly?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry ma¡¯am,¡± said the caretaker, ¡°this is no trick.¡±

    ¡°Who are you, lady?¡± asked Arnold.

    The woman blanched at the sight of the children. ¡°Who am I?¡± she said, frowning. ¡°Who are you?¡± She squinted at Allison and David, before pointing at them and asking the caretaker, ¡°Why does my son have a bunch of naked children in his home?¡± Out the corner of her eye, she spotted Billy¡¯s tail swishing behind him. ¡°And why is that one a cat?¡±

    Billy grinned proudly and rocked on his heels. ¡°Luck!¡±

    The woman¡¯s mouth moved like she was about to inquire further, but instead she shook her head and turned her ire back up towards the caretaker. ¡°I swear to Christ, all this nonsense about a nuclear explosion¡­¡±

    David looked at Mabel. ¡°I didn¡¯t know we still had those?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the news you¡¯ve heard is anything but nonsense, Mrs Allworth.¡± A sigh filled the room. ¡°There¡¯s something you need to see:¡±

    The lights dimmed. A hologram of the Flying Man appeared above the fountain, just like when the children had arrived at Lyonesse. Except then it started talking:

    The young man smiled bashfully. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t think you¡¯re ever going to see this, Mom. I hope you don¡¯t. But what I¡¯m doing is going to make a lot of people try very hard to kill me, so better safe than sorry.¡± The Flying Man took a deep breath. ¡°If you¡¯re watching this, then the life-monitor woven into my suit has gone dark. And given that it¡¯s right next to my skin, that  means I¡¯m probably dead.¡±

    Mrs Allworth blinked. Something cold and dark passed over her features. A wave that had been waiting to break over her for years.

    Arnold grabbed at Allison¡¯s arm. ¡°The Flying Man, dead? How?¡±

    Allison had no answer. She just stared up at the ghostly hologram.

    The Flying Man continued. ¡°Unless I somehow managed to land myself a kid, Mom, Lyonesse is at your disposal.¡± He grinned rakishly. ¡°And if I did, then Granny¡¯s in charge till they learn some sense.¡± His smile softened. ¡°I just want you to know, it was worth it. If I only ever saved one idiot, it was worth it. I don¡¯t know what happens to my kind when we die. It¡¯s not something we make a habit of. But I hope I wind up somewhere close to Dad.¡±

    Mrs Allworth knew she was talking to a recording, but that didn¡¯t stop her from saying, ¡°But Joe¡ª¡±

    Joe pointed upwards. ¡°Aside from¡­ well, everything else, your bequest is up in the garden.¡± The corner of his lip quirked. ¡°One of Dad¡¯s begonias. First thing I ever got growing up there. Also a vial. Mostly it¡¯s just some bio-restoratives I whipped up for you. I¡¯m pretty sure what those will do. Also my tears. Those I¡¯m less sure about. Whatever you choose to do with any of this, I know you¡¯ll do great. I love you Mom.¡±

    The lights brightened. Joseph Allworth vanished.

    ¡°Seven days ago, a nuclear detonation was detected in western Russia. At the same time, sir¡¯s suit ceased transmitting his vitals. Sir has not been seen since, nor has he attempted to contact either us here at Lyonesse or the Physician¡¯s starship. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Sarah Allworth did not weep. She did however fall to her knees.  ¡°Oh Joe¡­¡±

    She sounded resigned. Like she had seen this day coming since she¡¯d become a mother.

    Allison stared at the space the Flying Man¡¯s image had occupied.

    They¡¯d done it. The humans could kill the Flying Man. Now, they could kill all of them.

    ?

    Conversation between the Watercolours and Sarah Allworth was sparse. She¡¯d ignored most of their questions, merely confirming curtly that yes, she was the Flying Man¡¯s mother. More or less. The old woman had headed directly to the uppermost part of Lyonesse: the garden. A green park beneath a diamond ceiling bathed in dappled sea-light. Pebbled pathways all led to a metal-wrought table at the centre of the garden.  On it was a pink begonia in a brick pot, with a filigreed glass vial of something bright and golden leaning against it.

    Mrs Allworth picked up the pot-plant and held it up to her face, breathing in deep. Then she lowered the flower and picked up the golden vial. It was warm to the touch.

    ¡°The heck is that stuff?¡± David asked, watching with the others from a healthy distance. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel like there¡¯s much water in it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Allison, head tilted. ¡°But it has a song¡­¡±

    Sarah set down the vial. ¡°You¡¯re welcome to stay, kids,¡± she said without looking at the children.

    The Watercolours emitted awkward murmurs of half-hearted appreciation, their illusion of invisibility broken. Aside from Billy. He was actually invisible.

    For the rest of the day, the children conducted themselves towards Mrs Allworth like she was a great elephant: they kept a slightly awed distance from her. It was strange, being in the presence of a human grown up that didn¡¯t want to kill, lock them up or worse.

    Sarah confused Allison. Her song was full of janky, shaky notes of despair, but the woman herself seemed perfectly calm. Mostly, she wandered Lyonesse like it were a high-end art gallery, occasionally asking the caretaker for updates on schemes and endeavours her foster-son had going on.

    ¡°¡­But you¡¯re saying the charity will keep going?¡±

    ¡°¡­Well, if I knew he was making that sort of painting¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­He always did like snakes¡­¡±

    For the first time in many weeks, most of the Watercolours went to bed at a decent hour. Playing felt strange with Mrs Allworth around. Like running around in a nunnery.

    Allison woke in the middle of the night.

    Miri was scowling at the foot of the bed. ¡°I was enjoying that dream! It had rainbow-pigeons!¡±

    ¡°Those were lorikeets, Miri,¡± Allison muttered groggily, rubbing her eyes. Despite Lyonesse practically being the standard against which ¡°room temperature¡± was measured, her mouth was parched. Probaby overheating from sleeping next to Billy, at Miri¡¯s insistence. ¡°I¡¯m getting a glass of water,¡± she said, gingerly lifting Billy¡¯s clawed hand off her. ¡°Then maybe we¡¯ll get back to your rainbow-pigeons.¡±

    Allison trod through Lyonesse¡¯s darkened hallways, half her body bathed in the light of the moon-sodden sea shining through the glass wall. The kitchen¡¯s bronze door slid open¡ª

    ¡°Good to see you dressed, kid.¡±

    Mrs Allworth was sitting at the long oak table in a dressing gown, nursing a hot mug of coffee while gazing melancholically at her son¡¯s potted begonia.

    Allison gulped. ¡°Yeah. Pyjamas are nice¡­ having trouble sleeping?¡±

    ¡°Yes. The coffee¡¯s a kind of surrender.¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Allison held a glass under the sink tap.

    ¡°Would you like ice-water, mademoiselle?¡±

    ¡°Yes thanks,¡± said Allison. Who gives their tap a brain?

    The girl drank the water gratefully. ¡°Coffee tastes like ash.¡±

    ¡°Yes. But it keeps dreams away.¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m sorry about your son, Mrs Allworth.¡±

    Sarah sipped her coffee. ¡°It was my idea.¡±

    ¡°What was?¡±

    ¡°The Flying Man. I told him to do it. The costume, the White House¡ªI got him started.¡±

    ¡°Really? I thought he just read too many Superman comics.¡± Allison¡¯s shoulders went stiff as she remembered they were talking about a dead man.

    ¡°Joe never touched a Superman comic. Always said they were stupid! That superheroes were all stupid<sup>3</a></sup>.¡± Sarah let out a laugh like cracking ice. ¡°I think he was embarrassed. Damn cartoons read like his memoirs. Not that Joe would ever admit it¡­¡±

    ¡°So you made him get rid of all the nuclear bombs?¡± Allison tried to imagine the Flying Man being bossed around by his mother.

    Sarah sighed. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think he would¡¯ve let us nuke ourselves. He liked the world too much. He just¡­ he said he wanted to do it quietly. Let the reds and the Yanks think it was a miracle.¡± She slammed her coffee down. ¡°But I said that wouldn¡¯t work! That everyone would just blame everyone else if they didn¡¯t have someone to blame! So I made him an overgrown Halloween costume, complete with a great big diamond target, right on his chest!¡± Sarah¡¯s speech slurred slightly. Allison suspected there was more than coffee in her mug. ¡°And now they¡¯ve gone and murdered my boy! For not letting them blow up their own children!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know that,¡± said Allison, not believing her own words. ¡°Maybe it was an accident¡­¡±

    At least an accident wasn¡¯t malicious. At least then they couldn¡¯t do it on purpose.

    ¡°Bullshit!¡± Sarah snapped. ¡°You couldn¡¯t kill my son by accident. I bet the Russians put more thought into murdering Joseph than feeding their people in the last fifty years! And that¡¯s just if they were working alone!¡± She pulled the gold vial out from her gown pocket. ¡°Do you know what this is, girl?¡±

    Allison mutely shook her head.

    ¡°Neither do I,¡± said Sarah. ¡°But I can make a pretty good guess what it will do. It will turn me into a superwoman. Probably give me a whole new lease on life, too. I could continue my son¡¯s work.¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you taken it already? Powers are great!¡±  She hovered a few inches off the floor in demonstration.

    Sarah¡¯s face cracked like glass. ¡°Because I¡¯m scared, for Christ¡¯s sake! Do you know what being super got my son? A lifetime of loneliness! Of being the odd one out everywhere he went! Of being murdered for trying to help folks. And now I¡¯m too much of a coward to even pick up the torch I gave him! It¡¯s Allison, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Here¡¯s my advice Allison. Stay here. Hide. Because us? Human beings? We¡¯re too scared and stupid to ever let you be free. And if we can¡¯t chain you, we¡¯ll kill you. That¡¯s the only talent we have in the end¡­¡±

    Sarah slumped her head against the tabletop. ¡°My boys are gone¡­¡±

    Her shoulders twitched. It took Allison a moment to realize the old woman was weeping softly. Shamefully, she left without a word.

    Allison couldn¡¯t go back to bed. She didn¡¯t think she could sit still long enough to watch a movie, and smothering her discomfort with sweets meant going back to the kitchen, so she headed to the arcade.

    To Allison¡¯s surprise, someone had beaten her to it. David was playing the holographic shoot em¡¯ up game, ducking and rolling from one side of the screen to the other as he blasted the fish into pixels.

    ¡°Hey Davie.¡±

    David spun around and fired the toy gun at Allison, a green light briefly flashing over her chest. ¡°Got ya!¡±

    Allison smiled weakly. ¡°Yeah, you did.¡±

    David raised an eyebrow. Since when did Allison concede like that?  ¡°¡­What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Allison exhaled. ¡°I talked to Mrs Allworth a bit ago. She was sad. But weird sad.¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°Well, yeah. I mean. Her son just died.¡±

    ¡°I know, but¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°You had to be there.¡±

    David glanced sidelong at her. ¡°Why do you care?¡±

    Allison frowned. ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Cuz she¡¯s boring.¡± David said. ¡°She¡¯s just some random human who was around the Flying Man a bunch.¡±

    ¡°She was his mum!¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± he replied. ¡°He had a mum. We saw her. She was a magical space lady in a spaceship. That¡¯s just some woman who made him breakfast a couple times.¡±

    Allison¡¯s nose wrinkled. ¡°What did Mrs Allworth do to ya?¡±

    David groaned. ¡°Nothing! She just doesn¡¯t matter!¡±

    Allison tried to figure out when David had gotten so mean. Crap, was that when he started being fun?

    Very quietly she said, ¡°I think Alberto was right.¡±

    ¡°I was?¡± asked a very taken aback Alberto, roused to the surface. ¡°About what?¡±

    ¡°He took over your body and tried kidnapping you into outer space,¡± said David flatly.

    Allison rolled her eyes. ¡°Not about that. I mean, taking the fight to the DDHA. Taking them down.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± asked David. ¡°Sounds like a lot of work.¡±

    Allison was surprised by the question. Wasn¡¯t it obvious? ¡°Because they¡¯re hunting us, David.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but they¡¯re not gonna get us down here.¡± He grinned like an angler-fish. ¡°And if they do¡­¡± David spread his arms over his head. The sea rumbled. ¡°¡­We have fun. We¡¯re free, Allie. We don¡¯t have to worry about Laurie, or the freak-finders, or even the Flying Man.¡±

    How was he not getting this? ¡°We¡¯re fine, but they¡¯re still going after people like us.¡±

    ¡°So what? They can take care of themselves.¡±

    Alberto¡¯s phantom was circling the water-sprite, nodding approvingly. He looked back over at Allison. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d say this, Allie, but I think I¡¯m with Mealy. Should¡¯ve broken his brain ages back¡­¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± said David. ¡°I¡¯m not a super. None of my business.¡±

    Allison folded her arms. ¡°Oh, okay,¡± she said sourly. ¡°You¡¯re not a super. You¡¯re just a water-god that can make tidal waves.¡±

    David beamed and nodded, deaf to the sarcasm. ¡°Exactly! That¡¯s what Granddad told me. People like Arnold and Billy, they¡¯re more like people who do extra-things.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m the extra things without the people part.¡±

    Allison scowled. ¡°So, we don¡¯t matter? Us extra-people.¡±

    David cocked his head. ¡°Of course you do. You¡¯re my friends! And you¡¯re almost a god, too.¡±

    Allison stamped her foot. ¡°Don¡¯t you care? For crying out loud, David, they killed your mum!¡±

    David glared at her. ¡°Yeah, they did. And they paid for it. None of the rest of it¡¯s got anything to do with me.¡± He huffed and turned back to the fish game, ready for another round. ¡°Not like you¡¯d get it anyways. Your parents aren¡¯t even special.¡±

    Allison slapped David in the face. Hard.

    The boy stumbled backward, but recovered quickly, rubbing his cheek. ¡°Jeez, Allie,¡± he said.

    Allison was standing very still, the breath caught in her chest.

    ¡°What¡¯s gotten¡ª¡±

    Allison kneed David right in the groin. He doubled over in pain, tears squeezing out of his eyes.

    Alberto winced. ¡°Low move, Allie. Even I never¡ª¡±

    David screamed and charged at Allison, barreling head first into her chest. They slammed into a glass porthole, both exploding in a splash of water and soaked PJs. They reformed on the other side of the glass in a plume of bubbles.

    Allison kicked off against David¡¯s chest, only for chains of ice to wrap around her wrists and start tugging at her arms hard enough to risk pulling them out of their sockets. Her rage became pure heat, melting her manacles and boiling the water around her<sup>4</a></sup>.

    Alberto floated above them, silhouetted against the rippling moon. ¡°Fight! Fight!¡±

    Allison sent David spinning through the projection in a stream of superheated bubbles, ejecting him twenty feet into the night air. He hit the water hard, the sea freezing under his back into a solid plinth.

    David scrambled to his feet, growling like an animal.

    His grandfather rose behind the ice-platform. ¡°Would you like help, child?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± David snarled. ¡°I can handle¡ª¡±

    The ocean erupted under his feet, sending him flying as a titanic red sea-serpent straight from the Carta Marina reared its head towards the stars and roared.

    Sitting atop its brow, Allison glared down at David, shouting, ¡°Why are you being such a git.¡±

    Much to his grandfather¡¯s pride, David screamed and shot out his arms.

    Promptly, the ocean parted out from under Allison¡¯s serpent. The beast shrieked as it plummeted down onto the wet jagged, rocks below. Allison followed for a moment and a half, before remembering herself and sloughing off gravity.

    Walls of water surrounded her on all sides, reaching down several miles to the exposed sea-floor. Allison spotted the tiny figure of David standing on the impossible crater. Even from that distance, he looked smug.

    Allison¡¯s eyes glowed bright. ¡°You coulda killed me!¡±

    The walls of water thrummed with the voice of a thousand boys. ¡°You can fly, Allie.¡±

    Allison lunged up through the air making a beeline for David. The tunnel¡¯s watery walls strained and broke, collapsing inwards like falling skyscrapers.

    Water hit Allison from all sides. She was thrown head over hills, up and down instantly becoming singular and meaningless.

    When the bubbles cleared from Allison¡¯s vision, David was floating in the water in front of her, arms folded with a thin grin on his face.

    ¡°And that¡¯s me pulling my punches.¡±

    Allison was shaking with rage. Why couldn¡¯t David be like he used to be. No, that was horrible. Why couldn¡¯t he be¡­ just better?

    And why did she have to pick a fight with him under the sea? Stupid, stupid¡ª

    The other Watercolours¡¯ songs tickled Allison¡¯s ears. If she let go of David¡¯s whale-flute tune, she¡¯d drown.

    But if she could just grab another, even by the edge of its notes¡­

    Glass harmonica and electric guitar.

    Allison grinned vampirically. She thrust her hands out, sending out two smooth bubbles of mercury between her and David.

    ¡°Wait,¡± said David. ¡°Since when¡ª¡±

    Allison¡¯s eyes flashed milky white. Currents of water were shoved through the mercury, streaming out the other side viscous and sticky. The momentum spewed the stuff all over David, gluing his legs together and his arms to his sides.

    He gawked between his bindings and Allison. ¡°The hell¡ª¡±

    A pillar of ice shot up from the dark depths, forcing both children back up to the surface.

    David writhed and thrashed like an impatient caterpillar, only for Allison to jump knee-first on his chest, knocking both the air and the water out of him.

    She slapped the boy in the face again. ¡°Say mercy!¡±

    ¡°But how did you¡ª¡±

    Allison twisted his ear. ¡°Mercy!¡±

    ¡°Owe, owe, owe, okay, mercy!¡±

    Allison nodded in acknowledgement, before straightening herself and falling sideways onto the ice.

    Both children panted heavily on the ice, their breath almost harmonizing with the churn of the ocean. David just lay there, letting Allison¡¯s water-glue dissolve around him.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be nice?¡± said Allison. ¡°You know, going back to how it was?¡±

    ¡°Like what was?¡±

    ¡°At the Institute.¡±

    David grimaced. ¡°No way!¡±

    Allison grabbed his hand. ¡°I mean after we showed Laurie who was in charge. It was fun, wasn¡¯t it? Everyone being together.¡±

    ¡°It was,¡± David admitted. ¡°But¡­ Mummy was there, too.¡±

    ¡°Mine wasn¡¯t,¡± Allison pointed out. ¡°And she was special to me. Nobody else got their mum.¡±

    ¡°But the humans still ruined it.¡±

    David felt Allison¡¯s hand tighten around his. ¡°There¡¯s hundreds of supers just in Australia. If we were all together¡±¡ªshe smiled in the dark¡ª¡°the humans couldn¡¯t touch us.¡±

    Allison stood up, white skin stark in the moonlight, her eyes like dragonfire. ¡°I think you¡¯re right, David. We¡¯re the next best thing to gods.¡± She looked down at her friend. ¡°And since when do gods hide?¡±

    David sat upright. ¡°Okay, ¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    ?

    Sarah Allworth sat alone in her son¡¯s study, essaying his invisible empire. The office didn¡¯t have much in the way of papers or files. Instead, Joseph had chosen to store information in glass crystals inside a nebula skin desk, displayed on a screen set into it. If Joe were still with her, Sarah would¡¯ve asked him why he hadn¡¯t installed one of these in the shop.

    ¡°Next page.¡±

    The screen flickered. Sarah¡¯s eyes raced over yet graphs and lines of text, before the old woman leaned back in the white egg-chair and sighed wearily.

    Sarah had always known Joe kept busy. He made the papers everyday. But he¡¯d never let on the true extent of it. Shell companies and byzantine investments. Contacts and informants all across the world, from ministers to bums to family services workers. He could have single handedly fueled the John Birch Society for a hundred years.

    And the alter-egos! Sarah used to worry the Flying Man would swallow her son utterly, as it had in the end. But her son had lived under so many names. James Garret, New York PI. Fred Bradley, a scientist at the University of Chicago. Issac Grey, a rail-riding drifter. Tom the Tomcat, a children¡¯s performer in Quebec. No wonder he only slept two hours a day.

    Sarah rubbed her face, groaning under her breath. There was no way she could maintain this. Not even a fraction of a percent of it. Her son was gone, and so much of the good he did would wither on the fine. It was like his death was being prolonged by months and years.

    Perhaps¡­

    Sarah glanced at the glowing vial next to the desk-screen. Then she looked up at the ceiling.

    Most of Lyonesse gloried in its oceanic surroundings, but Joe¡¯s study was an exception. Its ceiling was a perfect, real-time recreation of the North Atlantic sky. Black storm clouds drifted over stars, so thick the Moon was barely a haze behind them.

    Did Joe like looking up and being reminded of where he came from, Sarah wondered.Of where he really belonged.

    She tapped her fingers against the vial. She wasn¡¯t worried about breaking it. Knowing her boy, it was probably really made of steel that just looked like glass, or something equally miraculous.

    She got up and walked over to the centre of the room, laying her eyes on the oil-painting that took up much of the study¡¯s left wall. Joe had painted it when he was seventeen, thereabouts. It depicted the family¡¯s kitchen back in Neptune¡¯s Chest. Sarah, Jonah, and Joseph were sitting down to dinner, happily greeting a tall, regal women in a glimmering white shift dress. Her eyes were royal purple.

    Joe¡¯s real mother, Sarah had never needed to be told. She¡¯d always wished she could¡¯ve spoken to the poor woman, if she even could be called a woman. Maybe she could have told Sarah what Joe needed. As if she were even capable of acting on any of her answers.

    Sarah Allworth, inadequate stepmother of God¡¯s own son. She and a certain other Joseph could¡¯ve formed a club.

    Sarah raised the vial up to her eye-level. Was this why Joe had given it to her? So she could measure up to his true mother?

    I should drink it now, Sarah told herself. I could help so many people, like Joe did. Maybe even understand him.

    But she wouldn¡¯t die in her bed, either. That¡¯s what they didn¡¯t tell you about immortality. People who didn¡¯t die didn¡¯t get to ¡°pass away.¡± Her son hadn¡¯t. Even if she could make peace with that, did she really want to spend centuries mourning. To be a living memorial to her own son? Would Joe have wanted that for her?

    Sarah looked past the vial, back at the painting. Every detail of her and Jonah had been rendered perfectly. Lovingly.

    ¡°Whatever you choose to do with any of this, I know you¡¯ll do great.¡±

    ¡°Does this stuff have a shelf-life?¡± Sarah asked aloud.

    ¡°The bio-restoratives have a half-life of about six hundred years, ma¡¯am,¡± answered the caretaker. ¡°As for sir¡¯s tears, it is no exaggeration to say they will be glowing long after the stars have dimmed.¡±

    Sarah placed the vial back on the desk. ¡°I want this put into storage,¡± she said. ¡°For when it¡¯s really needed.¡±

    ¡°Certainly, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Sarah Allworth would fail. But she would try. And that was better than nothing. It was everything.

 Chapter Eighty: The Adventures of Saint Josephine

    The Watercolours didn¡¯t know what they were expecting when David and Allison had shouted them awake and dragged them down to the foyer. Not this:

    ¡°So¡­¡± said Mabel, looking at Allison from the staircase like she had chicken-pox, ¡°you want us to make our own super-country?¡±

    Allison shrugged, floating half-reclined above the fountain. ¡°Okay, maybe ¡®country¡¯ is a bit big. But a city? A town?¡± She rolled her tongue, ¡°A village, maybe?¡±

    Arnold said, ¡°A¡­ whatever just for supers?¡±

    Allison looked down at her friend. Images of his mum and dad were burnt into the front of his mind. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, ¡°and people we like.¡±

    The clouds of futures between Allison and her parents thinned. She smiled inside.

    ¡°Give me a break,¡± Alberto hissed in her ear. ¡°That¡¯s just statistical noise. Might as well flip a coin and expect¡ª¡±

    There was a sound like a hand being clapped over Aberto¡¯s mouth.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be mean,¡± said Miri.

    ¡°So where would we put this country?¡± asked Billy, kneading his tail. Where did new countries even come from? Did they grow like plants?

    Perched atop the fountain¡¯s water-spout, David said, ¡°Well, we could always¡ª¡±

    Allison cut him off, ¡°We¡¯re not gonna put it under the sea, David.¡±

    ¡°But me and Granddad could make an air bubble¡ª¡±

    Mabel recited, ¡°And then you get bored, or fall asleep, or someone hits you on the head with a hammer.¡±

    ¡°Who the heck¡¯s gonna do that?¡±

    Mabel examined her fingernails. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know¡­¡±

    ¡°We can figure that out later,¡± said Allison. ¡°There¡¯s loads of space just in Australia. Most of the country¡¯s just desert nobody uses<sup>1</a></sup>¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh, brilliant,¡± said David, folding his arms. ¡°You punch me in the nuts and I get to go live in a desert, hurray.¡±

    Allison mussed his hair with her foot. ¡°Don¡¯t moan, David. I¡¯m sure you could make it way less dry.¡±

    ¡°And who¡¯s gonna run the place?¡± asked Mabel. ¡°Are we gonna be a parliament?¡±

    Allison scoffed. ¡°Boring! Leave it to the grown-ups.¡±

    ¡°As long as we get statues,¡± insisted David. ¡°Bronze at least. And they better not put a toga or something on mine. Oh, and a stage!¡±

    ¡°A stage?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°You think the Beatles are going to come perform?¡±

    ¡°No, for us!¡± said David. ¡°We haven¡¯t done a play since The Tempest!¡±

    Mabel beamed. She thought David had forgotten. ¡°And it¡¯ll have arena seating!¡±

    ¡°Yeah! No, wait, it¡¯ll be an arena!¡±

    Mabel looked up at Allison. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m in.¡±

    ¡°Sure, me too,¡± said Arnold.

    Billy put his hands on his hips and power-stanced, declaring, ¡°Growltiger is also in!¡± in his best young stentorian soprano.

    David tilted his head. ¡°Growltiger?¡±

    Billy shrugged. ¡°Hey, Lawrence gave it, I¡¯ll do what I want with it.¡±

    ¡°Children,¡± said the caretaker as firmly as his speakers would allow. ¡°This is a foolhardy and most likely doomed endeavour.¡±

    ¡°Who asked you?¡± said Allison.

    ¡°If sensible people waited to be asked, the human race would¡¯ve died out before you mastered fire.¡±

    Arnold smirked. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure fire was some caveman kids messing around, mate.¡± He looked up at Allison. ¡°So, how do we do this? We¡¯re not gonna just find a patch of dirt and stick a flag in it, are we? Don¡¯t even have a flag yet.¡±

    ¡°I could make the flag!¡± chirped Billy.

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± interrupted Mabel. ¡°Who¡¯s the artist here?¡±

    ¡°You both can!¡± said Allison. ¡°Still, I got this covered: we¡¯re gonna need people for this country, right? At least enough that nobody will want to mess with us or take it away.¡±

    The other children nodded.

    ¡°So we¡¯ll do a prison break!¡±

    ¡°I get ya,¡± said Arnold. ¡°We¡¯ll bust open Roberts or somewhere?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°¡­Then where will we get the supers?¡± asked David.

    Allison took a deep breath. Even she knew this would be a bit of a sell. ¡°Circle¡¯s End Supermax.¡±

    Everyone went quiet for a moment.

    ¡°Circle¡¯s End what?¡± said Mabel.

    Allison descended down to the floor. ¡°Remember when the Physician said Circle¡¯s End has labs and stuff now?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s not all. I was looking through the Flying Man¡¯s files¡±¡ªit still didn¡¯t feel right calling him Joe¡ª¡°and it turns out they¡¯ve put a big jail there. For all the supers they couldn¡¯t just lock up in the asylums. Some supervillains, a few old superheroes,; anyone who didn¡¯t play nice with the freak-finders. Probably where me and Arnold would¡¯ve ended up if Laurie hadn¡¯t gotten us when he did. We¡¯re gonna bust them all out, and they¡¯re gonna help us scare the freak-finders into leaving us alone.¡±

    ¡°¡­Supervillains?¡± asked Billy after a few seconds. ¡°You mean baddies.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not all supervillains,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°But how many of them are?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°Thirty-six,¡± the caretaker answered. ¡°Over a third of the inmates.¡±

    Allison scowled up at the ceiling. She really needed to find where that thing kept its brain¡­

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Mabel, ¡°I think I¡¯m starting to agree with the computer voice thing.¡±

    ¡°Glad to hear,¡± said the caretaker.

    ¡°Seriously, Allie,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Why not one of the asylums?¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°Because the asylums are for people who don¡¯t fight back, or are weak enough for the humans to keep them locked there even if they did.¡±

    ¡°They kept us in them,¡± countered Arnold.

    ¡°Well, I mean¡ªgaah! Look, I can see the future.¡±

    Alberto corrected her. ¡°Futures, love, you can see the futures.¡±

    Allison shouted, ¡°Shut up, Alberto!¡±

    She quickly noticed everyone was staring at her.

    Allison waved her hand. ¡°He¡¯s just being a pest, it¡¯s fine. What I¡¯m saying is, the best chance we have is teaming up with the scariest supers we can find. Otherwise pretty much everyone gets arrested and we hide here and watch Doctor Who till we¡¯re twenty-one.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re all being such sooks,¡± said David, punching his open palm. ¡°We can take ¡®em.¡±

    ¡°Circle¡¯s End is miles and miles from the sea, David,¡± said Mabel, voice hard.

    ¡°¡­Oh.¡±

    The caretaker cleared his non-existent throat, ¡°I hate to rain even harder on this parade, but Circle¡¯s End is no ordinary prison.¡±

    A holographic blueprint of what looked like a tent-peg crossed with a cross-section of an anthill materialized over David. The boy swatted at the projection, scattering it momentarily like bright grains of sand.

    ¡°Stop that! As I was saying, Circle¡¯s End Supermax stretches far underground, and is equipped to house over two hundred and fifty top-shelf supers like yourselves.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, sir!¡± Billy said.

    ¡°Just speaking honestly, Mr. St. George. And while I hate to be morbid: the prison has plenty of cells free.¡±

    ¡°So it¡¯s underground,¡± said Allison. ¡°So was Veltha most of the time.¡± She flexed her knuckles. ¡°Still managed to beat her up a bunch.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not all, Miss Kinsey. The prison was constructed by our friend the Physician, with the help of a bevy of quisling super-scientists<sup>2</a></sup>. It has a full complement of what Miss Winter called ¡®Quiet Rooms¡¯, various high-powered pacification measures, extra-normal perimeter defenses, and a platoon of combat-grade Physician drones.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Like Mr. Thumps?¡± asked David.

    ¡°Somewhat,¡± said the caretaker, ¡°although your typical Physician drone wouldn¡¯t rip a person in half and spit into their alimentary canal as a first resort. The poor devils are less grown as they are stitched together out of concealed weaponry and chemical rage.¡±

    ¡°Still think I could take them.¡±

    Allison was rubbing her chin. She¡¯d never admit it, but the caretaker had a point. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, ¡°maybe we could use some backup.¡± She pointed up at the ceiling. ¡°The Flying Man has files on loads of super-people, right?¡±

    ¡°Correct.¡±

    ¡°Big-brains who are good at knocking over buildings and stuff?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Okay, give us a name.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Come on!¡±

    ¡°No. Sir wouldn¡¯t stand for me letting you children throw yourselves into the fray like this¡ª¡±

    ¡°My son is gone, Blancheflor,¡± said Sarah Allworth from the top of the staircase. She looked like she was dressed to travel, in khaki shorts and a leather vest. ¡°And God love him, he helped create the world these kids are stuck in. The least we can do is help them make a new one.¡±

    Allison snickered. ¡°Blancheflor?¡±

    ¡°Joe went through a bit of a King Arthur phase when he was a boy.¡±

    Blancheflor said, ¡°Ma¡¯am, I can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Listen here, Blanchey,¡± said Sarah, wagging her finger. ¡°Joseph was your boss, right?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes?¡±

    ¡°Well I¡¯m your boss¡¯s mom. I outrank him. Joe left this place to me, so I order you to give these kids a lead.¡±  Sarah folded her arms. ¡°Besides, wherever they go, I¡¯m coming with them.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± David cried. ¡°But you¡¯re human! And old¡ª¡±

    Allison raised her fist at David. He shut up.

    Blancheflor sighed. ¡°¡­Understood, ma¡¯am. Working.¡±

    A second later, Circle¡¯s End Supermax was replaced by the scowling full colour image of a young, dark-haired woman in oil-stained, olive green overalls. She seemed to be aiming a ray-gun of some type at the camera, one eye screwed shut with her lip set in a thin line.

    ¡°Maude Simmons, also known (most recently) as Mistress Quickly<sup>3</a></sup>, a still extant ¡®mad-scientist¡¯ from your own country¡¯s east coast.¡±

    ¡°I know her!¡± said David. ¡°She was in one of Mummy¡¯s books!<sup>4</a></sup>¡± He tilted his head. ¡°Why her?¡±

    ¡°Because she may be the smartest person on the planet,¡± replied Blancheflor.

    ¡°Figures she¡¯s a girl,¡± Mabel whispered to Allison, making both children giggle. They almost missed what Blancheflor said next:

    ¡°I should know, she helped sir confiscate the world¡¯s nuclear weapons.¡±

    ?

    It didn¡¯t take too long for Sarah and the Watercolours to get going. They would have left even sooner if the former hadn¡¯t insisted on packing.

    ¡°Sandwiches?¡±

    Mabel lifted the lid of the cooler-box and peered inside. ¡°Check.¡±

    ¡°Water-bottles?¡±

    ¡°Check.¡±

    ¡°Did you look properly, dear?¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡±

    Sarah looked at Mabel over her spectacles. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°¡­Fine.¡± Mabel shoved her face inside the cooler. ¡°Check.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mabel. Sunscreen?¡±

    ¡°Yes, we have sunscreen.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Sarah looked over to David standing in the fountain. ¡°Get dressed, David.¡±

    David glared at the old woman. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°You are not going anywhere without clothes on, young man.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°It¡¯s worked for me so far!¡±

    Sarah¡¯s eyes flickered upwards. ¡°Blanchey, sweetheart, please flush all the ice-cream into the ocean at the count of ten.¡±

    ¡°Certainly ma¡¯am. Ten¡­¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± said David.

    ¡°Nine¡­¡±

    Sarah just stood there, smiling calmly.

    ¡°Eight¡­¡±

    David also stood his ground.

    ¡°Seven¡­¡±

    ¡°For crying out loud!¡± shouted Allison. ¡°Just do what she says!¡±

    ¡°Six¡­¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna let her boss me around!¡±

    ¡°Five¡­¡±

    Billy shouted, ¡°If you lose us the autumn ice-cream David, I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll¡­¡± He breathed heavily. ¡°¡­I¡¯ll eat you!¡±

    ¡°Four¡­¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine! Costume on!¡±

    David¡¯s watery second skin appeared around him in a flash.

    ¡°Three¡­¡±

    ¡°Cancel that order, Blanchey,¡± said Sarah.

    ¡°Will do, ma¡¯am,¡± said the caretaker, sounding not a little bemused.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Miri said. ¡°She has power over the Mean One.¡±

    ¡°David¡¯s not ¡®the mean one¡¯,¡± muttered Allison.

    ¡°Sure looks like it.¡±

    Mrs Allworth walked over and patted David on the shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s a lovely costume, David. Could use some shoes, though.¡±

    ¡°Never.¡±

    Sarah smiled kindly. ¡°We¡¯ll see. Ah, there¡¯s Arnold now with my hat!¡±

    Arnold trudged out of the foyer¡¯s western elevator, shamefully carrying an akubra with wine corks dangling from the rim on top of his atlas. ¡°Here you go, Mrs Allworth.¡±

    Sarah took the hat from the boy. ¡°Thank you, Arnold. No trouble?¡±

    ¡°The wardrobe made fun of me!¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t mind him. Memorized those coordinates Blanchey gave you?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    Sarah clapped. ¡°Then let¡¯s get a move on!¡±

    Sarah and the Watercolours joined hands in a circle, Billy and David carrying the cooler between them like a necklace clasp.

    ¡°Alright,¡± said Sarah, ¡°on the count of three. Three¡ª¡±

    Arnold and Allison grinned. Green electricity shot through the circle and the group vanished.  Thunder echoed through the empty foyer for a moment, before silence reigned.

    ¡°Why did she have to tell them my name?¡± the caretaker groused to himself.

    ?

    That very instant, thousands of miles away, Sarah and the Watercolours appeared on a broad, rust-coloured flood-plain. A tired, summer-thinned river cut and forked through the landscape, trailing off towards banks of still green trees in the far distance.

    Sarah startled, letting go of Billy and Mabel¡¯s hands and stumbling backwards a few steps. ¡°Never going to get used to that,¡± she muttered to herself, before glaring at a laughing Arnold and Allison. ¡°I hope you two don¡¯t think that was clever.¡±

    Sarah quickly regained her bearings. It was beautiful countryside, wherever they were. And so warm. They¡¯d gone from the brief, sea-filtered sunlight of a winter noon to a protracted summer twilight. A wall of gold on the horizon faded into copper above her head, fading into grey and black steel in the distance.

    Sarah wondered if this is what it had been like for her son. Going from day to night in a moment, flying through seasons like time and distance were one and the same. ¡°Where are we exactly?¡± she asked aloud.

    Arnold was thumbing through his atlas. ¡°We¡¯re in the Northern Territory. The Top-End, they call it.¡±

    She and Jonah should have let Joe take them travelling more, Sarah mused, before closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath. Couldn¡¯t get bogged down in mourning. The kids needed her. Maybe a lot more kids than she knew. She raised her arm, speaking into what looked like a wristwatch with a speaker-grill for a face. ¡°Connection working, Blanchey?¡±

    Blancheflor¡¯s voice buzzed tinnily from the watch, ¡°Loud and clear, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Good. How far are we from this Mistress Quickly¡¯s hideout?¡±

    ¡°3.5 kilometres west of your present location.¡±

    God, a talking watch. Sarah felt like Jane Bond.

    ¡°I can see it!¡± cried Allison, looking out towards the setting sun with a hand shading her eyes. She wasn¡¯t sure why ?ywie thought she needed telescopic vision, but Allison wasn¡¯t complaining. She could just make out the silhouette of¡ª

    ¡°A plane?¡± Allison said. She looked back at Sarah and her communicator. ¡°Does Mistress Quickly have a plane?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Blancheflor. ¡°A Boeing 727. She stole it back in ¡®64 and kitted it out for a lair. Luckily, sir slipped a tracking device onto it.¡±

    ¡°And he just let a supervillain fly around for years?¡± asked Arnold.

    A burst of static like a shrug. ¡°He felt he owed her for the Cuban Crisis.¡±

    ¡°Right, let¡¯s get going,¡± said Sarah, setting off towards the dark shape on the horizon.

    A thought occurred to Allison. She looked a few minutes into Sarah¡¯s future. She saw the old woman only a few yards from the plane. It seemed its shape was about the limit of what Mistress Quickly had preserved of the airliner. Its paint-job had been replaced by red and black flames, and its engines were slender, fountain-pen shaped things more at home on a UFO than an earthly airplane.

    Its wings were also covered in guns, one of which swiveled around to blast Sarah square in the chest with a burst of electricity.

    Allison blinked away the vision and jumped in front of Sarah. ¡°Wait! There¡¯s traps!¡±

    Sarah stopped in her tracks, feeling rather silly. ¡°Should have figured.¡± She didn¡¯t bother asking how Allison knew that. She looked around at the children. ¡°Anyone have any ideas?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± said Allison, smiling. ¡°Sit down and eat our sandwiches.¡±

    Sarah raised an eyebrow. ¡°Bit early for lunch,¡± she said, before looking up at the dimming sky. ¡°Or dinner.¡±

    ¡°Trust me.¡± Allison turned around to face the images of Alberto and Miri, slouching and bouncing on her heels respectively. ¡°You two, go check out the plane. There has to be a button or something to turn off the guns.¡±

    Sarah watched Allison order about the air in front of her, slowly sidling up to Mabel and whispering, ¡°Who is she talking to?¡±

    ¡°Allie has people living in her head. Long story.¡±

    ¡°Good God.¡±

    Miri nodded at her sister. ¡°Sure thing!¡± she said even as she ran off towards the plane.

    Alberto kept swaying on his feet languidly in front of Allison for a bit. The girl shot daggers at him. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean to her.¡±

    Alberto sighed and turned on his heels. ¡°Fine.¡±

    Despite Miri¡¯s lead, Alberto¡¯s shade soon caught up with her, mostly because the girl kept stopping to examine every interesting weed or unusual patch of dirt:

    ¡°Lookit, Alberto! That flower¡¯s yellow!¡±

    ¡°How come that lizard gets to have a blue tongue? It¡¯s not fair!¡±

    Alberto ignored the girl in favour of the memory of his whiskey flask, swigging from it greedily. He¡¯d never really liked whiskey, but it was hard enough to get him buzzed in portable quantities.

    Why was he doing what he was told? Because he had nothing better to do? Probably, but why was Allison loosening his leash?

    Alberto glanced over at Miri. The kid was lying on her belly, watching some termites crawl through the dirt.

    Oh, that was why: corroboration.

    As they neared the plane, Alberto noticed Miri was circling him like a buzzard. ¡°What are you looking at, kid?¡±

    ¡°Why are you wearing clothes?¡±

    ¡°¡­What?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have a body, why do you have clothes?¡±

    ¡°Why do you have a face? It¡¯s called self-image. Also, fucking dignity.¡±

    Miri giggled. ¡°You¡¯re funny when you curse.¡± She blinked and looked up at Alberto with wide eyes. ¡°Why is cursing funny?¡±

    Alberto smiled to himself. ¡°Because curse words are magic, spread it around.¡±

    When they reached the plane, Miri kicked off into the air and passed through its hull.

    She¡¯s good at ignoring gravity, Alberto thought as he followed the girl. Took me ages to stop paying attention to it. Must be the flier in her. Maybe she never got a chance to get used to being heavy.

    Alberto wasn¡¯t surprised to find the plane¡¯s passenger seats had all been ripped out. The cabin was where a laboratory met a bachelorette pad. Chemistry kits, microscopes and centrifuges shared bench space with empty wine bottles, stale laundry and old records. Most of the windows had been covered by band posters. This was the woman who¡¯d helped end the Cold War?

    There were more exotic things, too. A cabinet where an egg hatched into a chick over and over. A rack of guns as colourful and diverse as butterflies under glass, and at the very back of the cabin, a metal plinth with what looked like a giant blue match flame burning above it.

    The cockpit was about what you¡¯d expect, bar maybe the bobblehead of the Crimson Comet on the dashboard. Much to Alberto¡¯s delight, Mistress Quickly had preserved the upper-deck¡¯s lounge bar. He gazed longingly at a row of spirit bottles. Maybe he could convince Allison to become an alcoholic.

    Cries of annoyance from the main cabin echoed up through the aether. Alberto sighed and descended down through the floor to find Miri standing with her fists clenched.

    ¡°How do we find the right button? This place is¡­¡± Miri tried to find the words. ¡°¡­Full of stuff!¡±

    Alberto patted her shoulder. ¡°Simple, kid. We go backwards.¡±

    Alberto pulled the ghostly child back with him into the past, minute by minute, hour by hour.

    A young lady in dirty overalls jumped backwards out of the flame at the end of the plane, gun in hand before tapping away at some buttons on the wall next to it.

    Alberto grinned. ¡°Oh my God, Allie¡¯s going to love this.¡±

    Miri¡¯s eyes were wobbling. ¡°That poor lady got burned up.¡±

    Alberto was beginning to think he might like this kid.

    They watched Mistress Quickly potter around the plane for a bit. She deposited her guns and gear back on their rack, regurgitated a few glasses of wine, flicked backwards through some magazines, and, finally, opened a hatch in the ceiling and plucked away at some buttons inside. The plane¡¯s door swung open, a metal ramp extending down to the ground outside. Mistress Quickly exited the plane back first, carrying an empty six-pack in one hand and a fishing rod slung over her shoulder.

    ¡°There we go,¡± said Alberto.

    A few minutes later, Sarah Allworth appeared in a green flash in the plane cabin. A little girl¡¯s voice spoke in her head.

    A bit to your left, no, your other left.

    Sarah found the hatch. It was full of buttons labeled with masking tape and permanent marker. Two in particular were ¡°SECURITY¡± and ¡°DOOR¡±

    Too easy.

    Soon the Watercolours were gathered around the metal flame.

    ¡°So what is it?¡± asked Arnold.

    Allison was crouched in front of the flame¡¯s plinth, resting her hand on it and reaching into its past.

    Oh.

    She turned and looked up at her friends. ¡°It¡¯s a portal.¡±

    ¡°I could¡¯ve guessed that,¡± said Alberto.

    ¡°To another universe.¡±

    ¡°¡­Maybe not that.¡±

 Chapter Eighty-One: Mistress Quickly and the Maestros of Evil!

    Mistress Quickly flitted like a shadow against the night sky, riding a whirring silver fan over dark pine and moon-pearled crags of rock. The shattered debris of the moon stretched out above her.

    Maude still wasn¡¯t sure why the Maestros of Evil<sup>1</a></sup> had blown up the Moon. Compensating for the loss of proper tides alone ate up over half the planet¡¯s GDP. Gatehouse hadn¡¯t stopped Hitler or the Black Death, why should they have thought some uppity supervillains would¡¯ve warranted their attention? They¡¯d never had the chance to learn from that mistake.

    Arrogance, pure paranoia and arrogance it was. But that was alright. That was what made the Maestro Alternative so great to begin with: everything worth stealing here belonged to a dickhead.

    Mistress Quickly veered sharply around a bone-white precipice, sending rocks and pebbles tumbling down the cliff face in her wake. She slowed her approach as Mt. Rushmore came into view in the distance.

    Not Mt. Rushmore, she reminded herself. Not even the Six Grandfathers or Cougar Mountain. Here it was Mt. Victory. The Maestros¡¯ victory.

    Just like the one at home, four stoney faces were carved into the mountain flank, lights under their chins like children telling each other ghost-stories. Maude didn¡¯t know whether they¡¯d ever been the four presidents she knew, but it didn¡¯t matter now. Now they were the founding members of the Maestros of Evil. Perpetually helmeted Red Knight<sup>2</a></sup>; the long-missing, sorcerous Night-Hag<sup>3</a></sup>; skeletal, bearded Scripture<sup>4</a></sup>; and on the far left, compound-eyed, insectile King Juhidrix<sup>5</a></sup>.

    Maude tapped a button on the rim of her flight-goggles. Her vision zoomed in on a shaft of light shining in the narrow valley behind King Juhidrix¡¯s head. Two fascistically jumpsuited young men were toting guns either side of twenty-foot tall glass doors cut into the rock. Above the doors was a bronze skull struck through with swords and daggers like spokes in a wheel, because subtlety was for people who didn¡¯t blow up the fucking moon. Beneath that were copperplate letters reading ¡°MAESTRO MUSEUM.¡± No other qualifiers, lest they spoil the alliteration.

    Mistress Quickly passed over Juhidrix¡¯s antennae and clicked her heels. Her glider came to a dead stop in the air. The magnetic light that lit its underside went dark as it folded into the soles of Maude¡¯s boots. The super-scientist plummeted straight down, cold air rushing over her sleek black battle-suit and mask.

    She landed on her feet with strange silence in front of the guardsmen. An impact like that should¡¯ve shattered all the bones in Maude¡¯s legs. Instead, she felt her boots warm up and vibrate, the potential energy travelling up through her suit and pooling in the palms of her gloves.

    Maude could hear the guardsmen raising their guns, barking out demands in their shaky, barely post-adolescent voices.

    ¡°Identify yourself, subject!¡±

    Mistress Quickly looked up at the two men, her goggles glowing bright red like owl eyes at night. Her modulated voice rasped, ¡°Do I look like a ¡®subject¡¯?¡±

    Maude clapped. A wall of air hammered forward through the guardsmen, throwing them through the reinforced glass doors like they were paper-screens.

    A claxon started blaring. Heavy steel security doors slid down in place of the ruined glass.

    Maude stood up and dusted off her hands. So far so good. She turned to face the back of Juhidrix¡¯s stony head and switched her goggles to see-through mode. Far below, a dozen bobbing lights were starting up the eight hundred feet worth of granite stairs that wound up the mountain to the museum. She zoomed in. More guards, all armed. To be expected, really.

    Mistress Quickly strode to the staircase landing at the mouth of the canyon and opened one of the hyperspace pouches on her belt.

    ¡°Blitzkrieg.¡±

    Something the size and shape of an orange flew up into Maude¡¯s magnetized palm. She pulled out a metal sphere with a black band around its middle, twisting round the top half thrice and blithely tossing it down the staircase.

    Now to deal with the doors.

    Maude strolled back to the entrance, not missing a beat as a distant explosion and even more distant screaming echoed up the mountain. She rapped the metal plate of the security doors with her knuckles. Solid stuff. Drilling or cutting through it would take time she probably didn¡¯t have.

    Actually, there was an idea.

    She reached back into the pouch she¡¯d procured the bomb out of, muttering, ¡°Tempus,¡± under her breath. She closed her fingers around a spray-can with a blue hourglass stenciled on it. Maude gave it a good shake and sprayed.

    The metal reddened like ripening apples the instant the droplets settled, only to turn brown and dissolve just as quickly. Who knew time itself could be vapourized and stored? Mistress Quickly, that¡¯s who.

    Just as Maude expected, the guardsmen already had their guns up and ready when she stepped through the hole.

    ¡°Fire!¡±

    A flurry of bullets hit Maude dead-centre. Or more accurately, they hit a few thousand Maudes in a few thousand practically identical timelines.

    None of them felt a thing.

    Maude chuckled, before lunging forward and snatching the gun from the guard on the right, smashing it into his comrade¡¯s helmet visor in a mess of blood and black glass. She spun around, firing two quick rounds into the other guard¡¯s knees.

    The guard screamed like a dying cockatoo as his legs collapsed under him. Maude stalked over to his side, broken glass crunching like dead leaves beneath her boots. She knocked off the guard¡¯s helmet with a sharp kick.

    ¡°Alright, buster, tell me¡ª¡±

    The guard¡ªthe boy, really¡ªsobbed. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill us!¡±

    Maude¡¯s nose wrinkled behind her mask. God, the Maestros recruited them young, didn¡¯t they? This one still had pimples! Poor bastard probably signed up to escape some state-sized ghetto.

    Maude sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna kill ya, kid.¡±

    ¡°Is George okay?¡±

    Maude glanced over at the other felled guard. He was out cold, but breathing steadily. A grocery list of vital statistics was scrolling next to him in the HUD of Maude¡¯s goggles.

    ¡­97% percent chance of recovery.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Not-George let out a relieved, brittle breath. ¡°Good.¡±

    Maude sat down beside the young man. ¡°How¡¯s this sound, kid? You tell me which pocket you keep your keys, I staunch your bleeding and give you some night-night juice. I¡¯m sure you and George will get Purple Hearts for your trouble. Or is it a Purple Skull here?¡±

    Not-George didn¡¯t even try to make sense of the madwoman¡¯s rambling, only closing his eyes and nodding shakily. Less than two minutes later, Maude left the boy to enjoy his freshly bandaged knees and the top shelf painkillers she¡¯d shoved into his neck.

    In Maude¡¯s world, budget issues had left the Hall of Records behind Lincoln¡¯s head nothing more than a hallway to nowhere in an oddly rectangular cave. Here, though, the Maestros had taken the project to a twisted conclusion: cavernous eighty by one hundred feet marble chamber, full of bronze and glass cabinets housing the grisly trophies of the Maestros of Evil. A monument to their conquest of Earth¡ªand a tourist-trap for their more privileged slaves. The sort of folk who could stand a boot on their neck as long as they got to be on top of someone.

    Mistress Quickly stood in the middle of the hall, scanning the exhibits with her goggles. Aside from the flash-mummified superheroes, the ragged capes fluttering in the fan-driven air of their cabinets, and the ubiquitous skewered skull that dominated the floorplan, the hall didn¡¯t differ greatly from any other museum Maude had visited. There was even a little donation box in the east corner:

    <h1 style="text-align: center">All donations go towards stabilization of the lunar debris field</h1>

    ¡°Idiots.¡±

    Another important similarity the Mt. Victory Maestro Museum had to other such institutions was that everything in it was basically glorified garbage. If it weren¡¯t, Maude might¡¯ve actually had to break a sweat getting in there.

    Pendragon¡¯s sword? Useless. Pendragon¡¯s power came from Pendragon, not the overpriced, roughly sword-shaped hunk of metal he lugged around. Thunderbolt¡¯s cape? Even if Maude went in for sentimental value, this one was fake. The real thing was languishing in Archangel¡¯s<sup>6</a></sup> private collection over in Manhattan. The constitution? Please.

    Nobody stuck useful things in a museum. However, as anyone who¡¯s ever been to a garage sale might tell you, it was terribly easy to mistake treasure for trash.

    Maude¡¯s eyes lit up when she saw the cabinet at the end of the hall. It was a surprisingly spartan little display. A phial of dark red blood held between two gold tapers, set against starscapes painted onto the cabinet walls.

    Maude¡¯s HUD locked onto the phial:

    Throneworld platelets detected. Probable source: Imperial White. High probability of cell viability.

    The mad scientist trilled in delight and ran to the cabinet like a schoolgirl. She eagerly read the display plaque:

    This blood was shed by the wicked Child-Princess Tilaearys during the ¡®Throneworld¡¯ attack on Earth after the Maestros¡¯ successful destruction of their lunar spying facility in 1954.

    There were a lot of reasons Maude was robbing the Maestro Alternative. One was that at the moment, home was somehow even more weird and paranoid. Another was the complete lack of guilt. But most importantly, the Empress of the Southern Spiral had never bled on Maude¡¯s Earth.

    Mistress Quickly unlocked the case with Not-George¡¯s key, gingerly placing the phial into a hyperspace pouch.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Fools. The Maestros could¡¯ve bred an army of high supers if they knew what prize they had. Maude wasn¡¯t even sure what she would do with the blood yet, but there was no way she¡¯d just stick it in a fucking museum¡ª

    That was when Mistress Quickly heard the sound every super-thief dreaded: a slow clap.

    She turned around. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be in Montana, Archangel?¡±

    Three men were standing in a row at the head of the hall. Maude only recognized the one in the middle¡ªa chiseled blonde with slicked back hair in a vault of heaven body-glove and a thick white cape. Archangel, the king of America.

    ¡°Those terrorists and their bleeding heart rogue supers are just one of many problems I need to manage, Mistress Quickly. It¡¯d be greatly appreciated if you stopped adding to my burdens.¡±

    Maude smiled. ¡°Look, if you wanted to keep that starship wreckage<sup>7</a></sup>, you shouldn¡¯t have put in  bloody Fort Knox. Like painting a bullseye on it!¡±

    Archangel sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t expect you would understand the good we could¡¯ve done with that technology, Quickly.¡±

    Maude laughed. ¡°Good? Archangel, mate, your friends paint skulls all over anything.¡±

    Archangel folded his arms. ¡°You can¡¯t judge based on appearances.¡±

    ¡°You blew up the moon!¡±

    Archangel waved a hand. ¡°I will admit, the early days could be¡­ excessive, but I like to think I¡¯ve molded the Maestros into a positive force for order.¡±

    ¡°And, humble public servant you are, all you asked in return was a Black Sea mansion and a different girl for every day of the week.¡±

    Archangel¡¯s divine face twisted in rage. ¡°You don¡¯t know what I¡¯ve given up¡­¡±

    Oh no, time for the tortured heel speech. This could take a while. Maude tried to turn Archangel out, focusing on exit strategies.

    ¡°¡­When Thunderbolt looked me in the eye and told me we were losing, what was I supposed to do?¡±

    No fire escapes. Maude wasn¡¯t surprised. Evil rarely obeyed health and safety codes.

    ¡°I saw Washington turn to jelly¡­¡±

    Was he still going?

    ¡°The perfect is the enemy of the good, Mistress Quickly! I swore that day¡ª¡±

    One of Archangel¡¯s companions¡ªa trenchcoat clad, green-haired Japanese man who seemed bred for 1990s sci-fi covers¡ªblessedly interrupted his spiel. ¡°Stealing Princess Tilly¡¯s blood are we?¡± He smirked,  ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re secret girlfriends or something.¡±

    Best not let them know the blood was useful. ¡°I did it for the challenge.¡±

    The great thing about wearing a mask was that you could grimace without giving the game away. Maude hated ¡°gentleman thieves.¡± Who the hell thought not needing to steal made it more noble?

    Archangel raised an eyebrow. ¡°You robbed a lightly guarded tourist display in a sparsely populated territory. For the challenge.¡±

    Archangel looked to the super on his right, an elderly man in what looked like a purple bathrobe. His head was pitted crystalline growths, as though his brain were one big gem that didn¡¯t quite fit inside his skull.

    ¡°What¡¯s she really doing, Sanguine?¡±

    Maude swore under her breath when she saw Sanguine put his fingers to his temples in the multiversal psychic gesture. The crystals on his head flashed red.

    ¡°She¡¯s taking the blood back to her home reality to reverse engineer Tilaearys¡¯ powers.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s from another dimension?¡± Archangel lips hardened into a frown. ¡°And why aren¡¯t we reverse engineering her fucking powers?¡±

    Sanguine threw his hands up between him and Archangel. ¡°Hey, pal, wasn¡¯t my call!¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m going,¡± said Maude.

    An absolute bear of man in a stained leather apron materialized in her path. He towered over Maude by nearly two heads, and his thickly bearded face was purple with fury. ¡°What the fuck have you done now, moron?¡±

    Maude jerked backwards. ¡°Dad?¡±

    ¡°Forgotten who I am, retard?¡± her father jeered right in her face. ¡°Not surprised. Wish I could forget I was your dad, too. Christ, your mother should¡¯ve drowned you with the kittens!¡±

    Maude stood there, frozen to the spot. She could see spittle droplets on her goggles.

    ¡­Which weren¡¯t registering any vitals.

    Maude grabbed her hand-cannon off her belt and spun a wheel on its hilt, literally firing from the hip.

    A dart struck Sanguine square in the chest. The psychic looked down at the projectile. ¡°Well, shit¡­¡±

    He teetered forward and fell hard on his face. Maude¡¯s father faded back into memory.

    Mistress Quickly flicked the gun¡¯s ammo-wheel again and aimed at Archangel and the green-haired Maestro. ¡°Your psychic should¡¯ve looked harder. I haven¡¯t been afraid of that arsehole in years.¡±

    Archangel looked down disdainfully at Sanguine before turning to his remaining comrade. ¡°Scrapper, you¡¯re up.¡±

    Scrapper shucked off his trenchcoat and cracked his knuckles with a metallic pop. ¡°My pleasure, captain.¡± He screamed like a broken microphone as curved chrome tubes erupted from his calves, tearing through his trouser legs in a spurt of blood and black oil. He grinned hungrily at Maude, revealing a set of black iron teeth

    Scrapper rocketed at Maude like a demented figure-skater, the protusions in his legs belching jets of flame.

    Maude dove to the right, letting Scrapper sail past her while she rolled over and fired a few high-impact rounds into his back.

    Scrapper¡¯s jets extinguished, the Maestro sliding to a stop. He inhaled sharply, pulling the bullets inside of him with a grinding slurp. He turned to face Maude. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said, his voice hissing and distorting. ¡°Haven¡¯t had depleted uranium in ages!¡±

    Bullets erupted from the super¡¯s fingertips, his arms juddering backwards from the recoil. They hit Maude like a cloud of wasps, every bullet stinging just a little more than the last as her suit struggled to spread the impact out across the timelines.

    ¡°Sound and fury!¡±

    The hall went white. Thunder boomed in the Maestros¡¯ ears. Both men tried to simultaneously cover their ears and shield their eyes, coughing

    The light faded. Mistress Quickly was gone.

    ¡°Where¡¯d the bitch go?¡± Scrapper asked. ¡°She teleport or something?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Archangel growled, his watering eyes darting around the hall. ¡°If she could just leave, she would have already.¡±

    Camouflaged against a wall, Maude swore inwardly. Why had she skimped on a teleportation unit?

    Archangel stepped over George and Not-George into the hole Maude had made in the security door, putting his hands on either edge of it.

    What Mistress Quickly wouldn¡¯t have given for a giant fucking sheep right then.

    ¡°Unless she can tunnel through rock, this is Quickly¡¯s only exit. Smoke her out.¡±

    Scrapper bent backwards, a mass bulging under his tight black shirt. With a sound like a fork in a blender, a cannon barrel erupted from his chest.

    The supervillain strained like he was giving birth. A cannonball flew out of him, colliding with the Pendragon display in an explosion of broken glass and plastic shards. He turned in place and fired again. And again. Maude had to slide to the left as one hurtled right where her head had been. The hall shook. Marble dust rained down from the roof.

    Archangel caught a cannonball heading for the entrance. ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake, man, you¡¯ll cause a cave in!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re invulnerable, who cares?¡±

    Archangel gestured with the lead ball at the still-unconscious Sanguine. ¡°He¡¯s not.¡±

    Maude suppressed a groan. She was going to be here all night. And her invisibility-web was only good for five minutes.

    Scrapper glared at Archangel. ¡°Look, if I¡¯m doing such a crap job, why don¡¯t you get off your spandexed ass and help?¡±

    Smoke from the ruins of the Thunderbolt display drifted up to the ceiling, bringing the fire-sprinklers to chittering life. Water droplets rained down on the hall, creating riverlets of rubble and dust, as well as revealing what looked like a startled woman made of glass¡­

    Scrapper grinned. ¡°Or you can trust my methods.¡±

    Scrapper roared, plumes of smoke flowing from his nostrils. Tumorous metal growths bloomed from his cheeks, and his hair was forced out of his scalp by metal wires. His eyes exploded as glowing orange headlights bulged in his skull, while his torso was torn in half by a rolling and shifting mess of guns. Hydraulic arms ending in pincers, claws and scroops forced their way out of his back, all snapping at Mistress Quickly.

    Scrapper¡¯s voice rumbled like an industrial furnace. ¡°It feels so good to be naked.¡±

    Maude became visible and clicked her heels, rising into the air on her glider as a breeze of bullets blew under her, swerving and weaving as it followed her upwards. A thick metal cable shot out of Scrapper¡¯s maw, writhing through the air and trying to grab at Maude¡¯s legs.

    Okay, Maude thought as she circuited the hall ahead of the metal worm like a mechanical hare. He likes metal. So no bullets. Or axes, or knives, or hammers. What else is there?

    Rubber?

    Mistress Quickly opened a hyperspace pouch. ¡°Bounce.¡±

    A red rubber ball flew into Maude¡¯s hand. She threw the ball hard. It struck the corner of a still intact glass case, splitting into two identical red balls as it richotched. Both balls split again when they hit a tapestry of the Maestros crossing the Hudson and an old Red Knight suit. Those balls split on impact in turn. Soon the whole museum looked like the inside of a cooking packet of popcorn, new balls popping into existence every second.

    Scrapper grinned smugly with what was left of his face as the rubber balls bounced harmlessly off him and Archangel. He even retracted his tongue.

    ¡°You shot me, and you think these will take me down?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly,¡± replied Maude.

    The cloud of balls rapidly became a rising flood as they pooled on the floor. Soon they were up to Scrapper¡¯s ball-joint knees.

    ¡°Wait, what¡ª¡±

    His words were lost as the super was buried alive in the rubber balls. The rubber wave crest fell towards the entrance. Archangel reflexively took flight to avoid the surging mass. Maude swooped under him and grabbed the guards by the scruff of their necks, dragging them out of the museum behind her.

    Mistress Quickly just managed to get clear into the night air when the balls spewed out of the hole behind her.

    She hastily propped the pair semi-upright against the back of King Juhidrix¡¯s head, patting them both on the chest.

    ¡°Good luck, fellas,¡± she told the two, before riding up and away from Mt. Victory.

    She¡¯d only gotten five hundred meters away from the carved faces when she heard the boom. Maude looked behind her. Archangel was flying right at her with his arms at his side, screaming his rage into the night. Scrapper wasn¡¯t far behind, now a tangled bush of machinery propelled through the air by enormous jet-turbines.

    Aww, crap.

    Maude swung around on her glider and aimed her gun at the incoming supers. She was trying to decide between a hurricane or a sonic blast when a wave of water T-boned Archangel mid-air.

    ¡°The hell?¡± Scrapper shrieked, so distracted he blew right past Maude.

    Maude looked up.

    There was a little boy dressed in what looked like a dancer¡¯s leotard made of a summer seascape. He was riding atop a bridge of water through the air, like a carpet winding and unwinding across the sky.

    He wasn¡¯t alone. Flying under her own power beside him was a girl who looked like carved moonrock wrapped in an elaborate tye-dyed costume. And above them was a green, yellow and red Chinese dragon, upon which rode yet three more colourfully dressed children, and an old woman with a hand clamped tight over her akubra hat.

    And was one of them a cat?

    The old woman called down, ¡°Excuse me¡­ Miss? Are you named Mistress Quickly by any chance?¡±

    ¡°Recently, yes,¡± answered Maude, her voice slightly amplified. ¡°You folks on my side?¡±

    ¡°Think so,¡± said the girl closest to the dragon¡¯s head, wearing something that looked like a comic book collection had been skinned alive to make it.

    Maude rose till she was level with the dragon. She asked the old lady, ¡°Have the Free Staters started fielding ten year olds<sup>8</a></sup>?¡±

    Sarah shook her head. ¡°We aren¡¯t locals. We¡¯re¡­ from the same place as you.¡±

    ¡°And how did you get here? Ain¡¯t exactly a bus running to the Maestro Alternative.¡±

    ¡°Fire-portal-thing in your plane,¡± said Allison.

    Maude blinked behind her goggles at the flying girl. ¡°You found my mobile-bunker?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an airplane,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°I believe my son was tracking you. Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Wait¡­ what¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Sarah Allworth.¡±

    ¡°No. You¡¯re the Flying Man¡¯s mum?¡±

    ¡°Joe told you about me?¡±

    ¡°Only nice things,¡± Maude assured Sarah. ¡°How is the uptight bastard?¡±

    ¡°My son is dead.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Everyone hovered for a moment, silent as the stars above.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear,¡± said Maude. ¡°Confused, but sorry. He was a good man.¡± She looked back at Allison. ¡°You¡¯re not his daughter, are you?¡±

    Allison bit her lip. She really didn¡¯t want to laugh right now in front of Mrs Allworth. ¡°Nope, I can just fly.¡±

    ¡°And your eyes glow.¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°That too.¡±

    ¡°So, why¡¯d you come looking for me?¡± asked Maude.

    Allison cleared her throat and said, ¡°We need you to help us free all the supers in Australia.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ a big ask.¡±

    Allison took a deep breath, ready to launch into the Pitch again, when a flying explosion of shrapnel smashed into her side, sending her back towards Mt. Victory.

    Arnold screamed. ¡°Allie!¡±

    Scrapper slammed Allison into a dark alcove in the mountain, pinning her against the shadowed rock.

    A pale, mottled face rose from within the metal mess to leer at the little girl. ¡°That didn¡¯t kill you? Surprising! Means I get to have fun.¡±

    Allison felt the Earth call up to her through the mountain. Heat flowed into her through her back. She burst into red and purple flames. ¡°Big mistake.¡±

    Far off, Maude and the Watercolours heard a harsh, metallic scream. The mountain bled a thin stream of white-hot metal between the Red Knight and Night-Hag¡¯s faces.

    ¡°I think your friend¡¯s fine,¡± Maude told Arnold. ¡°I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    A very wet Archangel grabbed Maude by the neck and swung her around to face him. ¡°You bitch. I was going to recruit you! Let you help us fix the moon. And then you go and kill two of my men!¡±

    Maude wheezed, ¡°Technically it was just the one¡­¡±

    Archangel¡¯s sneered and raised his fist¡ª

    There was a green flash and a blast of thunder. Archangel was gone.

    Maude breathed a little raggedly as she massaged her windpipe, before turning back at the dragon. The boy in the starry black cloak waved at her.

    ¡°As I was saying, I¡¯m impressed.¡±

    Allison flew back into their midst, dripping wet with molten slag. ¡°Hey guys.¡±

    There was a rumble. The mountain shook.

    Mabel asked, ¡°Hey, Arnold, where did you put the flying guy?¡±

    ¡°In the mountain¡ª¡±

    Archangel burst out of Night-Hag¡¯s forehead like an inverted Athena. ¡°Bastards!¡±

    Billy waited until Archangel was only a metre or two away, before leaning forwards and roaring with all his might. The force of it pushed clouds towards the horizon, and caught Archangel directly in the face.

    It was the first time in years that someone had made the lord of America bleed. He struck the mountain a second time, and this time, did not return. The entire mountain face crumbled and collapsed like a waterfall of rock.

    Billy beamed around at his friends. They applauded.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Maude. ¡°You know what? Let¡¯s hear your proposal.¡±

 Chapter Eighty-Two: He Had Wings

    In the sleepy non-town of Mogo by the Tasman sea, there lived a wingless angel. He was tall and solid as stone, his eyes like chips of coal. Though no longer young by any means, he wasn¡¯t what you would call old, either¡ªyet his hair and beard were white as Jupiter¡¯s.

    ¡°Poor Ralph went white in the war,¡± the old folks around Mogo said. Mogo had a lot of those. ¡°Horror¡¯s as good as bleach for hair.¡±

    Mogo was perfect for Ralph Rivers. The town had sprung up during the Gold Rush, and hadn¡¯t quite been able to scatter to the wind when the streams and mines dried up. Home to less than four hundred people, the local tavern was friendly, but not too friendly. Folks who passed through on Princes Highway barely noticed the little smudge of town.

    Most importantly, there weren¡¯t any super-heads in Mogo.

    And sometimes, when some coded, unspoken signal passed between Ralph and a transient at the pub or the petrol-station¡­

    It was always quick. Rough. Furtive. Tainted by the dread of betrayal or discovery. Nothing like with Vince or Finch. But he¡¯d learned the hard way it was all men like him could hope for.

    He tried never to look in their wallets. Always that little fear of seeing a wife and kids staring back.

    Still, it wasn¡¯t all bad. When he could bear to be around children, he would head up to Sydney and look in on his niece and her kids. Stop off with an old lay of his on the way back. Sometimes his family even visited him back:

    ¡°Who¡¯s that, Uncle Ralph?¡± Ralph¡¯s youngest grand-niece asked, pointing at his refrigerator.

    ¡°Hmm?¡± Ralph followed Josie¡¯s finger to what she was pointing at: an old black and white photograph from the war.

    Ralph was standing on an airfield (in plainclothes, of course; none of Jan¡¯s kids were old enough for that chat) grinning at the camera besides a fair-haired little girl wrapped in an oversized German army jacket with the sleeves torn off. She didn¡¯t look happy to be so attired. Or attired at all, for that matter. There was a strange shine to her eyes, apparent even in faded monochrome.

    Ralph smiled wistfully. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s Fran. She¡¯s¡­ a friend of mine.¡±

    Josie giggled. ¡°She¡¯s too little to be your friend.¡±

    ¡°What, we¡¯re not friends?¡± Ralph asked with a mock-frown.

    ¡°No! I mean, yes but¡ª¡±

    Ralph chuckled and raised his hand. ¡°I¡¯m kidding ya, Josie. Fran was¡­ I took care of her until I could find her a proper home.¡±

    ¡°Does she live close? Could we go see her?¡±

    ¡°Nah, she lives in WA now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s far away.¡±

    ¡°It is. She has a baby boy of her own now, too.¡±

    Josie¡¯s eyes lit up. ¡°A baby?¡± Her mother had gotten her a baby doll that Christmas, and she was very intrigued by the whole business. ¡°Have you seen it?¡±

    Ralph smiled at the memory of a bronze skinned toddler pressing his face against the fish-tank glass. ¡°Just the once, a long time ago.¡±

    God, David had to be what, seven now? Eight? When was Fran¡¯s last letter?

    Ralph had been surprised when he¡¯d first gotten the news. Not so much by Fran having a kid out of wedlock. Even if he could judge anyone else¡¯s romantic choices, he never expected Fran?oise to lead a conventional life. But with Hugo? He¡¯d sooner have expected Alberto, or Chen. Hell, even Eliza seemed like a more likely prospect. He was glad of it, though. Hugo was the only lad there who wasn¡¯t¡­ prickly.

    ¡°So,¡± said Josie, ¡°Why couldn¡¯t Fran stay at your house?¡±

    The little girl glanced about the kitchen. ¡°Did the washing machine leak? Ours did. Daddy had to call to tear up the floor, and call a plumber, and¡­¡±

    Ralph stood there as his niece rambled, hoping to God she didn¡¯t find the lead again. How the hell did he explain this to a five year old?

    Jan rescued him, plucking her daughter up from the kitchen stool. ¡°Time for your nap, love.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not tired!¡± Josie whined against her mother¡¯s chest.

    ¡°And that¡¯s how I know you need it.¡±

    Jan turned and carried Josie off to the spare bedroom, looking apologetically over her shoulder at Ralph.

    Bless Jan. She never judged him. Friends with Finch, even. Still, what decent mother wanted her little girl knowing her uncle was a fag?

    Life was quiet in Mogo. An endless stream of garden work and odd jobs around Eurobodalla Shire. He wasn¡¯t short on cash. Hell, he¡¯d bought Jan¡¯s house for her. It was more to keep himself fossilizing alive than for the money.  His occasional employers gawked and joked when they saw him hammer in nails with a closed fist or drive posts into sun-baked soil like it was water, but nothing ever came of it. If anyone talked to the freak-finders about him, they never followed up. Ralph didn¡¯t know if his solitude was born out of goodwill, fear, or genuine obscurity. Either way, Ralph and the rest of the world were content to ignore each other.

    It was a whisper of a life. The residue at the bottom of the glass. An early sunset more fit for a man thirty years Ralph¡¯s senior. Most days spent growing steadily more vapid in front of the TV. Most evenings on an empty fishing pier, downing beer after beer as the stars moved around him. But it was bearable. Better than the black days after the war. After Fran left. After Vince. The days of broken razor-blades.

    But one day, far away but everywhere, something happened:

    Ralph slapped a newspaper and a carton of cigarettes on the counter. ¡°The Australian and a carton of Winnie Blues, thanks.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Mr. Rivers.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s eyes fell on the paper¡¯s front-page. There were two children, a boy and a girl. They were dancing on a frozen over lake in front of Parliament House. Their eyes were both aglow.

    ¡°...What¡¯s this?¡± Ralph asked quietly.

    Gary the newsagent shrugged. ¡°Some demis put on a show for the Prime Minister. Apparently some bloke has a whole school for them out west.¡± He grinned at Ralph. ¡°Glad it¡¯s not our coast, right?¡±

    Ralph ignored the unintended slight. He emptied his wallet out on the counter, snatched the newspaper, and ran out the door. ¡°Keep the change!¡±

    ¡°But you gave me a tenner!¡± Gary waved the Winnie Blues carton. ¡°And what about your fags?¡±

    Ralph¡¯s voice echoed down the street. ¡°Fuck em!¡±

    Robert Menzies had invited Herbert Lawrence and his students to Canberra. The prime minister invited Fran¡¯s son to Parliament. All of a sudden David occupied Ralph¡¯s every other thought. Was he happy? Did he take after Fran or his father? And who was that girl dancing with him? Did Fran have a daughter? When? Ralph certainly hadn¡¯t been told. Not only that, she looked the same age as David. And she was too white to be Hugo¡¯s.

    He cut out the front-picture and pinned to his fridge next to Fran¡¯s photo, proud as horses. He wrote a bittersweet, alternate biography in his head. One where he had gotten to watch David grow up.

    Things were going to change now. They had to. He knew they would, eventually.

    They didn¡¯t.

    Ralph sent more letters to Fran?oise, congratulating David and his unknown partner. He received no answer. Ralph couldn¡¯t blame Fran. Why should she make time for the old queen who gave her away?

    The stillness soon returned to Ralph¡¯s life. Months flowed like water through his fingers, if a little colder for that brief flush of hope.

    Then Canberra was bombed. Ralph spent days at his kitchen table with the radio on, expecting police or soldiers to kick down his door any second, not sure what he would do if they did.

    By the time he ventured outdoors again, the papers were proudly blaring new horrors. Turned out the bombings were the work of a demi-human cult in Western Australia, led by a mad Oxfordian psychatrist obbessed with the obsolescence of human kind and selective breeding.

    David. The girl. He¡¯d left Fran?oise at a human cattle ranch.

    That wasn¡¯t all. The papers said that the brave Australian soldiers were forced to put down some violent cultists.

    Ralph wasn¡¯t sure how he knew Fran?oise was among them. Maybe it was a bitter taste in the water. Maybe he just knew Fran would die before letting anyone or anything harm her son. The black days were back.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Before the week was out, the shattered remains of the world were ground into sand. Two photographs vied for space on the front page of The Australian: a bizarre, tear-shaped spaceship hovering over the city of Melbourne, and a blurry photograph of the five children who¡¯d held the Royal Exhibition Building and the senior staff of the DDHA hostage. Rumour was that the ring-leaders were the very children who¡¯d performed for the deceased prime minister that winter.

    Ralph only had to glance at the paper to know those rumours were true. There was little David, wild hair and luminous eyes, dressed in water. Out of the fish-tank.

    That night, Ralph Rivers stood in front of his bedroom mirror, resplendent in his old suit, minus his long destroyed wings. The golden eagle stamped above his brow glinted in the starlight drifting through the window. Ralph didn¡¯t know what he was about to do. Go and stop David and his friends? Help them? Whatever it was, he wasn¡¯t going to stand by and let the world slide deeper into Hell. He was a superhero, goddamnit. He was the antidote to apathy. He should¡¯ve gotten back in the game when they started rounding up kids.

    But whenever he tried to step out of the house, he remembered the feeling of arms tearing from  sockets. Of flesh and bone exploding around his fist. The plaintive looks of fear and pain on soldiers¡¯ faces. The images blurred together. He wasn¡¯t brutalizing Germans or Italians, but David, or the girl, or Fran. Their blood sticking between his fingers¡­

    Curled on his bed, he wept. He was useless. Utterly fucking useless.

    When he could weep no more, Ralph rose and peeled off his costume, shoving it roughly under his bed.

    And then, he got on with it.

    ¡°Hey Rivers,¡± Gary called out to Ralph as he passed the newsagent. ¡°You hear? The Flying Man¡¯s dead!¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Ralph grunted, carrying a bag of fertilizer on his shoulder.

    He was soon walking up the path to his flat through his garden. He saw his white cat creeping skittishly along the fence.

    What¡¯s the matter with Pearl? Ralph wondered to himself.

    He unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

    There were people in his sitting room. Five gaudily dressed children, an old lady, and a younger woman in skinny jeans and a pink blazer over a black undershirt. The last was grinning wickedly at Ralph from his favourite armchair.

    ¡°Hey Comet,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°Nice place you got here.¡±

    Ralph didn¡¯t answer his old enemy. He was too busy looking at the dark-skinned boy leaning against the bookcase. His eyes were like nothing he¡¯d seen since the war.

    ¡°...David?¡±

    ?

    ¡°The Crimson Comet? What do we need him for?¡± Allison asked. ¡°Bloke flies around and punches things. I¡¯ve got the first thing covered, and the rest is pretty¡­ simple.¡±

    Maude extinguished the acetylene torch she was using to solder some circuitry, flipping her mask up and wiping sweat from her brow. ¡°Never underestimate your standard flying strongman, Kinsey. Need to be flown to safety? Want a wall torn down? Need someone to complete a circuit with their bare hands? They¡¯re good for all of the above!¡± Maude frowned thoughtfully. ¡°Well, unless their secret weakness is electricity. Surprisingly common, that.¡± She shrugged. ¡°Eh, most of them are heroes, they¡¯d be up for it.¡±

    After the party had staggered exhausted through the dimensional rift, half the North American Maestros hot on their heels, Mistress Quickly had taken being teleported into Lyonesse¡¯s foyer well. Her only response to the grand surroundings was to mutter, ¡°Well, Joe was holding out on me¡­¡±

    Maude more or less moved into the wardrobe for a day and a half after that. Well, it was called the wardrobe. It was closer to a small warehouse, containing hundreds of different outfits on motorized racks. Apparently Joseph Allworth felt it vital he had easy access to a clown costume, eighteen zoot suits, and a hooded winter version of his Flying Man outfit.

    ¡°Why do you even need a fancy outfit?¡± Mrs Allworth asked as Maude tossed a full length Georgian gown into her arms. ¡°I thought you ran around all the time in those overalls.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just when I was robbing other dimensions, honey. It¡¯s like working from home in your pyjamas, but with more fresh air and strangers shooting at you.¡± Maude jabbed her thumb towards Allison trying on some far too big dresses over her costume a few yards down the rack. ¡°Plus, I don¡¯t want to look underdressed next to that lot. Not that it¡¯s easy to be underdressed with David around¡­¡±

    Sarah chuckled. ¡°Not if I can help it.¡±

    ¡°Doing the Lord¡¯s work there, Mrs Allworth.¡±

    ¡°Why other dimensions?¡± asked Allison. ¡°Seemed like a lot more work.¡±

    ¡°Bunch of reasons,¡± replied Maude, holding a red leather motorbike suit in front of her. ¡°One is that nobody cares if you steal the crown jewels and Prince Philip if they never go missing.¡± She threw away the suit. ¡°There¡¯s also harm minimization. Instead of robbing a lot of people in one reality, you spread them out across multiple universes.¡±

    Sarah hummed dubiously. ¡°Still sounds like common thievery to me.¡±

    Maude rolled her eyes. ¡°With all due respect, Mrs Allworth, your son was the most painfully principled man I¡¯ve ever met. Even he couldn¡¯t get upset for me for robbing the Thousand Year Reich or the Theocracy.¡±

    Allison was pulling a sky-blue satin dress over her head. ¡°So, the Maestro world got took over by the super-people?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Maude. ¡°Whole place is like someone built a funfair out of freak-finder nightmares. They swooped in when everyone was tuckered out from the war. Theirs lasted two extra years, can ya believe it?¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like they were doing a bang-up job of running things,¡± commented Sarah.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison, twirling in her dress like she was at the centre of a whirlpool. ¡°We¡¯d do a way better job.¡±

    Sarah and Maude laughed uncomfortably, sharing a look. Neither woman had been brave enough yet to talk to Allison about how casually she¡¯d dispatched Scrapper.

    Once she¡¯d settled on an outfit, Mistress Quickly had locked herself in Lyonesse¡¯s machining workshop, ministering over what looked like an unravelled butterfly made of circuits and wires.

    The super-scientist let Allison watch her tinker from the edge of one of the workbenches, legs kicking the air as she took in Maude¡¯s song. It was a strange tune, like a lullaby played on strings of pollen strummed by lightning. It didn¡¯t let Allison do anything new, but it weaved stray thoughts in her head like silk threads. She¡¯d already idly constructed a freeze-ray. Not that Maude had been overly impressed. Everyone had a freeze-ray in them. It was like the ABCs of enhanced science.

    ¡°It¡¯s not even his powers we need,¡± Maude said as she guided a fuse into place with a pair of pliers. ¡°It¡¯s the image. I know half the supervillains in the super-max. If they¡¯ll listen to anyone, they¡¯ll listen to me.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Allison hoped to God they hadn¡¯t recruited a paper-tiger.

    Maude smirked. ¡°Kid, you¡¯re looking at a three time winner of the Crime Olympics, and Villainy in Review¡¯s Mad Scientist of the year for 1958.¡±

    ¡°...There¡¯s a Crime Olympics?¡±

    ¡°Well, a bunch of us get drunk and see who can steal the most shit in a week. But I still won.¡± Maude turned around and wagged her pliers at Allison. ¡°Trust me, I¡¯m at the head of that herd of cats.¡±

    Allison was beginning to suspect Mistress Quickly didn¡¯t often have a reason to explain herself. ¡°So you¡¯re like the boss of the baddies¡­ so we need a superhero to¡­ help us?¡±

    Maude gritted her teeth. ¡°You¡¯re not listening, Allie. I can wrangle the villains, but¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean we need the Comet to get the superheroes on our side.¡±

    Maude inhaled deeply. ¡°Yes and no. You¡¯re right that it won¡¯t hurt, but getting the heroes to team up with us outlaws isn¡¯t as big an ask as you might think. We¡¯re practically the same species. Besides, we¡¯re already breaking them out of a desert hell-prison. Right now, the only difference between a supervillain and a superhero in Oz is attitude, far as the law is concerned. It¡¯s the regular folks at the super-max I¡¯m thinking about.¡±

    Allison cocked her head. ¡°...You think the Crimson Comet will help with the guards?¡±

    Mistress Quickly threw her arms up. ¡°No! I mean, yes! Quite possibly! But I mean the civilian prisoners.¡±

    ¡°But they¡¯re not regular folks!¡± Allison retorted, a whine creeping into her voice. ¡°They¡¯re supers.¡±

    Maude looked at the little girl for a moment, before smiling and shaking her head with a light laugh. ¡°Oh, Allison. You and me? David? Even Mabel and Arnold, a bit? We might be different from the common man, but most supers? You¡¯d hardly be able to tell the difference when they aren¡¯t flying or throwing fireballs.¡±

    Allison folded her arms. ¡°I don¡¯t believe you. Humans are boring. Even the nice ones.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to believe me. But you have to understand, Allison, most of the people in that prison are scared out of their wits. Probably half-convinced themselves they deserve to be there. Their first instinct isn¡¯t going to be to stand and fight. It¡¯s gonna be to run and hide, or maybe curl up in a ball.¡± Maude stood very straight. ¡°Nothing like a right proper superhero to get folks all revved and ready.¡± She turned back to her project, plucking away at it like a surgeon. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s our image to think about. You want people to think your little super-town is legitimate, right?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care what the humans think.¡±

    ¡°You should. Ralph Rivers might be the difference between all Australia thinking you¡¯re the world¡¯s biggest villain team waiting to strike, and just another friendly country town.¡±

    Allison huffed. ¡°Okay, okay. I¡¯ll talk to the others about it. Billy and Mabel will be thrilled, I bet. Think he¡¯ll even go with us?¡±

    Maude grinned. ¡°Of course he will. Altruism is like marching powder for superheroes.¡±

    ?

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®no¡¯?¡± Maude shouted, thrusting the large white box she was holding out between her and Ralph Rivers and shaking it. ¡°I spent all week making this!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care!¡± cried Ralph. ¡°You¡¯re talking nonsense! Busting open the¡ªwhat even is the super-max?¡±

    Allison shook her head in mute disgust from the big couch. ¡°You don¡¯t know? It¡¯s where our people are being locked up!¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± Arnold muttered out the corner of his mouth, ¡°that¡¯s meant to be a secret.¡±

    Allison stuck her hand over her friend¡¯s mouth, still scowling at Rivers. ¡°Don¡¯t you want to help your own kind?¡±

    A sad, bitter sputter of laughter. ¡°Girlie, we¡¯re people with superpowers, not the Twelve Tribes of Israel!¡±

    ¡°We could be, if you helped us.¡±

    Sarah Allworth cleared her throat from the kitchen doorway, a cup of tea in hand. ¡°I know what Miss Quickly and the children are proposing is¡­ audacious. But their hearts are in the right place, and I¡¯m sure you¡¯d be a great help.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m retired!¡± Ralph pointed an accusing finger at Mistress Quickly. ¡°Who even are you?¡±

    Maude exploded with indignation. ¡°I was your last case!¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Ralph swung around to look at the four weirdly dressed children, all wearing looks of badly blended surprise and disappointment. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here.¡± Whoever out there was working up superhero costumes for kids ought to be shot, Ralph reckoned. Like dressing up preschoolers in fucking camo. ¡°If someone looked through the window and called the freak-finders¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d feed them to a dinosaur,¡± Mabel finished for him.

    Ralph raised a finger, made to speak, then sighed and shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re all goddamn mad, you know that?¡±

    Ralph¡¯s eyes fell on David again. In the flesh, after all these years¡­

    Rivers pushed the other invaders and their lunatic sales-pitch out his thoughts. Whatever they were selling didn¡¯t matter, not with David standing right there. He bent down and put his hands around the boy¡¯s shoulders. ¡°David, I never thought¡ªyour mother, is she¡­¡±

    He didn¡¯t dare finish.

    Contempt poured from David¡¯s eyes. His grandfather¡¯s eyes. This man was touching him like he was Grandfather. Like he knew him at all. ¡°Dead,¡± he said. ¡°My mum¡¯s dead.¡±

    A new blister of despair burst inside Ralph. He¡¯d known for weeks, but to hear it from her son¡¯s mouth¡­  He ran a hand along David¡¯s cheek. ¡°David, what happened to your eyes.¡±

    David slapped Ralph¡¯s hand away. ¡°I stopped being weak.¡±

    Ralph squeezed back tears. ¡°You¡¯ve met your grandfather, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    David answered with a cold silence that broke River¡¯s heart. He looked away from the boy, glancing at Allison and her burning red eyes. ¡°You¡¯re not his sister, are you?¡±

    ¡°From a different mother.¡±

    For a horrible moment, Ralph wondered if she meant that figuratively or literally. He felt a hand on his back. The old woman was looking sympathetically down at him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Sarah. ¡°I know what it¡¯s like to lose a child.¡±

    No. She didn¡¯t understand. He didn¡¯t deserve¡ª

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°Allie, I think it¡¯s time for the contingency plan.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Sarah, ¡°when did we discuss¡ª¡±

    Ralph Rivers shuddered and jerked like someone had poured pure pins and needles down his back. A curious expression overtook his face. He patted his hands up and down his body and grimaced.

    ¡°Please stop making me be grown-ups,¡± Miri said with Ralph¡¯s lightly smoke-scratched voice, ¡°or boys.¡±

    ¡°Just temporary,¡± Allison assured her sister.

    ¡°Better be.¡±

    ¡°What in God¡¯s name have you done to the poor man?¡± demanded Sarah.

    ¡°Allie stuck one of the people in her head inside Mr. Rivers,¡± Mabel explained. ¡°I¡¯m just glad she picked the nice one.¡±

    ¡°Happened in reverse a little while ago,¡± added Arnold. ¡°Tell us if you ever hear Allie talking all Italian or if she starts smoking.¡±

    Every day, Sarah regretted not taking Joe¡¯s potion less and less.

    The front door opened. A white cat bobbed through the air, twisting and yowling all the while. Billy became visible. ¡°Can we keep her? Please, please, please! Someone¡¯s got to feed her!¡±

    ¡°Team pet. Sure, why not,¡± said Maude.

    Everyone looked to Sarah for a final verdict. She glanced wearily at Ralph Rivers experimentally flexing his pecs.

    She sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s just get going.¡±

    Mistress Quickly stuck a hand in her left blazer pocket. ¡°Liquid comfort.¡±

    Blue light flared from the pocket, and she pulled out a long, brown square bottle. She undid the lid and handed it to Miri. ¡°Drink this till you feel sleepy.¡±

    Miri obeyed, only to recoil when the liquid within crossed her lips. ¡°What even is this stuff?¡±

    ¡°Rum. It helps grownups sleep.¡±

    Everyone got into a circle and started linking hands. Mistress Quickly watched Ralph Rivers suck down her booze like a baby with a very unpleasant bottle.

    Man, he is going to be pissed when he wakes up.

 Chapter Eighty-Three: The Ã¼bermensch Hunt

    The blond boy hanging from the lampost couldn¡¯t have been more than eleven or twelve. Someone had taken the time to tear the diamond swastika from his jacket sleeve. Grey dust and specks of rubble powdered his shoulders as though he¡¯d come in from the snow. Flies rested over his unseeing, glassy eyes like coins for Charon.

    The Crimson Comet could hear the creak of the cord as the child swayed in the weak winter wind, even with the rumble of mortar and gunfire in his ears. His fist tightened. ¡°Why?¡±

    The two black-coated German officers behind the hero stumbled over each other¡¯s words in their attempts to explain themselves to the Soviet army men and the rifles brandished in their faces. A gaggle of Hitler Youth were watching, stiff with terror, by a nearby wall of sandbags, guarded by a pair of scowling soldiers.

    Ralph¡¯s commanding officer, one Commissar Fyodor, raised his hand, silencing the officers. He turned to the Comet. ¡°They say the boy was a deserter from another unit.¡±

    Ralph didn¡¯t take his eyes off the child. ¡°A what?¡±

    Fyodor scowled back at the officers. One was trying to look stoic, the other was begging with his eyes.

    ¡°They mean they found him hiding in the alley with some bullets in his pockets.¡±

    ¡°Bring ¡®em here.¡±

    Fyodor cocked his head towards Ralph, spurring his comrades to frog-march the Nazis before the superhero.

    A globule of spit hit the Comet on the cheek as he turned to face the officers. One of them was cringing with his hands clutched protectively over his head, but the other was standing damnably tall, screaming and cursing at Rivers in German.

    Ralph pressed the pair of them against the wall. A hand to each of their windpipes. The fearful one cried as he died. The other simply fought. It didn¡¯t help.

    The children screamed and wept, only kept from rushing forward by the soldiers forming into a wall of menace and gunmetal in front of them.

    Fyodor stood beside the Comet, and looked up at the dead boy. Behind his little round glasses his eyes were sympathetic yet weary. ¡°I could have had the men do that, you know.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t ask anyone to do something I wouldn¡¯t do myself.¡±

    Fyodor smiled joylessly. ¡°Trust me, Comet, killing Nazis is no burden for us.¡±

    ¡°Besides, you would¡¯ve used bullets.¡± Ralph kicked one of the dead Nazis in the chest. ¡°Why should they get better than the kid?¡±

    ¡°Fair.¡±

    Ralph looked back up at the hanged child. ¡°Have your men take whatever they can use, and tell the kids to wait here with their hands up for someone to surrender to. Reckon it¡¯s their best chance at not getting shot before this is over.¡± He stepped over to the base of the lampost. ¡°I¡¯m going to get the boy down.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time¡ª¡±

    Ralph bent the lamppost about the middle, as easy as folding a coat-hanger. He lowered it until the boy¡¯s shoes were almost touching the ground. ¡°Well, help me out then.¡±

    Fyodor sighed as he removed his combat knife from its sheath. ¡°Damn you, Comet.¡±

    Once he was cut down, Ralph laid the boy down in the doorway of a relatively intact haberdashery, draping one of the Nazi¡¯s jackets over his face. He didn¡¯t want to leave the child out in the open, the ruins of his home looming all around him like the graves of giants.

    ¡°All right,¡± Ralph said as he turned away from the boy, ¡°let¡¯s move.¡±

    The Race to Berlin was over. The Nazi war-machine was running on fumes and spite, but the Western Allies had little interest in throwing more men at a city that would soon fall into Soviet orbit. That wasn¡¯t to say the western powers hadn¡¯t contributed to the final push¡ªthe USAAF<sup>1</a></sup> and RAF¡¯s Mosquitos<sup>2</a></sup> had softened up Berlin with over a month of raids and bombings. The city had been hollowed out before the ants could even reach it.

    That wasn¡¯t all. Whether so America and her allies could say they had boots on the ground, or just to keep an eye on the Soviets, Eisenhower had sent the bulk of SHAEF¡¯s<sup>3</a></sup> ¡°meta-corps<sup>4</a></sup>¡± ahead to help storm the city. Not that it made a difference. The Nazis people and industry were exhausted, and they could no longer pillage enough from ¡°the Greater Reich¡± to keep going. Nothing short of a miracle could save Hitler now.

    Unfortunately for the f¨¹hrer, the Crimson Comet was here to kill his miracle-workers.

    The Crimson Comet gave the Youth members one last look as they left them behind. A few of the younger ones were kneeling on the road by the dead Nazis, weeping.

    Those two were probably their den-leaders, Ralph realized. The bastards had dragged those poor lads into war like they were men, and they were still crying for them.

    ¡­Had they helped string up the boy?

    Ralph shoved the idea down as deep as he could. He couldn¡¯t let his rage anywhere near children. How long had it been, since he hadn¡¯t been angry?

    Rivers, Fyodor, and his men marched through the broken streets. Ralph saw snatches of civilians peering from the windows of bomb-scarred homes and buildings like frightened ghosts. Every city-smell was tainted by the stink of gunpowder and concrete dust. Smoke and ash rose to mingle with the clouds above. Ralph had seen many cities so reduced since he¡¯d shipped out. The war in Europe was like two waves of death colliding by the shore.

    Until Auschwitz and Bitburg, Ralph had wondered if it was worth it. He still wasn¡¯t sure.

    They passed the skeleton of a townhouse almost completely buried in a mound of rubble. An arm jutted out from the foot of the hill like some morbid flower. A gold watch glinted against the grey-dusted flesh.

    Fyodor pulled the watch off and slipped it onto his own arm, revealing alternating bands of silver and gold beneath his olive drab sleeve.

    ¡°I thought looting was punished by death,¡± Ralph remarked coolly.

    The commissar shrugged. ¡°The dead have no use for jewelry. I do.¡±

    ¡°For a political officer, you¡¯re not a very good communist.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not getting lectured on socialism by an American, friend.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you, I¡¯m Australian.¡±

    ¡°Same difference.¡±

    Honestly, Ralph couldn¡¯t judge Fyodor too harshly. The man did have his principles. Just the day before, Ralph had watched him shoot one of his own men in the back for trying to ¡°loot¡± a Berlin woman.

    Ralph shook his head. Why couldn¡¯t anyone be decent?

    The platoon trudged on. At one point, they hunkered down in a deserted hotel lobby so Fyodor could make a call on his bulky field-telephone.

    The commissar spat some irritated Russian down the line before slamming it back into its cradle.

    The Comet asked, ¡°What¡¯s the latest on Hel and Baldr?¡±

    Hel and Baldr (the man who couldn¡¯t die<sup>5</a></sup>) were the exemplar Nazi super-soldiers. Conveniently for Goebells and his propagandists, they were the only ones to make it to 1945. Baldr¡ªHans Sommer to his mother<sup>6</a></sup>¡ªwas the golden boy, not only because of his archetypically Aryan good looks. Reputable sources even outside the Reich proved he¡¯d served in the Great War, but he didn¡¯t look a day over twenty-one. Given the man had survived gas-attacks, headshots, and being bathed in napalm, it wasn¡¯t difficult to believe.

    Hel, on the other hand, was the wildcard. Nobody could agree on what her powers were. All anyone really knew for sure was that she could send a man¡¯s head flying with the back of her hand<sup>7</a></sup>, but  some people reckoned she had healing powers on top of that. Confirmed German casualties had been spotted again on the frontlines mere days after she passed through. Others claimed mind-control: Allied soldiers had been spotted fighting alongside her to their deaths.

    ¡°It¡¯s bizarre,¡± said the commissar. ¡°Reports say they¡¯re killing indiscriminately.¡±

    ¡°¡­Wouldn¡¯t it be stranger if they weren¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t just mean our boys, Comet. They¡¯re killing Germans, too. Soldiers, civilians, doesn¡¯t matter!¡±

    ¡°Really? For the love of God, why?¡±

    Christ, had the Nazis finally stopped discriminating? Did all those people have bullets in their pockets, too?

    Fyodor shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Noticing the questioning looks from his soldiers, Fyodor  loudly repeated his explanation in Russian. The men all shouted back.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Your boys have any ideas?¡± asked Ralph.

    Fyodor frowned, ¡°Best they¡¯ve got is¡­ how you say it? Ah, ¡®paranoia,¡¯ but something¡ª¡±

    A scream shattered the air in the lobby. It was loud enough to make ears bleed, but the noise itself was poisonous. It was grief and hate, entwined with rage and every other foul thing in the world. It was what pain sounded like.

    The sound forced Ralph to his knees. He clamped his tight over his ears, but it did nothing to muffle the shriek. It wasn¡¯t only noise. It was images, too. His first kiss calling him a faggot in front of his friends. His father changing the locks on the front door.

    Most vivid of all was Finch, dead and burnt. Oh God, Finch. He could smell the roasted flesh of his lover.

    Ralph wanted his eardrums to burst. He wanted to die.

    The sound of gunfire pulled Ralph out of his pain. One of the soldiers was lying on the floor, blood seeping from a new hole in his head, sidearm in hand.

    ¡°Oh, shit.¡±

    The scream continued, more shots accompanying it. One soldier was pulling out his knife, raising it to his throat.

    ¡°No!¡±

    Ralph lunged for the poor man, but it was too late. The soldier cut a red line across his neck, gushing blood down the front of his shirt.

    ¡°Christ!¡±

    Ralph turned to Fyodor. The commissar was leaning against the reception desk, knuckles white. His right hand was drifting towards his pistol-holster.

    ¡°Not you, too!¡±

    Ralph exploded forwards, stumbling to a stop a few feet to Fyodor¡¯s left. He whipped the gun out of the officer¡¯s hand and crushed it like a beer-can.

    Before Fyodor could do anything else, Ralph threw his arms tight around him. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare!¡±

    The scream faded. The horror subsided. Fyodor shook in Ralph¡¯s eyes, murmuring softly to himself in Russian before taking a deep breath.

    ¡°¡­I think you can let go of me, Comet.¡±

    Ralph let go of the commissar. Fyodor looked around the lobby. All but one of his men were dead, and the survivor was curled up on the floor moaning.

    ¡°Those poor men¡­¡±

    ¡°You two are strong,¡± a feminine, teutonic voice drawled behind the pair. ¡°But I don¡¯t need you to volunteer for my army.¡±

    Ralph and Fyodor swung around to find a crowd amassed at the hotel entrance. It appeared to be a mix of civilians and soldiers¡ªGerman and Soviet. At the head of it were a man and a woman dressed in black leather SS coats<sup>8</a></sup>.  The man was six-foot five, sculpted blond-and-blue-eyed perfection. The woman was only a foot shorter, and her blonde mane gave way to darkening roots. Hel and Baldr. Baldr looked like a child at the gate of a carnival, while Hel regarded the Russian and the superhero imperiously.

    ¡°Just so you know,¡± said Ralph, ¡°me and the commissar are with the Allies. You¡¯re not. We heard you two were getting fuzzy about which side you¡¯re on.¡±

    Hel chucked and smiled coldly. ¡°Trust me, Herr Comet, Baldr and I know exactly what side we¡¯re on.¡±

    Baldr folded his arms, unconsciously spreading his legs ever so slightly. ¡°We¡¯ve been doing some recruiting.¡±

    ¡°Bull,¡± said Ralph. ¡°You can¡¯t even feed your real army!¡±

    Hel¡¯s lip curled in a smirk. ¡°When you join my army, Comet, you don¡¯t need food. Or rest.¡± She looked back at the crowd with some disdain. ¡°Or doubt.¡±

    ¡°Look at the rest of them,¡± Fyodor hissed out the corner of his mouth. ¡°They¡¯re all¡­ broken.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s eyes scanned over the crowd. Everyone behind the two super-soldiers looked bloodless, with blank, unfocused eyes. Many were grievously injured. Bullet wounds, deep bruises, and even missing limbs abounded. One man was missing half his head, resembling a living, gory Picasso painting. They were deathly silent, too. Ralph couldn¡¯t even hear them breathe.

    ¡°Good God,¡± said Ralph. He glared at Hel. ¡°You¡¯ve turned your own people into vampires!<sup>9</a></sup>¡±

    Hel wagged her finger at the Comet. ¡°No, no, no, Comet. My soldiers are no parasites.¡± She spread her arms out for emphasis. ¡°They are the peak of selflessness! Serving their race even in death!¡± Hel allowed her arms to drop back to her sides, affecting a poor imitation of an easy smile. ¡°And if those of lesser blood can pitch in, who am I to deny them the chance?¡±

    Ralph and Fyodor both turned at the sound of whimpering and boots scraping against the damask linoleum behind them.

    Fyodor¡¯s surviving soldier was scrambling away from his dead comrades, who were all climbing back to their feet, guns in hand. The corpse closest to the survivor aimed his rifle at him.

    The commissar tried to run towards his man, shouting, ¡°Yahontov!¡±

    A gunshot. Yahontov fell backwards dead, a rose of blood blooming on his chest.

    Then, he got up.

    Fyodor stopped in his tracks, his shoulders slacking. He turned to glare at Hel. ¡°Suka! Gn¨²snyj vedma<sup>10</a></sup>!¡±

    Baldr cracked his black-gloved knuckles. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. You¡¯ll be joining the rest of your Slavic dogs soon enough.¡±

    Fyodor¡¯s troops and the armed corpses flanking Baldr and Hel all took aim.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Ralph pulled the commissar into his chest, swinging around to try and shield Fyodor from the bullets striking him like hailstones.

    Ralph could feel Fyodor swearing against his pecs. They were being fired on from both sides; a stray round could strike the commissar any second.

    Rivers looked past the undead Soviet firing squad. There were two banks of elevators at the back of the lobby. One of them was open.

    The air around the Crimson blurred and glowed. ¡°Brace yourself, mate.¡±

    A muffled, ¡°Wait, what¡ª¡±

    Ralph became a streak of red light, blasting between two of Fyodor¡¯s ex-men.

    With all the discomfort of a hard-braking car or a man cutting off a piss halfway through, the Crimson Comet stopped dead just before he hit the sea-scape hanging up on the back wall of the alcove.

    Ralph felt Fyodor¡¯s fingers dig into his ribs.

    ¡°Zhizn¡¯ ebet meya<sup>1</a></sup>¡­¡±

    He was still alive. Good.

    Ralph threw the commissar into the open elevator, hopefully not hard enough to break anything. Before Fyodor could pull himself together, Ralph pulled the gilt doors shut with his bare hands, a new storm of bullets spraying against him all the while.

    Ralph felt sorry for Fyodor. Being tucked away like a puppy in a cage couldn¡¯t be good for his pride. But this was no moment for mere men¡­

    A fist slammed into Ralph¡¯s temples, sending him hurtling sideways into the painting at the back. Reports of Hel¡¯s strength had not been exaggerated.

    ¡°Look at you,¡± said Hel as the Crimson Comet slid down the wall, ruined painting draped over his shoulders like a cape of canvas, ¡°nurse-maiding these untermensch!¡± The living dead amassed behind the superwoman, numbly moaning ¡°Heil Hitler¡± with rotting vocal-cords. ¡°But soon you¡¯ll serve a worthier cause.¡±

    Baldr forced his way through the throng of dead, rushing over to Ralph and kicking him savagely in the chest and groin. Ralph barely felt a thing.

    ¡°Can¡¯t wait to see the look on the swine¡¯s face. The Crimson Comet: soldier of the Reich!¡±

    Ralph found himself laughing. This joke of a super was trying to hurt him with what might as well have been human blows. Idiot was a puppy nipping at the heels of a Great Dane. He wondered why Hel kept him around. Was this the team-up equivalent of a pity-fuck?

    Baldr noticed the hero¡¯s amusement. He scowled. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±

    The Crimson Comet shot to his feet and grabbed Baldr by his thick blond hair. He grinned evilly right in his wide-eyed face. ¡°Man who can¡¯t die, eh?¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    Ralph wrenched Baldr¡¯s head from his shoulders, pulling a length of bloody spine with it. The Nazi¡¯s body reached up and tried to snatch its head back, but the Comet punched it in the mid-section, sending it backwards into the crowd of corpses.

    Baldr¡¯s head silently mouthed at Ralph, robbed of lungs with which to speak. The Comet smirked and threw the head into the army of the dead. If he was lucky, the poor fucks would eat it<sup>12</a></sup>.

    Before Ralph could bask in the satisfaction, he was hit head on by another of Hel¡¯s screams.

    Ralph stumbled backwards a few steps, back to the day Dr. Mazur¡¯s stun-ray finally ran out of juice. The day he had to start killing.

    The horror subsided. Hel was bent over, out of breath.

    Ralph straightened himself and spat in her face. ¡°You think you¡¯re the first person to make me want to die, Nazi?¡±

    Hel mutely touched the spittle on her forehead like she¡¯d suddenly grown a horn.

    Then she roared.

    The dead surged forward into the alcove like a flood through a drinking straw. Soldiers, bakers, bankers, housewives and schoolchildren all pulled at Ralph¡ªmaenads trying to tear apart an adamantine man.

    Ralph looked down at one of the corpses pawing at him. The hanged boy. He¡¯d cut the poor child down just so he could be made a puppet.

    Hel struck Ralph in the face. Unlike his decapitated ally, she could punch worth a damn. A blood vessel burst in Ralph¡¯s eye. She hit him again. He felt the cartilage in his nose crack and break. He tasted salt and iron.

    Hel clutched the sides of Ralph¡¯s head. ¡°I will make you peel back your face, scum! You¡¯ll be a horror!¡±

    Ralph smiled. ¡°Sure, honey.¡±

    The Crimson Comet glowed and burst forward like his namesake, barreling over Hel and smashing through body after body like they were walking water-balloons.

    He emerged out the other side back onto the street, covered head-to-toe in cold, rotten blood and torn strips of clothing. As Ralph wiped the blood from his face, a shouting Hel leapt onto his back, sending them both falling onto the road.

    Ralph managed to get on top of the woman, wrapping his hands around her wind-pipe. ¡°What¡¯s the fucking point of winning if you¡¯re all fucking corpses?¡±

    Hel arched her back and bit the Comet on the pectoral, hard enough to draw blood. As the superhero grimaced in pain, she used the opening to knee him in the chest, shoving him off her. ¡°If one German man and one German woman live to see our victory, it shall be worth it!¡±

    Ralph fell into a sitting position. ¡°From what I¡¯ve heard about Baldr¡¯s family, I believe ya!¡±

    Hel screeched and lunged forward, scratching long red gashes across the Comet¡¯s face.

    Baldr¡¯s headless body stumbled out of the hotel. Something was bulging under his shirt¡­

    The Nazi¡¯s chest exploded, a small red shape tumbling to the ground in a gush of gore. The mass unfolded into a naked little girl, completely slick with blood. She beamed toothily at the Crimson Comet.

    ¡°Ralph!¡±

    Hel frowned in deep shock and confusion. ¡°Was zur h?lle<sup>13</a></sup>?¡±

    Ralph was gaping. The girl again. He¡¯d seen her on and off ever since France. His strange little fan. ¡°You¡­¡±

    The bloody girl started trotting down towards the two supers, Baldr¡¯s split open body staggering around blindly behind her.

    ¡°No!¡± shouted Ralph. ¡°Stay away!¡±

    Hel screamed at the child with all her hellish might.

    It washed over the little water-nymph like a chill-breeze. Stinging images of the man who tried touching her months ago returned to her mind¡¯s eye, but she pushed them away with ease. Hel¡¯s scream was meant for humans.

    Hel seized Ralph by the hair.

    ¡°What is she!?¡±

    He gave her a grim laugh.

    ¡°If you¡¯re looking for the ubermensch, love, she¡¯s right there.¡±

    The girl kept walking.

    Hel stared on in horror. Does she not have a soul? she asked herself, not knowing how right she was. She grabbed the Crimson Comet by the neck. ¡°Don¡¯t come any closer¡­ I¡¯ll break his neck!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to her!¡± cried Ralph. ¡°Just run!¡±

    The girl pouted. The lady with the funny hair kept trying to hurt her pet. It was fun to watch at first, but now it was getting boring.

    An idea was born within her. She grinned. Father would be so impressed.

    Behind the child, dozens of human forms popped.

    A wave of blood rushed towards the hotel doors, rearing upwards and spewing out into the street like a great scarlet serpent. It loomed above Hel and the Comet, casting a red shadow.

    ¡°Fuck¡ª¡±

    The blood poured down on the two in a torrent. Ralph was ejected from it within a second. Not Hel.

    The Crimson Comet sat there for a couple of minutes, watching the child impassively regard the nightmare she had wrought. Once or twice Hel¡¯s arm or head forced its way out of the blood-tower, only to be pulled back in near-instantly. Each time she did so, it had a little less of its skin.

    Eventually, the blood collapsed, spilling across the road like raspberry syrup. Hel lay in the middle of the enormous puddle, dead.

    Ralph Rivers staggered up to the little girl, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. ¡°I told you to stop following me! There¡¯s things¡ªa child shouldn¡¯t¡­¡± He gave up trying to chastise the girl and hugged her.

    The child nuzzled her head against the Comet¡¯s stomach. ¡°Ralph¡­¡±

    ?

    In the pitch-black of the elevator, a crack of light cut through the middle of the darkness. A second later, the doors were shoved open.

    Commissar Fyodor looked up at the Crimson Comet. He appeared to be drenched in blood. Double-crimson¡­

    ¡°Good God,¡± he said, ¡°what happened to you?¡±

    A little girl stepped out from behind the Comet. She too was covered in blood. And nothing else.

    ¡°And who the hell is she?¡±

    Ralph helped Fyodor to his feet. ¡°This is¡­¡± She looked down at the girl, who smiled up at him. If she had a name, she¡¯d never told Ralph.

    ¡°Fran,¡± the hero said on a whim. ¡°Fran?oise.¡± Well, they had met in France. He grinned. Might as well have some fun. After all that blood¡­ ¡°Fran?oise Barthe. She¡­ dealt with Hel. And Baldr. I think.¡±

    ¡°Fran¡± tilted her head in confusion.

    The commissar looked down at her with some interest. ¡°Well,¡± he said, ¡°she¡¯s red.¡± He smiled. ¡°That, I like.¡±

    Ralph laughed till he cried. Then he kept on crying.

 Chapter Eighty-Four: Prisoner of the Sea

    Ralph Rivers stood sobbing in the ruined hotel lobby, ankle-deep in the pulped and shredded remains of dozens of human beings. The good, bad, and the in-between all ran together.

    Commissar Fyodor was patting the superhero on the shoulder with a trembling hand. ¡°I understand, friend. There is no shame in tears¡­¡±

    Ralph cast his red streaming eyes down at the newly-named Fran. She was looking up at him with complete befuddlement. How could any child be so calm in the midst of this carnage? How could she happily wear blood like it was water or mud? How could she kill so easily¡ªso inventively¡ªlike she was just playing with a garden-hose?

    Rivers felt a stab of guilt. Why did he want a child to be unhappy? Why did he want anyone to feel like he did?

    He spied something out the corner of his eye: a little blonde girl as naked as Fran, but clean, and with surprisingly mundane hazel eyes. In fact, she was standing on top of the gore, frowning down at it like it was raw sewage. Or blood, for that matter.

    ¡°Eww, eww, ewwwwww!¡± She shot upwards, clinging to the comparatively clean ceiling and pointing down at Fran. ¡°Make her put them back together!¡±

    ¡°¡­Hello,¡± Ralph said cautiously. He wrapped an arm around Fran, who didn¡¯t seem to notice the new girl at all. ¡°You this one¡¯s sister?¡±

    The child tilted her head at Ralph. ¡°¡­No? My sister¡¯s Allie!¡± She blinked when she examined the other girl more closely. ¡°Is that David¡¯s mummy? No wonder he¡¯s so mean.¡±

    Ralph shook his head slowly. ¡°She¡¯s six. And David? I don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    The Crimson Comet suddenly remembered. This wasn¡¯t now. This was a long time ago.

    He remembered what happened to Fran.

    Ralph hugged the memory of her tight. ¡°Oh, Fran. I¡¯m so sorry¡­¡±

    Miri screwed her eyes shut, pushing away all the¡­ bad she was seeing.

    ¡°Okay. Waking up time now.¡±

    Ralph Rivers awoke with a gasp. The ghost of a headache buzzed behind his eyes. He reflexively threw the lavender bed sheets covering him to the side.

    He was still in his trousers and singlet, much to his relief. All he was missing was his boots. Ralph didn¡¯t know what would be worse: being undressed by an old woman, a trumped up supervillain, or a gaggle of schoolkids.

    Definitely the last one.

    Still a superhero to his bones, Ralph took stock fast.

    He was in a decent sized bedroom. The decor was, simply put, funky. The walls were patterned with splotches of pink, yellow and blue watercolours. Illumination was provided by white lava-lamp ceiling. Multicoloured globs of wax<sup>1</a></sup> the size of bean bags bobbed in the paraffin above the glass, strangely casting no shadows below them. There were two opaque glass doors, one in the wall to his left, the other in front of the bed.

    The whole place looked like the lair of a shifty hippie on Dragnet, or so Ralph would have thought if colour television had reached Australia yet. His bed was even curvy. It definitely looked like a cell a bunch of little kids would design<sup>2</a></sup>.

    Ralph smacked his lips. Rum. That explained the headache. Very old-fashioned sort of knock-out drug. Also explained the pressure in his bladder

    Rivers swung around and got out of bed, finding his boots waiting for him on the floor.

    Considerate. Too considerate.

    After thoroughly checking the boots for scorpions, mousetraps, or strange, toe-based mind control devices, Ralph slipped them on and opened the side door, fingers-crossed.

    ¡°Oh thank Christ,¡± Ralph muttered under his breath. He desperately needed to get rid of that rum.

    A thought briefly paralyzed him in front of the toilet bowl. What if this was some scheme to steal his cells and make a bio-android of him, like Dr. Sin and his Blue Asteroid?

    Ralph sighed and unzipped his fly. If they wanted his DNA, they probably got it already. Besides, there was a thin line between ¡°career superhero¡± and ¡°paranoid schizophrenia.<sup>3</a></sup>¡±

    Biological needs sorted, Ralph checked the thing on the dresser, picking it up and letting it unfurl in front of him.

    It was his costume. Not only that, it was pristine. Ralph had always tried to keep the Crimson Comet suit in good knick¡ªfor appearances if nothing else¡ªbut he was no seamstress, and his sainted sister only had so much time on her hands. He couldn¡¯t exactly take it to the local tailor.    All the burns, bullet holes, and patch-jobs were gone. The red leather was brighter and more flexible than it¡¯d been in nearly two decades.

    Ralph was a touch offended. It was like his history had been wiped away. Was this even the original suit?

    Ralph considered putting it on. If this¡­ facility or whatever it was anywhere near a city or town, it¡¯d be wise to protect his identity. If not, well, it¡¯d definitely get him in the fighting spirit¡­

    For a moment, Ralph felt the tack of blood beneath his fingers.

    He dropped the costume, kicking it away.

    Stupid idea, Ralph told himself. The thing could be bugged for all he knew; or even poisoned, like the shirt that did in old Al<sup>4</a></sup>.

    A hoarse but girlish voice invaded his thoughts:

    Aww, come on, don¡¯t be a sook.

    The main door exploded as Ralph Rivers burst through it into the adjoining hallway, specks of glass raining down into rich purple carpet like grains of sand.

    Ralph took off in a dead run. They were in his damn head¡ª

    A soft English voice blanketed the hall. ¡°Sir! Do control yourself! The master of this house worked very hard on that door! Also, please consider that we are under the ocean¡ª¡±

    Fuck! More of them! Under the sea? The submarine pirates again? They never had digs this fancy¡­

    Ralph turned left at a fork in the corridor, running on blind instinct.

    You¡¯re going the wrong way!

    That only made Ralph more confident in his choice. He sped past dozens of copper-plaqued  doors, picking up speed like a freight train.

    A new, Italianate voice muttered in Rivers¡¯ ear:

    Jesus, Ralph, I never took you for a pussy.

    ¡°Shut up!¡± Ralph spat at the unseen stranger.

    He turned a corner to find a monster bearing down on him: a broad, kettle-black robot with baleful red eyes and waving pincer arms, with a body like a giant megalodon tooth pointed right at Ralph.

    It boomed, ¡°DO NOT IMPEDE MY TASK.¡±

    ¡°Sorry mate!¡± Ralph transformed into a beam of red light and cannonballed right through the mechanical beast, steel-plate and nuts and bolts washing over his face like gritty ice-water.

    The poor cleaning-robot never knew what hit it.

    Ralph slid to a stop by an elevator, assuming it wasn¡¯t a teleportation cubicle or something stupid like that<sup>5</a></sup>. Good. Assuming he was really underwater, anything that got him closer to the surface was sorely needed.

    After ten gut-churning seconds waiting for the doors to open, Ralph stepped inside and punched the top-most button. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Ralph clenched his teeth and fidgeted his feet as he felt the elevator rise. Elevator rides were the Crimson Comet¡¯s kryptonite. Claustrophobic little coffins delivering him into fresh new hells, assuming Dr. Sin or Jimmy the Bastard<sup>6</a></sup> didn¡¯t cut the cable.

    The elevator stopped midway up the constellation of backlit buttons. The doors opened with a chime.

    Ralph¡¯s face went white. The Crimson Comet was standing in front of him, young and clean-shaven, a full set of golden metal wings sprouting from his back. His skin had a rotoscoped sheen to it.

    The comic-book man grinned, revealing two solid rows of white where his teeth should have been. ¡°Stick your foot in the door for me, mate?¡± he asked in Ralph¡¯s own voice.

    ¡°Nope!¡± Ralph punched blindly at the buttons. The doors slid shut in front of the walking flashback.

    After only a few more floors, the elevator came to a stop again.

    Ralph got into a boxing stance. What now?

    The doors opened to reveal one of the children who¡¯d broken into Ralph¡¯s house: the boy with the starry black cloak.

    Ralph scowled at the lad. ¡°What do kids think you¡¯re doing? What if I¡¯d broken through the roof? We¡¯d have all drowned!¡±

    The boy snickered. ¡°You¡¯d have drowned.¡±

    Ralph growled and grabbed the boy¡¯s arm. ¡°You kidnapped me!¡±

    The boy raised a finger. It sparked green. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re not doing this.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what¡ª¡±

    Everything went green. When the light faded, Ralph found himself in what looked like a swank cocktail bar, the kind that occupied the top floors of expensive hotels. Only instead of a city-view, the curved window wall looked out onto a deep blue sea. Rich, sultry jazz singing over minor-key twelve bar blues filled the air:

    ¡°If you had prepared twenty years ago,

    You wouldn¡¯t be a-wanderin¡¯ now from door to door,

    Why don¡¯t you do right, like some other men do¡­¡±

    Ralph looked towards the source of the music. A lady was performing on a thrust stage to a garden of empty tables. A woman made of bright blue light.

    ¡°Get out of here and get me some money, too¡­¡±

    ¡°What the hell¡­¡± Ralph said aloud.

    He caught sight of the clamshell footlights rimming the stage. Projectors. She was a hologram.

    Ralph scratched the back of his neck in puzzlement. Seemed like a lot of effort to go to for a record player.

    ¡°Can I get ya a drink, buddy?¡±

    Ralph swung around to face the bar. There was a bartender behind the counter, or an approximation of one. It was clearly a machine. Unlike the one he¡¯d totalled just minutes earlier, this one was roughly human shaped. Its bean-can torso was painted like a white button-down shirt. Its head was a big silver bullet decorated with a riveted metal moustache and a cyclopic red eye like a bicycle reflector.

    Ralph approached the bar cautiously. ¡°Depends,¡± he said. ¡°What are you?¡±

    ¡°Iszac Steel,¡± the robot replied in an artfully crackly baritone, his eye flashing with every word. Or was it an upside down mouth? ¡°Bartender and receptacle of all sorrows. So, would you like a drink?¡±

    Ralph decided to go along with the contraption. Maybe he would stay talkative. ¡°Got any beer?¡±

    ¡°A hundred brews from fifty-two star-systems<sup>7</a></sup>,¡± Iszac answered proudly.

    ¡°¡­Anything from Earth, thanks.¡±

    A pint-glass popped out of the countertop like a conjuring trick. Iszac pulled a beer-tap out from under the bar and filled it with amber liquid. An excellent pour, Ralph had to admit. Not too much head, but not nothing, either. He still didn¡¯t drink.

    ¡°Where am I?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re in Clark¡¯s! Finest drinking establishment on all of Lyonesse. Not like that dive the Sunken Sub down on level 32.¡±

    ¡°So this place is run by a guy called Clark?¡±

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    ¡°Then who is Clark?¡±

    ¡°¡­ You know, I never asked.<sup>8</a></sup>¡±

    ¡°Then who does run this place?¡±

    ¡°Joe Allworth.¡±

    ¡°And who¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s the one who built me.¡±

    Ralph growled in the back of his throat. Fucking robots.

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re here,¡± said Iszac. ¡°Bar hasn¡¯t been this crowded since Mr. Allworth threw that party with all them gods and goddesses<sup>9</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m the only one here.¡±

    Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.

    ¡°Not quite, boss.¡±

    Iszac pointed to a white-leather conversation pit in a far corner of the bar, near the wall-window. Mistress Quickly, the old woman, and the red-eyed little girl were all sitting around a table, watching Ralph intently.

    ¡°He¡¯s still in plainclothes,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°Looks like you owe me five dollars, Allie. And that¡¯s American dollars, girl.¡±

    Allison grumbled at the injustice of it all. Mrs Allworth tutted to herself.

    Ralph took a deep draft of his surprisingly good beer and stormed towards his captors, splashes of booze spilling on the smooth black floor. ¡°You do know I¡¯m a goddamn superhero, right? Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t still have mates in the police!¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°I¡¯m sure the New South Wales police have some scuba gear they¡¯re itching to break out.¡±

    ¡°Too deep for scuba,¡± said Allison, sipping lemonade from a curly straw. ¡°They¡¯d need to use submarines.¡±

    ¡°Stop being horrid,¡± Sarah snapped at the girls. She turned diplomatically to Ralph. ¡°I am sorry about this¡­ can I call you Mr. Rivers?¡±

    Ralph sat down hard on the couch, facing Allison and Mrs Allworth. ¡°Why not?¡± He looked pointedly at Allison. ¡°Not like I have any other name these days.¡±

    ¡°I wanted to be there to explain things,¡± said Sarah, ¡°but you woke up early.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Miri¡¯s fault,¡± Allison grouched, arms folded. ¡°She wussed out.¡± She turned her head slightly and wrinkled her nose, whining at the air in front of her, ¡°You did!¡± The girl¡¯s eyelids fluttered like she¡¯d taken a breeze to the face. Allison sighed and reached a hand out towards nothing. ¡°Come, on, don¡¯t cry¡­¡±

    Ralph watched with a mix of horror and irritated pity. He glared at Mistress Quickly. ¡°You seriously want this girl to storm a maximum security prison?¡±

    ¡°It was her idea, actually.¡±

    ¡°Good God!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not what it looks like,¡± cut in Sarah.  ¡°Allison has a¡­ unique relationship with her sister.¡± Her mouth twitched as she tried to think of a gentle explanation.

    ¡°Lady, I¡¯m a superhero, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve heard weirder.¡±

    ¡°They share a body.¡±

    Ralph thought about it for a moment, tallying. ¡°¡­No, still not the strangest thing I¡¯ve seen.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t met the Italian one yet,¡± countered Mistress Quickly.

    ¡°Stop talking about me like I¡¯m not here!¡± Allison cried, her red eyes darting angrily between the two women, only to lock onto Ralph like she¡¯d forgotten he was there. She tried to compose herself as much like a grown up as possible, folding her arms over her legs and closing her eyes before evenly intoning, ¡°¡­We really, really need your help.¡±

    Ralph was reminded of the mimic games Fran played when she was small. Those faltering, half-unconscious attempts to become something she didn¡¯t understand.  Why were these women humouring her?

    Softly, Ralph said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry girl, but your plan¡­¡± He slapped his knees. ¡°Like I said back home, I¡¯m retired.¡±

    And also, you¡¯ll get us all killed, he didn¡¯t say.

    Allison¡¯s eyes hardened. ¡°Fran would¡¯ve helped us.¡±

    Allison almost flinched when she saw the vein on Ralph¡¯s neck pulse. The lights behind his eyes were all white.

    ¡°Maybe she would,¡± Ralph said in the same cold, brittle tone Allison¡¯s father used when she drew all over his paperwork, ¡°but she¡¯s dead. And being the sort who would have helped you is probably what got her killed.¡± He looked at Mrs Allworth. ¡°You should be ashamed of yourself, ma¡¯am.¡± Ralph jabbed his thumb at Mistress Quickly. ¡°Nothing her lot does suprises me¡ª¡±

    ¡°And yet I¡¯m the one who didn¡¯t pack it in my forties.¡±

    ¡°¡ªBut you¡¯re old enough to be this one¡¯s grandmother! How could you go along with this¡­ this nuttery!¡±

    ¡°Afraid I¡¯m just a mother, Mr. Rivers.¡±

    Ralph scoffed and leaned back against the couch. ¡°I¡¯d hate to see how those kids turned out if this is what you let them get away with.¡±

    ¡°My son is dead,¡± Sarah said, steadily, but with a clear lump in her throat. ¡°He died saving thousands of people, Mr. Rivers, including his murderers. I¡¯ll say this once, don¡¯t insult him.¡±

    It sounded more like a threat than a plea. Ralph¡¯s shoulders slackened. He didn¡¯t meet Mrs Allworth¡¯s eyes. ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am. I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Clearly not.¡±

    Ralph looked around Clark¡¯s. He connected the scope of what the old lady said, and what the newsagent had said before he¡¯d been snatched. ¡°Is your son¡­¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s exactly who you think he is.¡±

    Ralph tried to imagine this utterly ordinary looking woman bringing up the Flying Man. He¡¯d always imagined him as some more proactive cousin of Fran¡¯s father. Not a creature with a past.

    He took a deep breath and looked back at Allison. ¡°I still can¡¯t help you this way. I can¡¯t be responsible for what might happen. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± said Allison. ¡°We¡¯ll start looking for someone else after we drop you off next week.¡±

    ¡°That might be best¡ªnext week?¡±

    Sarah, nearly as confused as Ralph, looked at Allison. ¡°Next week?¡±

    ¡°Next week,¡± repeated Mistress Quickly. ¡°We¡¯re not running a taxi service around here.¡±

    ¡°But Arnold can¡ª¡±

    Allison raised a finger at Mrs Allworth. The sheer gall of the act managed to silence the woman for the moment.

    ¡°You kidnapped me!¡± shouted Ralph. ¡°I have commitments.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve read your mind,¡± said Allison, ¡°you don¡¯t. It¡¯ll be a month before anyone in Mogo notices you¡¯re gone. Trust me, I checked.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°You¡¯re Alberto¡¯s daughter, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Allison smiled wryly ¡°Yep.¡±

    Alberto sputtered and raged in the back of Allison¡¯s head. Sometimes having roommates was fun.

    ¡°Your dad¡¯s a dickhead.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t disagree.

    Ralph was going to ask the girl if Eliza was her mother or if Lawrence roped some other poor bitch into his scheme when he remembered his predicament. ¡°I have a cat! Who¡¯s going to feed Pearl?¡±

    Allison put her fingers to her temples.

    A green flash deposited a deeply confused white cat beside Ralph. Chirruping, she climbed onto his familiar lap. Much comfier than the boy¡¯s had been.

    Allison called out to Iszac, ¡°Could we get some milk for Pearl here?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, little miss.¡±

    Allison looked back at Ralph. ¡°Happy now?¡±

    ¡°You kidnapped me! I don¡¯t need an excuse to¡ª¡±

    Something like slowed birdsong echoed through Clark¡¯s. There was a blue whale just outside the window.

    Without a word, Ralph Rivers climbed out of the conversation pit.

    ¡°Come on, man,¡± complained Iszack. ¡°Don¡¯t scuff the leather!¡±

    Ralph ignored the robot, stepping close enough to the glass that he felt as if he could reach right into the ocean.

    The whale bellowed again. Ralph could see a child perched on its head like an oxpecker on a great elephant. His eyes shone milky white in the night-sea gloom.

    ¡°So,¡± said Mistress Quickly, ¡°okay with waiting a week?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Ralph said autonomically. ¡°Could use a holiday anyway.¡±

    ¡°A holiday from what?¡± Mistress Quickly muttered under her breath. ¡°Your couch?¡±

    Ralph put his hand on the glass. He had to speak to the boy. Properly. At least once. He owed it to Fran?oise.

    He pulled back his hand. ¡°Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m going to get another drink.¡±

    Sarah Allworth sighed and shook her head as she watched the superhero head back to the bar. ¡°That¡¯s a nasty trick you two pulled.¡±

    ¡°I once ransomed the New Year,¡± said Quickly.  ¡°This doesn¡¯t really rate.¡±

    ¡°Besides,¡± said Allison. ¡°He wants to talk to David. It wouldn¡¯t have worked otherwise.¡±

 Chapter Eighty-Five: The Cometâ€™s Wake

    Iszac Steel was wiping down the counter of Clark¡¯s when the menagerie of liquor bottles behind him started shaking and rattling. The mechanical barman swivelled on his base, alarmed.

    ¡°Blanchey, my man, why didn¡¯t you tell me we were due for a sea-quake?¡±

    ¡°My apologies Mr. Steel, but I detect no unusual seismic activity.¡±

    ¡°Then what¡¯s¡ª¡±

    The bottles began exploding, one after another, glass shrapnel raining almost musically against Iszac¡¯s metal body. Their contents swirled together above Steel¡¯s head, flowing like a river down to the floor and forming into the shape of a child in front of the bar. Currents of blue, green and amber liquid flushed warm brown as it transfigured into flesh and blood.

    ¡°Stupid Allie, tricking me¡­¡±

    Iszac Steel let out a burst of loud, staticky swearing. ¡°For crying out loud, kid, some of that stuff was a thousand years old!¡±

    ¡°Not my fault you didn¡¯t have a fountain or something in your stupid bar!¡± David shot back. ¡°Besides, if it was so good, why did nobody drink it in a thousand years?¡±

    A quick program query confirmed for Iszac that Mr. Allworth did indeed consider corporal punishment of children injurous to humans.

    Okay, but¡ª

    It also turned out that Mr. Allworth didn¡¯t discriminate between human children and the offspring of elemental chaos gods.

    Inwardly cursing Asimov and all his works, Iszac Steel settled for telling David, ¡°You know kid, one of these days you¡¯re going to tick off someone who can put you in your place.¡±

    ¡°I doubt it,¡± David said over his shoulder as he stormed out of the cocktail bar. Momentarily curious, he licked at the liquor coating the back of his hand. His face screwed up in disgust.

    Bleh. It tasted like too-ripe bananas, times a million. How did Alberto stomach this stuff?

    David stifled a yawn as he stalked through the halls of Lyonesse, leaving boozy footsteps behind him. He was bone-tired. It was so unfair. He¡¯d only slept three days ago. He was a god. Why should gods need to nap?

    He didn¡¯t want to sleep. He didn¡¯t want to dream.

    Another yawn.

    Stupid person-body¡­

    He could do this, David told himself. He wasn¡¯t afraid of anything anymore.

    Instead of setting up in one of Lyonesse¡¯s many artfully and not-so-artfully decored bedrooms, David had taken to sleeping¡ªtrying to sleep¡ªin the moonpool in the submarine bay. Mattresses (and hammocks) were for humans. Air was for humans. He didn¡¯t need it.

    Today, he found someone sitting on top of the submarine.

    ¡°Hello David,¡± said Ralph. He averted his eyes slightly from the boy¡¯s nudity. ¡°Mind putting your costume on, mate?¡±

    David glared at him from the edge of the moonpool. ¡°Yes.¡±

    What Ralph wouldn¡¯t have given for a dead Nazi¡¯s jacket. He sniffed and frowned. ¡°Why the heck do you smell like booze?¡±

    David sat down and dipped his legs in the water. ¡°None of your business.¡±

    The water around the submarine boiled and surged. If that scared Ralph at all, it didn¡¯t show. He gave David a melancholy smile. ¡°Your mother used to do this when I tried giving her a bath. Not sure why a mermaid would be so against that.¡±

    David fumed. He wasn¡¯t sure why that made him so angry. Nothing wrong with mermaids. Except when he said it. ¡°Mummy was not a mermaid.¡±

    Ralph ignored the rudeness of the boy¡¯s tone and instead forced a chuckle.

    ¡°Hah. She¡¯d have disagreed with you, once upon a time. Told me that was what she was every time I asked.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have understood if she told you the truth. None of your lot do.¡±

    Ralph shrugged.

    ¡°Try me.¡±

    ¡°We aren¡¯t people,¡± said David. ¡°We¡¯re water.¡±

    Ralph raised an eyebrow. Gently, he asked, ¡°Could you tell me how water is different from people?¡±

    David scowled, but didn¡¯t respond right away. The boy had shadows under his eyes.

    ¡°Water¡¯s bigger,¡± he said eventually. ¡°Purer. Less¡­ muddy.¡±

    ¡°Muddy?¡±

    David nodded.

    ¡°Normal people do bad stuff just cuz someone tells them to. Normal people don¡¯t know what¡¯s important. Water¡¯s¡­ bigger,¡± he repeated.

    Ralph had to make an effort not to just yell at the kid, yell about how wrong he was.

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen your grandfather do some pretty awful things, you know. Ripped people apart in front of me. You telling me that¡¯s pure?¡±

    David shrugged.

    ¡°Sure. He¡¯s bigger. Why should he care about you?¡±

    Ralph chuckled.

    ¡°Because your mother cried the first time she ever ate a sausage roll.¡± He smiled at that, the memory making his heart a little lighter, even decades later. ¡°Sat there on a sofa just babbling about how anything could taste so good. Water didn¡¯t figure out sausage rolls, David. Neither did gods. That was people. That¡¯s why you care.¡±

    David snorted angrily.

    ¡°Whatever. Some guy out there was cool enough to make sausage rolls. So what? Does he want a cookie? He was probably just as messed up as the rest of you.¡±

    Ralph pondered that for a moment.

    ¡°How about Arnold?¡±

    David looked over at him.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Arnold.¡± Ralph repeated. He held out a hand a few feet above the ground. ¡°Thin kid? About this tall? Likes to teleport stuff?¡±

    ¡°What about him?¡±

    Ralph shrugged.

    ¡°Is he a fuck-up too?¡±

    David hesitated.

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    Ralph let that hang there for a minute or two, then asked:

    ¡°Is he a person?¡±

    ¡°No¡ª¡± came the angry reply, aborted halfway through. ¡°¡ªI mean. Sure, he¡¯s a person. But he¡¯s better!¡±

    ¡°Better because he has powers?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± David snapped. ¡°He¡¯s better cuz he¡¯s not an arse!¡±

    Ralph sighed. That was a relief. At least the kid wasn¡¯t completely racist. Just¡­ biased. Ralph supposed that was understandable. He hadn¡¯t exactly had the best of role-models back at the institute.

    Ralph let the silence stretch for a bit, then he sniffed.

    ¡°Lawrence was an arse,¡± he murmured, shooting a sideways glance at David. The boy was glowering at the floor, not responding. Ralph nodded. ¡°Yeah. Right old cunt, that one.¡±

    Again, David didn¡¯t disagree.

    ¡°¡­ Then why¡¯d you leave my mummy with him?¡±

    Ralph shrugged.

    ¡°Because he wasn¡¯t as obvious about it when I met him. Hell. He was a goddamn war hero. Some madman of an Oxford lad, wandering across Europe, rescuing supers from the concentration camps.¡± He shook his head. ¡°If you¡¯d heard that Eliza girl talking about him, you¡¯d have thought the man was Christ himself, come to give the world a talk on human ethics.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s expression hardened.

    ¡°All that breeding bullshit happened later.¡±

    David nodded, but still didn¡¯t look at him.

    ¡°You never checked on her?¡±

    Ralph sighed. ¡°When your mother was twelve, Herbert caught her with a girl from town. Kissing, I mean.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    Ralph was surprised. Then he almost laughed. The old bastard had tried so hard to keep the world from queering his stud, he¡¯d never even warned David against it. An own goal if Ralph had ever heard one. ¡°Look, a lot of people¡­¡± Ralph decided to narrow it down. ¡°Lawrence didn¡¯t like Fran being with girls because that couldn¡¯t give her a kid.¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with you?¡±

    Ralph took a deep breath. ¡°I like men, David.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    Ralph frowned.

    ¡°So, Lawrence thought I was passing that stuff on to your mother. He didn¡¯t want her learning from a fag.¡±

    ¡°So¡­Just men?¡±

    Why was Ralph not surprised? He smiled sadly. ¡°Yeah. Call me picky.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Ralph had no answer for that beyond a bemused shrug.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe God¡¯s hands slipped when he was making me.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t slip with Arnold,¡± David pointed out. ¡°He¡¯s extra cool for thinking I¡¯m cute.¡±

    Ralph just sat there for a moment. There was something uniquely odd about so brazen of a statement.

    ¡°¡­You like being the centre of attention, huh.¡±

    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡± asked David. He actually smiled. ¡°I¡¯m great.¡±

    Ralph rubbed the bridge of his nose.

    ¡°The point is that Lawrence didn¡¯t like it. The old wanker told me to leave and said if I didn¡¯t let him raise the girl his way, she wouldn¡¯t have a place there.¡± He shrugged. ¡°So I left. I thought he was the better father for her, and I was wrong.¡±

    David sat there, mulling the words over.

    So that was it. That was the choice that made him. That left him to Lawrence.

    That left him to Alberto.

    When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

    ¡°I haven¡¯t slept in three days,¡± he muttered. ¡°Every time I try, I get these¡­¡± He shook his head. ¡°I dunno. These flashes. I think when Alberto was alive, he was sorta holding stuff back inside my brain. Stopping me remembering.¡± He shrugged. ¡°But now, he¡¯s stuck in Allie, and he can¡¯t make me push it back anymore.¡±

    He looked the Crimson Comet in the eyes, then raised a hand.

    ¡°Wanna see how bad you messed up?¡±

    It took a few moments for the water to pool, forming into a mound, then a tower, then a human, then a boy.

    It was another David, sculpted from the water; a pair of knitting needles clenched in trembling fists.

    Ralph looked at the copy, then back at David, nonplussed.

    David looked back, cold.

    ¡°This is what he did to me.¡±

    Ralph turned his gaze back to the copy, just in time to watch it slam the needles through its eyes.

    ¡°You made the wrong choice,¡± David said. ¡°It¡¯s your fault.¡±

    Ralph nearly retched. He turned back to the boy and leapt through the air, landing beside David and trying to pull him into a hug.

    David flinched away from him. ¡°Nuh uh!¡±

    ¡°I want to help you, David!¡±

    Ralph shouldn¡¯t have shouted; he knew that. But he was only human.

    David just glared at him. ¡°You messed everything up enough already.¡±

    He turned and started running out of the sub-bay.

    Ralph reached out. ¡°David, wait! I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    David didn¡¯t look back. Tears were stinging his eyes. Water wasn¡¯t meant to betray him this way.

    It wasn¡¯t fair. Grandfather was supposed to have washed this ache off of him. The tide was meant to carry away the past.

    It was being a person, David told himself. He only hurt because he was inside his father¡¯s flesh. The boy evaporated. The vapour of his being wafted up through the tiny apertures between Lyonesse¡¯s decks.

    No. He was still hurting.

    He drifted into the art-studio, carpeted with regenerating newspaper siphoned from other realities. He sensed Allison, Arnold, Billy¡¯s shapes. Thank God. David needed a hug. He needed to play.

    Arnold looked over at the other children from where he was sketching. Sketching, not drawing. With a lead pencil, because he was doing serious art<sup>1</a></sup>. He frowned. ¡°Can you two stop torturing the cat?¡±

    Arnold¡¯s friends were sitting across from each other, Ralph¡¯s cat trapped between them. The middle-aged companion of a confirmed bachelor, Pearl wasn¡¯t prepared for sustained contact with young children. Like her captors, the poor cat was mottled with bright acrylic paint stains.

    The cat mewled pathetically and made a break for it, but Billy pulled her twisting and clawing into his chest.

    ¡°We¡¯re not torturing her,¡± said Billy, nuzzling his fur against the angry cat¡¯s. ¡°We¡¯re playing.¡±

    Before Arnold could respond or intercede on Pearl¡¯s behalf, David coalesced in front of him. The water-sprite yanked him sharply to his feet and kissed him on the lips. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

    After a second, Arnold pulled away, blinking at David. ¡°Uh, hi Dave.¡± He wiped his mouth. ¡°You feeling alright?¡±

    David was grinning far too toothily in Arnold¡¯s face, the corner of his lip twitching. The shadows under his eyes were pitch black. ¡°Course I am! I¡¯m the ocean! I can crush submarines with my brain! Wanna kiss again?¡±

    Arnold patted his friend on the shoulder. ¡°Maybe later, bud.¡±

    ¡°Why would you want to break submarines? They¡¯re neat!¡±

    David rolled his eyes at the girl. ¡°Yeah, Miri, sure they are.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not Miri. It¡¯s Allie.¡±

    David stared at her. Allie was playing with Billy? He stood there stunned. Then he shook his head. Nuh uh. Allie was his. His forced smile returned. ¡°Nice one, Miri. You¡¯re getting better.¡±

    Allison looked at him flatly. ¡°It¡¯s Allie, David.¡±

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s not fair,¡± he said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be my friend, Allie.¡±

    Allison scowled. Arnold frowned. Billy, though, just looked confused.

    ¡°Can¡¯t she play with both of us?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Billy got to his feet and spread his arms. ¡°You need a hug?¡±

    David misted forward and shoved Billy hard in the chest, knocking the younger boy back to the floor. ¡°I don¡¯t need a hug from a wimp!¡±

    Billy stammered. ¡°Wh¡ªwhat did I do?¡±

    David glared around at the other children. ¡°Why do you like him so much? He¡¯s lame!¡±

    Arnold broke the silence first: ¡°I mean, so were you, when you were cool.¡±

    David squinted at him. ¡°What?¡±

    Arnold shrugged.

    ¡°Old David was kinda boring and sad sometimes, but he also, you know, cared about other people? And wasn¡¯t a prick? Billy¡¯s kinda like how old David was.¡±

    David looked down at Billy. The other boy was sniffling now, tears running through his fur, but his eyes were hard.

    ¡°You beat up Talos after he broke my tail. You were so cool back then.¡±

    For a moment, David almost felt ashamed.

    Then Billy continued. ¡°I want that David back¡­¡±

    David screamed and savagely kicked Billy in the side.

    Billy gasped and curled into a ball.

    ¡°Why does everyone want me to be like him again! Mealy was a coward!¡±

    Allison tackled David to the floor and started punching him in the face. ¡°I told you to stop being a dick!¡±

    Beneath her sister¡¯s skin, Miri cringed. The mean boy needed to be opposed, but punching was icky. The way skin and bone flexed and tore under their blows¡­.

    An instinct long since silenced inside Allison echoed through Miri: get a grown-up.

    She fled Allison¡¯s body, diving through Lyonesse.

    A few decks below, Ralph Rivers was stalking down the hall, muttering to himself. ¡°Where the fuck did that boy go? Oh, David¡­¡±

    He startled when Miri appeared in front of him.

    ¡°Mr. Ralph, Mr. Ralph! You gotta come help! The mean boy¡¯s beating up Billy!¡±

    ¡°¡­You¡¯re the girl from my dream!¡±

    Miri cocked her head, before looking down at herself and smiling. ¡°You can see me! Neat!¡± Her grin vanished as she remembered her mission. ¡°Follow me!¡±

    By the time Miri led Ralph up to the art studio¡ªbemoaning his restrictive tangibility all the while¡ªAllison and David were tussling like wildcats. Pearl was curled up shaking in a corner. Blood had joined the paint on the newspaper.

    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡±

    Ralph ran over and pried David off Allison as delicately as he could. It was like handling angry tissue-paper.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, David, stop it!¡±

    David misted out Ralph¡¯s arms, reforming behind Billy and twisting his right ear.

    Billy screamed. Then he growled.

    Billy became a blur of orange, scratching David across the face, his claws leaving livid, bleeding streaks across his face.

    Billy clapped his hands over his mouth in horror. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry!¡±

    David clenched his fists. ¡°You¡¯re gonna¡ª¡±

    The boy exploded in a green flash.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± said Arnold, borrowing the phrase, along with a hefty dose of stern authority, from his mother.

    ¡°¡­Where¡¯d you send him?¡± Ralph asked.

    Arnold shrugged.

    ¡°Some place in the Gobi Desert.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s face went pale. ¡°The Gobi Desert? Jesus, boy. He¡¯ll fry!¡±

    Allison sat up. ¡°I doubt it. He¡¯s made of water.¡±

    ¡°I figure he¡¯d get back fine,¡± Arnold said. ¡°But getting around the world should take long enough to make him cool off.¡±

    Billy was crying softly. ¡°I cut him¡­¡±

    ¡°He gave you a black eye, mate,¡± Arnold replied. ¡°Fair¡¯s fair.¡±

    ¡°A black eye isn¡¯t as bad as making him bleed.¡±

    ¡°He had it coming,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Yeah!¡± cried Miri, hovering above the scene like a pouting guardian angel.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be hurty!¡± moaned Billy.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡± Allison said.

    ¡°What the fuck is wrong with you kids?¡± shouted Ralph. ¡°Who made you lot like this?¡±

    Billy flinched, making it almost halfway through an automatic child-apology before Arnold held up an arm.

    ¡°At least we¡¯re still trying¡­¡± Arnold muttered under his breath.

    ¡°Trying to do what?¡± asked Ralph. ¡°Kick the shit out of each other?¡±

    ¡°Trying to fight,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Trying to help,¡± said Arnold.

    Ralph scoffed. ¡°With your barmy little prison break plan? That¡¯s how you think you¡¯re going to help?¡±

    Had Arnold been raised by a different woman, he would have sworn.

    ¡°Well, what¡¯s the better choice, huh, genius?¡± he shouted. ¡°Let a whole bunch of people rot in jail just cuz people hate them? Just sit around waiting to die like some old wanker?¡±

    ¡°Not all of us have the luck of being big famous superheroes,¡± added Allison.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake!¡± roared Ralph. ¡°Why does it always have to be me? Why do I have to save us all over, and over, and fucking over!¡±

    Fuck it, no more kid gloves.

    ¡°You kids ever heard of a place called Auschwitz?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s Auswhwitz?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Bad Nazi World War Two place,¡± explained Allison. Then, she turned to Ralph. ¡°Careful what you say next. I¡¯ve been a prisoner¡­ And a test subject.¡±

    Ralph let out a bitter, mirthless laugh. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it, girl. These weren¡¯t prisons. They destroyed people there. Like rats. I saw folks whose bones were just about jutting through their skin. I saw graves flooded with women and children. Piles of ashes that used to be people.¡±

    Billy whimpered. Allison scoffed right back.

    ¡°Yeah, sure. You saw. Poor Ralph saw the bad stuff. But it didn¡¯t happen to you, princess.¡±

    The vein on Ralph¡¯s neck pulsed. His voice shook. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare, you little shit. My goddamn boyfriend burned to death in my arms. His skin stuck to my suit. Nothing in your tiny nothing of a life gives you the right to talk down to me.¡± He grit his teeth. ¡°The soldiers who were with me were kind. It even killed a few of the prisoners. They tried giving them food they couldn¡¯t even stomach anymore. But they did try.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°Except the men with the pink triangles. Nobody was kind to them. They let the Jews go. They let the Gypsies and the Witnesses and the Polacks go. But not the faggots. Not the men like me and Finch! They threw them back in prison to rot!¡± His voice cracked. ¡°They saw what hate does, right in front of them, and they didn¡¯t learn a fucking thing.¡±

    ¡°¡­ And where was the Crimson Comet?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Where were you.¡±

    ¡°I was right there!¡±

    ¡°Then why weren¡¯t you helping them?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°Not like you weren¡¯t strong enough.¡±

    ¡°¡­I couldn¡¯t. I mean, I needed to¡ªif they¡¯d known I was¡­¡± Ralph trailed off. He had no answer.

    ¡°And why can¡¯t you help us now?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°Why do the people who spit on me keep asking me to kill for them? I¡¯m not built for it.¡±

    ¡°I like boys too, you know,¡± Arnold answered. It was the first time he¡¯d ever said that out loud. ¡°I think you¡¯re just a coward. Who said anything about killing?¡±

    Ralph stood there for a while. Only Billy¡¯s quiet sobs and Miri¡¯s attempts to comfort him broke the silence.

    Without a word, Ralph turned and left the children alone.

    ?

    Ralph avoided the Watercolours for the next two days. David hadn¡¯t returned yet, but nobody except Sarah seemed concerned:

    ¡°How are you kids not worried?¡± Sarah asked at the kitchen table, worriedly cutting at a lamb roast with a carving knife.

    Arnold was pushing around a baked potato with his fork. ¡°Eh, his granddad hasn¡¯t tried to kill me yet. He¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Ralph spent most of his time in the Sunken Sub, Lyonesse¡¯s designated dive-bar. It was much cozier than Clark¡¯s. Drebbel¡ªa kettle-black potbelly stove of a bartender¡ªwas a far quieter creature than Iszac Steel, which suited Ralph just fine. The riveted steel walls and dim yellow lights reminded him of the bowels of ships that had carried him to Europe not so long ago.

    Most importantly, there were no windows. The sea couldn¡¯t find him there.

    Gentle, sad guitar plucks over violin strings sang from out of the jukebox:

    ¡°Play the guitar; play it again, my Johnny¡­¡±

    A lit cigarette tucked behind his ear, Ralph Rivers lined up a shot at the pool-table.

    He wasn¡¯t there. He was back in Sydney, in an underground pub off some forgotten alley with walls like mossy cave-rock. The sort of joint that catered to what tactful, heartless psychiatrists called ¡°sex variants.¡±

    Ralph wasn¡¯t alone, either. There was a man standing beside him, watching him squint at the billiard balls with playful contempt. If he weren¡¯t standing next to the Crimson Comet himself, most might have called him tall. Well muscled, but so subtly you¡¯d never suspect he was strong.

    ¡°Just give up, Rivers. Bloody felt ripper, you are.¡±

    Him and Finch rarely used first names. Even when they were alone. Even when they were in bed. Furtive habits die hard. And acting so familiar with each other might¡¯ve meant admitting to themselves that it was love.

    ¡°I was always a fool for my Johnny,

    ¡°For the one they call Johnny Guitar¡­¡±

    Both Ralph Rivers raised their cue, sliding it back past his shoulder. The one back in Sydney said, ¡°Shut the fuck up, Finch.¡±

    Finch¡ªBart bent down beside Ralph and whispered in his ear: ¡°Make me.¡±

    ¡°What if you go, what if you stay, I love you¡­¡±

    Ralph had already left the table before the billiard balls stopped dancing to that old, familiar chaos. Pointless. Pool was no fun alone. He sat down at one of the barstools. ¡°Pint of Tooheys Old please, Drebbel.¡±

    ¡°Coming up, Rivers,¡± rumbled Drebbel. ¡°Just give the molecule-still a bit to synthesize it.¡±

    ¡°Thanks. Tell it to make up the next one while I¡¯m drinking, would you?¡±

    God, Ralph hated this place. But it didn¡¯t matter. He wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡°What if you¡¯re cruel, you can be kind I know.¡±

    Long ago, right at that very moment, Ralph was clutching his glass hard enough that white spider-web cracks were shooting through it. ¡°What do you mean you¡¯re going?¡±

    Finch¡ªBart¡ªlocked eyes with Rivers. God they were blue. In Ralph¡¯s memory, they almost blurred with Fran¡¯s. ¡°I mean I¡¯m going to Europe. My number came up. That¡¯s that.¡±

    Ralph mutely shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re a cartoonist, Finch! Not a soldier.¡±

    Finch looked taken aback. ¡°You think just because bullets don¡¯t bounce off me I can¡¯t handle myself?¡±

    ¡°Yes! Nobody can ¡®handle themselves¡¯ when they¡¯re being shot! For God¡¯s sake, Finch!¡± Ralph pointed at the grimy bar entrance. ¡°I have to keep one eye on the door in case the cops come charging in, for having a drink together, and you want to go and shoot folks for ¡®em?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not for them, Ralph,¡± Bart said evenly. ¡°People at the paper have been hearing stories. The Germans are rounding up queers in camps, Ralph. Jews, too. Whole towns worth of people.¡± He took a sip of his beer. ¡°If I have to fight, at least it¡¯s for something like that.¡±

    The two men sat in silence together.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Ralph said finally. ¡°You¡¯re not going over there alone.¡±

    Finch looked at his lover, before letting out a confused, sputtering laugh. ¡°You? You¡¯re a superhero! You don¡¯t see superheroes in war-zones!¡±

    ¡°The yanks have Miss Victory.¡±

    ¡°Alright, yeah, but you¡¯re¡­ you¡¯re you.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± asked Ralph. ¡°If the Nazis are as bad as you say, it sounds like they could use a good Crimson Comet thumping!¡±

    ¡°¡­Who says we¡¯ll be together? They could send you to the Pacific and me to Europe.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ralph said firmly. ¡°You¡¯re with me. I¡¯ll make it a condition.¡±

    Finch smiled wryly. ¡°Won¡¯t that give the game away, Mr. Rivers?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll just tell them you¡¯re my wing technician or something.¡± Ralph flexed one of his great biceps. ¡°Trust me, the recruiters won¡¯t be asking too many questions.¡±

    Bart kissed Ralph, long and deep. ¡°God, you¡¯re arrogant.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve earned it.¡±

    ¡°There was never a man like my Johnny,

    Like the one they call Johnny Guitar,

    Play it again,

    Johnny Guitar.¡±

    Tears fell into Ralph¡¯s beer, spreading out as dark gold ripples.

    He wasn¡¯t there. He wasn¡¯t here.

    Fuck it, Ralph decided.

    He rose from his stool. ¡°Forget the second round, Drebbel.¡±

    ¡°Turning in for the night?¡±

    ¡°Not quite,¡± said Ralph. ¡°Just need to beat the shit out of something.¡±

    One part of Lyonesse Ralph Rivers did like was its gym. It had weight machines that could simulate Juptier¡¯s gravitational pull times five. Dumbbells made of white dwarf star metal. An aqua-therapy pool that gave way to an underwater rabbit warren of dark tunnels<sup>2</a></sup>. So much for having to pull an old camper van full of rocks to get his workout.

    Ralph heard the commotion before he saw it. A kid was shouting. Well, screaming, really. He could hear thumps, like a punching bag being hit wildly.

    Ralph sighed. This was sure to be productive.

    The screams increased in pitch, becoming ragged, like a creature in pain.

    Ralph remembered the state David was in when Arnold sent him away. He remembered his mother and grandfather.

    Oh shit. Billy!

    Ralph took off in the direction of the screams, now subsiding into sobs.

    Billy wasn¡¯t there. It was just David, curled up crying under a swaying punching bag.

    ¡°Stupid Arnold. Stupid granddad¡­¡±

    Ralph approached the boy cautiously, like he was a feral cat. ¡°¡­David?¡±

    David looked up at Ralph with angry, tired eyes. ¡°It was supposed to stop hurting. Grandfather promised!¡± David curled back in on himself, body shuddering with sobs.

    Ralph awkwardly patted him in the shoulder. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    ¡°No it won¡¯t!¡± David dug his nails into his skin. ¡°Nobody likes me! I don¡¯t like me! Nothing works!¡± He let out a long wail. ¡°I want my mummy!¡±

    Ralph picked David up. The boy didn¡¯t resist. ¡°I know.¡±

    Ralph wasn¡¯t equipped for this. At least this time, he wouldn¡¯t be handing the kid over to a monster.

    Five minutes later, Ralph was knocking on Sarah Allworth¡¯s bedroom door.

    Mrs Allworth answered in her nightgown, squinting without her owlish spectacles. She caught sight of David, still shaking. ¡°Ah.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s missing his mother,¡± said Ralph. ¡°There¡¯s¡­ a whole lot, really.¡±

    Sarah nodded. ¡°Right. Give him here then.¡±

    Mrs Allworth had missed out on many common experiences bringing up Joe. He¡¯d never scraped his knee, or broke his leg. He¡¯d never gotten beaten up on the playground or come down with a bad fever.

    He had, however, pined for his mother, so many times.

    Sarah wrapped a blanket around David¡¯s shoulders. ¡°You want me to make you some hot cocoa?¡±

    David nodded mutely.

    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s go to the kitchen.¡±

    Ralph watched Sarah lead David down the hall.

    Useless. So goddamn useless.

    ?

    Maude Simmons was sat at the bar of Clark¡¯s, tapping her pencil on the rim of the beer glass which sat atop her latest, soon to be discarded plan.

    ¡°That¡¯s not gonna work,¡± she muttered to herself. ¡°Mars is shit this time of year anyway.¡±

    She heard someone sit down on the stool next to her. Ralph.

    The old superhero had his costume on, bar the mask. And the wings, of course.

    ¡°Good to see you again, boss!¡± enthused Iszac. ¡°Thirsty?¡±

    Ralph raised his fingers. ¡°Vodka sunrise, Steel. Long as it¡¯s Russian vodka.¡±

    ¡°You got it.¡±

    Ralph looked at Mistress Quickly, a small smile playing his lips. ¡°A commissar made a convert out of me back in the war.¡±

    ¡°Clearly,¡± said Quickly, not looking up from her work.

    ¡°I remember you now.¡±

    ¡°Took you long enough.¡±

    ¡°You were the one who wanted to turn all the silver into¡­ teeth, wasn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Calcium.¡±

    Ralph actually chuckled. ¡°But why?¡±

    Maude¡¯s upper lip creased in thought. ¡°Don¡¯t remember, honestly. Was nearly twenty years ago, now. Probably something to do with Marx. I¡¯d just learned to read back then, and I was really into Marx.¡±

    ¡°Just learned to read?¡± repeated Ralph questioningly. ¡°But you had to be fifteen, at least.¡±

    Maude waved it off. ¡°It¡¯s a long, sad story. Sure you¡¯ve already got plenty of those.¡± She looked Ralph¡¯s suit up and down. ¡°I take it you¡¯re going to help, then?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t sound too surprised.¡±

    Maude shrugged. ¡°Allison put money on it.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like her dad.¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll explain everything wrong with that later. Still, good on you. Means I didn¡¯t waste my time making you that new stabilizer harness.¡±

    ¡°¡­You mean my wings? Thanks a bunch.¡±

    Iszac set down a glass of yellow liquid tapering down to deep red at the bottom in front of Ralph. The super took a long, thoughtful sip.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I can kill again.¡±

    ¡°Even if it was them or one of the kids?¡± asked Maude. Fast, she added, ¡°Sorry, just seems like something I ought to know.¡±

    Ralph exhaled. ¡°It¡¯s not a moral thing, Quickly. I just¡­ can¡¯t.¡±

    Mistress Quickly stuck her hand in one of her blazer pockets. ¡°Booty 1-4.¡±

    A classical ray-gun flew into her hand.

    Ralph frowned. ¡°Betsy? You went through my things?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a super-thief. ¡®Course I did.¡± She twirled the stun-ray. ¡°I can recharge the batteries for you. Mazur was always¡­ baroque, his stuff¡¯s always interesting to work with.¡±

    Ralph nodded. ¡°That¡¯d¡­ you don¡¯t know how much of a lifesaver that is.¡± He leaned over to examine Maude¡¯s notes. ¡°You got a plan, yet?¡±

    Maude rubbed her face. ¡°Not yet. So many variables. Be easy just to tear the roof off or vanish the walls, but there¡¯s some real psychos in there I¡¯d rather not deal with, you feel me? Honestly, I probably would rather get rid of the guards¡­¡±

    She trailed off.

    ¡°Say,¡± she said to Iszac. ¡°Do you know how Mrs Allworth got here?¡±

 Chapter Eighty-Six: Purgatorium

    Warden Frances McNoll was painfully out of place in his office. He was a stolidly middle-aged civil servant whose slightly oversized midsection could¡¯ve terminated at the waist in a complaints desk. Yet here he was parked behind what resembled a starship¡¯s command console, bejeweled with gently flashing switches and buttons. It¡¯d taken McNoll the better part of a month to figure them all out, with the manual.

    The whole room was the nightmare brainchild of mod mad-science and baroque alien design. The walls were a mess of clashing pastels, holding up a mirrored ceiling reflecting down the pink shag carpet like a hairy sunset sky.

    The decor didn¡¯t bother the warden. He was its boss, goddamnit!

    Circle¡¯s End Supermax was a crime. A place where people were left to be forgotten or rendered down into second hand miracles, where even a life sentence was too finite. A place where the only crimes that mattered were accidents of birth and chance.

    A better man would have balked at being asked to run such a place. A worse man could have nurtured it into an empire. Frances McNoll, though, was content with being called ¡°sir.¡±

    The DDHA and Australian prison service could¡¯ve done much worse than put Frances McNoll in charge of the Circle¡¯s End Supermax. He wasn¡¯t a sadist by any standard. But fifteen years at Fremantle Gaol had thoroughly calloused McNoll¡¯s social conscience. He didn¡¯t question that men and women he knew as heroes, and children not ten years old were left to rot in his prison. He was courteous and obliging when Dr. John Smith and his disciples came looking for test subjects.

    That was only the bare minimum for the job, though. What made Frances McNoll a perfect fit was his utterly unambitious power lust. It was the same clammy thrill he got being picked for milk monitor<sup>1</a></sup> in primary school. It was what inspired awed jealousy in him watching the prefects march through the halls in grammar school. The simple, pure power to say, ¡°No. Do this.¡± And wielding that power at the behest of absent authority meant he didn¡¯t even have to think of what to say.

    Not that Frances would ever have put it in those words. Far as he was consciously concerned, the chief benefits of his position were the paycheck and the excuse to not live with his family. He did hope he could retire directly after it, though¡ªFrances wasn¡¯t sure how you put running a secret prison on your resume.

    The television screen built into McNoll¡¯s desk cycled through different camera-views while he sipped his coffee and thumbed through a copy of Women¡¯s Day<sup>2</a></sup>. Soft desert plains glowing red like the sea at dusk behind a force-field reinforced fence. Burned out hovels in the Circle¡¯s End Quarantine Zone, empty for the moment of hazard suited scientists waving geiger counters like dowsing rods. The Level 7 holding cells: ten spheres of silver cogs sunk halfway into the floor¡ªeach containing a trapped super like a carton of eggs.

    The uncertain voice crackled from the speaker on McNoll¡¯s desk. ¡°Uh, sir, there¡¯s a superhero parked at the fence.¡±

    Huh. Frances wasn¡¯t expecting Valour till Thursday. ¡°Buzz him¡ª¡± His eyes bugged. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I mean, fella¡¯s all dressed up in a shiny red costume, so I¡¯d put money on it. He just rolled up in this panel-van¡ªoh, he¡¯s opening the boot. He¡¯s pulling out¡­ some kids? And a naked lady? And they¡¯re all tied up¡ª¡± A pause. ¡°Are we sure he¡¯s a superhero?¡±

    Mcnoll¡¯s coffee sloshed out of his mug as he slammed it down on his desk. ¡°God¡¯s alive, Menches! Which camera?¡±

    ¡°F-6 should give you the best view.¡±

    His television screen switched to a shot of the prisoners¡¯ gate. The Crimson Comet of all bloody people was waving at the camera from behind the force-field. Except his wings were wrong. They weren¡¯t feathered, but sharp and angular, like an art-deco angel. A little boy and girl were squirming, trussed up like hogs beside his feet. He had his hand clamped hard on the shoulder of an angry woman standing next to him in her underwear, hands bound at her waist. The superhero had placed a placard in front of him:

    <h1>CAUGHT ALLISON KINSEY, ARNOLD BARNES, AND MISTRESS QUICKLY¡ªLET¡¯S TALK.          </h1>

    A broad, if confused grin spread across Frances McNoll¡¯s face. He had a feeling a lot more people would be calling him ¡®sir¡¯ soon.

    ¡°Buzz him in.¡±

    ?

    Ralph Rivers was swimming in his costume. He didn¡¯t feel the heat as keenly as some men, but this was the Great Sandy Desert, and the Crimson Comet wore all leather. He bet he squelched when he moved. The weight of his new wings was strange. Too light. Maude said these things could deflect bullets, but he felt like he was wearing foam.

    He was ashamed of his discomfort. It had to be nothing next to what Maude and the kids were in for.

    ¡°You sure about this?¡± he asked Maude.

    Mistress Quickly made a good show of struggling against Ralph¡¯s grip, grunting, ¡°I¡¯m standing in my knickers in the middle of a scorching desert in front of a prison stuffed full of drooly blokes¡ªsome of whom have records as long as my arm and superpowers¡ªhundreds of miles from civilization. What makes you think I haven¡¯t thought long and hard about this?¡± She glared down at Allison. ¡°At least you picked the gay guy for this.¡±

    Ralph looked down at Allison wriggling on the access road. ¡°Remind me why Miss Simmons has to be naked?¡±

    Allison sat up as best she could and shouted. ¡°Everyone knows Mistress Quickly is just an inventor, you big meanie!¡±

    Ralph nodded. ¡°I guess that makes sense.¡± He turned his head back to Maude, but seemed to look past her. ¡°Stay close.¡±

    Maude felt a brush against her hand. It was reassuring.

    Arnold strained against his bindings, trying to scratch the itch on his neck against the asphalt. ¡°You sure they¡¯re gonna come out and get us, Allie?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± replied Allison. ¡°Only thing I am sure of.¡±

    The next few minutes worth of futures were very consistent. But then the clouds of probability gave way to barren blue sky.

    It was¡­ creepy. Expected, planned for, but creepy. Funny how quickly you could grow accustomed to precognition.

    Allison tried to put the rapidly approaching void out of her mind, instead focusing on the overwhelming abundance of music. Since the Institute, she¡¯d had to content herself with the familiar rhythms of her friends. They were powerful. Comfortable. Reliable. But it was lean. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Here, song rose from the desert sands like shimmering heat. A buried orchestra of power over a hundred strong. Allison¡¯s kind, trapped beneath the earth.

    There would be silence soon. But not for long.

    ¡°Oh, great,¡± said Maude. ¡°That¡¯s real comforting.¡±

    ¡°Shush up,¡± said Ralph. ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡±

    A beige uniformed man with a ruddy freckled face was trying to march confidently up to the prisoner¡¯s gate, flanked on both sides by oversized, rifle-toting guards clad head to toe in black. The man in the middle appeared to be struggling to keep apace.

    The guards¡¯ outfits made Ralph wince. He was better dressed for the desert.

    The three reached the gate.

    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be,¡± said the man in the least painful looking uniform. ¡°The Crimson Comet. Warden Frances McNoll. I¡¯d shake your hand but¡­¡± He gestured at the force-field enclosed gate between them.

    Ralph smiled. ¡°Understood, sir. Have some prisoners for ya.¡±

    Allison writhed on the ground. ¡°You¡¯ll all die! You¡¯ll get the gas!¡±

    Arnold joined in, ¡°Eat your life! Eat skulls!¡±

    For her part, Maude just stood there scowling darkly at McNoll.

    ¡°Is that the Mistress Quickly?¡± asked McNoll. ¡°Does she always¡­ underdress?¡±

    Ralph forced a laugh and slapped Maude heartily on the back. It felt like smacking tensed steel.  ¡°Well I couldn¡¯t let her keep her utility belt on, could I?¡±

    ¡°Could¡¯ve let me keep my overalls¡­¡±

    Ralph said, ¡°Should have thought about that before trying to bring back the Black Death, young lady<sup>3</a></sup>.¡±

    God, he felt like a bastard.

    Mcnoll blinked. ¡°The Black Death?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Allison cried. ¡°Quickly was brewing it so it¡¯d wipe out all you stupid humans!¡±

    ¡°I told you it was a dumb plan!¡± Arnold shouted. ¡°We shoulda killed them with our bare hands.¡±

    The warden swallowed. ¡°I think we owe you a debt, Mr. Comet.¡±

    ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± said Ralph. ¡°I just want them secured before they get up to any more shenanigans.¡±

    Mcnoll nodded. ¡°We¡¯re on the same page then.¡±

    The warden punched in some numbers on a keypad by the gate. The force-field vanished as the grill of the gate retracted like vines growing backwards.

    The guards stepped forward. They were both nearly a head taller than Ralph, and neither had uttered so much as a word until now:

    ¡°We shall restrain the children¡¯s powers.¡±

    The guard¡¯s accent was unplaceable, but there was a tension to it that reminded Allison of her parents when they¡¯d discovered what she¡¯d done to the shower.

    She looked into the pair¡¯s minds. The lights of their thoughts were as ordered as she remembered Mr. Thumps¡¯ being, but wobbling with rage like stars being pulled at by gas giants. Blazing fires of anger under cold lakes of sedatives and Pavlovian conditioning.

    Miserable gits. Probably doing them a favour¡­

    The guards each removed a metal strip from their belts, both adorned with a jewel filled with glowing blue fluid. They bent down and snapped them around Arnold and Allison¡¯s necks almost in unison.

    The collars tightened like second skin. Allison gasped.

    The music fled. The air became thin and empty. The entire world had become the Quiet Room.

    Allison clenched her fists.

    Don¡¯t freak out, don¡¯t freak out¡­

    The guards proceded to hoist the children into their arms like new fathers picking a baby for the first time.

    Arnold screwed his eyes shut. It felt like his mother was carrying him to bed. But wrong.

    ¡°Would it be possible for me to escort the prisoners to processing?¡± asked the Crimson Comet. ¡°I worked hard to catch them. Peace of mind, you know.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± replied McNoll. ¡°The men will all be clamouring for a look at you.¡±

    The guards led the way through the gate with Maude squished between them, the Comet and McNoll following a few steps behind. They were bordered on either side by long force-field walls. Guard posts loomed over them every yard or so, manned by snipers. Allison couldn¡¯t guess if they were human or Physician-made. As far as she could tell, they could¡¯ve been store mannequins.

    Ralph was looking ahead at the prison¡¯s main building. It was an odd looking building¡ªlike a grounded flying saucer with a rim of glass windows. Well, Blancheflor had said an alien designed it. He also said the holding cells were all underground. A flower with deep, poisonous roots.

    ¡°Comet, I¡¯m sorry to ask, but how¡¯d you know where to find us? We aren¡¯t exactly in the yellow-pages.¡±

    ¡°The freak-finders have me on call.¡± He tapped the side of his nose. ¡°Need to know, of course.¡±

    McNoll nodded warily. It made sense, he supposed. He¡¯d checked the Comet¡¯s file before he¡¯d even stepped outside. The man was sanctioned, but the file didn¡¯t say for what. Still, it was all very irregular. Frances didn¡¯t like irregular. Irregular meant his bosses asking questions. His bosses asking questions meant a reminder that McNoll had bosses. That there were more rungs on the ladder, and people at the top waiting for him to slip.

    Still, if he didn¡¯t let the Crimson Comet in, his men would sulk at him for months. And he was giving him the three most wanted supervillains in the country. Tim Valour would worship him as a fucking god.

    Doors of reinforced glass slid open with a hiss. A desert breeze shriveled and died in crisp climate-controlled air. Mercifully human guards immediately fell upon the drones, removing the children from their arms and cutting the ropes around their wrists and ankles. They didn¡¯t replace the bindings with handcuffs, much to Arnold¡¯s surprise. Not Allison¡¯s, however. They were just kids now.

    She let the walking corpses prod and poke at her. One of the men hissed in her ear, ¡°My sister was at Royal Exhibition Hall, you little shit.¡±

    ¡°Was she the fat lady or the one with the wispy little beard?¡±

    The guard slapped Allison across the face. She barely flinched. Everything felt numb right now.

    Ralph frowned, resisting the urge to bolt forward and clobber the man. He did allow himself to remark, ¡°A bit excessive.¡±

    McNoll shrugged. ¡°Girl¡¯s a terrorist, Comet. Besides, not like she¡¯s a real kid.¡±

    The Crimson Comet raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°The stuff these kids can do, kind of disqualifies¡­¡± The warden remembered who he was talking to. ¡°I mean¡ªit has to vary, don¡¯t it? For every few weirdos like her and Miss October over there, at least we get one of them that turns out proper like you.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Allison was pushed into a small, lilac-lit room. One of the walls was dominated by a one-way window. Allison felt like she was back at McClare. Or not. At least McClare had music. At least this place probably didn¡¯t have any pianos.

    A neutral, female voice filled the room. ¡°Please step into the circle.¡±

    There was indeed a dark purple circle in the middle of the floor.

    Curiosity pricked at Allison. ¡°What happens if I don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°The floor will be electrified.¡±

    Well, they were better at this than McClare. Allison trudged into the circle.

    ¡°Scanning. Please stand still.¡±

    A wall of purple light appeared to Allison¡¯s left, closing in on her.

    The girl rolled her eyes as it washed over her. She needed to introduce this computer to Blanchey. Maybe the purple and the blue was a boy-girl thing.

    ¡°Scan complete. Inmate is clean of unwanted technology. Biology shows signs of physical enhancement, adjusting containment parameters.¡±

    A panel in the ceiling slid open, dropping a set of folded, child-sized white coveralls in front of Allison¡¯s feet.

    ¡°Please dress in the garment provided.¡±

    Allison frowned at the mirror. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look easy to go to the bathroom in.¡±

    ¡°Floor will be electrified in sixty seconds.¡±

    ¡°Okay, okay, I¡¯m doing it.¡±

    She quickly stripped off and slipped into the jumpsuit.

    ¡°What now?¡±

    ¡°You will be deposited in the Juvenile Rehabilitation Area.¡±

    ¡°What¡ª¡±

    The circle gave way like a trapdoor beneath Allison¡¯s feet. She screamed as she dropped into a dark tube.

    The tube quickly curved beneath her. She was sliding. It was a slide, bending and turning as she built up speen.

    Even through the fog of her sudden deafness, Allison had to grin. ¡°Wheeee!¡±

    She turned a corner and found herself hurtling towards a light. Allison braced herself.

    She shot out of the transport slide (the DDHA¡¯s one positive contribution to mankind), landing with a thud in something thick and spongy.

    Allison recovered fast, rolling over and getting back to her feet. She was standing on what felt and looked and felt like a field of grass made out of trampoline, surrounded by boundless hills and skies. But there was a hole in the world just in front of her, a dark mole in the skin of the world. The slide exit, she realized.

    She stepped forward to examine it, only for the hole to close, leaving only thin air.

    ¡°Huh.¡±

    Allison looked around. The sky was shoddy. She swore she could see paint streaks. The clouds were cartoonishly fluffy and regular, like they¡¯d been sourced from her old bedroom wallpaper. There was a forest in the difference, but the trees were all too-triangular illustrated pine.

    Fake. The whole place was fake.

    She felt a sudden urge to set it all on fire.

    ¡°Hey, new meat.¡±

    Allison turned around to find a small crowd of children regarding her with wary fascination, all in coveralls like her own.

    At the head of the crowd was an elfin looking girl with dark blue hair, next to a brown skinned older boy with a look of disdainful confusion.

    ¡°Tom? Louise?¡±

    ¡°Jeez, Allie, they got you too?¡± Tom Long squinted. ¡°And what the hell happened to your eyes?¡±

    Small worlds.

 Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Supervillain Liberation Front

    The Great Sandy Desert was slowly but steadily reclaiming Circle¡¯s End. Its main street was clogged by sharp-toothed spinifex¡ªnests for painted finches with bellies like the starry sky and tails like wicks of flame. Flying foxes roosted in burnt out miners¡¯ cottages, out of reach of the feral cats prowling for hopping mice over charred and broken floors.

    The only part of Circle¡¯s End that had escaped this transformation was Mabel Henderson. Until today.

    The most childish part of Mabel had feared finding her father or neighbours still lying in her hometown. But that was silly. It¡¯d been three years. The bodies had been cleared away long ago. In some ways that was worse. Mabel couldn¡¯t stop picturing her dad¡¯s brain being dissected in some cold morgue. The freak-finders might as well have rounded up the ghosts and locked them up too.

    Sarah Allworth put a hand on the little girl¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, honey.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t look up at the old woman. ¡°So you know about me and here? Who told you? David, I bet.¡±

    ¡°Allison.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t remember saying she could tell you.¡±

    David was jumping between spinifex bushes. ¡°I think she wanted her to know in case you started¡­ crying.¡±

    Mabel frowned. ¡°Why would I start crying?¡± she asked, hands on her hips.

    David shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ this was your home. And you¡­ there¡¯s a lot of bad here, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t tell.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Allison meant any harm,¡± said Sarah. ¡°She just wanted me to understand.¡±

    ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Mabel couldn¡¯t get too mad at Allison. She was trying, in her own weird Allie way. It was more than she could say for some people, lately.

    ¡°I mean, you¡¯re tough. I know you¡¯re not gonna start crying, but it has to be better having people who know why this place is kinda spooky for you, right?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not spooky!¡±

    ¡°Yes it is!¡± insisted David, stamping a foot in the dirt. ¡°Your daddy died here! Lots of people did! Then they built a great big jail next to it for people like you! And I saw some big bats asleep in a house!¡±

    ¡°What do you care?¡± Mabel asked sourly. ¡°We¡¯re just¡­ what does your granddad call us? ¡®Souled animals¡¯?¡±

    David tilted his head. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I care? You¡¯re my friend! You¡¯re my first friend.¡±

    Mabel pouted and turned her back to the boy. ¡°Haven¡¯t been treating me like it. These days you only play with Arnold and Allison! And that¡¯s only because Allie¡¯s weird like you and Arn¡¯s¡¯s pretty!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been getting all lovey dovey with Arnold too!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve been hogging him!¡±

    ¡°¡­Not my fault he thinks I¡¯m prettier than you.¡±

    ¡°You take that back!¡±

    ¡°Oh, for crying out loud!¡± cried Mrs Allworth. ¡°We¡¯re here for a prison break! Can you stop mooning over Arnold for five minutes?¡±

    The children both looked at Sarah.

    ¡°¡­Most grown ups are weirder when David says Arnold¡¯s pretty,¡± remarked Mabel.

    Sarah scoffed. ¡°My son was from outer-space and shot lasers from his eyes. What I would¡¯ve given for queer some days.¡±

    David looked back at Mabel, before stepping over and giving his friend a stiff hug.

    ¡°I think being all¡­ Grandfather isn¡¯t working anymore.¡±

    Mabel hugged him back. ¡°Coulda told you that ages ago.¡±

    David sniffed.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I want to be Mealy again, though¡­¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t Mealy for ages back at school. You were fine. Didn¡¯t play with me nearly enough, but fine.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know how to go back there.¡±

    ¡°Me neither.¡±

    ¡°¡­You¡¯re still mad at me, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°I still love you and junk, Mabel.¡±

    ¡°Love ya too. Still mad. Not as much now, but still.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Sarah looked on with approval, deciding not to spoil the moment with commentary.

    Her radio-watch buzzed. Sarah raised her wrist. ¡°That you, Ralph?¡±

    A few miles away, crammed in a bathroom stall with his shoulders squished between the walls, the Crimson Comet hissed down his own communicator. ¡°Who else would it be?¡±

    ¡°Blancheflor, for one.¡±

    Ralph pretended to wait for the bloke in the next stall to flush before answering.

    ¡°Are Maude and the kids in?¡±

    ¡°Yep! Threw them to the lions myself! Can we get a move on?¡±

    Sarah frowned. ¡°What¡¯s eating you, Mr. Rivers?¡±

    ¡°Besides the prison break masterminded by the thief and the nine year old I just watched get collared like dogs? Maybe it¡¯s the fact I¡¯m stuck playing nice with concentration camp guards. It¡¯s like giving a press conference to the SS!¡±

    ¡°I see. Hang tight, Ralph. It¡¯s all part of the plan¡±

    The connection clicked off. Ralph sighed. The guards would probably send a search party if he didn¡¯t get back to jackboot zoo.

    Mrs Allworth turned back to the children. ¡°It¡¯s time, Mabel.¡±

    Mabel nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°Find somewhere shady to sit,¡± ordered Sarah. ¡°I don¡¯t trust sunscreen.¡±

    She also didn¡¯t trust the camera-jammer Mistress Quickly had given them. Or the gun.

    Mabe quickly pointed to an adolescent desert walnut growing next to the general store.

    ¡°It was a sapling when I left¡­¡±

    Mabel sat down cross legged in the dusky green shadows of the walnut¡¯s canopy and laid her sketchbook open in her lap. Mrs Allworth and David settled either side of her.

    ¡°We¡¯re both here if you need anything, child¡± said Sarah. ¡°And keep taking sips from your water-bottle. Dehydration can sneak up on ya.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± said Mabel.

    She took a deep breath, turning her gaze down at her drawings. The skeins of pressure that always curled around Mabel¡¯s veins flowed from her fingertips into the paper.

    Not too far away, a glowing, statuesque woman with colourfully streaked white hair appeared on the desert sands. She wore a catsuit like a rainbow being eaten by a black hole.

    Polychroma, Mabel called her. She¡¯d gotten in the super way when a comet smashed into her daddy¡¯s paint-factory. Mabel had discovered her drawings were more keen to step into reality when they had a name and story waiting for them, even just half a paragraph scribbled in the bottom corner of the page.

    Next came Sam Stretch in his bubblegum pink body-glove. He got caught in a radioactive taffy-puller. Then the WAR Correspondent, the rogue photojournalist with the plutonium powered camera, cursed never to take another picture without blowing his subject to smithereens.

    ¡°Or he could buy a new camera,¡± pointed out David.

    Mabel elbowed him in the ribs. ¡°Thin ice, buster.¡±

    Evolvulon, the man from the year 1000,000,000 with a telekinetic brain shaped like a planet. Mabel didn¡¯t know if Lawrence would have laughed or winced at that, and she didn¡¯t care. The Thing from Venus, a living puddle of liquid lead. For nostalgia¡¯s (and her ray-gun¡¯s) sake, the lady astronaut Mabel had finally decided was called Captain Williams.

    Soon the desert was crowded with over fifty colourful characters. Titans and monsters. The Supervillain Liberation Front. Mabel was drained. She had enough power left in her for one more animation. Nothing fancy. No flying, or energy blasts, or quantum warping¡ªwhatever that meant. Maybe super-strength. Or a big, booming voice.

    Mabel knew she had enough characters for the plan. Might¡¯ve been smart to keep something in reserve.

    She sighed and turned a page.

    ¡°Ooh,¡± said Sarah, ¡°I like that one.¡±

    Mabel gave her a small smile. ¡°Thanks.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    One more figure appeared facing the Supervillain Liberation Front. He was broader than he was tall, covered in heavy armour the colour of the evening sky, with what resembled a tuning fork topped with a bubbling sunspot jutting out of his forehead. He wielded a heavy pick-axe, its blade forged from cyan light like an aurora caught in clear winter ice. A gemstone beard grew from his stoney chin, and his cheeks were riddled with craters and striations.

    Or smallpox scars.

    If you asked the creature his name, he would have told you his name was Garox, King of Saturn: soon-to-be ruler of Earth. Mabel would¡¯ve told you the same thing. But she was thinking of someone else when she was drawing him. Mabel hadn¡¯t dared give Garox that man¡¯s name, but she couldn¡¯t put him out of her thoughts. The gits had turned their home into a prison. They¡¯d defiled her dad¡¯s grave, such as it was. How could she not let him have a go at them?

    In a rough, cigarette scarred voice, louder than thunder but softer than the washing tides, the alien king that had once been Drew Anderson boomed, ¡°Time to get to work, lads. Everyone¡¯s waiting on us.¡±

    Mabel leaned back against the gnarled bark and smiled sadly.

    Go get em¡¯, Dad.

    ?

    The Crimson Comet leaned against the kitchen bench in the Supermax break-room, sipping a mug of very bad coffee.

    It was amazing. A secret, state of the art facility¡ªwhere even the bloody staff kitchen looked like an unused Forbidden Planet set¡ªand they still wouldn¡¯t spring for a bean that didn¡¯t taste like a bushfire.

    Eleven guards were clustered around the superhero, watching him with giddy expectation like he was about to start vomiting sweets or break into song and dance.

    They were about a third right: it did make Ralph want to be sick.

    ¡°Can you show us how you make your wings come out again, Mr. Comet?¡±

    A sigh threatened to break Ralph¡¯s false smile. He forced it down. ¡°Sure thing!¡± Ralph cleared his throat. ¡°Daedalus.¡±

    The silvery metal mound on the Crimson¡¯s Comet¡¯s back unfolded into his new wing harness. An anticipatory crackle of electricity rippled across the metal

    Ralph was told that was a clever reference. He wouldn¡¯t know.

    The guards whooped and applauded. Ralph felt like he was doing primary school assemblies again. If he had hated children.

    ¡°Icarus.¡±

    The wings retracted into the backpack again. That allusion Ralph got. Mad scientists and their whimsy.

    ¡°So,¡± asked a young man with a schoolyard bully cast to his features, ¡°how did you get into your business?¡±

    Ralph gulped down the latest mouthful of liquid ash. ¡°I got a costume and started beating up robbers till I started running into supervillains.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said another guard. ¡°I heard a burglar broke into your mansion, shot your ma, and then your dad sewed wings onto your back so you could fight crime.¡±

    Ralph had to force his laugh not to sound derisive. Was that what those comics were pushing? He didn¡¯t know what was more outlandish. The stuff about his wings, the idea his father knew how to sew, or him growing up in a mansion. ¡°Maybe he did!¡±

    A guard with a ginger cowlick protruding from under his helmet raised an eyebrow. ¡°Wings made of solid metal?¡±

    Ralph grinned hollowly and threw his arms up. ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Wings that changed shape¡­¡±

    Ralph finally allowed himself to frown. ¡°Look, boys, I¡¯m not here to share my secret identity, you feel me?¡±

    The murmured grunts of acknowledgment and poorly masked disappointment blended seamlessly into the office muzak.

    Ralph started calculating how much more coffee he needed to drink to justify another bathroom break, but the guards refused to let the conversation die:

    ¡°Who knew Mistress Quickly had such a figure,¡± exclaimed one of them. ¡°You¡¯d think she¡¯d be all pasty and flabby from working in a lab all day.¡±

    Oh, God. ¡°Guy talk.¡± Straight guy talk. They had invented gay bars so he could avoid this shit.

    The overgrown school tough waggled his eyebrows at Ralph. ¡°You gonna tell us how you got her out of¡ª¡±

    Gross straight guy talk.

    I¡¯m in Hell. Mistress Quickly killed me, and this is my Hell.

    Before the Crimson Comet could either try to fake piggishness or launch into an appropriately moralistic lecture, a siren blared through the staff-room.

    Red alert, red alert. All hands stand ready for potential incursion by enemy demi-humans.

    The automated warning was interrupted by the shaky voice of Warden McNoll.

    ¡°Ah, could the Crimson Comet report to my office? Please?¡±

    Oh, thank fuck.

    Ralph practically tipped over the table in his haste to obey, but he couldn¡¯t resist firing just one jab over his shoulder as he went: ¡°Are you boys really that desperate?¡±

    ?

    Frances McNoll was pacing back and forth in front of his space-age desk, plowing a trench in the thick shag carpet.

    The Crimson Comet flung open his office door:

    ¡°What¡¯s going on, warden? Bloody siren just about popped my eardrums!¡±

    McNoll let out a high-pitched yelp of surprise. The last thing he needed right now was people who dressed like that bursting in on him.

    ¡°I¡ªthey¡­¡± He pointed resignedly at his desk. ¡°Just look at the screen.¡±

    Ralph rushed behind the work station. He whistled at the sight of the inbuilt television monitor. ¡°Wow, colour! Wish I had one of these for the old Fortress of Solitude¡­¡±

    ¡°Focus, man, focus!¡±

    Ralph made a show of blinking in shock.

    The monitor was tuned to a camera facing out over the raw desert plains between the Supermax complex and the Circle¡¯s End ruins, where a crowd of loudly costumed figures had gathered in a loose rabble. Some of them were only recognizable as people because they happened to be screaming and shouting, albeit mutely  Many were waving bizarre weapons: startlingly streamlined ray-guns, laser-swords, or in one case, an oversized camera with a glowing green rod jutting out of it<sup>1</a></sup>. The whole scene was like a Georges M¨¦li¨¨s film from a world where colour had come before talkies.

    The Crimson Comet tutted gravely. ¡°Just as I feared¡ª¡±

    By a stroke of kismet, Mrs Allworth chose that moment to switch on one of the gadgets Mistress Quickly left her:

    The sirens died, replaced by a gravelly voice heavy with menacing bass notes:

    ¡°Circle¡¯s End Supermax, your ears are privileged to hear the voice of Garox: Emperor of Saturn and its associated moons, and acting leader of the Supervillain Liberation Front!¡±

    If Frances McNoll weren¡¯t completely filled with terror right then, he might have been surprised such a voice belonged to royalty. It sounded more like colleagues he¡¯d known whose life choices could be boiled down to ¡°tradie,¡± ¡°prison-guard,¡± or ¡°prison-guarded.¡± A small part of him dimly recalled hearing that Saturn didn¡¯t have a solid surface, but that was drowned out by the rest of him screaming.

    Ralph, conversely, had to suppress a smile.

    Garox continued, ¡°Listen here, Circle¡¯s End. You are harbouring one of our enemies, the blasted Crimson Comet! He has delivered three of our greatest allies into your filthy human hands: Mistress Quickly, Elsewhere, and the mighty Symphony, sum and total of us all! You have but one hour to hand over them, along with the rest of your inmates!¡±

    Frances shook his head. ¡°He can¡¯t be serious¡­¡±

    ¡°Dead serious, I¡¯m afraid,¡± said the Crimson Comet. ¡°I barely escaped the SLF with my life.¡±

    A new voice replaced Garox, this one high and wheedling:

    ¡°I am Evolvulon: man from the year One Billion AD.¡±

    ¡°The year One Billion?¡±

    ¡°I think he¡¯s rounding up,¡± commented Ralph.

    ¡°The history crystals of my time reveal that all attempts at resisting the SLF are doomed to failure. We will succeed in transitioning the Earth into a supervillainy based economy. That is all.¡±

    Ralph had wondered during the planning sessions if Evolvulon was over-egging things a bit, but given how McNoll was clutching the sides of his head and cursing at the carpet¡­

    ¡°Shitting fucking Hell!¡± The warden glared up at the Crimson Comet. ¡°What does ¡®supervillainy based economy¡¯ even mean?¡±

    The Comet shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t stick around for a lecture. I think it means everyone gets powers and a costume. Oh, and instead of jobs, people do heists.¡± The superhero smiled and twirled a finger next to his head. ¡°Wacko, right?¡±

    Mcnoll growled, ¡°You brought them here.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s expression snapped back to solemn. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Warden. I was sure I¡¯d lost them around Kalgoorlie.¡± He let out a theatrical sigh. ¡°It¡¯s my fault.¡±

    Frances moaned. ¡°What am I going to do?¡±

    ¡°Well, you could do as they say?¡±

    Worth a shot.

    McNoll sputtered. ¡°Are you mad? I can¡¯t hand over a hundred and ten demis to other demis! Valour would shit down my throat!¡±

    Ralph believed him. ¡°Of course not, I was joking.¡±

    ¡°Clearly!¡± The warden¡¯s knees nearly gave out beneath him. ¡°We¡¯re all gonna die, we¡¯re all gonna die¡­¡±

    Ralph sighed again, this time genuinely. He walked over to the warden and gently took the man by the shoulders. ¡°Calm down, mate. We can get through this.¡±

    Frances looked up at the superhero. The beginnings of tears were beading in the corner of his eyes. In a very small voice, he asked, ¡°We can?¡±

    Ralph nodded. ¡°You just have to trust me. I have a plan.¡±

    Those words were like pure light to Frances McNoll. Big decisions were the one aspect of authority he could do without. The warden of Circle¡¯s End Supermax was a creature of routine and protocol; carrying out orders from higher ups so distant, they might as well have been God Himself.

    One aspect Frances was very into, though, was deferring responsibility.

    Within twenty minutes, the Crimson Comet was standing on the access road in front of the prison, preparing to address over two hundred and fifty guards and soldiers. Not a bad turnout. Allison no doubt would¡¯ve liked even more of them out here, but every bit helped.

    For every two true humans, there was one hulking Physician drone, their faces concealed behind armoured black gas-masks. Ralph wondered if they even had faces under there<sup>2</a></sup>. He could make out their muscles twitching with anticipation under their Kevlar sleeves. If what Blanchefor had told Ralph about them was true, this was probably like standing at the gates of Paradise for them.

    Ralph cleared his throat. ¡°I know you all must be frightened¡ª¡±

    Hundreds of shouted protests. Vain fools. But not strictly speaking incorrect.

    ¡°¡­Or not. The enemies we go to fight are fierce! Inhuman! But we are men. Today we fight not only for our lives, but for the future of our country! Perhaps the future of the bloody human race! And are we going to let a bunch of freaks trample on us?

    A ¡°No!¡± like the roaring sea.

    One near the front though raised his hand like a boy in a classroom. ¡°But the future man said he knew we¡¯d lose¡­¡±

    Ralph glared at the guard. This was no time for  short-term memory.

    ¡°Well, of course he¡¯d tell you that, wouldn¡¯t he? Use your head!¡±

    The dissenting guard¡¯s neighbours all started booing and shoving the poor bastard.

    Ralph raised a hand, barking. ¡°Enough of that! We have a job to do! Follow me!¡±

    Ralph turned and launched himself out onto the desert, scorching the road and fusing the sands below him into glass.

    Behind him, a siren blared the windowed rim of the prison building closed shut like a frightened clam. Lockdown. Just as McNoll eagerly promised the Comet. Just as Allison had hoped.

    Ralph came to a sharp stop with the help of his new wings. Had to give the men time to catch up. He wished he had a cigarette.

    The Supervillain Liberation Front were still milling about when the Crimson Comet and his conquering army fell upon them.

    Garox roared, ¡°Attack!¡±

    In seconds, the desert plains burned with combat. A squad of men tried to flank the WAR Correspondent, only to get blown back with the force of a focused hurricane as he manically snapped picture after picture. The villain giggled shrilly. ¡°I¡¯m shoo-in for the Pugilitser with these snaps!¡±

    Ralph rolled his eyes. He wondered whether he ought to compliment or chastise Mabel for that one later.

    Bullets bounced off Sam Stretch¡¯s elongated form like raindrops on a trampoline, until a couple of drones managed to grab him by the arms, savagely pulling until the rubber-man tore in half, splattering the surrounding guards with blood like corn syrup.

    Most of the guards caught in the splash-zone squirmed and groaned in disgust. A few of the less battle-high ones even screamed. The drones roared in pure, ecstatic triumph.

    Evolvulon was standing serenely in the middle of the fray, fired bullets orbiting him while half a dozen guards thrashed and shouted ten feet above his head. A drone was struggling to escape the heavy liquid grasp of the Thing from Venus.

    If any of the guards or dones were in any state to objectively examine their situation, they might have noticed that they¡¯d failed to sustain any casualties. The SLF seemed content to just knock about the forces of the Supermax, even as their own numbers were slowly, painfully whittled down. One side was playing Cowboys and Indians, the other Vietnam.

    Ralph was ¡°dodging¡± poorly-aimed energy bolts from a lady astronaut¡¯s laser-gun when he found himself being pulled around by his shoulders.

    He found himself facing a blue-armoured brick wall of a man with a face made of rock and almost purple eyes. Garox, if Ralph recalled right.

    Ralph Rivers grabbed Garox¡¯s hands and pushed him back. Garox resisted, the force of their grappling sending shockwaves through the sand surrounding them.

    The guards were cheering. The ¡°villains¡± were jeering and snarling like the caricatures they were.

    The fictional tyrant shouted, ¡°You¡¯ll pay for this, Crimson Comet!¡±

    Garox winked. Ralph winked back.

 Chapter Eighty-Eight: The Garden of Earthly Delights

    Before Allison could say anything more to her fellow juvenile delinquents, the rent opened in the air again, ejecting a whooping Arnold onto the spongy grass.

    He scrambled to his feet, knees and shoulders bouncing with excitement. ¡°Let¡¯s do that again¡ª¡± He blinked at the sight of the children behind Allison, rubbing his eyes and looking again. ¡°Haunt? Brit?¡±

    Tom and Louise both frowned.

    ¡°Ah, sorry. Force of habit.¡±

    A ten year old girl with pink skin and quietly hissing snakes for hair asked, ¡°You know these two?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Louise. ¡°They¡¯re from the Institute.¡±

    Allison ran over and tried her best to hug both Tom and Louise. ¡°We thought you were dead!¡±

    Tom stiffened, then relaxed slightly, patting the girl half-heartedly on the back. ¡°We were kinda wondering about you, too.¡±

    Louise asked, ¡°What about the rest of you guys? Mabel? Billy?¡± Louise¡¯s voice rose in pitch a touch. ¡°David?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Arnold. ¡°We got out.¡±

    ¡°But I heard you all die!¡± insisted Allison. ¡°Your songs went away.¡±

    Tom sighed. ¡°Sit down, everyone, this is going to take some explaining¡­¡±

    Tom and Louise told the story of the raid like a joke they¡¯d been forced to repeat once or twice too many at a party. The soldiers; the fire-fight; Linus and his father¡­

    ¡°¡­It was like we were taking a bath in the sun,¡± said Tom, ¡°Then Apollo or whoever he was said he was taking us to where we needed to be¡­¡± He grunted. ¡°Then me and Louise got dumped right in the bloody lobby here.¡± Tom cast his eyes up at the painted ceiling. ¡°This is why nobody worships you gits anymore.¡±

    Many floors above, heat lightning crackled across the wide desert sky. Not even a whisper reached the children.

    Tom smiled bitterly. ¡°One advantage of being underground I guess. You can cuss out the ultra-white-people much as you like.¡±

    ¡°I know it sounds wild,¡± said Louise, ¡°but Linus was telling the truth.¡±

    Arnold shrugged. ¡°I can buy it. We met David¡¯s granddad.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± asked Louise. ¡°What¡¯s he like?¡±

    ¡°Evil. But kinda fun sometimes?¡± Arnold jabbed his thumb at Allison. ¡°He liked Allie a lot.¡±

    Everyone looked at the girl. Allison was clawing at the trampoline grass.

    ¡°Ah, you alright Allie?¡± asked Tom.

    It was odd. For nearly two months, Allison had known in her gut that all the other Institute kids were dead. But she was wrong. Some of them were still alive. More could still be out there. She should¡¯ve been relieved.

    But some of them weren¡¯t out there. Allison knew how they died now. Their songs lost forever all over again.

    ¡°Nope,¡± she answered. ¡°But I will be soon. When we get out of here.¡±

    The other inmates laughed derisively.

    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± said a pasty skinned teenage girl with long dark hair. ¡°I bet you¡¯ll be gone before the Chester Fingers speech.¡±

    Arnold lip curled. ¡°Chester Fingers?¡±

    A twangy ¡°boing¡± taken directly from a cartoon sound effects library echoed through the sky, growing louder and closer with every repetition.

    Arnold and Allison looked up. Nobody else did. A figure was bouncing between the sheep-fleece clouds like a demented transitional Superman.

    Allison frowned. ¡°The heck¡ª¡±

    It leapt down onto the grass in front of the kids. It was a fat party-clown in a half polka-dotted mustard shift and a blue top-hat. His eyes were glassy, manic saucers, and his big red nose bore an unfortunate resemblance to a tumour.

    ¡°Hi kids!¡± it screeched in a far too jaunty, generically American voice. ¡°I¡¯m Chester Fingers!¡±

    Allison felt a whimper in the back of her head, barely noticeable, along with a voice sourly spitting ¡°pagliaccio.¡± Was that what Miri and Alberto sounded like without telepathy? ¡°Chester Fingers,¡± she said flatly. ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s right, [NAME TO BE INPUT], Chester Fingers!¡± The clown pulled out a handkerchief and violently blew his nose, spewing streams of multicoloured ribbon from his nostrils. Then he stood perfectly still, as though holding for laughs.

    Chester Fingers received none. It didn¡¯t seem to bother him.

    Fingers capered between Allison and Arnold, somesalting and bouncing. ¡°I¡¯m here to get you settled into the Garden, where you¡¯ll get to play with tons of new friends while all the clever scientists work day and night to make you all normal little girls and boys!¡±

    Allison glared fire at the clown. ¡°Normal?¡±

    Tom rolled his eyes. ¡°Piss off, Fingers.¡±

    Chester Fingers turned to the older boy and wagged a finger at him. ¡°Now, now, Mr. Long. You already have [234] attitude demerits. You don¡¯t want to miss Movie Night again, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Tom scoffed. ¡°You project the bloody films on the clouds! You can see it for miles! Fake miles, but still!¡±

    ¡°That sounds kinda cool¡­¡± murmured Arnold.

    ¡°You¡¯d think so,¡± whispered Louise. ¡°But it¡¯s always some weird kiddie crap where the mouths don¡¯t match the voices and all the boys sound like old ladies. Tom reckons they get them from Mexico<sup>1</a></sup>. Tough on the neck, too.¡±

    Chester Fingers threw his arms up, Apollo butterflies and emerald swallowtails escaping from his baggy sleeves only to dissolve mid-air. ¡°Well, let¡¯s get started on the ground tour!¡±

    Allison and Arnold¡¯s surroundings blurred. The ground was sliding like a treadmill beneath their feet, speeding them far away (or so it seemed) from the other inmates. Allison¡ªbiological treasure that she was¡ªmanaged to keep her balance, but Arnold fell backwards on his rump.

    They found themselves in front of a cluster of rabbit holes dug into a small hillside. Unfortunately, Chester Fingers had joined them:

    ¡°This is where the handy dandy Rabbit Reserve Corps delivers you kids three square meals a day and fresh clothes!¡±

    A yellow-white rabbit lopped out of one of the ¡°warrens¡± with a large brown package tied around its back.

    Arnold grinned. ¡°Bunnies!¡±

    He saw how Allison was looking at him and quickly cleared his throat. ¡°I mean, probably fake bunnies, right?¡±

    Chester Fingers added something like wryness to his grin. ¡°Who¡¯s to say what¡¯s real, [NAME TO BE INPUT]?¡±

    The clown winked with an audible twinkle.

    The ground shifted again. Now they were in a forest clearing, where a giant, matronly dressed goose sat on a tree stump surrounded by child-sized blow up mattresses, mumbling her way through a particularly tame version of ¡°Hansel and Gretel¡± from a storybook the size of a coffee table.

    ¡°And this is Mother Goose, who is always here to tell approved bedtime stories!¡±

    ¡°I wonder if she does Famous Five,¡± remarked Arnold.

    He almost startled when Chester Fingers responded, ¡°Lucky for you, Mother Goose has indeed memorized the complete works of Enid Blyton!¡±

    ¡°Figures,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°We can never tell Billy about this.¡±

    Again, they were carried away, this time to a shocking boring concrete toilet block in the middle of a suspiciously manicured green field.

    ¡°And these are the restrooms! Remember kids, just because we¡¯re in the great outdoors doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re animals!¡±

    ¡°They shoulda put a bit more imagination into this part,¡± said Arnold.

    ¡°Do you really want an imaginative toilet?¡± retorted Allison.

    ¡°Maybe not.¡±

    There was one last stop on Chester Fingers¡¯ tour: a pond about the size of an olympic swimming pool, filled with a bright yellow water.

    ¡°Welcome to Lemonade Lake!¡± cheered the clown. ¡°Where you kids can swim and wash up to your hearts¡¯ content! Just remember, maintain a distance of one metre from other swimmers, and no mixing boys and girls. Don¡¯t want to catch cooties, do we?¡±

    Chester Fingers¡¯ head shook like a bobble-head, his pupils bouncing off and around the edges of his eyes.

    Allison grimaced. ¡°Eww! Why¡¯d they have to make it yellow?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t even look like lemonade,¡± said Arnold. He toed the water. ¡°It¡¯s not even fizzy!¡±

    ¡°I think they¡¯re using it the American way. It¡¯s what they call lemon cordial there.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Weird.¡±

    Tour concluded, the floor returned Chester and the children back to where they started.

    ¡°Just so you know,¡± said Tom, ¡°By now Lemonade Lake is almost exactly what it looks like.¡±

    Chester Fingers still had speech left in him. ¡°We at the Garden all know how scary it can be adjusting to our new home, so I hope you all are very nice to [NAME TO BE INPUT] and [NAME TO BE INPUT]. But remember, if you ever need another buddy, just call on ol¡¯ Chester Fingers.¡±

    Chester Fingers¡¯¡­ fingers detached from his hands, swimming through the air like pale, bony sea-snakes, lunging at the children and tickling them under their chins and ribs, their master giggling all the while.

    Screaming broke out among the children. Arnold flailed like he was in the middle of a swarm of bees. Tom swatted at the fingers with a scowl like Hades. Louise was curled up on the grass with her hands over her head. Allison meanwhile just shut off the nerves in her skin and stood there with her eyes screwed shut.

    ¡°Eww, ewww, eww¡­¡±

    Thankfully, the tickle-fest quickly concluded with Chester summoning back his fingers. The clown threw his top-hat into the air and jumped inside, tugging the rim into the hole after him. ¡°See you at dinner, kids!¡±

    Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

    ¡°So yeah,¡± said Tom, ¡°that Dante bloke was a bloody winger.¡±

    After that introductions were made. The Medusa girl was called Andrea, and could paralyze people with sustained eye-contact. And move at tremendous speeds. And shrink and grow in size.

    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s¡±¡ªAllison tried to think of a word the other kids might know¡ª¡°eclectic.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, she¡¯s a real Billy,¡± said Tom, master of context-clues.

    ¡°Was that the kid who dropped dead?¡± asked Annie.

    ¡°No,¡± Tom said firmly. ¡°The one who looks like a tiger.¡±

    ¡°Oh, the one you never shut up about, got it.¡±

    Arnold grinned.

    ¡°Look, there isn¡¯t much to talk about in here.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Softie.¡±

    Tom didn¡¯t dignify his old schoolmate with a response.

    Then there was Liam, a slightly goatish boy with stubby horns growing from his forehead:

    ¡°So you¡¯re a wizard?¡± asked Allison. ¡°Like Penderghast?¡±

    Liam shrugged. ¡°I guess. Kinda self-taught. I think Mum¡¯s a witch, but she¡¯s real into God now. Still, I found an old book in the drywall. Probably that ¡®evil¡¯ Mum kept screaming about when she tried burning the house down.¡± He shook his head sady. ¡°Freak-finders took it off me. But I still remember a lot¡± He started fretting his hands and speaking very slowly. ¡°Or¡ªI remember remembering, before the collar.¡± Liam tugged at it. ¡°But how is knowing something a power? God, magic¡¯s confusing.¡±

    ¡°I hear ya.¡±

    Brent had skin like diamond and the strength to match. Paula could shoot garrote wire made of light from her fingers. One girl would only answer to the name ¡°Thunder-Tiger<sup>2</a></sup>¡± and claimed to be the scion of two South Australian supervillains locked up a few floors down.

    All in all, a good bunch, Allison decided, though it occurred to her that she had no way of knowing if these kids were being honest. Still, they had to be in here for a reason.

    ¡°So what¡¯s your plan, Allie?¡± asked Louise.

    ¡°You don¡¯t really think they¡¯re getting us out of here, do ya?¡± asked Andrea, hair hissing and snapping at the air around her head.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± said Louise. ¡°Allison¡¯s pretty smart. Or her power is, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter how smart they are,¡± said Liam. ¡°Doc Danny built the stupid place, and he¡¯s been in here long as anyone.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± said Allison, ¡°me and Arn¡ªwait, who¡¯s in here?¡±

    ¡°Doc Danny,¡± said Tom. ¡°Mad-scientist kid. ¡®Bout you and Arn¡¯s age. He built ¡®the Garden¡¯ for the freak-finders before they threw him in.¡±

    ¡°Served him right,¡± added Angela.

    Tom looked a touch queasy at that.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Allison. ¡°Like Daedalus.¡±

    Arnold looked at her. ¡°Who¡ªoh, forget it¡­¡±

    He remembered, but decided not to mention it. Sometimes Allie needed her moments.

    ¡°Take us to him,¡± said Allison.

    The inmates exchanged looks.

    ¡°That might be tough,¡± said Andrea. ¡°He¡¯s hiding.¡±

    Neither Arnold nor Allison needed to be told why.

    ¡°Can¡¯t be that hard,¡± said Louise. ¡°There¡¯s only one place to hide here.¡±

    Everyone trapsed to the toilet block. Allison kept her enhanced eyes trained on the horizon. She could make out the miniscule points of light that made up the ¡°sky¡± like Ben-Day dots in a cheap comic, and even the seams behind them where two walls met. The illusion of distance.

    Allison could feel the ground flowing subtly under her feet, too¡ªnot nearly so jarringly as during the tour, but enough they were essentially walking in place. Motion without progress. Instead, Lemonade Lake and Mother Goose¡¯s hollow drifted past them like lily pads in a stream.

    ¡°What have you guys been up to since¡­ you know, the thing?¡± asked Louise.

    ¡°Um¡­¡± Arnold wasn¡¯t sure where to start.

    Allison decided to start with the worst. ¡°I ate Alberto.¡±

    Louise stared at the other girl. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I kinda¡­ sucked his soul into my brain. So now I have his power. And everything else.¡±

    ¡°Then we went to live with the Physician on his spaceship,¡± added Arnold. ¡°He had a mermaid!¡±

    ¡°Jesus,¡± said Tom.

    ¡°It was kinda alright until he made me eat another kid so I could fly.¡± Quickly, Allison added, ¡°It¡¯s okay, but. We¡¯re friends now!¡±

    Tom was beginning to wonder if he and Louise were better off in the Garden.

    ¡°And then the Flying Man killed him to death,¡± said Arnold.

    Tom nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Guess that figures..¡±

    ¡°And now we live in his house.¡±

    Louise asked, ¡°You live with the Flying Man?¡± She glanced reflexively at the simulated sky. ¡°Is he helping you?¡±

    ¡°Not really,¡± explained Arnold. ¡°Just his mum. The Flying Man¡¯s dead.¡±

    Louise wasn¡¯t sure what she ought to ask next. ¡°¡­Does she have powers too?¡±

    Arnold shook his head. ¡°Not really. Just sorta old.¡±

    ¡°Crap.¡±

    ¡°¡­I killed Lawrence.¡±

    Louise went silent. Horror warred with a sick smile creeping towards her lips. She wasn¡¯t sure she should be shocked at Arnold¡¯s admission: she¡¯d killed too, now.

    ¡°Aww, mate,¡± said Tom. ¡°Sorry you had to¡­ that.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    A second¡¯s quiet, then Arnold shrugged.

    ¡°He was an arse though, right?¡±

    ¡°Totally.¡±

    It went on like that until they reached the toilets. Or the toilets reached them.

    Tom stood at the head of the crowd, cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. ¡°Oi! Danny Doc! Come on, we know you¡¯re in there. Get on out here!¡±

    A small whimper echoed out from the concrete block.

    Tom sighed and slumped his shoulders. ¡°Look. I¡¯m not gonna beat you up.¡±

    ¡°Again,¡± muttered Louise.

    ¡°Not proud of it,¡± Tom shot over his shoulder, before turning back to the block and yelling, ¡°These new kids want to speak to ya!¡±

    An angry but shaky little voice, ¡°Oh, all the new kids want to speak to me!¡±

    ¡°Really speak to ya! They wanna ask you about this place!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you, there is no ¡®secret passage¡¯! I didn¡¯t build the place with my hands!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it, I¡¯m going in there,¡± said Allison. She stalked towards the entrance to the boy¡¯s toilets.

    A kid darted out of the other doorway, taking off into the distance.

    Allison frowned. He¡¯d been hiding in the girl¡¯s. The creep.

    ¡°Get back here¡ª¡±

    Allison shot past Tom after Doc Danny, pursuing him across the sponge carpet of the Garden. Symbols flashed in her mind¡¯s eye, increasing the flow of adrenaline and blood to her legs, boosting her breathing and quieting protesting muscles.

    ¡­Yet she couldn¡¯t close the distance. How was this twerp¡ª

    Oh, yeah, treadmill.

    Allison bent her knees and leapt as hard as she could, sailing a full ten feet into the air.

    The treadmill grass crossed the distance better than Allison ever could, pulling Doc Danny in underneath her. She landed on him with a thud, the ground flexing beneath them.

    Allison flipped the boy under her on his back, finding a mousy haired boy with thick clouds of freckles. He had a fading black eye and a missing tooth. Allison doubted it was a baby one.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± he wailed. ¡°I couldn¡¯t say no! I don¡¯t have powers like you¡ª¡±

    Allison put a finger to Doc¡¯s mouth. ¡°Just tell me: what happens in here when they put the prison in lockdown.¡±

    Doc blinked. Something like hope was born inside him. Or maybe just confusion. He tried to remember the protocols he¡¯d written (dictated) when he was seven. ¡°¡­Chester Fingers calls us all for a surprise movie. Supposed to distract us.¡±

    Allison got off him. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Come on, Comet, get a move on.

    The other inmates gathered around the two.

    ¡°¡­Is he done explaining already?¡± asked Louise. ¡°Seems pretty quick.¡±

    Allison managed a smile. ¡°He¡¯s told me what I need to know.¡±

    The cartoonishly springy sound sounded again over the Garden. Chester Fingers jumped down into their midst.

    ¡°Oh lucky us, kids! It¡¯s time for a surprise viewing of Tom Thumb and¡ª¡±

    Allison nodded at Arnold. ¡°Now!¡±

    The pair struck the most dramatic poses they could:

    ¡°Costume on!¡±

    A white flash.

    The inmates oohed and awed at the sight of Arnold and Allison suddenly in their costumes. Allison though, shuddered.

    Their collars were gone.

    The music swamped Allison like a flood pouring into a canyon. So many songs. Orchestras of songbirds singing in strange, rarified atmospheres. Wind howling over mountains of delicate crystal. Drums like the breath of volcanoes¡­

    An increasingly familiar voice chirped in Allison¡¯s ear, ¡°Yay, you can hear me again!¡±

    Hi, Miri.

    ¡°Oh, thank fuck. It was like being shoved in a footlocker.¡±

    ¡­Hi Alberto.

    Allison grabbed onto as many songs as she could at once. It was hard, carrying them all on her soul¡ªlike trying to keep her toes curled around tightrope in zero gravity¡ªbut it felt so good.

    The colours of her costume ran together until they were pure, gleaming white; except for the faint, flowing rainbows of the Muse¡¯s star on her chest.

    ¡°Wow,¡± said Tom. ¡°You look neat.¡±

    Louise looked at her friend, surprised.

    ¡°Well, she does.¡±

    Allison looked down benignly at Doc Danny. She extended a hand for him. ¡°You did good, Doc.¡±

    Doc took the offered hand cautiously and pulled himself to his feet. ¡°What happens now?¡±

    Allison tapped a finger to his collar. ¡°Let me get that for you¡ª¡±

    A green spark, and the collar vanished. Doc gasped with relief.

    ¡°I¡¯m smart again!¡±

    ¡°Yep¡±

    Allison tapped his neck again. The boy¡¯s eyelids fluttered shut as sleep took him. He dissolved into green light with a thunderclap before he could hit the ground.

    A murmur of confusion snaked through the inmates.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t send him to the sun or something?¡± asked Tom.

    ¡°He was fragile,¡± answered Allison. ¡°I sent him somewhere safe.<sup>3</a></sup>

    Chester Fingers spoke up. ¡°I see you two have misplaced your safety bands. Allow me to give you a big hug while we wait for replacements.¡±

    Chester Fingers¡¯ arms shot out, extending like pythons and coiling around Arnold and Allison, and constricting tightly around their chests. Arnold lit up with lightning, but the arm around him only fuzzed like a bad TV signal. The other children shouted and pulled at the clown¡¯s sleeve, trying to free the boy in the cloak.

    Chester Fingers beamed. ¡°Does someone want a tickle fight?¡±

    Again, his fingers flew from his hand, swooping at the children like greedy magpies.

    ¡°Everyone get back!¡±

    The inmates obeyed, though mostly in a blind attempt to flee the fingers.

    Allison burst into red and purple flames, becoming a white-hot coal at the centre of a hearth. Chester Fingers shimmered as the air broiled, the disruption melting him into a mess of light and force fields<sup>4</a></sup>.

    Allison and Arnold both fell to the ground, breathing heavily.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Allison. ¡°Now¡ª¡±

    The grass slid fast beneath every child, rapidly carrying them away from each other.

    Allison wished she hadn¡¯t evacuated the Doc so fast.

    Arnold lay on his back as the landmarks of the Garden swirled around him. He saw the toilets sailing off in the distance like a lifeboat current in a riptide.

    The floor¡¯s like a sliding puzzle.

    He pointed at the toilet block. Lightning whipped from his fingers:

    A mound of concrete and water exploded from under the middle of the Garden. The grass came to a screeching, grinding halt.

    The children groaned and rubbed various sore spots as they collected themselves in the corners of the Garden they¡¯d stopped in.

    Arnold looked around. ¡°Allie?¡±

    Out of the corner of his eye, Arnold saw his friend fly at the sky: a white star in broad daylight.

    Allison quickly reached the border of the false sky, clawing at it with fingers dressed in diamond skin. Thin fissures of white light spread through the blue, like cracks in a window about to shatter.

    The sky vanished, revealing grey concrete riddled with lights like hundreds of spider-eyes. The ¡°grass¡± was now dull and grey, like a cross between lunar wastes and kitchen sponges. A slide spiraled down from the middle of the ceiling. The whole Garden it turned out was about the size and shape of a high school auditorium.

    Most importantly, there was a large, vaulted door set into the east wall, which Allison was presently smugly alighting in front of.

    Arnold and the inmates ran to meet her, the former darting amongst them and teleporting away their collars all the while.

    ¡°You guys have a choice,¡± Allison said when all were gathered. ¡°You can help me and Arnold mess with the people who locked you up, or we¡¯ll send you to the same place we put Doc. No shame.¡±

    The inmates exchanged looks.

    Tom¡¯s eyes flashed white. It was good to be able to see through little things like two foot reinforced doors again. For the first time in months, he turned wireframe, almost casually strolling through Allison and the door.

    There were very muffled shouts. A few seconds later, the door turned transparent and promptly fell through the floor.

    Tom was standing in a sterile white lobby. A few guards and orderlies were sunk down to their waists in the smooth, polished floors, swearing and struggling.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Tom. ¡°You guys coming?¡±

 Chapter Eighty-Nine: The Harrowing

    Mistress Quickly landed in soft darkness:

    A slide? Who built this place? A kid?

    The shadows shifted with a whir. The chute retracting, Maude guessed. The furry mass clinging to her tightened its grip.

    Maude gave it a pat. ¡°Good boy.¡±

    Sterile white-blue light bloomed under her. She was lying on a raised mattress in the middle of a small dome made of tightly wound cogs and gears. Maude had expected that.

    What she hadn¡¯t expected was for the entire cell floor to be a TV screen. Warden McNoll was sitting behind a black desk in front of a grey brick wall, staring up at the ceiling like Big Brother¡¯s confused cousin.

    That¡¯s considerate, thought Maude. Letting the inmates walk all over your face.

    Warden McNoll¡¯s upper lip bulged as he licked his teeth, clearly trying to remember his line.  After a second, he blurted, ¡°You have been sentenced to this facility for crimes against the Commonwealth of Australia.¡±

    ¡°Technically,¡± Mistress Quickly said aloud, ¡°I wasn¡¯t sentenced at all. Haven¡¯t even had a trial yet¡­¡±

    Well, there were all the absentee ones. Maybe righteous indignation wasn¡¯t her calling.

    ¡°This modular holding environment¡ª¡±

    ¡°This cell, you mean.¡±

    Why was she talking to a recording?

    ¡°¡­Will be your home until you have been deemed fit to reenter decent, human society, or a way is found for you to serve said society.¡±

    ¡°No points for guessing which comes first¡­¡±

    ¡°As a low-powered, low-risk inmate¡ª¡±

    ¡°Piss off!¡±

    ¡°¡­You are entitled by law to one hour of supervised, outdoor exercise each week. This is currently being appealed.¡±

    Offense subsided, Maude wondered if they stitched different bits of video together, or if McNoll had to record a message for every little variation.

    McNoll kept reciting, ¡°You will receive three meals a day, as is also mandated by Australian law.¡± His right eye twitched. ¡°Paid for by us, the taxpayer, because you f¡ª¡±

    The video skipped. Now McNoll was holding his hands together in front of him. ¡°To continue, your prison issued furniture also functions as a toilet¡­¡±

    Definitely the latter.

    The warden droned on about meal times for a while, before the floor turned dark again and the cell was filled with warm, even light. Mistress Quickly was alone, more or less.

    Maude got up from the bed and ran her hand over the walls. Normally, spider threads of inspiration would be binding stray information and spontaneous insights into plans as solid as a finished product. Her fingers would twitch, hungry for materials to work into miracles. With this collar clinging to her throat, though, all Maude could¡¯ve told you about this cell was that it looked like a bird¡¯s nest made out of a clock, the floor talked, and it wasn¡¯t at all dark despite a dearth of light fixtures. For her, it was like looking at a man¡¯s face and not being able to tell if he had a nose.

    So this is what being normal is like. Don¡¯t like it.

    Could be worse, Maude told herself. Despite far too long spent staring at pictures of her brain and batteries of tests besides, Maude couldn¡¯t shake the fear that suppressing her powers would render her¡­ as she¡¯d been. Before she became Mistress Quickly<sup>1</a></sup>.

    Unless it had. Looking around this cell was hardly any different from struggling through Dick and Jane readers at fourteen, trying to make sense of symbols and scratchings everyone else her age had found so self-explanatory. Maude had gone from ¡°slow¡± to ¡°impossible.¡± What did she know about normal?

    To her shame, Maude rushed over to an alcove in the wall housing a dozen, probably heavily vetted volumes. She blindly snatched up a copy of Of Mice and Men and flicked through it:

    She could still read. Good.

    Maude sighed in relief, slid down the wall, and waited. This whole plan was scraping her nerves like a violin bow. So much of it¡ªso much of her future¡ªnow rested on the actions of others. Why had she agreed to it? Loyalty to her people? She was barely on the same continent as most supers, and patriotism was never Maude¡¯s strongest instinct. Concern for the inmates? Maude was no altruist. Besides, the place was full of superheroes. Villains, too; but for all the drinks Mistress Quickly had shared with folks like Jimmy the Bastard or Close Fit<sup>2</a></sup>, supervillainy was no fraternity.

    It was the booty, Maude told herself. So much technology, some of it literally out of this world¡­ but then, Maude had access to the multiverse. If she tried hard enough, she could¡¯ve found a timeline where this facility had already been abandoned.

    Maude found herself remembering the Cuban Crisis. She¡¯d just finished packing her bags for the Miracle Constellation<sup>3</a></sup> when she¡¯d heard the tapping at the window. At thirty-five thousand feet.

    She agreed to help that curly haired bastard before he even offered her anything. God, she was a sucker sometimes. Maybe she hadn¡¯t changed¡­

    After somewhere between forty-five minutes and forty-five years, Billy appeared in his super-suit on the bed, Mistress Quicky¡¯s battle-suit tied around his waist. He was looking at a watch with a cat-shaped face. ¡°It¡¯s time, Miss Quickly!¡±

    Maude shot up. ¡°Oh, thank you more than Christ.¡± She held out her hands. ¡°Toss me the suit.¡±

    She slipped the costume on and pulled the mask down over her face. She nearly started as the communicator built into the neck snapped to life. Then, her own voice started talking through it.

    ¡°Now, Maude,¡± said the recording, its voice loud, slow, and forcibly cheerful. ¡°I know you might be frightened, but I need you to do exactly what I say, alright? There¡¯s people who need your help out there. Now, put your hand into the belt-pocket with the apple sticker on it and say ¡®ballistic spray.¡¯ That¡¯s ¡®bah-lis-tick spray.¡¯ It¡¯ll give you a little spray-can, like bug repellent. Spray it on the kitten-boy¡ª¡±

    She muted the recording.

    ¡°You¡¯re a bitch, Maude,¡± she told herself flatly.

    ¡°Kitten boy?¡±

    ¡°You know it¡¯s apt, kid.¡±

    Maude retrieved the ¡°bah-lis-tick spray¡± and advanced towards Billy. ¡°Alright, costume off for a second, got to bulletproof you.¡±

    Billy crossed his arms. ¡°Do you have to?¡±

    For that, he caught a glob of ballistic foam in the face.

    Maude shook the can. ¡°Billy, you¡¯re a living stuffed animal. They¡¯d burn me at the stake if I let you get shot. Now stop whinging. Everyone should be busy gawking at the SLF, but I give us three minutes before someone glances at our camera. Now, one of us is spraying you, and I know which one we¡¯d both rather that be.¡±

    Billy sighed and took the spray. ¡°Costume off.¡±

    Soon he was covered in a layer of thick grey foam like he¡¯d just gotten out of a concrete bubble bath. ¡°My fur¡¯s all sticky! And it makes my costume squelch!¡±

    ¡°Tough.¡± Maude stuck her hand into another pouch. ¡°Gyges.¡±

    A ring jumped into her hand. She slipped it onto Billy¡¯s clawed finger. The air around him shone and glinted.

    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°I used to get really cross at people for calling it a forcefield ring, because it¡¯s not technically forcefields, but I can¡¯t remember how it¡¯s not right now, so fuck it, it¡¯s a forcefield ring.¡±

    Come to think of it, how did she fit all that into a ring?

    ¡°Then why do I need the spray? And don¡¯t swear!¡±

    ¡°Redundancy!¡± Maude looked around the cell, asking herself, ¡°How do we get out of here? Vapourized time? Forcefield pliers?¡±

    Billy cleared his throat. ¡°Can I try?¡±

    Maude hummed consideringly. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to try roaring in here, are you?¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡±

    ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Billy raised his arms over his head. Silvery mist flowed up from his palms, spreading over the dome walls down to the floor. The mist swelled.

    Billy smiled to himself.

    The dome collapsed into confetti over their heads, letting in blaring klaxons like the world¡¯s worst party-horns.

    Breakout from Juvenile Rehabilitation Area¡­ Breakout from Juvenile Rehabilitation Area.

    Billy clapped his hands over his ears. Mistress Quickly¡¯s HUD highlighted six guards rushing around where the cell had been, word balloons helpfully pointing out their guns. They were shouting dimly beneath the roar of the alarm, taking aim.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Maude hugged Billy to her side. ¡°Hold tight!¡±

    She clicked her heels. The battle-suit¡¯s glider fanned beneath the pair¡¯s feet.

    Maude and Billy shot up above a storming of bullets, speeding over row upon row of clockwork domes towards the exit. Guards shouted and fired wildly up at the pair.

    A bullet winged Billy in the shoulder. His ring-aura wobbed like a second skin of jelly. As did the ballistic foam.

    ¡°Feels funny¡­¡±

    Better than what I usually hear when someone gets shot. Maude glanced up at the cell-block¡¯s ceiling. ¡°24¡± was written across the steel in white block letters. Good. Now they had some idea of where they were.

    Maude shoved her hand into a weapons-pouch.

    ¡°Mirth.¡±

    Five small metal orbs flitted into the supervillain¡¯s hands. She looked down at Billy, still clinging to her thigh. ¡°I suggest you hold your breath, kid.¡±

    Maude tossed the orbs over her shoulder. They struck the floor below and bounced, before exploding into plumes of thick, pink smoke, rapidly spreading across the cell bay and swallowing the guards.

    Wild, pained laughter broke out below the glider. A few aimless gouts of gunfire erupted from the smoke like fleeing fireflies.

    Well, at least the guards are having a good time, Maude thought as they zoomed out of the block.

    They soon reached a bank of four brightly coloured elevators: red, blue, green and yellow.

    Maude groaned. She felt like she was trapped on a game show. Fucking too-clever designers. She tried to remember the code. Red for surface-access and administration, blue for holding areas¡­

    A ghostly little girl poked her head through the yellow doors and looked around, catching sight of Mistress Quickly and Billy. She beamed. ¡°Hi Billy!¡±

    Billy waved. ¡°Hey Miri!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing Allison and Arnold got out alright?¡± asked Maude.

    ¡°Yep! Made some friends, too! One¡¯s pink, another¡¯s the same colour as the Meanie, sounds meaner, but is actually nice, and there¡¯s one girl called¡ª¡±

    Maude snapped her fingers. ¡°Focus, girl.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah, we got out. Allie broke the sky!¡±

    Maude tried to keep her eyes from rolling. ¡°And have you found engineering?¡±

    ¡°The power room? Yep! Just a sec.¡±

    Miri disappeared back into the elevator. The doors opened, revealing Miri floating beside a badly shaved young man in white scrubs vacantly prodding at the ¡°door open¡± button.

    Maude and Billy filed inside the elevator. The former prodded the man in the shoulder. His only response was a slight gurgle in his throat.

    ¡°Did you drug him?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a drug?¡± asked Miri. ¡°Allie just tapped him and now he does what she wants.¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you go inside him?¡± asked Billy.

    Miri frowned. ¡°Boy.¡±

    Maude reminded herself to never let Allison touch her.

    It turned out Mistress Quickly had no more fondness for long elevator rides than the Crimson Comet. Especially not with an imaginary girl and a zombie. She glanced at Miri¡¯s illusionary body. Her midsection trailed off into mist like Casper the Friendly Ghost¡¯s little sister. A concession to modesty? Pure aesthetic?

    ¡°You know,¡± said Maude. ¡°I don¡¯t dabble in biology too much, but I could probably work you up a decent body, especially with the blood I picked up in Maestro-land. Not sure how I¡¯d move you into it right now, but it¡¯d be a start.¡±

    Miri was quiet for some time.

    Billy nodded eagerly. ¡°We could play more! And hug!¡±

    Miri bit her lip. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be lonely?¡±

    Billy tilted his head. ¡°But you¡¯d still have us.¡±

    Miri looked at Maude. ¡°¡­Would I be able to fly?¡±

    Maude shrugged.

    ¡°Probably. The Grand Duchess of the House of Pancakes or whatever could fly through space, but I¡¯m not smart enough to know what I could knock together for you right now.¡±

    The elevator doors opened before Miri could respond.

    Maude had half-expected the reactor room to be bathed in shadow and mood lighting. That was silly. People had to work here. So no, the chamber was flooded with pragmatic, ugly fluorescent light. Not that the rest of the design was as sensible to Maude¡¯s eyes. The roof was held up by angled pillars. Control consoles were arranged in a magician¡¯s circle around a concave pit¡ªall straight lines and edges, beveling down into the floor like a crater carved with a slide rule. Water cascaded down the steps into a bright blue pool at the bottom.

    Technicians in white scrubs wandered around dazed like badly directed film extras. Mixed among them were over a dozen much more alert looking children.

    Allison looked up from where she was crouched at the bottom of the pit. ¡°Hey, you made it!¡±

    An aboriginal boy smiled crookedly at one of the zombified technicians. ¡°Looks like I owe you a fiver.¡±

    The techie groaned.

    ¡°Forget it? Sure!¡± Tom waved up at Billy. ¡°Good to see ya, Bill!¡±

    Billy blinked. ¡°Tom?¡±

    Brit was sitting on top of one of the consoles, swinging her legs. ¡°I¡¯m here too, by the way.¡±

    Billy only had one response to this news. ¡°Yay!¡±

    A little girl ran up to Maude. She was light blond, and surprisingly muscular looking for a child Allison¡¯s age. She put Maude in mind of a more sturdy Miri.

    The girl was hopping in front of her like a puppy begging for treats. ¡°Are you really Mistress Quickly?¡±

    ¡°¡­Should I answer that?¡±

    The girl trilled with excitement, apparently taking that for a yes. ¡°I¡¯m Thunder-Tiger! Huge fan of your work! My mum and dad are in the scene too, ever heard of them?¡±

    ¡°And they are?¡±

    ¡°Armagetcha and Miss-Demeanor!¡±

    Maude decided to be kind. ¡°Oh yeah, them. Real up and comers, them.¡±

    Thunder-Tiger hugged herself and spun in place, grinning.

    Second-generation supervillain. Tragic. Maude reminded herself never to have kids.

    She looked at the water-pit, listened to the soft roar of the water. She had no idea what it did . This could not be tolerated.

    Maude spotted Arnold milling about one of the consoles and pointed at her collar. ¡°Oi, teleporter! Get this thing off me!¡±

    A spark. Air on her neck. Maude looked down into the pool again.

    It screamed.

    Maude laughed and broke out in a run towards the edge of the pit. She jumped, clicking her heels and riding her glider down to Allison at the central pool. ¡°Budge over and let me look!¡±

    Mistress Quickly got on her knees and pushed the little girl aside, peering down into the too-blue water. There was a mass the size of a fat ten year old floating in the centre. Delicate feathers of stained glass as fine as silk radiated from a central jewel, caressing the water with long, gentle strokes.

    It put Maude in mind of a drowning chandelier.

    Allison was lying sideways beside the scientist, trying not to let her offense show. ¡°I think it¡¯s alien. You ever heard of Dr. Smith?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d put money on it,¡± said Maude. She spread her arms. ¡°Do you think a real person would build a reactor room like this?¡±

    ¡°¡­Didn¡¯t you once kill a man with bouncy balls?¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡±

    Maude said, ¡°Argus,¡± and suddenly she could see Allison Kinsey¡¯s deeply strange insides.

    Maude looked up and around the reactor room, sliding-scale sonar peeling away the walls. Tubes ran out from under the glass feather-star, feeding the fluid it soaked in up into the complex before returning it via the cascade.

    Maude whistled. ¡°Wow, the whole place is a giant watermill.¡± She pointed down at the feather-star. ¡°That thing draws energy from the space between spaces, dumps it into the juice it¡¯s swimming in, which is then piped to every cell, lightbulb and coffee maker in this place. Hope you haven¡¯t stuck your finger in there, stuff would probably burn a hole in your stomach.¡±

    Allison frowned. ¡°What do I look like? A baby?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°Can you work with it?

    ¡°Oh, yeah. Shouldn¡¯t take¡ª¡±

    Mistress Quickly spotted movement in the elevator shafts. ¡°Allison, we¡¯re about to have company.¡±

    Allison nodded and rose out of the pit. ¡°Look alive people, baddies coming!¡±

    The three access elevators disgorged twenty armed men out into the reactor room.

    Face red, neck-veins bulging like ropes beneath his skin, the squad leader screamed, ¡°Hit the deck¡ª¡±

    A bright white filament snatched the gun out of his hands, waving it over his head like a bully with a stolen toy.

    ¡°The hell¡ª¡±

    A pink streak raced and weaved through the guards, stripping all of them of their firearms.

    The blur came to a stop a few feet before the men, revealing Andrea clutching a bundle of automatic rifles, a few of the guns spilling from her arms and clattering on the floor.

    ¡°Looking for these?¡±

    It was terribly unfair. Taking a human¡¯s tools was like pulling a wolf¡¯s teeth. What else did they have?

    The guards broke out in a chorus of swearing and shouting, charging towards the girl.

    ¡°You asked for it..¡±

    Andrea¡¯s eyes glowed bright red, along with those of the hissing snakes growing from her scalp.

    The front most men froze mid-run, toppling forwards when the guards behind them smacked into their backs.

    Andrea screwed her eyes shut and proceeded to grow twenty five feet in size. She raised her right foot over the half-paralyzed pile of men. ¡°Say mercy!¡±

    Many out of synch cries of ¡°Mercy!¡±

    Tom golf-clapped. ¡°Nice one, Ann.¡±

    ¡°I try,¡± said Ann.

    Tom called over to Arn, jabbing his thumb at the human pile. ¡°Get these fools out of here.¡±

    Arnold wondered why Tom thought he could give him orders all of a sudden. Probably because he was Tom Long, he decided.

    Languidly, the boy zapped away the guards.

    ¡°I meant to ask,¡± said Allison, rolling gently in the air, ¡°where¡¯ve you been sending the guards?¡±

    Arnold shrugged. ¡°Some place I saw in my atlas. ¡®Phaeacia¡¯ it¡¯s called. It said they liked guests.<sup>4</a></sup>¡±

    Mistress Quickly hadn¡¯t even stopped working during the attempted incursion. From dozens of parts pulled from her belt, she had erected a metal cage like a spider lurking over the reactor pool, ready to devour whatever swum beneath its web.

    Allison floated back down to Mistress Quickly, loudly asking, ¡°How are we going, Maude?¡±

    Thunder-Tiger blinked. ¡°Maude?¡±

    Maude hissed, ¡°Not when I¡¯m in the suit, girl.¡± She cleared her throat. ¡°Nearly done.¡± She shouted. ¡°Hey Billy, ask Blanchey if we¡¯re still connected to his quantum computers! Otherwise this thing is just the world¡¯s most efficient paper shredder! And everything else shredder!¡±

    Billy gulped and spoke into his watch. ¡°You ready, Mr. Blancheflor?¡±

    ¡°Mistress Quickly¡¯s set up and my processors are well on speaking terms, Master St. George.¡±

    Billy gave the thumbs up.

    Maude nodded, pleased. ¡°Alright, all we¡ª¡±

    Klaxons. Again. But a new message:

    This facility will self-destruct in ten minutes. All remaining personnel must make an orderly exit¡­

    There was a second of stunned silence. Then the children started screaming.

    Arnold paced in a tight, frantic circle. ¡°Crap, crap crap¡­¡±

    ¡°My mum and dad are in here!¡± cried Thunder-Tiger. ¡°And¡ªand¡ªme!¡±

    Tom took a lot of very short breaths. ¡°Okay, everyone huddle up, Arnold can¡­¡±

    Allison wondered what everyone was panicking about. Then she remembered she hadn¡¯t gotten around to telling anyone this was a possibility. Precognition could trip you up like that.

    Electric guitar.

    ¡°Everyone shut up!¡± Allison yelled with a touch of Billy¡¯s power. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it!¡±

    Xylophone.

    Allison turned transparent and floated through the ceiling like a ghost finding her way home. Up and up. She passed through a cell containing a white-haired old man, startled from his copy of Brave New World<sup>5</a></sup> by the sight of her. Water tanks and layers of rock. Then a panicking cook up in the guard canteen, much to their mutual horror.

    Finally, Allison found herself in the pastel nightmare of the warden¡¯s office.

    A bullet whizzed through her wireframe body.

    Warden McNoll was standing behind his desk, a smoking Colt.45 shaking in his hands. He looked like his bones were turning to rubber.

    ¡°Stay back!¡± he cried, voice warbling. ¡°I warn ya!¡±

    Allison returned to flesh and smiled. ¡°You¡¯re about to blow me up, who cares?¡±

    The girl started walking towards the Warden.

    He fired his gun again. He might as well not have bothered. Allison saw it coming before he even pulled the trigger. She dodged to the right.

    McNoll fired again. Allison dodged again, laughing.

    Frances screamed as Allison closed in. The girl grabbed his arm and grinned.

    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have worked anyway.¡±

    Allison wrenched the gun down to her forehead. McNoll¡¯s trigger finger jerked involuntarily.

    There was a bang like a whip being cracked. The warden yelped in horror.

    The bullet fell at Allison¡¯s feet, hot and pristine. A patch of her skin the size of a penny glowed with Brit¡¯s own light.

    ¡°See?¡±

    Frances McNoll dropped his gun. Without thinking, he sat down in his chair and pressed a few buttons, with more certainty than he¡¯d ever mustered before.

    He leaned towards his microphone. ¡°Command code #23432. Cancel the self-destruct.¡±

    There was a second of hanging quiet.

    Self-destruct cancelled.

    In the back of her head, Allison felt hundreds of sighs of relief like a cool breeze.

    ¡°You know you didn¡¯t want to die, don¡¯t you?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°It¡¯s what I was supposed to do¡­¡±

    ¡°Sounds dumb.¡±

    ¡°What are you going to do to me?¡± asked McNoll.

    Allison hopped from foot to foot. ¡°Nothing that bad. We haven¡¯t even killed any of your guys.¡±

    ¡°¡­Can I ask you something, girl?¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s what like?¡±

    ¡°That power. Having it inside you.¡±

    Allison considered the question. ¡°Pretty good, if I¡¯m being honest.¡±

    Somewhere, Alberto smiled.

    Allison put her fingers to her temple. Okay Maude, take us away.

    Many floors below, Maude gripped the handle of her trigger device. She¡¯d kept working all through the droning automated countdown, even with muscles as stiff as concrete.

    The metal spider released a bundle of metallic tubes into the reactor fluid, drawing the blue liquid up into itself.

    Beneath her mask, Maude smiled. She still wasn¡¯t sure why she¡¯d signed up for this. But she knew one reason she¡¯d seen it through. These fuckers thought they could build a prison to hold Mistress Quickly. So Mistress Quickly would take their prison.

    She pushed the button.

    And they were gone.

 Chapter Ninety: Full Circle

    Thunder rolled over the desert dunes as the Crimson Comet was thrown down onto the sand.

    The shadow of Garox, King of Saturn, fell over Ralph Rivers.

    ¡°Surrender, Comet!¡± boomed the alien. ¡°The day of good and righteousness is done! Now is our time!¡±

    Ralph rolled his eyes. Laying it on a bit thick, Mabel.

    The superhero rose back to his feet like he bore an iron crucifix on his shoulders, making sure to take in deep, heavy breaths even as he shouted, ¡°Not bloody likely, Garox! My boys won¡¯t buckle!¡±

    Cheering rang throughout the battlefield, intermixed with roars from the Physician drones.

    Ralph resisted the urge to check his watch. They had to have been fighting for at least an hour. The perfect white disc of the sun was starting to slowly climb down across the empty sky, dulling the yellow sands below. Ralph and Garox had already exchanged three monologues about the struggle between good and evil. The SLF was down to less than twenty members.

    One of the guards had managed to wrench the WAR Correspondent¡¯s camera off him, annihilating villains and the landscape behind them with flash after flash like the world¡¯s worst tourist. ¡°You tell ¡®em, Comet!¡±

    The guard¡¯s comrades had formed a circle around the camera¡¯s owner, beating and kicking him the way Ralph¡¯s old bullies used to.

    The Crimson Comet winced. Prison guards and their ilk always made him uneasy. Partly it was things he¡¯d seen in the war, partly suspicion about what drew blokes into that kind of life. There but for the grace of God went he¡­

    A splash of paint smacked into the side of Ralph¡¯s head. His vision shattered into bright glassy shards and reassembled into lurid, fractal kaleidoscopes.

    Jagged acid rock blared in his ears, a slow voice droning, ¡°Throw off your chains, man. Become Adam again, free in the garden¡­¡±

    A shot broke through the psychedelia. Ralph found himself trapped in a gooey metallic headlock by the Thing from Venus. Garox was still stood in front of the superhero, but his gaze was turned in horror towards a tye-dyed hippie lying dead in the sand, rainbow paint leaking from a hole in his forehead.

    Garox glared back at Ralph. ¡°Hyper-Hippie will be avenged.¡±

    Ralph groaned.

    For fuck¡¯s sake, Mabel.

    The Thing from Venus shoved Ralph towards Garox, who knocked down and pinned the superhero under his armoured bulk.

    ¡°This is where your kind belongs, hero! In the dirt!¡±

    The Crimson Comet roared back, ¡°If it¡¯s Aussie dirt, I¡¯ll take it!¡±

    Ralph silently thanked Mabel. He could just lie there and squirm for five minutes if he milked this right.

    Shouts hit Ralph and Garox from all sides. Bullets pinged off the both of them.

    Ralph supposed he should be grateful for the support, though he wondered what the guards would be doing if he weren¡¯t invulnerable.

    He took the opportunity to survey the battlefield. Evolvulon was dead¡ªhis great brain splattered across the sand like burst watermelon. The lady astronaut had been gunned down with nary more than a resigned sigh. A human shipwreck, the mechanical Major Malfunction, lay in a pool of oil, shining like blood in the desert sun as it oozed from the tubes and wires spilling from his open midsection.

    Ralph would¡¯ve thought Mabel needed to see a shrink, if one hadn¡¯t raised her to begin with.

    One of the Physician¡¯s combat drones stomped over and yanked Garox off Ralph, much to his disappointment. He was enjoying the break.

    The drone pulled the villain off his feet up towards his visor and growled, ¡°Surrender!¡±

    The creature¡¯s arms were trembling. Garox knew the answer it was was looking for:

    ¡°Never!¡±

    Garox drove his gauntleted fist into the drone¡¯s chest. Blood erupted around his wrist.

    The drone shuddered, dropping the alien king. He landed on his feet.

    Ralph was getting to his feet, too.

    ¡°Suppose that was a mercy,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°Poor devils.¡±

    There was a noise. Not an uncommon one by any means, but not one often heard. It was the sound of a soap bubble popping, magnified a thousand fold.

    Ralph shut his eyes.

    A wave of wind and sand blasted over the fighters. When Ralph opened his eyes again, men were coughing and clutching at their eyes.

    Finally, one man said, ¡°¡­What happened to the jail?¡±

    The dust and sand settled. In the distance, you could hear the sound of earth and rock tumbling down a new cliff-face.

    Ralph looked towards Circle¡¯s End Supermax. All that lay beyond the security fence was heat-shimmered air.

    He suppressed an urge to hoot.

    They did it. They actually fucking did it.

    All at once, the surviving villains broke out in laughter.

    Garox let out the hoarse cackle of a long-time smoker. ¡°You fell for it! You all bloody fell¡ª¡± He cleared his throat and continued. ¡°Foolish Earth-clingers, your attempts to keep us from our prize were in vain! While you struggled against the weakest of our forces, my allies spirited away your flimsy prison to my fortress on Titan, great moon of Saturn! Now, our program of villainy may truly begin!¡±

    Garox threw his hand to the sky. ¡°Supervillain Liberation Front, away!¡±

    Garox vanished, along with the rest of the SLF, corpses and all.

    ¡°Jesus Christ!¡± a guard shouted. ¡°Fuckers stole the jail!¡±

    ¡°What about the guys we left back there?¡±

    Ralph dusted himself off and shook his head gravely. ¡°Gone too, I¡¯d expect.¡± He raised  ¡°I should¡¯ve known this is what they were planning.¡± He looked around at the guards with counterfeit solemnity. ¡°I brought them to your doorstep. I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault, Comet!¡± someone insisted. ¡°You can¡¯t tell what these freaks have up their sleeves!¡±

    Smooth.

    ¡°What do we do now?¡±

    The Crimson Comet turned away from the crowd and started walking towards the shadow of Circle¡¯s End. ¡°I get back on the trail. You fellas rest up and get word out to the freak-finders.¡± Ralph suppressed a grimace. ¡°It¡¯s all I can ask of you.¡±

    Protests.

    Ralph looked back over his shoulder. ¡°Trust me, you¡¯ve done enough.¡±

    The Crimson Comet became a streak of red-gold light, trailing off towards the horizon, leaving the remaining guards of Circle¡¯s End Supermax behind.

    Questions without answers. Haltering conversations miscarrying in the desert heat. Angry, frightened curses upon all super-kind¡ªwith the rare, unspoken exception of good blokes like the Comet. The hysterical, chemical stillness of the Physician¡¯s sons.

    ¡°¡­Bugger this!¡± shouted one guard.

    His fellows turned towards him in ripples.

    The man glanced around at the other men. ¡°The Crimson Comet¡¯s the only reason we¡¯re not stuck on fucking Jupiter or wherever! And we¡¯re gonna let him chase after these maniacs on his own?¡±

    A rumble of offense like an earthquake.

    ¡°I say we help a mate out! Who¡¯s with me?¡±

    Cheering broke out amongst the crowd. No doubt Ralph would¡¯ve been inspired, if it weren¡¯t so bloody annoying.

    ?

    Mabel leaned back against the tree and shut her drawing book, deeply satisfied.

    She¡¯d done good, Mabel thought. Her and Dad.

    ¡°Did we do it?¡± asked Mrs Allworth.

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Mabel, smiling. ¡°Prison¡¯s all gone. Saw it through like, a dozen sets of eyeballs. Few  robot sensors, same thing really.¡±

    Sarah looked off into the middle distance, blinking at lights that were not there. ¡°Good Lord¡­¡±

    Mabel looked up at the old woman. ¡°You alright, Mrs Allworth?¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Sarah shook herself. ¡°Yes Mabel, I¡¯m fine. I just¡ªI never saw myself stealing a prison. A whole building, like it was a magazine or a bottle of whiskey! I never even took grapes from the grocery store. Seems more like something my Joe would¡¯ve done¡­¡± A chuckle. ¡°I should track down the boy who always tried sneaking chocolates from our store. Show him a real thief.¡± Sarah pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. ¡°Not that I had much to do with it. It was you and Mr. Rivers and Miss Quickly and your friends who pulled this off.¡±

    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t say that. You helped us find Mistress Quickly!¡±

    ¡°That was Blancheflor, if you¡¯ll recall.¡±¡¯

    ¡°But you made him help. We¡¯d probably have had to pick apart his big computer brain if you hadn¡¯t.¡±

    Sarah smiled and patted Mabel¡¯s hand. ¡°Very kind of you to say, child.¡± Mrs Allworth¡¯s face grew stern as she glanced around the derelict mainstreet. ¡°Where¡¯s that boy gotten to?¡±

    Mist spiraled down from the sky in front of the pair, solidifying into David bouncing on his heels¡ªstill in his costume for once. He beamed at Mabel. ¡°That was amazing!¡±

    He ran over and pulled his friend up by her hands, jumping up and down and trilling, ¡°There was explosions and punches and lasers and you beat up so many dumb humans!¡±

    ¡°Hope we get to do it again. Got even more villains drawn up I couldn¡¯t fit in.¡±

    Mrs Allworth frowned. ¡°Never hope for more fighting, Mabel. And where were you during all this, David?¡±

    ¡°Watching Mabel¡¯s baddies, duh!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®duh¡¯ me, boy! You were supposed to be guarding her with me.¡±

    David scoffed. ¡°I coulda exploded anyone who got close.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk like that!¡±

    ¡°But I could!¡± David looked Mabel right in the eye, stating plainly, ¡°You are the most amazing girl I have ever met.¡±

    Mabel grinned. ¡°I know.¡±

    The Crimson Comet came to a skidding stop at the top of the street, bridging the gap between him and the others at a normal run. ¡°Right! Time to go!¡±

    ¡°Did they buy Da¡ªGarox¡¯s story?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°I think so?¡± replied Ralph. He glanced over his shoulder. ¡°Thing is, now they¡¯re following me.¡±

    ¡°What, why?¡± asked David.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t exactly stop to ask them,¡± said Ralph. ¡°I¡¯m guessing they¡¯re like a bunch of lost baby ducks.¡±

    The desert quiet was dissolving. A drumroll of trundling engines and distant shouting.

    ¡°Icarus.¡±

    Ralph¡¯s wings folded onto his back. He hoisted up Mabel in a bridal carrying, making the girl yelp in surprise.

    ¡°How strong are your arms?¡± he asked Mrs Allworth.

    She hummed dubiously. ¡°¡­Strong enough.¡±

    The Crimson Comet thundered across the desert, trampling the ground underfoot with the power of a one-man elephant stampede and throwing up a wall of dust and sand behind him.

    In his arms, Mabel cheered. ¡°Whoo!¡±

    ¡°How are we doing, Mrs Allworth?¡± Ralph asked over the roar of the wind.

    He felt the lady¡¯s arms tighten around his neck.

    ¡°Remembering why I didn¡¯t let Joe take me flying, thanks!¡±

    David flew alongside the human juggernaut, his body phantasmic mist. Looking back, he felt very silly for not realizing how easy it was to fly. Thinking like a human instead of what he was, he guessed.

    Soon, Mistress Quickly¡¯s mobile bunker came into view, rushing towards them as Ralph¡¯s charge picked up speed.

    David warbled, ¡°Hey, wasn¡¯t the door supposed to be open for us?¡±

    Ralph squinted. Maude said the plane would be left ready for them to board. But the stairs were retracted, the cabin door shut.

    The Crimson Comet came to a stop as hard as if he¡¯d hit a wall.

    Sarah¡¯s grip faltered.  ¡°Oof! Bit of warning next time?¡±

    ¡°You can get down now, ma¡¯am,¡± Ralph said evenly.

    Sarah let go. Ralph set Mabel on her feet.

    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± asked the girl.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    Ralph started walking slowly towards the plane.

    A blast of lightning sent the superhero leaping backwards.

    Microphone feedback. A little boy¡¯s voice:

    ¡°Stay back! I¡¯m warning you!¡±

    Ralph shook his head. ¡°What the¡ª¡±

    Mabel groaned. ¡°Allison said they might be putting some kids in the plane. One of them must¡¯ve woken up and started playing with the buttons.¡±

    Ralph looked behind him. Tiny, shadowed men and trucks crawling towards them like growing army ants. He was suddenly reminded that this was a plan thought up by a nine year old.

    ¡°Boy,¡± Mrs Allworth shouted, ¡°we¡¯re not going to hurt you! We¡¯re here to help!¡±

    ¡°Shut up! I¡¯ve been pounced on, knocked, and now you¡¯ve shoved me on some weird plane! Just leave me alone!¡±

    A bullet whistled past the group.

    ¡°Daedalus!¡±

    Ralph pulled Sarah and Mabel into his chest as his wings unfolded. ¡°Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.¡±

    ¡°Language!¡±

    ¡°Not the time, ma¡¯am!¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry,¡± said David, still misty. ¡°I¡¯ll sort him out.¡±

    He flew towards the plane, dispersing till he seemed one with the thin air.

    Ralph grit his teeth. ¡°Any idea what he means by ¡®sort him out¡¯, Mabel?¡±

    ¡°¡­No.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t easy for David to seep into the bunker cabin. The plane was meant to go into space when Mistress Quickly wanted. But nothing is completely airtight.

    He coalesced into ice behind the child plucking away the pilot¡¯s console.

    His molecules vibrated, ¡°Hey, kid.¡±

    The boy swung around and shot at David, blasting away his shoulder with a stolen raygun.

    David glanced at the wound as new water flowed over it and froze. ¡°Not gonna work, mate.¡±

    Doc Danny whimpered. He clutched his gun with both shaking hands and fired again, hitting David in the chest.

    David¡¯s neck cracked and creaked as he looked down at the bevelled hole blown through him. A sigh like wind over ice fields.

    His body melted all at once, the water evaporating before it could hit the ground. The cloud drew up and around Doc Danny, plunging the young super-scientist into David¡¯s cold glass-harp voice:

    ¡°Stop being a git and give us back our plane!¡±

    Doc Danny squeaked, flailing and swiping at the mist.

    Easiest thing would be to kill him. David seriously considered it. Wouldn¡¯t be hard. Just scramble his brains¡­

    That was what Grandfather would do. Without a question. But doing things the granddad way wasn¡¯t making him happy anymore. And Mabel would be mad at him. Right when they were having fun together again¡ª

    Who cared? This kid was putting Mabel in danger. His Mabel. Screw him!

    The mist swirled around Danny faster. Tiny flecks of ice bit at his skin.

    She didn¡¯t have to know. David could liquify his flesh and stash his bones on the plane somewhere. He could tell everyone he teleported away. That was something people did, sometimes¡­

    David felt hot, angry tears leak from Doc Danny¡¯s eyes. The boy screamed, ¡°Piss off! I¡¯m sick of it! I did what everyone told me, because they said I wasn¡¯t a real super! That I should be on their side! Then they say I am a super and throw me in jail to get beat up by the rest of them. Then I try to help them, and they never-never me wherever without asking! What am I supposed to do?¡±

    David¡¯s mist slowed. The ice-shard melted. He condensed into boy-shape again, this time flesh and blood.

    Doc Danny panted, but didn¡¯t raise the gun again.

    ¡°You¡¯re from the prison, right?¡±

    ¡°I just said that!¡±

    David pointed a finger at one of the security monitors hanging above the controls. ¡°Well, the guards are coming to get us.¡±

    Doc Danny swung around to look at the screen. The remnants of the Supermax guards were indeed gaining fast, a phalanx of black trucks ahead of a line of men and drones.

    The boy growled, his freckles bunching together into leopard-spots. ¡°Like hell.¡±

    He stabbed at a few buttons.

    Outside, Ralph Rivers looked up to see a large black projectile arcing from the plane over his head.

    The thing landed a few paces ahead of the guards, before exploding into a baby-blue mushroom cloud.

    Screams echoed over the desert, but not quite of pain.

    David looked over Doc Danny¡¯s shoulder at the last button he pressed.

    ¡°Mozzie gas.¡± He squinted at the other boy. ¡°You hit them with bug-spray?¡±

    Doc Danny grinned sharply. ¡°Nope. It¡¯s gas that itches like mozzie bites.¡±

    David laughed and slapped Danny on the back. ¡°Okay, you¡¯re fun. Mind letting my friends in before the idiots stop scratching their arses?¡±

    ¡°¡­Sure.¡±

    In less than a minute, Ralph, Sarah, and Mabel were clambering up the bunker¡¯s retractable stairs. David and Danny were standing in the middle of the cabin.

    Doc Danny rubbed his arm, eyes turned down towards his feet. ¡°Sorry for locking you out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, we forgive you.¡± Ralph turned his eyes up towards the ceiling. ¡°Auto-pilot, get us to rendezvous alpha, stat!¡±

    An inauthentically placid impression of Maude¡¯s voice said, ¡°Crimson Comet voice-print acknowledged. Please take a seat.¡±

    The antigravity strips under the plane¡¯s wings lit up, buoying up the mobile bunker on a cloud of virtual particles before its jets launched it into the empty sky.

    From a white leather chair next to one of the windows, Mabel watched Circle¡¯s End disappear for the last time. She smiled at the site of the deep, wide pit where the Supermax had been.

    Mabel Henderson was a lot like her father. Today, they were both miners.

    ?

    Circle¡¯s End Supermax did not appear on Titan. Instead, it re-entered real-space amongst vast tree-dotted grass plains near the Northern Territory coast, still bright green from the last wet-reason, the air spiced with the faintest suggestion of sea-salt. Just as Maude Simmons had projected, the whole complex loomed over the landscape like a new Leaning Tower, its formerly buried heights now exposed to the sky.

    Clearing out the guards and staff wasn¡¯t hard. Arnold and his new personal guard rose through the complex, scattering resisters to the winds.

    One of the canteen cooks charged at the teleporter with a ladle, screaming, ¡°You¡¯re not getting¡ª¡±

    A green flash. The man was gone.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you send him?¡± asked Andrea, mentally keeping tally.

    Arnold grunted. ¡°Peru.¡±

    Meanwhile, Allison and Maude came across a long, dark chamber, its walls lined with riveted steel coffins with poison-green windows. Songs radiated from each one¡ªtightly ordered notes of pure rage.

    Drone storage.

    ¡°So, what do we do with them?¡± asked Allison. ¡°They¡¯re sorta people.¡±

    ¡°Dangerous people,¡± elaborated Maude.

    ¡°Still, killing them might be murder, I think?¡±

    Maude nodded. ¡°Not the image we want right now.¡± She made a pinching gesture. ¡°Put a cork in it, I think?¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    They kept Frances McNoll. They had plans for him. Besides, he helped Maude decide who to let out of their cells.

    ¡°Harold Franks, no alias recorded. What¡¯d he do?¡±

    McNoll sighed in his chair. ¡°He resisted confinement at Roberts.¡±

    ¡°Right then.¡± Maude checked Harold¡¯s name on her list. ¡°Vera West, alias Cyclone Sigma.¡±

    ¡°Grand larceny and assaulting a police officer.¡±

    Maude laughed. ¡°Amateur hour.¡± Check. ¡°Name unknown, alias Ixchel. Bit of an outside reference, I respect that, but what about their resume?¡±

    ¡°Building without a permit.¡±

    A scoff.

    ¡°The building was made out of cats.¡±

    ¡°¡­Scratch that.¡±

    Just as she said, Thunder-Tiger¡¯s parents were both there.

    ¡°Mum! Dad!¡±

    The little girl ran into the supervillains¡¯ waiting arms, forming a kind of human sandwich.

    Her father tried to hold back tears by focusing on Billy and Allison watching from the side. ¡°Told ya, Thunder, in company we¡¯re¡­¡±

    His girlfriend let out a choked laugh. ¡°Oh, shut up, John.¡±

    Both Billy and Allison tried not to look directly at the scene. It hurt too much.

    ¡°So,¡± Maude said to her latest release. ¡°You were a superhero?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± answered the thin young man. ¡°The Neon Ghost. Was chasing up leads for a book when I got dunked in some concoction¡­ they don¡¯t have our gear here, do they?¡±

    Maude gave the Ghost a flat look. ¡°We both know they don¡¯t. They¡¯re not that stupid.¡±

    The Ghost sighed like one of his namesakes. ¡°Yeah. I just really liked that trenchcoat¡­¡±

    All in all, they only left ten prisoners in their cells. Soon, everyone who could fly or swallow their fear of heights enough for one of the former to ferry them down was gathered in the shadow of the new tower.

    Tom, surprisingly, didn¡¯t need Allie¡¯s help down. He simply turned transparent and walked down through the air like it was a spiral staircase.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you could do that,¡± Billy commented when he reached the ground.

    ¡°Sure I can,¡± replied Tom. ¡°I¡¯d fall through the floor otherwise.¡±

    Louise jumped down next to the boys and pointed to the sky. ¡°Plane¡¯s coming!¡±

    Mistress Quickly¡¯s mobile bunker descended onto the grass vertically, no runway needed. Ralph Rivers and his companions quickly disembarked and approached the crowd.

    The sight of the Crimson Comet drew cheers from most of the prisoners, quickly silenced by glares from the supervillains amongst them.

    Ralph swallowed. He hoped to God he could sell this to them.

    An older man gently cleaved from the throng of people. Even in his off-white prison coveralls, he carried himself with a patrician stride. The wrinkles of his face and his handlebar moustache gave him the air of a graceful, intellectual walrus.

    Ralph smiled crookedly when he recognized the man. ¡°Close-Cut. I didn¡¯t think we¡¯d be seeing each other again.¡±

    ¡°Nor did I, Comet. The young lady and the children tell me you helped them spirit us away somehow.¡±

    The Crimson Comet nodded. ¡°A bit, yes.¡±

    ¡°Why would you help a prison break? You don¡¯t exactly bat for our team.¡±

    ¡°This place was a concentration camp. I¡¯m a superhero, helping folks is my job. No matter who.¡±

    Close-Cut raised an eyebrow. ¡°Even us criminals?¡±

    ¡°You knocked over a few banks and a fabric store. They¡¯re locking up kids. Who cares?¡±

    The supervillain nodded. ¡°What happens now?¡±

    Ralph took a breath. ¡°We crack open every stinking one of these prisons. Carve out a place where kids like us can be safe. If you and yours want to help.

    Murmurs and distant bird-calls.

    The two men shook hands.

 Chapter Ninety-One: The March of the Superheroes

    Thousands of superheroes besieged the ABC Studios at Gore Hill. Their costumes weren¡¯t much to write home about¡ªfishnet stockings, baby-blanket capes, and grease paint domino masks abounded. As for superpowers, the only way this league would be diverting the course of mighty rivers was if everyone picked up a shovel and started digging.

    That was, in essence, the basic idea.

    The news that Timothy Valour would be bootlicking the Yank witch-hunters on the ABC had travelled down the wire like telepathy. After years of dread, climaxed by two terrorist attacks¡ªthe first alone having completely decapitated the Australian government¡ªthere was no way the Americans could barge in with another draft. Not even a demi-draft. Not when so many of those demis were children.

    That last factor had drawn the attention of Save Our Sons. Australian supers in Vietnam got the Congress for International Cooperation and Disarmament and the Draft Resistance Movement involved. Anything about supers got the Friends of Clark Kent up and rearing. The need to scream at a broken world drew thousands more.

    It was probably one of the Friends who raised the idea of dressing up like superheroes. They probably would¡¯ve told you it was a gesture of solidarity with superhumanity. An un-ignorable reminder of all the good supers had done for mankind.

    True enough, but it was also fun. Sometimes you needed fun.

    The two transmission towers were lighthouses surrounded by a gaudy human sea. Tides of beer-gutted Supermen. Waves of frizzy-haired, sun spotted Wonder Women with mismatched bracelets. Even some bold knockoff Flying Men (and women) in off-white, sweat-darkened lycra. They broke the banks of the carpark and grounds to flood the surrounding suburb. Enterprising children sold lemon cordial from their front lawns.

    And the sea roared:

    ¡°Superman stay home! Superman stay home!¡±

    ¡°Children are not nukes!¡±

    ¡°Draft pints, not supers!¡±

    There were signs, too, of course. A vast forest of them. ¡°REMEMBER THE COMET!¡± ¡°CHILD-SNATCHERS GET THE ROPE!¡± and ¡°YANKS GO HOME!¡± were held aloft in a thousand variations.

    One protestor¡¯s sign was very straightforward:

    ¡°GIVE US BACK OUR SON!¡±

    ¡°The Scarlet Hurricane¡± wore bright red flannel pyjamas with a dark grey apron tied around her neck. Her face was concealed from the forces of evil under a metal cooking pot, with two triangular holes cut out for her eyes.

    Her muffled voice yelled, ¡°No Valour! No Val¡ª¡± She groaned and lowered her sign. ¡°Ah, bugger it.¡±

    Angela Barnes pulled the pot off her head, panting hard. ¡°Lord help me¡­¡±

    Her husband took the pot off his wife. Fred Barnes had chosen to come to the protest in his old dress uniform¡ªin the vain hope someone with sway might see it and feel an ounce of shame¡ª with a green domino mask for that Lone Ranger touch. And so hopefully people wouldn¡¯t throw paint on him. ¡°I told ya the helmet was a stupid idea,¡± he said, shouting to be heard over the chanting crowds.

    Angela brushed a sweat-heavy lock of hair from her eyes. ¡°Oh, be quiet, Fred.¡± Shaking her head, she raised her sign and got back to chanting.

    Mrs Barnes was still shocked Fred of all people suggested this trip.

    ¡°I thought the only communists raised stinks like that,¡± she¡¯d said with a tired half-smile.

    Fred had grunted, ¡°Better a communist than a Nazi.¡±

    Even if Sydney weren¡¯t the wolf¡¯s lair, they needed to get away from Harvey. Away from the furtive gawking of their neighbours. The smug, tittering whispers hidden behind stage-acted sympathy. And the posters. Their son, staring dazed and scared in scratchy monochrome from every wall and noticeboard.

    They could afford the trip, thanks to what Chen Liu had left in their kitchen. Angela knew that boy was a good lad, deep down. Drew and Sophie could mind the shop for them. They had to keep busy somehow, with baby Julia off with friends on some commune, away from the raptor gaze of the freak-finders.

    Angela stabbed at the sky with her sign. ¡°No Valour! No Valour!¡±

    Hours passed like minutes, punctuated by the occasional gulp from a water-bottle and the dimming of the sky. Valour would be in the studio now, prepping for his two-minute hate. His recruitment spiel.

    Angela hoped she never saw it.

    An electric current threaded through the crowd. In a shout like a whisper, a woman in a yellow oilskin and a painted blue motorbike helmet asked Angela, ¡°They take your kid, too?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Mrs Barnes didn¡¯t elaborate. Even in this crowd, she didn¡¯t know what would happen if she admitted to being the mother of the boy who blew up the Prime Minister.

    God help her, she was acting like she was ashamed of Arnold¡­

    ¡°...Fuck ¡®em all,¡± was the woman¡¯s only response.

    ¡°Damn right.¡±

    The two women screamed their rage, along with hundreds of other mothers, fathers, and everyone else who dared love someone different. They bore each other¡¯s grief like the Argo on their shoulders.

    This is what it must¡¯ve been like at Jericho.

    Eventually, a man in a sequined bathrobe and a purple wizard¡¯s hat started handing out rotten eggs and expired fruit.

    Fred Barnes weighed a stinking grapefruit in his hand like it was a grenade.

    The front doors of the studio opened. Timothy Valour was hustled out between two expressionless Nordic giants in midnight suits, examining his shoes with his shoulders hunched in the universal pose of harried public figures scurrying between their dens.

    Produce arced through the air. Most of it splattered against the orange fluro barricades and police sentries that cut a path through the crowd to Valour¡¯s idling helicopter.

    Fred screamed, ¡°You bastard! I¡¯ve killed men like you! Killed them!¡±

    Valour, of course, kept walking.

    ¡°So have I,¡± he muttered.

    Fred Barnes didn¡¯t hear him, though. He was too busy wishing he was more like his youngest son.

    Soon, the helicopter lifted off the ground, the chopping whir of its propeller blades forming an underbeat to the chanted insults of the crowd. Timothy Valour was gone. But the protest kept going. It would take hours for that kind of energy to disperse.

    Angela, just beginning to feel gentle, distant reminders of how long she¡¯d been on her feet, spotted something.

    She grabbed her husband¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Fred, look!¡±

    Angela pointed at a sign a few rows back from them:

    ¡°HOW MANY DIED AT NORTHAM?¡±

    Fred squinted. ¡°You don¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    Angela was already pushing Fred through the crowd. One small grace to being wheelchair-bound at a mass rally was that you could serve as a human snowplow.

    Fred barked, his tree-trunk arms fending the slower moving members of the crowd aside, ¡°Come on people, out of the way! Crippled veteran coming through!¡±

    Someone shouted, ¡°Piss off, baby killer!¡±

    Fred flipped the bird. ¡°Wrong war, sonny!¡±

    In five minutes they reached the sign. It was being waved about by a young, dirty-blond man in a costume a cut above the standards of the rally. Most of the protestors had just splashed some paint on the brightest cast-offs they could find. This boy was decked out in a ruffled peppermint suit, with a powder blue eye-mask and a feathered stockman hat. The lad on his right wasn¡¯t half-bad, either. He wore a black cloak that made Angela break into a sweat just looking at it, his mouth concealed by a kerchief almost the same shade of red as the cowlick that protruded from under his hood.

    The girl next to them, though, she was the real stunner. Her costume was a pink, bedazzled leotard, paired with enormous horn-rimmed glasses. She was hanging off the arm of a crew-cut boy in old work overalls and laughing into his ear. Hopefully about how bloody out of place he looked.

    Angela cleared her throat. ¡°Excuse me.¡±

    The youths paid her no mind.

    Fred let out a commanding shout, ¡°My wife wants to speak to you lot!¡±

    The four teens (and a few more people besides) swivelled towards the Barnes like startled owls.

    The boy in the stockman said, ¡°Jeez, sorry mate. We didn¡¯t hear ya!¡±

    The costumeless one raised a finger. ¡°Ain¡¯t exactly a graveyard around here.¡±

    Mrs Barnes ignored the lip. ¡°I take it you¡¯re from Northam? Back in WA?¡±

    The boy in the cloak pumped his fists in the air. ¡°Hell yeah!¡±

    The other teens exchanged puzzled looks.

    His arms wilted. ¡°Yeah, we are,¡± he said in a much smaller voice.

    Angela continued. ¡°So you¡¯d have lived near the New Human Institute.¡±

    ¡°¡®Lived near it¡¯?¡± said the one in the hat. ¡°Lady, we¡¯ve been there!¡±  He actually started wagging his finger at the Barnes. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, there¡¯s a lot about that place the papers aren¡¯t talking about¡ª¡±

    ¡°Our son was taken there,¡± cut in Angela, evenly.

    ¡°...Oh.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we should find somewhere to sit-down,¡± said the girl in the leotard.

    The Barnes and the Northamites made their way down to the empty lot of dried-out grass and dirt that lay in the studio¡¯s shadow, chosen as a rest spot by the protest. Belinda Waites laid out a beach towel for them to sit on. Face-painted children ran about them while their parents laughed and conversed over cheap sausages in bread.

    Angela tried to ignore them. It had to have been over a year since Arnold had even been in their home. How much longer?

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have a costume, son?¡± Fred asked the lad with the crew-cut.

    Eddie Taylor shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t feel like it.¡±

    Belinda purred into his ear, ¡°You mean you were embarrassed, love.¡±

    Bazza grinned and shook his hat at Eddie. ¡°You mean he¡¯s a total Scrooge.¡±

    Eddie waved his hands like he was shooing away flies. ¡°Look, I¡¯m here, aren¡¯t I?¡± He gestured about at the crowd scattered across the grass. ¡°You don¡¯t see these people dressing up like slopers, do ya?¡±

    Belinda smiled wryly at the Barnes. ¡°As you can see, my fianc¨¦ is a man of great sensitivity.¡±

    Angela noticed a ring flashing on the girl¡¯s finger. She tutted. ¡°Oh, honey, you both are far too young for that.¡±

    Fred glanced at his wife. ¡°It worked for us, didn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Just because we bet it all on black and won doesn¡¯t mean we should go telling kids to do it.¡±

    Eddie curled his lip. ¡°Bit late to tell us now.¡±

    ¡°Technically not¡­¡± said Belinda.

    ¡°So, what could your son do?¡± asked Al, trading one awkward subject for another. ¡°We might¡¯ve met him.¡±

    Fred raised an eyebrow. ¡°Most folks would ask his name, first.¡±

    ¡°Not when we¡¯re talking about the Institute,¡± pointed out Al.

    Fred and Angela looked at each other. A small, tight nod.

    ¡°He¡­ zaps things away,¡± said Fred. ¡°Teleportation, I think they call it.¡±

    ¡°Our son is Arnold Barnes,¡± admitted Angela. ¡°They called him Elsewhere.¡±

    A silence smothered under the chatter of thousands.

    Bazza saw the look on the Barnes¡¯ faces. Like they expected to be spat on.

    He broke into a broad grin. ¡°Yeah, we know him! Great kid!¡±

    ¡°He helped us run some supervillains out of town,¡± said Belinda. ¡°He also ran a lot of our dogs to the Moon, but what can you do?¡±

    Fred smiled. ¡°Was in the papers, that.¡± The smile faltered. ¡°They didn¡¯t mention my boy much¡­¡±

    ¡°Wonder why?¡± said Belinda sourly.

    ¡°Listen,¡± said Fred. ¡°What you¡¯ve read about our Arnold since then¡­ Canberra and Melbourne¡­ you have to understand¡­¡±

    Bazza raised his hand. ¡°Hey man, we heard what went on at that place. If I could do a smidge of what Arn and his mates can do, I¡¯d probably be chucking some big fits, too.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Belinda. ¡°I once painted my sister¡¯s kitten with nail polish because she wouldn¡¯t lend me her jumper. Wasn¡¯t even my size.¡±

    ¡°How about we tell you how we met your son?¡± Bazza offered.

    The story was edited somewhat. Eddie couldn¡¯t bring himself to explain what Melusine had done to him, or how they¡¯d been made to forget about it for months. The Barnes didn¡¯t need that clogging their thoughts as well. Also, Eddie didn¡¯t need Belinda knowing why they¡¯d gone to the Institute in the first place.

    Best not to mention Melusine at all, really.

    Fred was laughing by the end. Angela was trying very hard to keep frowning:

    ¡°I¡¯m going to give that boy such a belting¡­¡±

    ¡°Aww, lighten up woman!¡± said Fred. He shot a glance at the lads. ¡°No harm no foul, right lads?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right, Mrs Barnes,¡± said Eddie. ¡°Should thank Arn, really. I¡¯ll be dining out on this story when I¡¯m a hundred.¡±

    To Eddie¡¯s surprise, he meant it. Funny what time could do memories like that. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Then they explained their adventure with the Frightful Three. Those brief golden days when the Institute was actually a part of Northam.

    The stories were like water in the desert for the Barnes. Something of their son not filtered through hateful headlines.

    ¡°We decided to head over here after school was done,¡± explained Al.

    ¡°Well, Bazza decided. Hard,¡± said Belinda.

    ¡°Everyone was being so bloody phony.¡±

    ¡°Language,¡± Angela cautioned the boy.

    ¡°Well they were! Folks were acting like those kids were devils, when they¡¯d been giving them free ice-creams last Sunday!¡± Bazza folded his arms. ¡°Total rubbish.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Eddie. ¡°I used to think they were goblins too, but least I¡¯d never talked to them.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for telling us about all this,¡± said Angela. ¡°And for coming here. For caring.¡±

    ¡°Least we could do,¡± said Al.

    ¡°No, the least you could do would be nothing. And altogether too many folks are fine with doing noth¡ª¡±

    Thunder cracked the air.

    Everyone glanced instinctively up at the sky. It was summer-barren. Perfect blue.

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Al, ¡°someone¡¯s car backfire?¡±

    Another peal, its echo drowned out by younger thunder. Blast after blast ran into each other. A chorus of cannons.

    Fred Barnes reached towards his wife, his expression drawn. ¡°Reckon it¡¯s gunfire?¡±

    Angela put a steadying hand on her husband¡¯s shoulder. ¡°No, Fred. Listen.¡±

    She remembered the thunder. Their son¡¯s thunder.

    It drowned in thousands of shouting voices.

    Andrea pointed up at the sky. ¡°Is that a bird?¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± said Bazza. ¡°Looks like a plane.¡±

    It was. What looked like a large, brightly painted passenger-jet was circling low above the studio. How¡¯d they missed that?

    There was an all-pervading click. Every radio and stray piece of metal and glass started speaking with a rough, masculine voice.

    ¡°...Jesus, McNoll, you¡¯re free to go¡ªI¡¯m on? Christ¡ªjust send him off somewhere!¡±

    Distant thunder, then a forced cough.

    ¡°Good folk of Sydney. It¡¯s me, the Crimson Comet. I¡¯m back.¡±

    Murmurs crested over the crowd.

    ¡°Holy shit,¡± whispered Fred.

    Bazza slapped his mates on the shoulders excitedly. ¡°My bloody uncle served with him.¡±

    ¡°Not the time for name-dropping, Bazza,¡± said Belinda, not taking her eyes from the studio up the hill.

    None of them could make out anything different up there. Just the crowds wiggling and undulating as one, like colourful ants. A super-organism.

    Angela pointed. ¡°Look!¡±

    Two creatures rose above the protestors. One was an angel in silhouette. The other, a sliver of sunlight shaped like a child.

    The Comet spoke again:

    ¡°You¡¯re all here for your fellow Australians. Your fellow man. And you came in the uniform of my calling. I¡¯m honoured. The people with me are supers. All of them. Tim Valour had them crammed into a pit in the middle of the desert. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d have a dozen and one reasons why: but don¡¯t matter. He threw them in jail for not being like him.  They¡ªwe¡ªjust want a fair go. To be allowed to be. And we¡¯re going to get it, if it¡¯s the last thing we do. But we don¡¯t want to hurt anyone. We¡¯re not here to hold the country at gunpoint. We need your help. They can¡¯t say no if they know you¡¯re with us.

    What do you say, superheroes? Want to come and pay Tim Valour a visit?¡±

    An explosion of cheers. Applause like hungry flame.

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s get going!¡±

    Angela looked at Fred. ¡°He has to be with them. He has to.¡±

    The crowd in front of the studio started to bleed from the carpark, draining and narrowing down the road that made its way down the hill into the streets.

    The Barnes and the Northamites rushed onto the middle of the road, the rest of the grazers on the lot following like a cargo-liner behind a tugboat.

    Eddie picked up the beach towel as they left, shoving it into his fianc¨¦¡¯s arms. ¡°Tie this around my neck.¡±

    Belinda smiled bewilderedly. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Come one, you were the one telling me to get into the spirit!¡±

    Belinda let out a sighing laugh. ¡°Alright, you big kid.¡±

    She quickly and deftly affixed the towel around Eddie¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Call me¡­ the Electrician.¡±

    Belinda pecked him on the cheek. ¡°The conquering hero.¡±

    Marching in front of the protesters were about two hundred men, women, and children in bland coveralls. The girl dressed in the sun flew above. A white-headed snake with scales of every colour

    Leading the procession was the Crimson Comet, new, angular wings outspread. Beside him was an old red haired woman in a black summer dress. She was holding the hand of a brown-skinned boy dressed in water. To that child¡¯s left was a girl dressed in a thousand comic panels, and what appeared to be a humanoid tiger dressed like country-club Robin.

    And then there was the boy at the end. The one in the starry black cloak and the feathered eye-mask.

    If nothing else (and there was so much more) there was no chance of Fred mistaking those eyes. Storm-grey, like his mother.

    God, he looked so much like Angela.

    ¡°...Son?¡±

    The boy in the cloak came to a stop with the rest of his companions. The people behind them tried not to collide with their backs.

    The tiger-boy tapped the one in the cloak on the shoulder, pointing at the legless man and his wife staring at them.

    ¡°They¡ªthose are your parents¡­¡±

    Arnold swallowed. All his dreams and nightmares at once.

    Why here? How here?

    Two words, lost in the storm of the mob.

    There was a flash.

    Arnold stood there in his shorts and t-shirt.

    Bazza waved. ¡°Hey Arn! Good to see you all!¡±

    Arnold broke into a run, leaping at his father¡¯s chest and clinging to the man like a drowning child pulled from the sea.

    ¡°Dad, Mum¡­ I¡­¡±

    The boy trembled.

    ¡°Shhh,¡± his father sighed. ¡°You don¡¯t have to¡­ anything.¡±

    Angela wrapped her arms around her husband and son, leaning down to rest her cheek against Arnold¡¯s head.

    He nestled. ¡°I¡ªI did some bad things.¡±

    Memories of Lawrence lying in his own blood. Kissing David, for some reason.

    Angela¡¯s grip tightened. ¡°Not now.¡±

    Never again, she told the world. Not a prayer but a demand. Never again.

    The sound of small feet against the road. A high, hoarse voice:

    ¡°Mr. and Mrs Barnes?¡±

    The elder Barnes managed to look up from their son. Allison Kinsey was standing in front of them, her costume perfect, gleaming white, blending almost obscenely with her pale skin. Her eyes were burning red.

    Angela couldn¡¯t even begin to question either of those facts. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you two have stuck together, Allie.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a lie, but it would¡¯ve been not too long ago. To Angela¡¯s shame, she¡¯d imagined the girl leading her son astray since Exhibition Hall.

    ¡°My parents, are they here too?¡±

    Fred shook his head gently. ¡°Afraid not, girl.¡±

    The Barnes had invited the Kinseys along. To their shameful relief, they¡¯d said no.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Angela sighed and straightened herself, opening her arms. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Allie. We¡¯ll look after you.¡±

    Allison looked around herself, as though worried her mother and father might suddenly appear. Then she gave Angela a quick, tight hug.

    The crowd from the lot quickly assimilated into the march, taking their place just behind the liberated prisoners from Circle¡¯s End. A few lingered up front to pet and fawn over Billy, who made no attempt to deflect the adoration.

    Belinda scratched the boy behind the ear. ¡°Good God, kid. Do you wash in fabric softener?¡±

    Billy beamed, tail swishing. ¡°All natural, ma¡¯am!¡±

    Bazza even got to shake the Comet¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Never thought I¡¯d meet ya. They say my uncle served with you back in the war.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s your name, son?¡±

    ¡°Bazza Finch.¡±

    The Crimson Comet blinked. ¡°Bazza? As in, ¡®Bartholomew¡¯ Finch?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡±

    The Comet¡¯s smile grew a touch warmer. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve grown.¡±

    ¡°What¡ª¡±

    Bazza suddenly recalled faint, impressionist recollections of a massive fella who¡¯d hung around in the summer sometimes. He felt very dense.

    And so they marched on, pouring out from Gore Hill into the rest of Sydney as a polychrome river. Arnold sat in his dad¡¯s lap as his mum pushed the chair. Probably a good decision. His shoes had gone with his costume. Allison took to the sky again, leading the way like a low-flying Star of Bethlehem.

    She looked back over the human train behind her, taking in the vast soundscape of their songs. She¡¯d never seen so many people in one place, so close together. All there for one thing.

    I made this happen. Me.

    She felt like a grain of sand with the gravity of suns.

    As little houses and corner-stores gave way to tower-blocks and shopping centres, the march came up to a police barricade. Two dozen uniformed officers pointing guns at them from behind metal walls and their own police cars.

    The lead officer barked, ¡°Stay back! Not all of you are bulletproof!¡±

    The Crimson Comet stepped forward. Nobody fired.

    ¡°True,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re not all bulletproof. But I am.¡±

    Slowly, like the beginning of rain, the cops dropped their rifles and pistols.

    Ralph smiled crookedly. ¡°Good choice, mates.¡±

    He looked up at Allison. ¡°Clear us a path?¡±

    Allison cracked her knuckles.

    Green lightning lashed down, banishing the cars and barricades with a boom.

    The police shouted and scattered, only to be engulfed as the march fell upon them. Costumed protestors jeered and slapped the officers on the back as they passed.

    For Ralph, it was as if the ground was shoving blood and adrenaline up through his feet.

    Christ, what if Jan sees this? What if she doesn¡¯t?

    For the first time since he put on that costume again, Ralph Rivers felt like a superhero. He kept walking, right out of the past.

    Cars stopped moving as the march approached, allowing the people to flow around them like water around rocks in the sea. Motorists smacked their dashboards as though that was where the engine lived.

    They should¡¯ve looked up at the plane still flying above the march.

    David tapped the window of a yellow Holden, getting the attention of a curly-haired girl in the backseat. They shared a smile.

    The door-lock hammered down.

    The children both rolled their eyes, before Sarah Allworth pulled David forward.

    ¡°Don¡¯t dawdle.¡±

    To the old lady''s quiet amusement, she saw some folks hopping out of their cars and walking with them.

    Do they even know what this is about? Does it matter?

    She looked up at the sky.

    You proud, son? Are we doing the right thing?

    How could they not be?

    The march turned a corner, slowly, by degrees. Allison spotted the Sydney Harbour Bridge, arching over the boats and blue water like an ornate coat-hanger.

    She sighed even as she smiled. It would¡¯ve been brilliant if they¡¯d gotten to cross the bridge. A great picture in a history book.

    But their target lay on this side of the water.

    ?

    After the attack at Royal Exhibition Hall, the DDHA found itself in need of a new headquarters. Again.

    It¡¯d been slim pickings. Melbourne wasn¡¯t keen to offer them more office-space, and Canberra still bore the faint scent of ash.

    They¡¯d settled on Sydney. It was good enough for everything else. Some bright-spark had even suggested the DDHA take over the Parliament of New South Wales for the duration. Not like anyone was using it. Pretty much every government function since the start of Black Summer had been held over the phone or in discrete hotel conference rooms.

    They¡¯d said no, of course. As far as the state government was concerned, putting the DDHA in another parliament building would be tantamount painting a bullseye on it.

    Then, to Tim¡¯s dull, uncaring surprise, they offered them Kirribilli House.

    It made sense. The house was centralized, set up for communication, and it wasn¡¯t as if Menzies and his wife were using it anymore.

    There were other advantages. The view of the harbour was gorgeous. A security nightmare, as had been pointed out to Tim many times, but gorgeous. Anyone with a boat and a decent rifle could shoot you dead in the back-garden. Not that Tim had been overly concerned: he barely found the time to step outside for fag in the fresh air. Besides, water put him on edge lately. Same reason he had avoided the pool. That and memories one winter old¡­

    Kirribilli House also had creature comforts aplenty, like bedrooms. Went a long way towards making the all-nighters bearable, even if Tim was still sleeping alone. No way he was keeping Val close by. Not after the bombings.

    So yes, in terms of digs, Valour¡¯s life had improved considerably. If only the rest of his circumstances had followed that trend.

    This evening¡ªlike every evening the last week and a half¡ªhe was sitting in the prime minister¡¯s former office, endlessly mulling over the latest clusterfuck with the DOPO attache.

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you Tim, the SLF was a fraud!¡±

    Tim sighed. ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    James Lyman glared at the DDHA chief. It was pretty much the only way he could look at people. While he had much the same indermininate middle-aged greyness as most military-intelligence men of their rank, he lacked that common stocky solidity. In fact, Tim thought he looked like an angry stick insect with curly hair.

    ¡°Think about it, Tim.¡± He also had an unfortunate habit of using names in conversation a touch too often. ¡°These names the guards gave us: ¡®Garox,¡¯ ¡®Hyper-Hippie,¡¯ ¡®Evolvulon.¡¯ Have you ever heard of these guys?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± admitted Tim. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t prove anything. They are more supers alive now than ever. Maybe they¡¯re just¡­ new.¡±

    Valour winced as Lyman spat a wad of nicotine gum into a handkerchief. Couldn¡¯t he smoke like a normal fella? Or at least let them set up a spitoon. It put Tim uncomfortably in mind of consumptives.

    ¡°Not a single familiar name? Unlikely. Supervillains are loners at heart. They don¡¯t band together unless they¡¯re desperate or very impressed with each other. The idea that a bunch of freshmen villains trusting each other enough to pull a stunt like Circle¡¯s End? Just to rescue a bunch of other villains? Ridiculous.¡±

    ¡°But we do have familiar faces,¡± countered Tim. ¡°Allison Kinsey and Arnold Barnes.¡±

    Tim wished he hadn¡¯t mentioned the children. They made him feel like a bastard. An incompetent bastard.

    He added, ¡°Not to mention Mistress Quickly.¡±

    Valour still wondered about that. Had Lawrence¡¯s children already replaced him?

    ¡°That¡¯s an oddity too. Quickly is a definite loner. Also hasn¡¯t been active for a year. As for the children¡­ there¡¯s a certain childishness to the idea, isn¡¯t there? The Supervillain Liberation Front, who want everyone in the world to be supervillains, too. What criminals want more competition?¡±

    Tim had to admit, the attache had a point.

    But he didn¡¯t.

    ¡°You know, that Garox said he was an alien. Maybe they all are? Or most of them, anyway. Would explain why we haven¡¯t heard about him, at least.¡±

    Lyman scoffed. ¡°Tim, do you know how unlikely it is that the rest of the Solar System hosts intelligent life?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s the Gatehouse.¡±

    The attache leaned over the desk. ¡°Yes there is the Gatehouse, Tim. Don¡¯t you think they would have told us if there was an alien king running around?¡±

    ¡°The Gatehouse doesn¡¯t tell us much of anything.¡± Tim resisted the urge to remind James of their mutual Physicians. ¡°Besides, where does the Crimson Comet fit into this?¡±

    ¡°Simple. He was in on it.¡±

    Tim clenched his fists behind the desk. He supposed he couldn¡¯t blame Lyman for paranoia. Reaping and sowing it was his job. The man had been with the OSS back in the war. All blowup tanks and forged intel left on dead men in the sea. These days, they said he had dead Viet Cong drained and strung up near encampments like vampire victims. Brilliant, stupid schemes were what he was wired for.

    But he didn¡¯t know Ralph Rivers. Hadn¡¯t had his life saved by him more than he had fingers.

    ¡°The Crimson Comet is solid, Lyman.¡±

    But then, Valour had known Herbert, too.

    Lyman shrugged. ¡°We thought Penderghast was solid.¡± Maybe not solid enough for some of the more¡­ domestic uses for a sorcerer, but solid. ¡°Nobody knows where the hell he¡¯s been. And at the end of the day, Tim, the Crimson Comet is a super.¡±

    That was one thing Valour had to say for the attache. He didn¡¯t call them bloody ¡®sorcerers.¡¯

    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly plausible he¡¯d side with other supers¡±

    He was right, Tim realized. Why would he expect Ralph to be alright with a boot on his lot¡¯s necks? Why did he still think he was the good guy?

    There was a dull, rising roar.

    For some reason, Lyman sniffed. ¡°Is it raining or something?¡±

    Valour¡¯s secretary swung the office door open. She looked breathless:

    ¡°Sir, there¡¯s something you should¡ª¡±

    Windchimes. The walls became transparent. Every single one in Kirribilli House. Electrical wires and telephone cables lay suspended in glassy brick and plaster, as if Henry Gray had gone into architecture.

    Everyone in the office looked through the walls at the front courtyard. It was crowded with a mix of people in white coveralls and knocked together pantomime costumes. Knocked together, that was, except the man with the metal wings and the children clustered around them.

    Valour of course, recognized them all.

    ¡°Shit,¡± said Lyman, surprisingly evenly.

    Tim staggered and gripped his desk for support as three voices sounded as one in his head:

    ¡°Timothy Valour. Come out and speak to us. Alone.¡±

    Before Valour could take a breath, a lone voice spoke. Allison Kinsey¡¯s:

    ¡°Oh, and Mr. Thumps.¡±

    Timothy collected himself. ¡°Right. Had to happen eventually.¡±

    Against Lyman¡¯s advice, Tim and his manservant left the see-through house to face the mob. The sight of him inspired the crowd to launch into another round of ¡°No Valour!¡±

    He ignored the jeers and shouts, looking darkly at the Crimson Comet. ¡°Hello Ralph. You could¡¯ve called ahead.¡±

    Ralph made a pained expression. ¡°Jesus, Tim. Secret identity, mate.¡±

    ¡°You know just how many Ralphs I know?¡± He looked at Allison standing next to the superhero.

    ¡°Who¡¯s in charge in there? Alberto back for another round?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± said Allison. ¡°But he is laughing right now.¡±

    Without any prompting, Mr. Thumps walked over to the little girl. Gently taking her hand, he said, ¡°Miss Kinsey, what I did to you at the Exhibition Hall¡­¡± He lowered his mask of a face. It was the closest thing to an expression that came to him. ¡°Please forgive me. I couldn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°It wasn¡¯t your fault, Thumps. Besides, you saved my life.¡±

    ¡°I did?¡±

    ¡°Sorta. Whatever you did, it was just as good.¡±

    Allison watched the lights behind Thumps¡¯ face grow lilac with relief. She wondered if he could tag along when it was all sorted out.

    Valour was eyeing the ex-prisoners warily. The fact many of them were eyeing him back hungrily didn¡¯t reassure him.

    He looked back at Ralph. ¡°You do know half these people are criminals, right?¡±

    Ralph nodded. ¡°What does it matter? It¡¯s illegal for them to walk around in the light right now. I¡¯m a superhero, Tim not a policeman. Me and the law are only on nodding terms.¡±

    Valour pointed a little desperately at Arnold Barnes, still sitting in his father¡¯s lap. ¡°He¡¯s killed a man, you know. And he¡¯s not the only one!¡±

    Arnold went pale. His father wrapped his arms around him.

    ¡°We both know what Lawrence did to them, Valour.¡±

    Tim exhaled. What was the point? There were thousands at his gates. Hundreds of them high-supers. They were seconds away from a riot. A superpowered riot.

    He caught sight of the painted plane hovering above Kirribilli House. He recognized it from some briefings. Probably not a good sign either.

    This was a surrender.

    ¡°What do they want?¡±

    Why was he still talking like Ralph wasn¡¯t one of them?

    Ralph jabbed a thumb towards David and Mrs Allworth. ¡°Well, Davey here still wants you to explode. But we talked him out of it.¡±

    Valour caught sight of David glaring at him with his moon-sea eyes.

    Fair cop, I suppose.

    The Comet laid a hand on Allison¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Might want to ask this one here. She got the ball rolling.¡±

    ¡°Alright then. What are your demands?¡±

    Allison remembered something from the Bible. Well, something in a film, from the Bible.

    She stepped forward and grinned, spreading her arms. ¡°Let my people go.¡±

    It was nearly impossible for a hush to fall over a crowd of that size and energy, but for Valour, its roar did grow more distant.

    He took a breath. ¡°I see.¡±

    He turned and started back towards Kirribilli House. He looked over his shoulder. ¡°Well, are you going to come and witness this? Ensure compliance?¡±

    Ralph and Allison shared a look, but soon followed the DDHA chief.

    One advantage to Kirribilli House¡¯s sudden translucency was that at least nobody was surprised when Valour walked in with the Crimson Comet and a very small wanted terrorist.

    Staff members shouted questions. Tim ignored them.

    James Lyman tried to block his path. ¡°Valour! The hell are you doing? We do not negotiate with terrorists!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not negotiating, I¡¯m capitulating.¡±

    There was an odd freedom to it. He had no choice but to do the right thing. No compromises or politicking. If he didn¡¯t free these people, Sydney would probably be on fire by nightfall.

    And nobody remembered the Pharaoh fondly.

    He found his secretary.

    ¡°Marie, I want you to get on the phone, and get the word out. Emergency order: every demi-human asylum and containment facility is to be abandoned, effective immediately.¡±

    ¡°But sir, what about¡ª¡±

    Marie¡¯s eyes darted to the Crimson Comet and the pale girl.

    ¡°The inmates are to be left alone. Completely alone.¡±

    ¡°...Okay.¡±

    Allison and Ralph Rivers watched as the young woman made the call; as mechanically as the computers that would one day replace many of her kind.

    Marie lay the phone down on its receiver. ¡°It¡¯ll take a couple of hours for everyone to get the message¡­ I think.¡±

    She winced like she expected the Comet to strike her.

    Instead, he gave the woman a small salute. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Marie nodded and smiled queasily.

    Valour pulled a dotted map of Australia down from a chalkboard, rolling it up and handing it to Allison. It was half a head taller than her.

    ¡°They¡¯re all marked on there.¡±

    Soon Ralph and Allison were out the front doors again, the latter amusing herself by waving the map behind her like a cape.

    Valour followed close behind.

    ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± he told the crowd. ¡°Go get your people.¡±

    Arnold was back on his feet and in costume. Work clothes. ¡°Alright people!¡± he said, voice amplified by a small metallic patch on his throat. ¡°Orderly lines!¡±

    It took him and Allison a little under ten minutes to whisk away all the supers. All that was left were themselves and the Barnes.

    ¡°You sure you¡¯re fine with this?¡± Arnold asked.

    ¡°We trust you, son,¡± said Angela, laying across her husband with her arms around his neck.

    Fred nodded vigorously. ¡°Been wanting to try this for ages!¡±

    Arnold smiled and pointed. ¡°Three¡­ two¡­¡±

    Angela looked back out at the crowd. ¡°God bless you all.¡±

    ¡°One!¡±

    Lightning lashed, sending Fred and Angela away.

    Arnold and Allison took each other¡¯s hands.

    ¡°Want to come with us?¡± Allison asked Mr. Thumps.

    The drone shook his head with slow graveness. ¡°I have to look after Mr. Valour and Val.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Hope you can visit sometime.¡±

    ¡°This isn¡¯t the end, you know,¡± said Tim. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you¡¯re not making peace here. You¡¯re just robbing us.¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± said Allison. ¡°Still, better than where we were.¡±

    The children turned to face the part-time superheroes of Sydney. They waved with their free hands.

    ¡°Bye!¡±

    A lime brightness, and the supers were all gone.

    Tim regarded the costumed tide of people lapping at the courtyard.

    ¡°Well, what are you still here for?¡±

    Timothy Valour still slept alone that night. But at least he slept easy. His PSA was never reaired. It was made for a different world.

    ?

    Allison Kinsey stood at the gates of McClare¡¯s Demi-Human Asylum, her people at her back and standing before her, their collective songs colliding together like two stormfronts.

    The asylum inmates were shouting for release. As Allison remembered, most of them were children. The sun had set and taken the last dregs of daylight with it, but she glowed like the daughter of the moon and sun.

    She called behind her, ¡°I¡¯m taking requests for this one.¡±

    ¡°I can turn metal to sugar!¡±

    ¡°I can turn gravity off!¡±

    The man they called Fo-Fum (still walking with a cane and a limp) shouted, ¡°Use my power, kid! You get to be a giant!¡±

    That sounded fun.

    Bassoon.

    Allison¡¯s presence expanded beyond the borders of her body. She clenched fists the size of cars. She could see herself standing twenty feet below her.

    The metal walls and gates wrenched themselves out of the ground, hurtling far into the night.

    The two crowds merged, before falling upon the asylum in a storm of exultant destruction.

    The supers spent hours tearing that place apart. All throughout, Allison wondered what she would call her town.

 Blair and Linda Meet the New England Warlock

    It wasn¡¯t flying that told Howard Penderghast he was dreaming. That was nothing new. It was that he was ten years old again.

    The skin of his childish hands was pale white, and the locks of hair lurking at the edges of his vision were blond¡ªalmost silver in the moonlight. That would have struck him as strange, but right then, the details of his waking life were as relevant as the womb.

    The night sky was a mirror for the black sea below. The only way you could tell up from down were the stars flashing and glinting like chips of ice set into the boundless dark. He speared into a broken rosary of moon-pearled clouds, exploding out the other side in a burst of laughter.

    This wasn¡¯t the flight he knew. Howard had mastered five different flavours of flight by the age of thirteen. But those were all negotiations with reality. Bargains with the four winds to hold him aloft, complicated refractions of gravity, or tricking the world into thinking wings had sprouted from his shoulders. This was effortless. Innate. Birds laboured harder to stay in the sky.

    This was no spell. He simply went where he wanted.

    The slow night-thoughts of great whales echoed up from the ocean depths. When Howard (was that his name? It didn¡¯t sound right) looked down, he could see the dim neutrino glimmer of the Earth¡¯s core beneath the waves, nearly lost against the glaring concentric glow of the sun.

    For the star-god called Joseph Allworth, the old wives¡¯ tale was true: the sun did rest under the Earth at night.

    Wispy memory haunted him. He¡¯d spent days working miracles under the cold, heavy sea; not with sorcery, but with his bare hands. But he was heading home now.

    He¡¯d left in a ugly mood, riding anger that now seemed both alien and foolish. He hoped his mother and father weren¡¯t worrying about him. They shouldn¡¯t. Nothing on this little planet could hurt him.

    (A distant, bitter heat).

    The thin, shadowed coast of British Columbia rose over the horizon like a swelling wave, dotted with town-lights like campfires of old. Within a few seconds, he was floating above the fishing town of Neptune¡¯s Chest.

    He could see the Allworth house standing bright and lonely at the ragged edge of town. Good, his parents were still awake.

    As he flew towards the house, Howard felt himself slide out of synch with his dream-self. Dread strangled his veins like vines.

    Not now! Stay away!

    The foreign mind layered over Howard¡¯s own paid him no heed. He landed softly on the house¡¯s doorstep, knocking at the door.

    No answer. He frowned. Two panicked constellations moving about behind the oak-wood and frosted glass.

    Leave them alone!

    Why was he knocking on his own front door? He opened it and stepped inside, heading automatically towards the kitchen¡ª

    ¡°Um, Mom, Dad, I¡¯m home.¡±

    ¡°Joe! Don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    His parents were in the kitchen, standing over a young man sprawled beneath an old family picture hanging on the wall. His eyes bulged in his skull. His lungs lay still in his chest.

    His father stared at him, tears running down his narrow face. ¡°I¡ªI didn¡¯t mean¡ªhe was going to hurt you, son¡­¡±

    He looked into the old man¡¯s mind. He saw Christopher Barbieri¡¯s face go purple and his eyes lose sight.

    Joseph stared. ¡°¡­He was harmless.¡±

    ¡°Son, I just¡ª¡±

    Joe Allworth turned and ran back towards the door, pushing it down and taking off into the night again.

    As he rose into the sky, he heard his father calling:

    ¡°Joe! Joe!¡±

    The boy didn¡¯t look back, didn¡¯t¡ª

    The night fled. The sun rushed up from beneath the earth, blooming around him. Burning him.

    He clenched his eyes shut. The light did not dim. He tried to scream, but the world screamed louder.

    The light went out, banished by black fire.

    Howard Penderghast woke with a scream, trembling under his bedsheets with half-remembered pain.

    Howard sat up and breathed rhythmically, blinking away the last shreds of sleep until he was sure he was awake. He was in his childhood bedroom at Penderghast House, grudgingly refurbished by his mother in concession to thirty-four birthdays. Morning twilight melted against his window curtains, carving a slice of dusty green carpet out of the gloom. The black fire had not followed him.

    Pendergast swung his legs over the bed. He shuddered when his bare feet touched the carpet. It was like the floor was wrapping fingers around his ankles.

    It would pass. It always did.

    He stepped out onto his room¡¯s balcony, hoping the winter wind would carry away the last cobwebs of dream. The small but rambling Penderghast estate was hidden under a shell of snow, glimmering like powdered diamonds in the brightening morning sun. He could already smell wood smoke pouring from the kitchen chimneys. His father would be taking his breakfast now. The Boston Globe would be screaming about rising tensions between the two Berlins, while The International Magi<sup>1</a></sup> would be covering the panicked flight of witch-clans to Meinong¡¯s Jungle<sup>2</a></sup> and the Super-Sargasso Sea<sup>3</a></sup>.

    Howard hadn¡¯t seen snow with his own eyes in two years. South Vietnam didn¡¯t have a true winter season. Australia claimed it did, but what did they know? Now it felt as foreign to him as fields of steel flowers. Even the elms and sycamores he¡¯d climbed as a boy looked wrong¡ªso scattered and barren-branched.

    Maybe it was guilt. The men he¡¯d served with couldn¡¯t run home to their fathers when their consciences tugged at them.

    Howard stood out there for some time, gazing out over the smothered front lawns like a dead marscape. Even without a shirt on, the cold didn¡¯t trouble him. You got used to it when you regularly toured Hell. And he still preferred it to the black fire.

    The dreams bred and multiplied with each passing week. Sometimes Howard found himself falling from the stars encased in warm, wet darkness; sometimes he was chasing a young sea-god through the barrels of waves. It was a new experience for the warlock, being pulled helplessly through scenarios. Like most witches, Howard was a lucid dreamer. What was sorcery, but grabbing the reigns of the waking dream?

    They weren¡¯t always terrible. Sometimes they were exultant. He¡¯d swim through the storms of Jupiter or lie with the queen of the stars. But they always ended with the black fire.

    A dagger-sharp bittern took off from a tree-branch, sending a snowdrift thumping to the ground and making time start moving again.

    Penderghast sighed icily. If he was going to get a good¡¯s night sleep¡ªif anyone was¡ªhe had to find the Flying Man.

    They¡¯d said he was dead, but Penderghast could work with that.

    ?

    It had been fully two months since Blair Wilder had first awoken to find that strange girl jumping on his bed. Had anyone asked him, he would have told them she¡¯d been there forever. Such is time for a child. The important part was that she was there. Linda. Just ¡°Linda¡±. Every night. Only occasionally jumping on his bed.

    Blair thought she was rather silly.

    ¡°I wanna bikkie.¡±

    ¡°Get down from the roof<sup>4</a></sup> first. You¡¯re getting mud on it.¡±

    The naked girl with the dark sea-anemone hair scowled down at Blair with her jasper eyes, skin softly glowing with uncanny lemon light.

    ¡°No!¡±

    Her voice echoed.

    Blair quirked his shoulders. ¡°Okay. My bikkie, then.¡±

    ¡°You said we were sharing!¡±

    Blair made a show of tearing the packet of Monte Carlos open and stuffing one in his mouth. ¡°I can¡¯t share if you¡¯re on the roof,¡± he said with his mouth full, crumbs spilling down his pyjama tops.

    Blair had always been mature for his five and a half years of age. Maybe that was the power Linda kept insisting that he had.

    ¡°So what is it?¡± he would ask.

    ¡°Laser breath,¡± she¡¯d reply. Or ¡°Vampire eyes,¡± or ¡°Magic thumbs.¡± Or even, in her most honest moments, ¡°I dunno. I just can¡¯t read your mind. It¡¯s weird.¡±

    ¡°Most people can¡¯t read my mind,¡± he would whine. ¡°That¡¯s not special.¡±

    ¡°But I can read everyone¡¯s mind,¡± she¡¯d insist.

    That seemed like a rubbish power to Blair. Might as well not have a brain.

    He gulped down the biscuit. ¡°S¡¯too bad. They¡¯re crunchy.¡±

    Linda stomped her foot against the ceiling, sending a shockwave of spider-cracks through the rough plaster.

    She looked bashfully at the sole of her foot. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    Blair giggled. ¡°Just fix my roof and you can get a bikkie.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    Linda folded her arms and huffed in surrender. Patches of air puckered and oozed like diseased skin. Flickering, ephemeral tendrils tore their way through into reality with a sound like slimy wind. They licked at the cracks in the ceiling, leaving them smooth as they slithered back out of the world.

    ¡°Wow¡­¡± Blair intoned like a Gregorian chant. ¡°How do you do that?¡±

    The girl dropped down onto Blair¡¯s bed, landing on her feet and cramming a Monte Carlo into her face. ¡°I eat the cracks,¡± she answered, spraying her friend with wet biscuit debris.

    Like most answers Linda gave Blair, it didn¡¯t explain much. That was okay. Linda wasn¡¯t for explaining. She was for¡­ something else that Blair couldn¡¯t name.

    They sat there companionably for some time, Linda bouncing lightly on Blair¡¯s mattress while she rambled about the adventures that constituted her day:

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ve almost got enough pillows to finish my fort on that mountain. You know, the really big one silly people keep trying to climb?¡±

    ¡°¡­And then the shark swallowed me!¡±

    ¡°¡­The Moon-People were all grumpy!¡±

    ¡°And then what happened?¡±

    Blair loved Linda¡¯s stories. They made him jealous beyond belief, but it was satisfying sort of jealousy.

    Linda glanced around the boy¡¯s bedroom. She still found it strange having a whole four walls and ceiling for sleeping in. Usually she found a nice patch of tall grass or a nice iceberg when sleep struck her.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go out and play!¡±

    Blair tilted his head. ¡°¡­But it¡¯s nighttime. I¡¯m supposed to be in bed.¡±

    Linda hummed. A thin tendri-hairl waved thoughtfully between her shoulder-blades. For some reason, Blair was very keen on doing what the big people who¡¯d made him said. It was funny. Annoying, but funny.

    ¡°Well,¡± she said, ¡°we could go where it isn¡¯t nighttime.¡±

    Blair gave his friend a sideways glance. ¡°¡­It¡¯s nighttime, Linda. It¡¯s everywhere.¡±

    Linda shook her head. Sometimes she didn¡¯t know what to make of this boy. It was like he¡¯d never even left this hemisphere. ¡°No it¡¯s not! It¡¯s daytime in¡­¡± She tried to figure out a place her friend would know. Talking to people without being able to see their thoughts was hard.

    ¡°¡­Neverland?¡± Blair supplied.

    ¡°No¡­ America!¡±

    Blair tried to comprehend the idea. Did night just¡­ stop somewhere? Was there a place where the sky was half stars and half sunshine? If there was, Linda would probably know it. She¡¯d been everywhere. She¡¯d brought him a diamond the size of a tangerine<sup>5</a></sup> and toys from China<sup>6</a></sup>.  She¡¯d even seen the Beatles on tour. Got their photo took with them and everything<sup>7</a></sup>.

    On the other hand, she also didn¡¯t understand why cars existed.

    ¡°¡­Prove it.¡±

    Linda pursed her lips primly, nodding slowly. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, getting to her feet. She walked extravagantly towards the black open window, stopping at the edge of the bed. ¡°But you have to come with me to know for sure.¡±

    Blair fretted his duvet. If his mum and dad saw he was out of bed, he¡¯d be in biggest trouble. But then, his mother once walked through the lounge room while Linda was watching TV, naked as usual and holding a bowl of biscuits and a bottle of Coke in a tentacle each, and all she¡¯d said was that she hadn¡¯t seen the cat that day. ¡°Noticing¡± didn¡¯t seem to be a thing that happened around Linda. Plus, Blair won out either way if he went with Linda. If he was right, he knew something Linda didn¡¯t.

    If he was wrong, he¡¯d get to see something amazing.

    The boy scrambled out from under his sheets. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, standing up as tall as his three and a half feet would allow. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Linda turned around with a big grin, revealing her slightly needle-like teeth. Her hands fluttered against each other. ¡°Yay!¡±

    ¡°How are you gonna take me with you? You gonna give me a piggy-back or¡­ wrap me up in your octopus arms?¡±

    Blair wasn¡¯t sure which he¡¯d prefer. Both ideas sounded weird, but both also had an odd appeal¡­

    ¡°Nah.¡± Linda extended a clawed hand. ¡°Just hold my hand!¡±

    Blair took it. ¡°What now?¡±

    Linda kept grinning. Something warm and charged flowed from her hand into Blair.

    Then it went up.

    The pair floated two inches above Blair¡¯s bed.

    ¡°Ahh!¡± Blair flexed and thrashed in amazement. He was flying. Like Linda could.

    Her hand tightened around his. ¡°Hold on!¡±

    They shot out of the window up into the sky.

    Blair screamed in pure, joyous terror. He didn¡¯t feel the lash of the wind or the gnaw of the cold. He didn¡¯t even realize those were concerns.

    Linda spun the pair of them. Her, the stars, and the moon-glinted waves below swirled together around Blair.

    The journey took about an hour, but adrenaline burned it down to a few minutes in Blair¡¯s mind. The black water caught fire like oil as the sun crept up over the horizon.

    ¡°Okay,¡± Blair shouted, ¡°you were right!¡±

    ¡°Told ya!¡±

    The ocean under them gave way to coastline. They passed over cities and forests, rivers and mountains.

    ¡°So this is America?¡± Blair asked.

    ¡°Yup!¡±

    ¡°I thought it¡¯d¡­ smell different.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t?¡±

    Blair answered with another question. ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    Linda pointed towards the ground. ¡°My swimming pool!¡±

    A bright aquamarine eye looked up at the children from rich scrubland. A creek trailed from it like the tears of a great, green giant.

    ¡°Pretty,¡± said Blair.

    Linda hugged the boy close. Tendrils burst from her side and wrapped snugly around him.

    ¡°Going down!¡±

    They descended slowly into the eye. It was a flooded cave mouth. Trees clung game to its upper-lip, the creek rushing over the edge to form a fifty foot curtain of white foam. The water was opaline. Coss coated the roof like the entrance to a vibrant, spring underworld.

    The children stood at the shore of the pool, a wall of trees and bushes against their back.

    Blair was staring. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful¡­¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    Linda¡¯s lightly tanned skin turned dark and chitinous. Her hair become a writhing nest of thin, boneless fingers, tasting and stroking the air around her head.

    Blair smiled. It¡¯d taken days for Linda to look like that in front of him the first time. She said she didn¡¯t want to scare him.

    He still wasn¡¯t.

    His friend ran splashing into the water, calling over her shoulder, ¡°You gonna swim, Blair?¡±

    ¡°Heck yeah!¡±

    Blair pulled off his pyjamas. Those were for nighttime.

    The pair spent hours swimming<sup>8</a></sup>. They took turns playing shark, trying to pull each other under the water. Despite the obvious advantage of tentacles and¡­ everything else, sometimes Linda even let Blair win. They built sandcastles and tried to stay standing under the waterfall. In other words, Linda took a shower, and Blair got knocked on his back.

    He was never going to sleep again. Not if there was stuff like this out there. Not with Linda.

    Eventually, though, he spotted something on the sand.

    ¡°Linda, was that door there when we got there?¡±

    Linda glanced towards the sand. There was a blackwood door with a silver handle and a Celtic Green Man knocker, standing alone.

    ¡°Um, no¡­¡±

    The door flung open of its own accord. The children glimpsed a brick path trailing into wide, arcadian vistas. A man was walking with brisk stiffness towards them¡­

    Howard Penderghast slipped hastily through the door. He¡¯d almost shut it behind him when a slender, green-gloved arm got between the door and its frame.

    A voice like gold on silver trilled, ¡°Oh, Howard, you must stay longer when you visit¡­¡±

    Penderghast imitated a flattered chuckle. ¡°Yes, yes, Lady Nettles. Next time, I promise.¡±

    Luckily for the warlock, Lady Nettles withdrew her arm. He slammed the door shut with his back.

    Penderghast let out a sigh. Show him for taking a shortcut through the Land of Youth and Summer.

    Howard hadn¡¯t expected finding the Flying Man would be easy. He¡¯d tried before, when he was still with the army. The bastard circled the globe and criss-crossed continents on a daily basis. He left etheric traces like cobwebs across the planet.

    Oh, so we¡¯re out of the army now. Finally admitting it, eh Ward?

    Howard hated it when his inner monologue talked like his father.

    Then he¡¯d tried again, filled with new purpose.

    According to his best scrying crystals, the Flying Man was there in his study. He was also outside on the grounds. And the capital of Brazil. In fact, it appeared the Flying Man was simultaneously occupying every point of space between Earth and the Moon. Whatever that nuke did to the Flying Man, it had spread his essence across the entire planet.

    Howard had almost given up when his sister¡ªthe wild talent of the family, whatever their parents thought¡ªmanaged to pin-point a bright point of new energy streaming into the universe, like an astronomer spotting a star hidden behind a supernova.

    Like all good little brothers, he was now cribbing her notes.

    Penderghast looked out over the water. The naked children wading in it looked back. One of them appeared to be a space monster.

    The warlock sighed. Either that nuke had done a number on Joe Allworth, or Aurelia¡¯s trick hadn¡¯t worked.

    Howard cleared his throat. Mustn¡¯t be rude. ¡°Hello, children. Sorry to intrude. I seem to have gotten myself lost.¡± He eyed the girl with the tendril hair. Had to be something going on there. ¡°My name is Howard Penderghast. Maybe you two could help me find someone?¡±

    Linda said nothing, the alien cast of her features receding as they usually did around strange humans. She eyed the new man like a hawk. She smelled hocus-pocus on him. The name was familiar, too.

    Blair waved broadly. ¡°G¡¯day, mister Pende-gas!¡±

    That accent. ¡°Hello young man.¡± First things first. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Blair Wilder,¡± the boy recited obediently.

    ¡°May I ask where you¡¯re from?¡±

    Blair picked at the tangle of names school had imprinted in him. ¡°Perth!¡± Oh, country. ¡°Australia!¡±

    Oh, God, they¡¯re spreading.

    Penderghast turned his attention to the girl. By now she had skin and actual hair. Just looking at her made his wisdom teeth ache. ¡°And your name, little miss?¡±

    ¡°Linda.¡±

    ¡°Linda¡­¡±

    ¡°Just Linda,¡± said Blair. He smiled proudly. ¡°She doesn¡¯t need another name.¡±

    Linda¡¯s face hardened defiantly. ¡°Yeah!¡±

    ¡°Perfectly understandable. And where are you from?¡±

    Linda spread her legs and gestured expansively at her surroundings. ¡°Here.¡±

    ¡°Here?¡±

    The girl grinned. ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°¡­No¡ªI mean, I¡¯m from New England.¡± There was a thin line between innocence and being a smartass. This girl was clearly far over the border. ¡°Are you saying this grotto is where you live? Because it is very nice.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m from Earth,¡± Linda clarified. ¡°Same as everyone.¡±

    ¡°Anywhere on Earth in particular?¡±

    Penderghast thought he saw the girl¡¯s lip wobble slightly. ¡°Just Earth.¡±

    Blair Wilder appeared to notice too. ¡°She spends most nights at my house!¡± he added.

    Linda smiled again. ¡°Yep.

    Howard reached into his overcoat. ¡°One moment, please.¡±

    The warlock pulled out a monocle attached to a silver chain. He fitted it over his left eye and screwed his right one<sup>9</a></sup> shut.

    ¡°Are you rich, mister?¡± asked Blair.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Howard answered flatly, staring at Linda.

    First came ¡°Linda¡±. He turned the monocle her way, and¡ª

    That was¡­ odd. Not unprecedented, but odd. Not the sort of odd Penderghast had expected. She had so many forms overlapping on herself. The girl. The aura. The mass of cephalic tendrils stretching out beyond the confines of their cave. Clearly an alien. From where, he didn¡¯t know.

    Then there was the fact that her aura seemed to be grinning at him.

    Auras couldn¡¯t normally do that.

    At least it answered the question of why the stones had led him here. That girl had a fragment or two in common with his quarry. Maybe their species¡ªor pantheons¡ªhad diverged a few thousand generations back. At the very least, she might know how to find a distant cousin.

    He turned his attention to the boy.

    Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just a brown haired boy standing in a pool. No thoughts, no feelings, no interaction at all with any other aspect of the cosmos. He might as well have been looking at a colourful vacuum.

    Either this boy was hiding his abilities on an unprecedented scale, or Howard Penderghast had just encountered the only living thing in the universe that didn¡¯t have a soul.

    The warlock waded into the water, approaching Blair cautiously. He lightly prodded the boy in the breast.

    ¡°Um, sir. Is something wrong?¡±

    Penderghast felt skin against his finger.

    Probably not an illusion then.

    He glanced over at Linda. ¡°Is there any reason I can¡¯t see your friend here?¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m right here.¡±

    Linda grinned. ¡°Freaky, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Penderghast looked down at Blair in awe. A living mind, perfectly camouflaged against the universe like a cosmic chameleon. Howard didn¡¯t know if he wanted to take the boy as an apprentice or make sure he never so much as looked at a grimoire in his life.

    ¡°I may need to speak to your parents some time, Mr. Wilder. In the meantime, try and avoid West Africa, Papua New Guinea, and Kansas. They might try making ointments out of you.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡±

    Penderghast shook his head. Occult finds of the decade could wait.

    He walked over to Linda.

    ¡°So, this might sound like a bit of a silly question, but do you know anything about the Flying Man?¡±

    Linda spun on one foot and rocked on her heels. ¡°Um, I know a bunch of flying men.¡±

    Howard nearly rolled his eyes. He wasn¡¯t terribly practised when it came to young children. And most of the practise he had wasn¡¯t with aliens. More like guerilla fighters and superhuman terrorists. ¡°I mean a very particular Flying Man. He wears a white costume, and until a while ago flew all around the world helping people.¡±

    And making a bloody mess out of everything.

    ¡°Oh!¡± chirped Linda. ¡°You mean the dying man!¡±

    Penderghast went a little pale. ¡°Dying?¡±

    Why was he surprised? The poor bastard was nuked.

    Linda rubbed her chin. ¡°Well, he was dying for a while. But then he got stuck. I don¡¯t think all of him can fit in dead. He wants to, tho.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Penderghast didn¡¯t know whether he was relieved or horrified.

    An idea made him change his mind very quickly. So far as he could tell, Joe Allworth was essentially splayed all across the earth like a spilled wineskin.

    Penderghast thought about a bathtub with the stopper pulled out. About all the particles of grime and dirt that got pulled down the drain along with the water.

    Deep breath.

    ¡°Do you know where the dying man is, Linda?¡±

    Linda shrugged. ¡°Nope. I bet Pal does, tho.¡±

    ¡°Your ¡®pal¡¯?¡±

    Linda giggled. ¡°No. Pal. Pal-ae-mon.¡±

    Like any good witch or student of the classics (and he was both), Howard Penderghast recognized the name.

    He grit his teeth.

    God damn it. More kids?

 The Worst Godling

    Howard Penderghast¡¯s black Chevrolet Corvette<sup>1</a></sup>raced across the deep Mediterranean sky. The alien child who called herself Linda flew ahead of the car, laying down an aurorae road in her wake.

    Blair squirmed in the passenger seat. Thankfully, Howard had acquired the boy more appropriate travelling clothes when they picked up the car from Penderghast house¡ªif you considered a sky-blue polo-shirt and slightly too-short cotton trousers appropriate.

    ¡°Mr. Penderghast, this shirt itches.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Howard, ¡°you get used to the discomfort.¡±

    Penderghast wondered what time it was in Perth. When this was over, he ought to apologize to Blair¡¯s parents. And possibly ask to adopt him.

    ¡°If Linda can fly all naked, why can¡¯t I wear my pyjamas?¡±

    Penderghast thought it over for a moment.

    ¡°Because I said so.¡±

    That, he had learned from his siblings.

    ¡°But why are we taking a car? Linda could fly us both.¡±

    Penderghast thumped the dashboard. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know this is a great machine. You¡¯re lucky to ride in it.¡±

    Mostly Howard wasn¡¯t comfortable with Linda carrying him and his young mutant thousands of miles through the sky (while naked) and flying himself reminded the warlock too much of the dreams. All that aside, he¡¯d been itching to take the Vett out for a spin. He¡¯d gotten his license and enchanted the car only a week before he decided to join the army. A vulgar trick, his father had called it. The kind of burlesque modernity he¡¯d have expected from a gauche hedge-wizard, not the seventh son of a seventh son.

    ¡°Men of our station do not drive, Ward.¡±

    That had cinched the deal for Howard, the same way it had him enlisting. And now he had all the time in the world to drive. Too much time¡­

    ¡°Mr. Penderghast?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Blair?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re in the army, right?¡±

    Oh. The boy paid attention.

    ¡°That I am. Major in the US Army.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t quite a lie. More a simplification. Howard had never been formally discharged. He hadn¡¯t resigned, either. He just¡­ never went back.

    ¡°In Vi-et-nam?¡± the boy asked, pronouncing the country¡¯s name with practised care.

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    ¡°Do you know my big brother? Mum and Dad say he¡¯s there too.¡±

    Poor boy, Penderghast thought. Observant, but young enough to not realize how big the world was. Still, he had worked with Australian soldiers in his time.

    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡±

    ¡°Johnny,¡± the boy answered. ¡°Johnny Wilder, same as me,¡± he added redundantly. ¡°He¡¯s really tall and has kinda yellowy hair?¡±

    Penderghast gamely searched his memory for such a man.

    Nothing.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think so, son.¡±

    Blair sank slightly in the cream leather passenger seat. ¡°Oh. Thanks anyway.¡±

    Penderghast took his hand off the steering wheel to gruffly pat Blair on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine. You¡¯d have heard if he wasn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    Unless your parents don¡¯t know how to tell you yet, Penderghast mused grimly.

    He wondered if Johnny Wilder shared his younger brother¡¯s invisible soul. Would it help him a wick when the Chinese sent their troops into North Vietnam like they were threatening? The Cold Peace was over, and the next war would be hot. Killing the Flying Man didn¡¯t bring back what he¡¯d stolen. How long until the Mediterranean was filled with warships again?

    And where were you, Ward? Lying around the house, feeling sorry¡ª

    A few yards in front of the Corvette, Linda stopped mid-air, swinging around and pointing down at the island-strewn sea.

    The girl¡¯s shrill, buzzing voice echoed in Penderghast¡¯s skull:

    Here¡¯s good! Going down!

    Howard watched as the little girl tucked her knees into her chest and dropped screaming out of the sky, lightning crackling down her slipstream.

    Blair clambered towards the windshield<sup>2</a></sup>. ¡°Did she say something? She always forgets my brain can¡¯t hear her!¡±

    Penderghast shifted gears. The Corvette descended in winding loops like the sky was a high mountain road. Howard rolled his window open and looked down.

    Linda was standing on the water. It took Penderghast a moment to notice the shadow of a coral reef under her. He¡¯d thought she was being blasphemous.

    The car ¡°parked¡± two inches above the water, wavelets flicking foam at its tires. As soon as Howard popped the locks, Blair shoved his door open with all his weight and jumped out of the car with a gleeful splash.

    ¡°Glad we¡¯re wearing galoshes now, hmm?¡± said Penderghast as he got out. Personally, he was just glad he wasn¡¯t wearing his good pants.

    Linda was standing at the edge of the reef like a siren¡¯s baby, looking out at the open ocean.

    ¡°This where he lives?¡± asked Penderghast.

    Howard was surprised. For all his occultic worldliness, the blue-blood in him usually defaulted to imagining gods living in palaces.

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Linda. ¡°But he¡¯s close.¡±

    Linda shrieked. The water around them vibrated like desert sands in an earthquake.

    Howard and Blair both covered their ears. Penderghast was put in mind of deep-sea beasts being dragged gasping into the air.

    ¡°Hate it when she does that!¡± Blair shouted, barely audible.

    Linda¡¯s mouth snapped shut.

    Penderghast shook his head slowly, not taking his hands from his head. ¡°What was that for¡ª¡±

    Linda dived into the deep waters, her shadow shooting off into the distance.

    The water pulsed.

    Penderghast looked at Blair. ¡°Do you have any idea what she¡¯s doing?¡±

    ¡°Wait for it,¡± Blair said knowingly.

    A minute later, Linda burst out of the water, rising into the air with a child-shaped thing flailing and growling in her arms.

    The thing went limp.

    Linda giggled. ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    The boy-god Palaemon rolled his black eyes. ¡°Alright, fine.¡±

    The pair alighted back on the reef. The young godling¡¯s naked skin was bluish grey, the bits that weren¡¯t covered by rhime-moss at least. His teeth were predator sharp, his fingers clawed and webbed.

    Penderghast kneeled and turned his head down.

    ¡°Great God Palaemon, it is an honour¡ª¡±

    ¡°Hi Blair.¡±

    ¡°Hi Pal.¡±

    Penderghast looked at the human boy. ¡°You know him, too?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Blair. ¡°He and Lindy found me at the beach once! We rode a dolphin!¡±

    ¡°Porpoise, Blair,¡± corrected Palaemon. ¡°It was a porpoise.¡± The godling pointed a claw at Penderghast. ¡°Who¡¯s the dark man?¡±

    Penderghast squinted at Palaemon, years of training abandoning him. ¡°Dark man?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s a wizard,¡± said Linda.

    Palaemon grinned crookedly. ¡°Oh, one of them.¡±

    The two creatures giggled, sharing a private joke Howard would rather not be let in on.

    ¡°He wants to ask you about your friend,¡± said Linda. ¡°What was he called? The one who wears a cape now?¡±

    ¡°Oh, Joe? Um¡­¡±

    Palaemon shuffled his feet and rubbed his side, clearly uncomfortable.

    ¡°Please, oh god,¡± said Howard, looking down again, ¡°it¡¯s a matter of grave import.¡±

    ¡°Did you bring bikkies, Blair?¡±

    Howard looked back up. ¡°What are ¡®bikkies¡¯?¡±

    Blair hopped. ¡°Oh, yeah!¡±

    The boy scurried over to the car and clambered back in, before reemerging with his half-full packet of Monte-Carlos.

    ¡°Catch!¡±

    He threw a biscuit at the other two children. Pal caught it smartly and shoved it less smartly into his mouth.

    ¡°Okay, so Joe¡­¡±

    ?

    To Joe Allworth¡¯s most honest estimation.

    Nudity was lame.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡± he grumbled. ¡°Seriously. What¡¯s the draw here?¡±

    ¡°Well of course you don¡¯t get it,¡± Pal floating on his back in the moonpool. ¡°You¡¯re still wearing pants.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s chilly!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a god!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a god who likes pants!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t mind when you were my size.¡±

    ¡°I was five!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you didn¡¯t stop there. Being five¡¯s great!¡±

    To Pal¡¯s relief, Joe grinned. He hadn¡¯t been doing that much. The boy flexed his small bicep. ¡°Yeah. I bet it¡¯s got nothing to do with me being able to out-wrestle you!¡±

    ¡°Cannot!¡±

    Joe planted his hands on his hips. ¡°Pal, I could beat you up when you were bigger than me.¡±

    Pal glared. A globe of saltwater swelled into existence behind Joe and blasted him in the back of the head, knocking him into the moonpool.

    Joe surfaced splashing and laughing, lunging through the water at Pal and dragging him under by the foot.

    It¡¯d been an odd few days for Palaemon. He¡¯d been playing with some human children on a Corsican beach when he found himself being pulled into a desperate, sobbing hug by Joseph. Apparently his father had killed a man:

    ¡°They¡¯re all evil! Stupid, evil apes!¡± The superboy reduced a boulder to dust with a slam of his fist and stamped the sand with enough power to fuse it into cracked, rough glass. ¡°I¡¯m sick of pretending to be human! I¡¯m not like them! I¡¯m glad I¡¯m not like them.¡±

    He¡¯d looked at Palaemon with pleading, tear-red eyes. ¡°Show me how to be a proper god. Please.¡±

    Palaemon had been happy to help. He wasn¡¯t completely sure why Joe was so upset: people died. Sometimes other people killed them. He himself had been slain by his own mother; before their transfiguration into godhood. Didn¡¯t see him holding it against her. Anymore<sup>3</a></sup>.

    But still, Joe shucking off his mortal drag-act had to be a good thing. The fact he came to him for god-advice was even better. Maybe now they could have some proper fun. Maybe now Joe would stop fleeing so fast from boyhood.

    ?

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me the Flying Man¡¯s father killed a man?¡±

    ¡°Foster father,¡± Palaemon clarified. ¡°But yeah, he did. I think the guy was going to blab about Joe being amazing and stuff.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Seemed like a pretty okay reason to kill someone to me, but Joe was being weird about it.¡±

    Blair raised his hand like he¡¯d been taught in kindergarten. ¡°Um, Mister Penderghast?¡±

    Howard had almost forgotten the boy was still with them. ¡°Yes, Blair?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s ¡°killing¡¯ mean?¡±

    Oh, God. Howard had forgotten other children didn¡¯t become as acquainted with death as early Penderghasts did. This was really a conversation that should be left to the boy¡¯s parents. Once they knew he wasn¡¯t lying in a ditch somewhere.

    ¡°Well¡ª¡±

    Linda saved the warlock, ¡°It means when you hurt someone so bad they sorta¡­ go to sleep forever. It¡¯s weird.¡±

    Surprisingly succinct explanation, Penderghast thought. Sobrely, he wandered what things that wild girl had seen, out there in the great wide everywhere.

    ¡°It¡¯s a mortal thing,¡± added Pal.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Blair. ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound nice.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not,¡± said Linda. ¡°Not with people.¡±

    Linda had killed plenty of things in her short life. Mostly animals. She liked to eat as much as anyone else. Curiosity made her try it on a man once. He¡¯d been trying to kill her at the time, so it seemed fair. She¡¯d been newer then.

    She¡¯d never forgotten how his lights had flashed and blurred as they went out.

    Blair wasn¡¯t out of questions. ¡°Why was it bad this guy was gonna tell people the Flying Man was special?¡± He pointed at Linda. ¡°Lindy¡¯s special! And she¡¯s great.¡±

    To Howard¡¯s surprise, he found himself and Linda sharing a look. Witch and godling. Space-alien and black man. Had to be some kinship there. Power and wealth had insulated the Penderghasts from the consequences of their craft and skin-colour for generations, but wariness was baked into their genes. Even if, until very recently, Howard had let himself believe nobody cared about those things anymore. Nobody important, at least.

    Linda had already learned the wages of difference. The little girl had been run out of towns; had rocks and broken bottles thrown at her; once they¡¯d tried literally burning her at the stake after she¡¯d displayed some of her more interesting physiology too openly.

    None of it had ever hurt her, of course. Nothing could hurt Linda. Sometimes she delighted in their efforts. Played along. Gave them all a good flight. Other times¡ªmostly when she was looking for a place to sleep¡ªshe was very glad she had a friend like Blair.

    She got jealous of him sometimes.

    Palaemon cleared his throat with a dolphin-like squeak. ¡°We still listening to my story?¡±

    Penderghast nodded. ¡°Please go on.¡±

    ¡°So, Joe didn¡¯t want to be human anymore. Best idea he ever had. Did you know he went to school? Almost every day!¡±

    Linda shuddered. Blair looked between the two children. ¡°I like school.¡±

    ¡°So, the Flying Man tried turning his back on us?¡± asked Howard. ¡°Tried to leave humanity?¡±

    Didn¡¯t sound like the Flying Man. He was used to the bastard never leaving mankind well enough alone.

    ¡°Yep. One problem, but.¡±

    ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°He was just so bad at being a god.¡±

    ?

    Palaemon and Joseph were great friends. They were terrible roommates.

    It wasn¡¯t all bad. Joe¡¯s new palace¡ªas Pal insisted on calling it¡ªwas much more fun than Poseidon¡¯s. Probably because Joe was cool and not a kelpy-bearded old grump who kept sleazing all over Palaemon¡¯s mother. They spent their days shooting holographic fish and chasing each other up and down anti-gravity waterslides. They clambered over the seats in the movie theatre making gun noises at each other while black and white cowboys battled on the screen. Sometimes they left Lyonesse all together, exploring the sea-floor and wrestling whales.

    Then Joe had to go and spoil it:

    The boys were gorging themselves on candy over a Looney Tunes marathon when Joe snuck a glance at his friend. The other godling didn¡¯t notice.

    ¡°Hey, Pal.¡±

    Palaemon didn¡¯t look away from the screen. Bugs had almost fallen into a crocodile pit and was about to back right into the monster<sup>4</a></sup>. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    How did he ask this? How many times had anyone asked this?

    ¡°I was wondering. Have you ever considered maybe¡±¡ªJoe looked away and mumbled¡ª¡°growing-up-with-me-maybe?

    Palaemon slowly turned his head towards Joe. Golden caramel oozed from his mouth like his own ichor.

    ¡°What a shame! Such an interesting monster, too.¡±

    ¡°What? Why? Being grown-up is crap! You get all uptight and too busy rutting to play!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­ it¡¯d be nice having a friend to grow up with is all.¡±

    Palaemon stretched his arm to the height of Joe¡¯s brow. ¡°Ship¡¯s kinda sailed on that, buddy. Why don¡¯t you stop growing up? Don¡¯t tell me you can¡¯t control that.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Don¡¯t wanna be short forever.¡± He shrugged. ¡°And sex sounds interesting. I think.¡± An idea struck him. ¡°What if I stopped growing just long enough for you to catch up?¡±

    Palaemon shook his head. ¡°Nope. Not growing up.¡± He grinned. ¡°Never knew you felt this way.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Joe sighed. ¡°What, lonely?¡±

    ¡°Nooo. That you liked me.¡±

    Joe¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°I do not!¡±

    ¡°You were flirting with me!¡±

    ¡°No I wasn¡¯t!¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a boy! You have a penis.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°I like girls!¡±

    ¡°Only girls?¡±

    ¡°Pretty sure!¡±

    God, Joe could be weird. Sometimes Palaemon wondered if he hit his head when he fell to Earth. Like a prettier Hephaestus.

    ¡°Also, Pal, you¡¯re five. At most.¡±

    ¡°Again, so what?¡±

    Joe grimaced and looked back at the movie screen, just in time for Bugs to wake up in his flooded rabbit-hole.

    The boys jarred against each other in more ways. Often Joe didn¡¯t want to play at all. He would feed hours of movie and audio clips into the artificial personalities gestating in Lyonesse¡¯s computer-banks, guiding them towards pleasing caricatures of humanity. He devised complicated and finely detailed economic forecasts for several versions of the next century. He painted endless Canadian landscapes, waterfalls, and giant mechanical monsters.

    One project Palaemon found especially baffling were Joseph¡¯s attempts to salvage two wood-hulled ships he¡¯d pulled from the Arctic: the HMS Terror and Erebus.

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± said Pal. He was laying on the floor of the warehouse, the two rotten boats hanging above him like they were still ploughing the waves. ¡°Why do you need a boat? Two boats! You don¡¯t even need to breathe!¡±

    Joe was tending to vats of cloned oak and larch, destined to replace the hull and planking of the ships. ¡°It¡¯s not that I need them, I just want to make something.¡±

    ¡°Making things is for mortals,¡± grumbled Pal. ¡°They don¡¯t last long enough to matter themselves.¡±

    Joe tried very hard to agree with that. It seemed like something a god should think. Instead, he found himself remarking, ¡°Lots of gods make things. Hephestus; Athena; I think Apollo built the walls of Troy back in the day<sup>5</a></sup>.¡±

    Palaemon battered his heels against the saw-dust laden floor. ¡°Well, they¡¯re grown-ups. They have a lot of dumb ideas. And if you want to make something, why don¡¯t you make your own stupid ships? They¡¯d be better than these hunks of junk.¡±

    ¡°These ships are important. A long time ago¡ª¡± Joe caught himself, ¡°¡­I mean, a long time ago for humans, so a hundred and forty years. These ships were sent from Britain to find a new path through the Arctic.¡± He looked up sadly at the hulks. ¡°Their people never saw them again.¡±

    ¡°So a bunch of mortals got lost in the snow, big deal.¡±

    Joe made to answer Pal, but instead shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Pal.¡±

    As Palaemon saw it, Joe wasn¡¯t becoming the god he was meant to be. He was turning into a hermit. Pal couldn¡¯t allow it. What Joe needed was to mingle with his own kind. Or at least the closest thing to his kind in this solar system.

    Palaemon had an idea.

    He waited till Joseph was asleep and stole down to the room he called the Grand Foyer with a honey cake. To Pal¡¯s delight, a faint rainbow hung in the mist the fountain threw up.

    Pal held the cake over the basin:

    ¡°Oh Iris, high and beautiful lady of the rainbow, messenger of the gods, I, Palaemon, son of Leucothea, the white-goddess, beseech you!¡±

    The fountain mists rose towards the ceiling. The dim, gauzy rainbows became as unreally bright and vivid as neon. They formed into a woman with skin like opals catching sunlight. Her hair was a sunset over the sea. Insectile wings of stained glass grew from her shoulders. It was impossible to tell if she was naked or clothed, and with how she glowed, it hardly mattered.

    She cast her iridescent eyes down at Palaemon. ¡°What do you want, Pal?¡±

    Palaemon stood up very straight. ¡°I wish to invite all the gods of our kind and our well-wishers to a party in this stately palace.¡± He gestured around at the Foyer. ¡°As you can see, it¡¯s very nice. Oh, and make sure to include all the godlings. And the D¨­dek¨¢theon. Especially King Athena.¡±

    Iris stared at the young god. Then she laughed. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you want the entire divine race to drop everything for a party. Hosted by you.¡±

    Pal took a deep breath. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m not the host. Joseph Allworth is.¡± He grinned slyly. ¡°You know, the barbarian that dropped by Olympus a week back? The star-god? Offspring of a mother of Khaos?¡±

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s something to consider.¡± Iris composed herself. ¡°I shall bring your petition to King Athena.¡±

    The honeycake flew out of Pal¡¯s hand into Iris¡¯s. She took a bite out of the pastry. ¡°Farewell, Palaemon.¡±

    It took three days for Palaeomon to get word back. Specifically, while him and Joseph were playing with his living chessboard.

    Iris appeared in a burst of light, casting the red and white playing field in pale rainbows. The life-sized pieces pointed and gawked up at the goddess.

    ¡°Ah, hi Iris,¡± said Joe. ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°Joseph Allworth, Athena, king of the gods, has accepted your request for her company. She and the rest of the Olympian host will arrive in three weeks.¡±

    Joe¡¯s mouth dropped. ¡°What? I didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Our king trusts that shall give you ample time to prepare.¡± Iris glanced down at the board. ¡°Oh, my God, is that a chessboard? That¡¯s great.¡±

    The goddess vanished. The pieces gossiped programmatically amongst themselves. Joe glared across the board at Palaemon.

    ¡°What did you do?¡±

    ?

    Howard Penderghast had dealt with many gods and divinities in his time. But most of them were grown creatures. Adult personalities. Penderghast knew some lingered in childhood, but he¡¯d always assumed it was mainly an aesthetic choice on their part. Ancient collections of knowledge and wisdom wrapped in childish flesh.

    Speaking to Palaemon was rapidly correcting that assumption. The godling rambled down a hundred tangents. Sometimes he abandoned the conversation altogether to argue with Linda over biscuits. He spent ten minutes describing an old Warner Brothers cartoon.

    ¡°So, me and Joe kinda beat each other up for a while, but he got over it and we started planning the party. I said¡ª¡±

    Penderghast raised a hand. ¡°Excuse me, Palaemon. While your story is deeply¡­ interesting, it is very urgent that I find Joseph Allworth soon. Is there anything you know that could lead me to him?¡±

    Palaemon frowned. ¡°¡­You don¡¯t wanna hear my story, do you?¡±

    Howard shook his head vigorously, ¡°Nothing of the sort, it¡¯s only¡ª¡±

    ¡°I want to hear it,¡± said Blair from his perch on the Corvette¡¯s hood. ¡°It¡¯s fun!¡±

    ¡°It is¡­ fun,¡± said Penderghast. ¡°It¡¯s just time. The world itself depends on me finding your friend. Your friend might depend on me finding him!¡±

    Palaemon hopped from foot to foot. ¡°Okay,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ll help you.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, oh God.¡±

    ¡°¡­If you listen to the end of the story.¡±

    Pennderghast was rapidly becoming a misotheist.

    ?

    After Joseph Allworth was done punting Palaemon up and down the Atlantic, he decided a housewarming party wasn¡¯t a bad idea after all. Besides, now he had to finish that cocktail bar he was working on. And the bartender.

    The young star-god pestered the Gatekeeper for recipes from across the civilized galaxy while Pal harvested the sea¡¯s finest meats. Finally, Joseph settled on a name for his lair and the computer that would oversee it:

    ¡°So my name is¡­ Blancheflor?¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Joe. ¡°He was the king of¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m aware,¡± said the caretaker program. ¡°You programmed that explanation into me.¡±

    ¡°Ah, sorry¡­ do you like the name?¡±

    ¡°¡­Permission not to be forthcoming with it?¡±

    Joe examined one of the black chess pieces he¡¯d repurposed as waitstaff. A hologram of Frank Sinatra stood ready onstage, soundlessly warming up an invisible crowd. He himself was wearing a pearlescent body-glove. It seemed like a tolerable compromise between Canadian sensibility and Cupidean nudity.

    He rubbed his chin fretfully. ¡°Should I have painted them white a bit?¡±

    ¡°Stop being a scaredy-cat,¡± said Palaemon from on top of one of the tables. ¡°They¡¯re gonna love this place.¡± He smirked ruefully. ¡°Especially old Poseidon.¡±

    Joe shot daggers at his friend. ¡°Stop climbing on the tables! You¡¯ll get sea-slime on them!¡±

    The sea windows flashed like God snapping a photo. Thunder as loud as silence echoed through Clark¡¯s.

    Joe yelped. ¡°Crap, they¡¯re here!¡±

    The thunder roared, only to shatter into a hundred chatting voices. The bar was crowded with gods and goddesses, more real and solid than all the steel Joe had wrought to build this place.

    ¡°Yes we are.¡±

    Pallas Athena, king of Mt. Olympus loomed over the boy, dissecting him with eyes nearly the same grey as the handsome laurel coronet resting in her dark hair. She was wearing a gown woven of storm clouds. Joe had no doubt it concealed armour.

    Joe bowed. ¡°King Athena. I¡¯m honoured to have you.¡±

    Athena looked around Clark¡¯s and the sea beyond its glass walls. ¡°I commend your craftsmanship, child.¡±

    Crimson-robed Hera cleaved from the crowd and bustled over to Joseph, pecking the boy on the forehead and pinching his cheeks.

    ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you, Joe.¡± She glanced around the bar. ¡°And in such a lovely palace. Your people would be proud.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Queen Hera,¡± said Joe, suppressing a wince.

    ¡°Queen¡± was something of a courtesy title these days. Hera had divorced Zeus some time<sup>6</a></sup> after the Trojan War. Not coincidentally, this also coincided with the sky-father departing Mt. Olympus for parts unknown, leaving his throne empty for his favourite daughter.

    The split had done wonders for Hera¡¯s temperament, but it¡¯d also made her, well, broody.

    Soon the Sinatra hologram was throwing himself into ¡°They Say It¡¯s Wonderful.¡± The guests spread out through the bar and into the rest of Lyonesse, Blancheflor directing them to points of interest they weren¡¯t likely to break. Apollo barged on stage and somehow pulled Sinatra¡¯s image into a duet:

    ¡°The thing that¡¯s known as romance is wonderful, wonderful,

    In every way, so they say!¡±

    Heracles slapped Joe on the back. If he were a human child, his lungs would have exploded out of his chest. The burly god bellowed, ¡°I wanted to thank you again for the sewing machine.¡± He gestured at the lavender chiton he was wearing. ¡°It¡¯s already come in handy.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome!¡± Joe chirped, the first genuine grin in days blossoming across his face. The boy thumbed his own shiny party-outfit. ¡°I did this by hand.¡±

    Heracles rumbled with laughter. ¡°That is a feat, my boy. Your parents must be proud as horses.¡±

    Joe shrunk into himself. ¡°My parents haven¡¯t seen it.¡±

    Heracles frowned. ¡°What? You¡¯re telling me you didn¡¯t invite the Allworths?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± the boy admitted. ¡°They don¡¯t even know about here.¡±

    ¡°Why ever not?¡± Heracles laughed. ¡°Oh. I see. This is a treehouse! I had one of those as a boy. Hollowed out of a grandfather oak.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Joe muttered. ¡°I mean. Yes, it¡¯s a treehouse. But they¡¯re being¡­ dumb.¡±

    Heracles tutted. It struck Joe as an awfully aunt-like noise coming from him. ¡°Joseph, we all think our parents are fools when we¡¯re young. I did. I imagine all my children thought so, too¡­¡±

    Joe had forgotten Heracles was a dad. Palaemon was always griping about his sons by Hebe<sup>7</a></sup>.

    Then he remembered Heracles¡¯ first children. The mortal ones<sup>8</a></sup>. The ones he¡¯d murdered.

    That wasn¡¯t fair. Heracles hadn¡¯t been in his right mind when he did that. Thanks to the lady who¡¯d just pinched Joe¡¯s cheeks a second ago.

    Joe nodded as Heracles¡¯ wisdom fell on deaf ears. ¡°Um, yeah, I¡¯ll think about it. Try the crab cakes!¡±

    He fled through the crowd.

    Joe bumped into a wall of black fur. He stepped back to find himself before a god with a face like a hard, glum tombstone. His dark cloak was trimmed with frost and dusted with gravedirt. He regarded Joe with eyes of bleached bone.

    Joe bowed hastily. He¡¯d never met the god before, but there no doubt who he was looking at:

    ¡°Lord Hades. Honoured to make your acquaintance.¡±

    Joe was surprised to run into the Rich One. They say he rarely left the underworld. Then again, how often was he invited to parties?

    ¡°Thank you, child,¡± Hades drawled morosely. ¡°It is a fine abode you have built for yourself.¡± The god raised a finger. ¡°I sense very little of my wealth in its structure.¡±

    Joe gulped, unsure if that was meant to be a good thing or not. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. I got most of the materials from the asteroid belt.¡±

    He braced himself, but Hades only nodded gravely. ¡°Most considerate. Mortals scour my coffers so rapaciously these days. I can let it pass most of the time, it all comes back to me eventually, but must they scar the Earth as they do it?¡±

    Joe had never considered that Hades might be a greenie of all things. It was a pleasant surprise. He nodded. ¡°It¡¯s very rude of them.¡±

    ¡°It greatly upsets my wife.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Persephone? Is she here?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°Child, if our marriage rests on one foundation, it¡¯s giving each other space.¡±

    Hades took a moment to search the bar, spotting a woman dressed in spring-flowers chatting with Iris in one of the conversation pits. Persephone caught sight of the Lord of the Dead and gave a small wave.

    A ghost of a smile played across Hades¡¯ bloodless lips, but he made no attempt to approach his wife.

    Oh yeah, Joe remembered. You¡¯re only married because you kidnapped her. And tricked her. And that¡¯s why we have winter now. Or was it summer<sup>9</a></sup>?

    He also remembered that Hades was Persephone¡¯s uncle.

    Hades looked back at Joe. ¡°You know, godling, subterranean decor is a rare talent. Would you consider renovating my own home sometime? You would be handsomely rewarded.¡±

    The underworld. Would Joe¡¯s mother be there? Would it be better or worse if she wasn¡¯t? Christopher Barberi would be.

    It occured to Joe that, someday soon, his mortal mother and father would be in this god¡¯s power.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll think about it.¡±

    Joe left Hades behind in his search for a conversation he could stand.

    Hades plucked a martini from a passing pawn, stirring it with a black fingernail. ¡°That always means no.¡±

    Ares and Hephaestus were milling about in front of the stage.

    ¡°Amazing,¡± said Hephaestus. ¡°People made of light.¡± The smith-god sat in an ornate, rocket-powered throne of a wheelchair¡ªtwisted, withered legs dwarfed by his pillar-like arms. Shiny, dark gold burns like dragon-scale armoured his bare chest. ¡°Puts my Khryseai <sup>10</a></sup> into perspective.¡±

    ¡°Bah. At least they have some substance behind them.¡± Ares had taken to wearing an anchor beard this century. In honour of their host, he was also wearing the kevlar vest Joe had gifted him during his visit to Olympus. ¡°This is just light. Men made of moth-wings would be deadlier.¡±

    Joseph launched himself between the two gods. ¡°You can make light burn things, you know.¡±

    ¡°Can you?¡± asked Ares.

    Hephaestus tilted his chin. ¡°You sure you¡¯re not talking about fire, young man? They¡¯re quite distinct.¡±

    ¡°Nope! Just light! You have to focus it through a crystal juuuust right<sup>11</a></sup>.¡±

    Ares grinned wolfishly. This was the best news he¡¯d gotten since the automatic rifle. ¡°Do you know how to work this magic, Allworth?¡±

    ¡°I do! I used it to build this place!¡±

    ¡°Could you build me some? Preferably hand-held?¡±

    ¡°I guess!¡±

    Joe wasn¡¯t sure he ought to be arming the god of war. The god of bloody war, at that. But at least he wasn¡¯t making his stomach turn right now.

    ¡°Or you could come to my workshop and show me how you do it,¡± suggested Hephaestus. ¡°I imagine my use for it would be much more edifying than my brother¡¯s.¡±

    Ares laughed. ¡°You only turn your nose up at fighting because you¡¯re useless at it, cripple.¡±

    Joe frowned. ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not nice¡ª¡±

    He was cut off by Hephaestus¡¯ own laughter. ¡°You mock me, but you still pay me for my work!¡±

    Oh, teasing. Joe could deal with that.

    Ares clapped his hand down on Joseph¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Pure charity, boy, don¡¯t let him tell you otherwise.¡± He smirked at the other god. ¡°Which is saying a lot given what he got off me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Joe asked. ¡°Money?¡±

    The brothers both laughed.

    ¡°Only my damn wife<sup>12</a></sup>!¡± cried Ares. ¡°Vulcan here blackmailed our mother and father into handing her over to him!¡±

    Joe looked at Hephaestus. ¡°You what?¡±

    ¡°Hey, hey! Don¡¯t go twisting the history, brother. You and Aphrodite weren¡¯t even married.¡±

    ¡°She was still promised to me!¡±

    Hephaestus scoffed. ¡°Like that was an inconvenience for you.¡± The god stage-whispered to Joe. ¡°They were rutting behind my back as before we finished the wedding wine!¡±

    Shockingly, Joe couldn¡¯t blame the pair.

    Hephaestus looked back at his brother. ¡°At least until I caught them in the act! Well, me and Olympus.¡± He folded his arms. ¡°Got my bride-price back and more.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Ares with a grin. ¡°But who gets to lay with Aphrodite, hmm?¡±

    Hephaestus cackled. ¡°Everyone!¡±

    To Joe¡¯s shock, Ares laughed too. He was talking about his brother forcing his wife to marry him like it was an old prank. How did he not hate him?

    Applause broke out as Apollo finished his impromptu set with Sinatra.

    The god of music spread his arms out wide. ¡°Thank you, thank you¡­¡±

    He leapt down from the stage, landing on his feet in front of Joe. ¡°Hail to our host.¡±

    Joe looked warily at Apollo. He dressed more modernly than most of his kin. Specifically, he seemed to be ripping off James Dean¡¯s publicity stills, jacket and all.

    ¡°Hi, Apollo,¡± said Joe, a touch tiredly.

    ¡°I love your musical illusions. Is there any chance you could show me how they work?¡±

    ¡°Sure, sure.¡±

    At this rate, Joe might have done well to start charging.

    ¡°He¡¯s already agreed to show me the secret of his sharp-light,¡± insisted Ares.

    ¡°Actually,¡± said Hephaestus, ¡°he said ¡®I guess!¡¯ I feel there¡¯s a distinction.¡±

    ¡°You two are being very mercenary. It¡¯s unflattering,¡± Apollo said with a grin. ¡°You¡¯re talking about this boy like he¡¯s your bond-slave!¡± He took Joe¡¯s hand. ¡°Does this look like the skin of a common labourer? Smooth as milk!¡±

    Joe¡¯s right eye twitched. He withdrew his hand. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go to the bathroom.¡±

    ¡°You do?¡±

    Joe was already weaving through the crowd. ¡°Yep!¡± he lied.

    Apollo watched the boy as he went. ¡°Strange lad,¡± he commented to his half-brothers. ¡°Not without charm, but strange. Reminds me a little of Nancy¡¯s boy.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± said Ares. ¡°How is Lucius?¡±

    Apollo tilted his head. ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know. Should check in sometime.¡±

    ¡°Hey Joe! Come say hi to my friends!¡±

    Joseph turned at the sound of Palaemon¡¯s voice. The boy was standing with three other godlings: two girls, one male.

    Thank God. Other kids. At least they probably wouldn¡¯t try hitting on him. Probably.

    Palaemon brought his friends over. Only the most up to the minute mythographies would have mentioned the young deities. Despite what some mortals thought, the gods were not static in their¡­ relations.

    ¡°This is Kauma. She¡¯s the goddess of¡­¡± Pal glanced at the little girl with the translucent, Cherenkov blue skin. ¡°What is it again?¡±

    ¡°Atomic power,¡± explained Kauma. ¡°It¡¯s the energy you get from splitting atoms.<sup>13</a></sup>¡±

    Pal grinned at Joe. ¡°Whatever those are, right?¡±

    Joe smiled past him at Kauma. ¡°I know what fission is.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    A boy with comic book panels for skin and sunspots for hair shook Joe¡¯s hand. He was older than either Palaemon or Kauma: maybe twelve or so.

    ¡°Paideikon,<sup>14</a></sup>¡± he identified himself. ¡°God of sequential art.¡±

    ¡°Sequential art,¡± repeated Joe. ¡°That¡¯s comics, right? Superman and The Phantom and all that?¡±

    Paideikon sucked in a breath. ¡°If you must.¡±

    Joe examined the boy¡¯s skin. Superheroes abounded, but were narrowly outnumbered by a plurality of other genres. Vampires and werewolves, swooning girls and kissing couples, cowboys and UFOS.

    As he watched, a panel of Batman swinging across a yellow sky blurred and swirled, reforming into Frankenstein¡¯s monster with his arms stretched out.

    ¡°I¡¯m going through changes,¡± explained Paideikon.

    Finally, there was Stereulaios, goddess of plastic<sup>15</a></sup>. Her skin and hair were plastic, too, giving Joe the unfortunate impression of an older, anatomically correct baby doll.

    ¡°Say,¡± said Joe, ¡°have you guys ever tried pizza?¡±

    The godlings slipped out of the party and trooped up to Lyonesse¡¯s main kitchen. There they feasted on a thirty inch pizza with about half of the animal<sup>16</a></sup> and vegetable<sup>17</a></sup> kingdoms on it.

    ¡°Your lot ran Italy for ages,¡± said Joe through a mouthful of melted cheese. ¡°How did you guys never try pizza?¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± said Paideikon. ¡°I¡¯m barely sixty.¡±

    ¡°You know what¡¯s crap?¡± said Kauma, waving a slice of pizza around. Flecks of cheese sizzled against her glowing chest. ¡°There¡¯s like, three hundred nuclear bombs out there, and they¡¯re hardly being used!¡± She thumped her fist against the countertop. ¡°I want more boom!¡±

    ¡°Heck yeah,¡± said Joe. ¡°America¡¯s full of deserts, just use them!¡± He grinned at the little goddess. ¡°I watched a bomb test once. Gave me a heck of a tan.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Pal, ¡°shame about the tan-lines.¡±

    Joe slapped a slice in Palaemon¡¯s face. ¡°Shut up!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t just want deserts!¡± protested Kauma. ¡°I want cities! Forests!¡±

    ¡°¡­What.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s no fun if it¡¯s blowing up nothing! Something needs to be on fire.¡±

    ¡°But¡ªbut people live in cities! And animals live in forests!¡±

    Kauma shrugged. ¡°They¡¯re gonna die someday. At least nuclear bombs do it fast.¡±

    ¡°Except when they don¡¯t! Except when they make them sick and sick and sicker. Except when they make babies come out wrong!¡±

    ¡°What,¡± said Paideikon, ¡°like the Hundred-Handers<sup>18</a></sup>?¡±

    ¡°No! Like babies without brains! Or eyes!¡±

    ¡°¡­So double cyclopes?¡±

    Joe groaned.

    ¡°I agree with you,¡± said Stereulaios. ¡°Blowing up cities sounds horrid.¡±

    Joe nodded desperately at the plastic goddess. ¡°It does, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah. All the plastic would be ruined!¡±

    Joe had no answer to that. He hopped off his kitchen stool. ¡°Enjoy your pizza,¡± he said sourly, storming out of the kitchen.

    ¡°Wait, Joe,¡± Palaemon called after him. He scrambled off his seat and ran after his friend. ¡°Joe!¡±

    Joe was heading towards the elevator. What good was running from his own party? There was no escaping the awful.

    Palaemon caught up to the bigger boy. ¡°Why are you being so weird?¡±

    Joe turned on his heels and glared. ¡°They¡¯re horrible.¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Your friends! Everyone!¡±

    Pal kneaded his hands. ¡°Big gods can be¡­¡±

    ¡°Dumb? Evil?¡±

    ¡°Mean. But my friends¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your friends are evil too!¡±

    ¡°¡­No they¡¯re not,¡± Pal said in a very small voice. ¡°They¡¯re my friends.¡±

    ¡°Have fun then!¡±

    When the elevator door opened on Clark¡¯s, Joe flew over the crowd to the bar, much to the delight of the gathered gods and goddesses.

    Joe ignored them.

    He alighted on a barstool. ¡°Lemonade, barman. Ice-cold.¡±

    ¡°You got it, Mr. Allworth,¡± said the newly constructed Iszac Steel.

    ¡°About the only thing I got¡­¡±

    ¡°You seem down for someone who pulled off the party of the divine year<sup>19</a></sup>.¡±

    Joe looked beside him. There was a woman sitting beside him. She was sipping a glass of whiskey in a white feathered gown. Her face gave a very eagleline impression.

    ¡°It¡¯s not unusual, I assure you,¡± she said. She sounded Scottish.

    Joe narrowed his eyes at the woman. ¡°Who says I¡¯m down?¡±

    ¡°The fact you¡¯re trying to pretend lemonade is booze.¡±

    Iszac slid a tall, frosty glass in front of the boy.

    ¡°Here you go, boss.¡±

    Joe looked miserably at the bar-robot. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    ¡°Come on, tell me what¡¯s the matter,¡± implored the woman. ¡°Bars are for sharing miseries. We hold them under together until they drown.¡±

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t think I belong here.¡±

    The woman considered that. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s a bar. You¡¯re what, seven?¡±

    ¡°Ten! And I built it!¡±

    The woman just chuckled.

    ¡°I mean¡ªI don¡¯t belong with you. Your folk, I mean.¡± Joe squinted at the woman. ¡°You¡¯re a goddess, right?¡±

    ¡°People have been debating that for a long time. So where do you belong?¡±

    Joe laid his head on the counter. ¡°In space, with my family.¡±

    The woman put a hand on the child¡¯s back. It took some effort not to flinch. ¡°Can I ask you something else?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Who loved you. You don¡¯t strike me as someone who¡¯s never had that in their life.¡±

    ¡°Couple of mortals. In Canada¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± The woman finished her drink. ¡°Word of advice, Mr. Allworth. Mortals don¡¯t have the time we do. Be sure you¡¯re done with them before you leave them. For both your sakes¡±

    The woman stood up and smoothed the front of her dress. ¡°Have a good evening, Joseph. It¡¯s time for me to go.¡±

    ¡°Why? Party¡¯s not over yet.¡±

    The woman shrugged. ¡°Eh, not my crowd. Nothing wrong with that.¡±

    A sunbeam sailed out through the sea-window.

    Joseph endured the rest of the night. He even enjoyed himself. The gods weren¡¯t all bad people. They weren¡¯t people, for starters.

    And when the very last guest had hitched a lift home on the sunrise, Joseph went home, too.

    ?

    ¡°And that was it,¡± said Palaemon. ¡°Joe went home.¡± He sighed. ¡°Kinda wish he stuck with us¡ªespecially after, you know¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t going to fit in. Joe is Joe.¡±

    Penderghast nodded. ¡°He sounds¡­ sensitive.¡±

    Palaemon nodded and pointed at the warlock. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s the word!¡±

    Linda and Blair were still sitting on the Corvette¡¯s hood. The latter noticed Linda¡¯s face was¡­ shiny.

    ¡°¡­Are you crying, Lin¡ª¡±

    Linda shoved her hand over his mouth and sniffed. ¡°Shut up, Blair!¡±

    ¡°Alright now,¡± said Howard, folding his arms the way he would with one of his nieces and nephews. ¡°That hint?¡±

    ¡°Oh, um, yeah.¡±

    He had told the wizard he had a hint, hadn¡¯t he?

    The godling swallowed. ¡°I know where you can find his mother.¡± A heartbeat. ¡°Foster-mother.¡±

    Penderghast stared at the child.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI just wanted you to listen¡ª¡±

    Howard hoisted Palaemon up into his arms. ¡°You weren¡¯t kidding when you said you had a lead, were you!¡± he laughed.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t?¡±

    Howard called over to the other children. ¡°Kids, in the car!¡±

    Less than a minute later, the Corvette roared into the sky. Towards Catalpa.

 Chapter Ninety-Two: Allison Kinsey in the Big Ten

    <h1 style="text-align: center">¡°WORLD WAR THREE?¡± </h1>

    Jan Walters was trying not to look at her mother¡¯s copy of the Sydney Morning Herald. It was her umpteenth thoundsanth reminder that day that something awful was brewing. That week. That month. That whole stinking year.

    ¡°Can you put that down, Mum?¡± she asked. ¡°I¡¯m trying to watch TV.¡±

    Tess Yullis (n¨¦e Rivers) looked over her paper at her daughter. Hamlet¡¯s ghostly reflection played across her eyeglasses<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware my eyes were so noisy, love.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ antisocial.¡±

    Mrs Yullis tutted. ¡°Bradbury was right.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a snob, Mum! For crying out loud, we¡¯re watching Shakespeare!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you take that tone with me!¡± snapped Tess, instantly making a child of her daughter again. ¡°What¡¯s going on with you?¡±

    Jan sighed. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Sorry.¡±

    Nothing thickening into something. Jan was sick of the war, and it hadn¡¯t even started yet. Its battles were waged with heart-stopping headlines and terse newscasts. For now. It took Jan back to the very beginning of her memory. When her father and uncle both went away. When every radio sang of far off horrors.

    It could be worse, Jan told herself. At least they didn¡¯t have to worry about nukes. Life could survive this war. It still made Jan angry. It¡¯d only taken twenty-one years for the world to run back towards the brink. Just enough time to rear a new brood of soldiers¡­

    ¡°Thou know¡¯st ¡¯tis common; all that lives must die, Passing through nature to¡ª ¡±

    Hamlet¡¯s voice slurred into static. The blue-white glare of the television flushed with colour.

    Tess lowered her paper and chuckled. ¡°They really ought to start pre-empting this show.¡±

    The image resolved. The Crimson Comet appeared on the screen. And he was crimson. On a black and white TV<sup>2</a></sup>.

    He was standing on a white-sanded spit of beach in front of a rocky, tree-crowned hill, his metal wings spread out. Moonstone waters bordered him on either side beneath a perfect blue sky.

    Jan¡¯s mood brightened instantly. The world might be trapped in history, but at least her uncle could be a hero again.

    The Comet wasn¡¯t alone. To his right was a grey-eyed, witch-shaped woman in a forest green dress-suit and cloche hat.

    To his left, a rainbow clad little girl with hot coals for eyes.

    ¡°Good lord,¡± said Mrs Yullis. ¡°It¡¯s like they¡¯re rubbing it in with the colour.¡±

    ¡°Shh.¡±

    Jan had seen it five times before in the past eight months, but it was still a thrill.

    The Comet gave the camera an offhand salute. ¡°G¡¯day, Australia. Crimson Comet here. Me and my friends here would like to tell you about Catalpa<sup>3</a></sup>.¡±

    The girl waved brightly. ¡°I¡¯m Allison!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a cute kid,¡± commented Jan.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t she hold a bunch of people hostage in Melbourne?¡±

    Oh, right, she did do that. Oh well, she could still be cute. Far away from her children.

    The woman gave a curt nod. ¡°Angela Barnes.¡±

    The Comet continued, ¡°For a lot of us supers, it¡¯s been a rough few years. I know a lot of us who¡¯ve been hassled within an inch of their lives.¡±

    Allison chimed in, ¡°So me and my friends have set up a place where any super who¡¯s not really horrible can live and have fun!¡± There was a beat, then the girl blurted, ¡°And their families! Especially their parents!¡±

    She was still smiling, but Jan thought she saw something in her fiery eyes. Something pleading.

    ¡°She¡¯s an orphan,¡± said Mrs Yullis. ¡°Or might as well be. Ralph said so in a letter.¡±

    Poor thing.

    ¡°As Allison was saying,¡± said Mrs Barnes, ¡°Catalpa is not just open to super-people. We welcome anyone who needs somewhere to go.¡±

    ¡°If that sounds like charity, it¡¯s not,¡± said Ralph. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot going on, and every hand is a big help.¡± He grinned waggishly. ¡°Besides, company¡¯s good for the soul, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Angela explained, ¡°First week of every month, we collect prospective residents¡ª¡±

    ¡°And visitors!¡± cried Allison. ¡°We don¡¯t mind those!¡±

    Angela shot Allison a glance. She clammed up.

    ¡°Yes, we do accept visitors, so long as they have basic manners.¡±

    ¡°Now,¡± said the Comet, ¡°some of you might be saying, ¡®A city full of supers? How are you still standing?¡¯ Well, don¡¯t worry:¡±

    The ocean rumbled. A titan of water rose up from the sea behind the hill. It slammed great, translucent fists down onto the rocks, swamping them in white foam.

    ¡°We have very good security.¡±

    Angela cleared her throat as if a water god wasn¡¯t towering behind her. ¡°Pick-up dates and locations to follow.¡±

    Allison waved again. ¡°See you soon!¡±

    ?

    Mabel Henderson woke when the black of sleep turned red with sunlight. She was in her bedroom. Well, technically it was the Barnes¡¯ guest room, but by now it was hers four nights out of five. It¡¯d been years since she had her own room (that wasn¡¯t a cell on an alien starship). It made her feel like royalty. And she had a bed. One that didn¡¯t hang from the ceiling, just like grown-ups had. It didn¡¯t matter that the walls were sheet-metal torn from prison floors and the ceiling iridescent carnival glass; in fact, that last thing was definitely a plus.

    Mrs Barnes¡¯ commanding voice rippled through her curtain door, ¡°Mabel, breakfast!¡±

    ¡°Coming!¡±

    Mabel rushed out into the shanty¡¯s little kitchen and took her usual place at the table. Pork and cinnamon spiced steam shrouded the ceiling. Arnold and Mr. Barnes were already attacking their breakfasts.

    ¡°Morning, Mabs!¡± Arnold answered through a mouthful of pancake and bacon.

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk and chew,¡± Mrs Barnes snapped as she put Mabel¡¯s plate in front of her.

    Arnold swallowed. ¡°Sorry Mum.¡±

    Angela sat down with her own breakfast. ¡°Don¡¯t apologize to me, you were talking to Mabel.¡±

    Arnold nodded and looked at his friend. ¡°Sorry Mabel.¡±

    Mabel nodded gravely. ¡°I forgive you.¡±

    Silence. The children broke into giggles.

    Angela hummed in her throat.

    ¡°Lighten up, Ang,¡± said Fred. ¡°Don¡¯t want to scare Mabel away, do we?¡±

    Fred liked Mabel. He¡¯d never seen himself with a daughter, but he found it suited him. Or at least, Mabel suited him.

    Plus, sometimes the leg braces she conjured let him play football again.

    Angela liked her a lot, too. Very down to earth. More importantly, she preferred her son playing with her than¡ª

    ¡°You got anything for Dave and Allison¡¯s birthdays?¡± Arnold asked Mabel.

    Mabel shrugged. ¡°Not really?¡±

    ¡°The party¡¯s tonight!¡±

    ¡°Did you get them something?¡±

    ¡°¡­No,¡± admitted Arnold.

    ¡°What do you even get for them? Dolphin food?¡±

    ¡°Another super?¡± Arnold suggested.

    ¡°A sense of perspective?¡± Angela muttered.

    Arnold grinned. ¡°She has telepathy, Mum.¡±

    ¡°She should use it more, then.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s very¡­ in herself,¡± remarked Fred. He shook his head. ¡°God, it¡¯s like when your brothers stopped wanting presents and started asking for money.¡±

    Angela sighed resignedly. ¡°Don¡¯t take His name in vain.¡±

    Arnold looked back and forth between his parents. ¡°Wait, you can get money for your birthday?¡±

    ¡°Your father said they asked for it, not that they got it,¡± said Angela. ¡°We sent them to university instead.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t stop them from whining.¡±

    ¡°Can I get money?¡±

    ¡°Nope¡± answered Fred.

    ¡°Come on¡­¡±

    ¡°Eye of the needle,¡± Angela reminded her son, ¡°eye of the needle.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Mabel laughed. Was this what families looked like? ¡°What would you even do with money? We live in a pirate town!¡± Mabel prodded her pancakes with her fork. ¡°Uncle Fred, Auntie Angela, how¡¯d you get the honey for these?¡±

    ¡°I fixed Mr. Carlson<sup>4</a></sup>¡¯s motorbike,¡± Fred replied. ¡°Bloody big-brains in the tower couldn¡¯t be bothered with it¡­¡±

    ¡°Fred!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you haven¡¯t thought it too,¡± said Fred. ¡°How long did it take them to set up your cold room?¡±

    ¡°Two days.¡±

    ¡°Because they wanted sausages. But I want my chair electrified, suddenly I¡¯m on a waiting list!¡±

    ¡°See?¡± said Mabel. ¡°Favours are where it¡¯s at.¡±

    Fred thumped the table with the hilt of his butter-knife. ¡°You listen to this girl, Arn!¡±

    Mabel beamed.

    ¡°Smartest thing I ever did was¡ª¡±

    A golden phantom rushed through the east well. Allison Kinsey appeared in her rainbow glory on top of the kitchen table. She was also bouncing.

    ¡°It¡¯s my birthday! It¡¯s my birthday¡ª¡±

    Angela barked, ¡°Allison! Not on the table!¡±

    Allison yelped and jumped to the floor, but not even Mrs Barnes could dispel her excitement.

    She was ten. Ten whole years old. Two digits. After nine false starts, she was finally big.

    She cast her eyes wildly between Mabel and Arnold. ¡°Come on, come on! Why are you still inside? It¡¯s been my birthday for hours.¡±

    Fred smiled fondly. ¡°Happy birthday, Allie.¡±

    ¡°Thanks Mr. Barnes!¡± Allison¡ªstill hopping¡ªturned to Angela. ¡°Sorry about the table, Mrs Barnes.¡±

    Angela glared at the muddy shoe prints left on her hard won honey oak table. ¡°It¡¯s alright, Allison.¡±

    Forgiveness is Christian, Forgiveness is Christian.

    Allison went back to hounding her friends. ¡°Come on, we still need to get David and Billy!¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Give me a sec.¡±

    Angela winced as she watched Mabel and Arnold inhale the rest of their breakfast. She half expected one of them to choke.

    Arnold and Mabel set down their cutlery performatively at the same time, intoning together:

    ¡°Costume on!¡±

    Fred and Angela both shut their eyes as a white flash replaced the children¡¯s pyjamas with their super-suits. They watched the three run out the front door into the morning heat.

    ¡°Last year was not good for that girl,¡± griped Angela.

    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± said Fred, ¡°At least she was dressed this time.¡±

    God, Angela worried about that girl.

    ?

    The Watercolours burst out into Catalpa. The place had grown a lot in the last few months, but it was still hardly the sprawling metropolis Allison liked to paint it as: just a few hundred patchwork buildings radiating out semi-organically from the cross-sectioned ruins of the prison, each flowing into the next like metallic hedgerows. The streetlights were iron trees topped with solar panels, supplementing the ex-prison¡¯s arcane power-source.

    The whole town looked strangely autumnal. All reds, yellows and coppers. The Arnhem Land soil they pulled the ore from was shod through with rust. It had taken their resident geniuses a few tries to engineer a refinement process that didn¡¯t require copious amounts of coal to remove the slag. There had been hiccups. So many that, for a time, they¡¯d stuck to tin.

    The place still managed to glimmer in the morning sun. And burn careless feet in the afternoon, at least until the shadow of the tower still embedded sideways in the ground like a crashed starship fell over it. They had renamed the thing Freedom Point. It was on the nose, but neither supervillains nor children are subtle.

    Allison took off down what passed for the street. Mabel and Arnold struggled to keep up with her enhanced leg muscles.

    ¡°Wait up, Allie!¡± Arnold shouted, before stopping to pant and clutch at his knees. ¡°Bloody show-off¡­¡±

    Mabel reached Arnold¡¯s side, jogging in place.

    It was a hot day. For the Yolngu<sup>5</a></sup>, Arnhem Land had six seasons<sup>6</a></sup>. White folk saw no such nuance. Here, they said, there was only dry and wet. It¡¯d been thundering in Catalpa since September, but it hadn¡¯t felt a drop of rain. Only the weeping humidity flooding the air as the sky held her breath.

    Allison loved it. She could taste the electricity on her tongue. It was like the world had its own song.

    People waved and said hello to her as she passed, always using her name. An old baseline man even took his hat off for her.

    ¡°Morning, Allison.¡±

    ¡°Happy birthday Allison!¡±

    ¡°See you at your party!¡±

    Strangers knew her birthday. Proper strangers¡ªnot just ancient aunts and uncles from the other side of the country. It was still dizzying.

    Allison vaulted over a large man carrying a crate of apples right before they would¡¯ve collided, scooping one from the box as she sailed over him.

    ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Allison, watch where you¡¯re going! And consider that your birthday present!¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t even know that bloke¡¯s name. But he knew hers.

    Allison turned her ear to the leviathan of song that was Catalpa, searching for the notes that belonged to William St. George. She leapt and dived dolphin-like through the rough dirt paths that snaked through town. She rode mounts of vapour and blinked from solar-post to solar-post. She ran across the glassy rooftops, crossing the gaps without breaking her stride. Her costume shifted colours with every new power or glowed unrefracted white.

    The symphony of Catalpa¡ªhundreds of players strong¡ªlifted Allison like a swelling sea. She could do anything within it. Become anything.

    She was interrupted mid-thought by a mass of fur slamming into her side.

    Allison fell to the dirt. Billy was standing over her, breathing heavily with a panicked smile while his tail gouged the air behind him.

    ¡°Wha¡ª¡±

    Billy took off down the street. ¡°Can¡¯t talk!¡± he yelled. ¡°Running for my life!¡±

    Twenty kids were running (or flying or teleporting or bouncing) away from a little boy with violet hair. He snarled like a rabid dog and waved his arms over his head as he lunged after them.

    Louise Michelson streaked past Allison as she clambered to her feet, yelling with laughter, ¡°Don¡¯t let him get you!¡±

    A sooty flame flashed in a window. The witch-boy Liam poked his head out and cried, ¡°One touch is all it takes!¡±

    Mabel and Arnold flew over the chaos on a flying carpet. Arnold peered over the edge.

    ¡°Has someone got nits<sup>7</a></sup> again?¡±

    The shunned boy caught sight of the carpet. He hissed, leaping on and grabbing hold of Arnold¡¯s neck.

    ¡°Ahhh!¡±

    The boy grinned. ¡°You¡¯re¡ª¡±

    The same grin jumped across to Arnold¡¯s face. ¡°¡ªMe!¡±

    The purple-headed child yelped and bailed off the side of the carpet.

    Mabel rolled her eyes, only for Arnold to grab her hand.

    ¡°You¡¯re it!¡±

    The boy shuddered as he got a hold of himself again. Mabel was shaking with giddiness, eyes darting about for a new target.

    Below them, Allison looked inside Mabel¡¯s mind. The girl¡¯s thoughts were caged by a Dyson shell of alien lights.

    Oh, Miri-chasee.

    She flew up to the carpet. ¡°Hey Miri.¡±

    Mabel beamed at Allison. She pulled the still hovering girl into a hug. ¡°Happy birthday, sis!¡± She released her from the hug, stumbling a step backwards as Miri molted off her.

    Miri grinned around at her friends. After Mistress Quickly had loudly pointed out to her that she was literally all appearances, she¡¯d started dressing her ghostly corpus. She usually tended towards an iridescent, monochrome one-piece. Or as she called it, ¡°cool kid clothes.¡±

    ¡°Happy Allie¡¯s birthday, guys!¡±

    Mabel rubbed her temples. ¡°We weren¡¯t in the game, Miri.¡±

    Miri frowned, abashed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Got excited.¡±

    ¡°S¡¯alright,¡± Arnold said, lying on his back. ¡°Least you didn¡¯t make me eat anything gross this time.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with peppers?¡± asked Miri. ¡°They¡¯re tongue-fire!¡± She turned to her sister. ¡°Oh, Allie! Louise says she¡¯ll let me use her body for a bit at the party!¡±

    Allison still found it surprising other kids were so willing to let Miri borrow their persons when she asked. They¡¯d made what Alberto did to her into a game.

    Or maybe it wasn¡¯t so surprising. As if Miri ever wouldn¡¯t give you back to yourself.

    Allison gave her a small smile. ¡°Nice of her, but you could always use ours. I won¡¯t mind.¡±

    Miri cocked her head. ¡°But it¡¯s your birthday. What¡¯d be the point if you¡¯re not there?¡±

    Why didn¡¯t Miri mind her situation as much as Allison did?

    She shook her head.

    Maude¡¯ll fix us soon.

    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re right. Let¡¯s go find David.¡±

    ?

    The crocodile rocketed out of the water, only to be caught mid-air by a new geyser spewing up from the river below, its own home turned against it. The creature thrashed and snapped its long jaws, bellowing and gurgling, all it could do to try and escape the liquid tendrils clasped around its scaly trunk. Nothing in the reptile¡¯s dim web of instinct and memory could account for this bizarre interruption of its slow, quiet wait for prey.

    A naked, nut-brown boy with bright green eyes was standing on a column of water eye-level with the crocodile, jeering and poking his tongue out at it.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Can¡¯t get me?¡±

    The beast whipped its tail and clawed thin air, trying to lunge at the child. Pure instinct, of course. Nothing in its narrow, predatory mind could¡¯ve told it this boy was the cause of its troubles.

    David Barthe (sometimes Venter) frowned. He turned around towards the riverbank, paying the crocodile no mind.

    ¡°Sarah!¡± he cried, enunciating both syllables. ¡°You¡¯re not looking.¡±

    Sarah Allworth¡ªreclining in her deck chair on the white clay shore¡ªturned the page of her Woman¡¯s Day. Eucalyptus trees cast a web of shadows over her sundress.

    ¡°Sarah!¡±

    Sarah lowered her sunglasses. ¡°Yes, David, that one¡¯s quite big.¡±

    David bowed grandly. ¡°Thank you, thank you, I¡¯m here all week.¡±

    David and the crocodile fell back into the river. The water broiled.

    Sarah wasn¡¯t worried. Nothing in the river could be more terrible than that boy.

    It hadn¡¯t taken long for Sarah to formally move to Catalpa. Even though Joe had moved out years ago, the family home felt suddenly empty. She never knew how much the possibility of his presence still filled that house. Lyonesse was even worse. It reminded her how little she¡¯d even known him. So she told Blanceflor to keep the lights on, handed the store to her nephew, and let the super-people build her a house without ghosts.

    Sarah had never thought she would retire overseas, but she was glad it was somewhere warm. She liked to think Joe would admire the move: helping build something new. And it was good to be surrounded by young people.

    The water sprite marched proudly out of the river. The crocodile bobbed to the surface behind him, trapped in a block of ice like a fly in amber.

    Even David.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that cruel?¡± Sarah asked cooly.

    David glanced back at his trophy. ¡°¡­It tried to eat me.¡±

    ¡°Touch¨¦.¡±

    ¡°Besides, they make it so the others can¡¯t swim where they want! It¡¯s not fair!¡±

    Well, at least the sentiment¡¯s there.

    David didn¡¯t live with Sarah. He was very insistent about that. He just slept in her spare bedroom when he didn¡¯t feel like napping in the sea. And had dinner with her. And sometimes she read him bedtime stories. Or hugged him when the nightmares came back.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you don¡¯t want your own party,¡± said Sarah. ¡°You¡¯re really fine sharing the spotlight?¡±

    David flopped down onto the dirt, basking in the sun like a seal. ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I? I love Allie. Birthdays are for humans anyway. Besides, way more people are going to pay attention to me if I¡¯m with Allison.¡± He smiled brightly. ¡°We make Arn blush. It¡¯s funny.¡±

    Sarah allowed herself a laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t have anything planned for your actual birthday?¡±

    David quirked his shoulders. ¡°Dunno. Go swimming with Grandfather?¡±

    ¡°That sounds nice. I was thinking maybe I could teach you pinochle?¡±

    ¡°¡­I could do both.¡±

    ¡°Hi!¡±

    David and Sarah looked up. The rest of the Watercolours were descending through the trees on their flying Bokhara. They landed in front of the pair, Billy scrambling off the carpet and launching himself at David.

    ¡°Happy not-birthday, David!¡±

    David hugged the tiger-boy back. ¡°Thanks, mate.¡±

    He let go of Billy and stepped grandly towards Allison. ¡°Bonjour, birthday-pal.¡±

    David kissed Allison¡¯s hand, only for her to bend down and return it on his cheek.

    Arnold did, in fact, blush.

    David spun over and kissed him too. ¡°Lighten up, Arn.¡±

    Mabel laughed and quoted Arnold¡¯s father, ¡°Damn hippies.¡±

    ¡°Careful, David,¡± said Sarah. ¡°You know how Mrs Barnes feels.¡±

    David groaned. ¡°Mrs Barnes isn¡¯t here.¡±

    ¡°Still.¡±

    Billy caught sight of the frozen crocodile. ¡°Ooh, is that from the ice-age? I heard crocodiles were super old.¡±

    ¡°Nope!¡± said David. He clapped a hand over his bicep. ¡°It tried messing with me!¡±

    Billy put his hands on his hips and frowned. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be mean to animals.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a crocodile, they¡¯re scary!¡±

    ¡°People think tigers are scary, too.¡±

    David retorted, ¡°A crocodile would totally eat a tiger if they got the chance, bud.¡± He looked at Allison. ¡°Double-check, I still don¡¯t have to wear pants tonight, do I?¡±

    Mrs Allworth silently rolled her eyes.

    ¡°Only inside,¡± said Allison. ¡°I had to fight Mrs Barnes pretty hard for that, so consider it your birthday present.¡±

    ¡°You know, David,¡± said Sarah, ¡°I think you look very smart in your super-suit.¡±

    David smirked. ¡°I know, but some of us don¡¯t need decoration.¡±

    Arnold swished his starry cloak around himself. ¡°I mean, if you¡¯re fine with being plain.¡±

    Miri flowed around David¡¯s body, scowling. ¡°I still want to know why you¡¯re hogging Allie¡¯s birthday.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re sharing our birthday, Miri,¡± Allison corrected her sister. ¡°It makes it more fun.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d think you would get sharing,¡± added David.

    Miri glanced over at Billy. ¡°Billy, slap him for me.¡±

    Billy promptly obeyed, claws sheathed.

    David staggered backwards. ¡°Really, Billy?¡±

    Billy smiled sideways at Miri, ¡°Sorry David, but you never turn down a lady.¡±

    A note was struck. A 3D, ovoid piece of somewhere else bloomed in the air next to Mrs Allworth¡¯s chair. Climate controlled air played at the corner of Arnold and Billy¡¯s capes.

    The Crimson Comet stepped out of the portal, in full-costume.

    ¡°Morning, Mr. Rivers,¡± said Sarah. ¡°What¡¯s the word?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m here for Allison,¡± the superhero said solemnly. He looked at the girl. ¡°There¡¯s been another delivery.¡±

    Allison snapped to attention. ¡°How many?¡±

    ¡°About fifteen this time. Mostly women and children. We could use your¡­ insight.¡±

    ¡°You can say telepathy,¡± said Allison. ¡°It¡¯s not rude.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Ralph. He jabbed a thumb at the portal, ¡°Shall we take the short way?¡±

    ¡°Do you want us to come?¡± asked Arnold. ¡°We could help!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± said Allison, walking towards the rent in space. ¡°You guys keep playing.¡±

    The portal collapsed behind Ralph and Allison. Miri blinked away. The rest of the children were left with the sound of the river flowing behind them.

    David glanced back at the crocodile. ¡°Hey, Billy, you think¡­¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Three: The Mirror-People

    It was kindness that drove Sandra Pritchard to Catalpa. Her entire working life had been spent tending to the sick and hurting. She was a nurse and a midwife¡ªwelcoming and bidding farewell to hundreds of souls.

    Sandra also had a side-business. A charity, really. She never charged more than a token fee.

    Sandra Pritchard helped women who didn¡¯t want to be pregnant. Others might have called it ugly work, but not Sandra. It was medicine, no matter what the nuns and the old men they scrapped before said. Sandra Pritchard saved lives, if only by keeping her instruments clean and sterile. It was more than could be said for other operations.

    She helped mothers and daughters; wives and prostitutes; any woman who didn¡¯t want a baby.

    If Sandra were to guess, it was probably one of those women who sent the police to her door.

    ¡°I try not to be angry,¡± she said over late night drinks at Libertalia<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°Don¡¯t always manage it, but I try.¡±

    Sandra had had to leave her flat through the bathroom window, carrying only her purse and the clothes on her back. She imagined she would¡¯ve been on the streets or in lockup before the week was up if she hadn¡¯t remembered what was going down in Elder Park. The supers were whisking away any and all comers to the edge of the world.

    And so they had. Good thing, too. Turned out they needed a nurse.

    The little boy whimpered as Nurse Sandy slid the needle into his vein. She stroked his brow with her thumb as she depressed the syringe.

    ¡°Shhh, there we are. Everything¡¯s fine.¡±

    The boy¡¯s breathing evened out as the sedative spread through him.

    Good. Now Sandy could figure out how to help him.

    The nurse surveyed Freedom Point infirmary. Over a dozen patients lay cradled in beds like open Bakelite clamshells, thousands of tiny tongues<sup>2</a></sup> licking at their skin. As a nurse, Sandra could see the utility. She never had to worry about bedsores. As a human being, though, she never felt completely okay with them. The fact they could close didn¡¯t help.

    Dr. Beak glided across the chrome steel floor. He was seven feet tall, his inner mechanisms hidden by a billowing black robe. His face was a birdlike silver plague mask.

    ¡°All patients are comfortably numb, ma¡¯am,¡± the robot said in a broad Southern drawl, his glass eyes flashing with every word.

    It was clear the Flying Man had never intended his mechanical medic for public eyes.

    ¡°Thank you, Doc,¡± said Nurse Sandy. She lit a cigarette and took a puff, only to feel her skin begin to tingle. ¡°Doc Beak!¡±

    A red glow died in the robot¡¯s eyes. ¡°No lung cancer yet, Nurse. Although I would advise you to take those outside in the interest of patient safety.¡±

    Before Sandy could try vocally programming some bedside manner into the doctor, an egg-portal bloomed in the middle of the infirmary. Her posture straightened reflexively as the Crimson Comet stepped through, Allison Kinsey in tow.

    It was no surprise, really. Portals were more common in her infirmary than almost anywhere else in Catalpa. Even forgetting the mirror-folk, a town full of super-children had its fair share of accidents, and the portals made superb ambulances. Sandra did wish they¡¯d use the corner they¡¯d cleared for them, though.

    The Comet nodded at Sandy. ¡°Nurse Pritchard.¡±

    ¡°Comet,¡± the nurse replied.

    Everyone in Catalpa by then knew the Crimson Comet¡¯s real name, but hardly anyone could bring themselves to call him ¡°Ralph¡± or ¡°Mr. Rivers¡± while he was in uniform. It would be like calling the Pope ¡°Paulie.¡±

    Nurse Sandy turned to Allison and affected a smile. ¡°Happy birthday, Allie.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer the woman, instead casting her burning eyes about the ward. Fifteen people, just as Ralph had told her. All asleep. Good. Sometimes Catalpa frightened the mirror-people when they weren¡¯t eased into things. A Romanian super-girl had screamed when she spotted Allison. Poor kid thought she was a vampire.

    Is she wrong? Alberto had jeered inside Allison.

    Every common human colour was represented in this batch. In age they ranged from a fifty year old woman to a sleeping baby. Allison heard the echoes of half a dozen languages in their songs. Five of them were superhuman. Their bright roar nearly drowned out the embryonic melody coming together a few floors up.

    Allison shook her head. She had to wait.

    She looked up at Ralph. ¡°Where¡¯d these ones come from?¡±

    ¡°Rhonda Leavence<sup>3</a></sup> found them in the women¡¯s changing room at the pool.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°That makes sense.¡±

    They always came from mirrors. Clairvoyance once let Allison watch their arrival through a mirrored wardrobe door. Haggard refugees from the border of Looking Glass Land and Narnia.

    The last man had been gently pushed through by a pair of slender hands. Bruised hands.

    ¡°Any of them hurt bad?¡±

    The nurse sighed. ¡°Only the usual. Most of them are badly bruised, half of them are malnourished.¡±

    Dr. Beak added, ¡°All patients exhibited signs of persistent stress. The cortisol in their blood would give Dracula a nervous breakdown.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t surprising. When the mirror-people were in a fit state to speak, not one of them reported lives of comfort. They were prisoners; modern slaves; the weak and abused.

    ¡°Two exceptions,¡± said Sandra. ¡°Not to the stress, so the doctor tells me, but physically speaking, they¡¯re both pristine. A bit too healthy, in fact.¡±

    ¡°Which ones?¡± asked Allison.

    Nurse Pritchard walked over to the baby bed. He was one of the supers. His song was like if harps worked as looms. ¡°Him, thank God. Except¡­ he¡¯s healthy, but¡­¡± Gently, she picked the child up, holding him against her breast. ¡°Look.¡±

    Allison peered at the baby. On the back of his neck, a silver pentagram shone against light olive skin. Its lines were composed of delicate, interwoven script, as though the tattooist had inked the feet of ants.

    Allison¡¯s friend Tom Long still bore the shadow of such a mark.

    ¡°The Coven,¡± Allison said quietly.

    ¡°A baby,¡± said Sandra. She shook her head. ¡°Bunch of animals.¡±

    The Coven were rapidly becoming the most prominent and organized supervillain team in Australian history. The five¡ªor as of late, four¡ªof them ruled organized crime on the west coast, and only the Devil knew how far their reach extended.

    One thing was for sure, they were leaders in the superhuman slave trade. Herbert Lawrence had liberated (well, purchased) Tom from them. A few of the supers who¡¯d fled to Catalpa since its founding had escaped from their hands. Others had been covenantor spies. Not that they¡¯d known that themselves.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°The other one is from the Coven too,¡± said Dr. Beak. ¡°No surprise. My gene-sifter says she¡¯s the boy¡¯s mother.¡±

    ¡°Mother?¡±

    Allison looked towards the mechanical doctor. He was standing at the bedside of a young woman¡ªnot even twenty by the looks of her. She had heavy-lidded eyes and thick, dark honey hair. Her song was a rainstorm of every strain of matter. Clouds weeping tears of glass and gold.

    It was funny. Sometimes, a sound could be so constant in your life for so long, you hardly noticed its return:

    ¡°Lana,¡± said Allison.

    That was the name the girl¡¯s parents had given her. Herbert Lawrence had called her Ex-Nihilo.

    ¡°You know her?¡± asked the Comet. ¡°Was she one of Lawrence¡¯s?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± answered Allison. ¡°One of the first after Mels and them.¡±

    ¡°God,¡± said Ralph. ¡°First Lawrence, then the Coven. Poor thing.¡±

    Allison strode over to her old schoolmate. ¡°I¡¯m gonna check her memory,¡± she said. ¡°See if she got a good look at who got her out of there.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡± asked Nurse Pritchard. ¡°This girl¡¯s clearly¡­ suffered.¡±

    Allison had tried this before with a mirror person. A Vietnamese woman, pulled from a sweep of her village by US forces. She¡¯d come back to herself screaming of men and broken bottles.

    ¡°Gotta be done,¡± said Allison, taking Lana¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Does it?¡± asked Sandra.

    Allison shrugged. ¡°I want to know. Least with Lana I know what to expect.¡±

    Allison closed her eyes. ¡°Mind the shop, Miri.¡±

    Allison¡¯s costume glowed and reformed into a pearlescent one-piece. Miri opened her eyes and grinned around the infirmary.

    ¡°Hi everybody!¡±

    ?

    The shop bell jingled as Allison stepped out from the glare into the dusty record store. She found Alberto swigging a bottle of red behind the counter.

    When Allison started constructing herself a proper mind-palace, a music store had only seemed fitting. She had pressed her knowledge into books of sheet-music and her memories onto vinyl records in lushly illustrated sleeves. A little girl covered in wheatpaste running shrieking through a school playground. A jumbled pile of fantasy and children¡¯s paperbacks. Allison and David swimming together through an aquamarine sea.

    She had shelves devoted to her parents, her friends; her life before and after starting school; and before and after the freak-finders got her and Arnold. Two shelves were given over to memories of the New Human Institute: ¡®Good¡¯ and ¡®Bad¡¯.

    To her surprise, the former was more crowded than the latter.

    He grinned woozy acid at the girl. ¡°Allie! Big day today, isn¡¯t it?¡± The psychic half-danced, half-staggered out onto the shag-carpet. ¡°God, ten years years old, already.¡± He looked her up and down. ¡°Few more birthdays and you won¡¯t be able to see your feet.¡±

    Allison glowered at her unwanted prisoner. ¡°Shut it, Alberto. I¡¯m busy.¡±

    ¡°Taking a break from pashing<sup>4</a></sup> David and Arn? You know that¡¯s just giving Bertie what he wanted.¡±

    ¡°Who cares? He¡¯s dead. Also, can¡¯t see Arnold and David having babies.¡±

    ¡°Fair point. Do as you feel, love the one you¡¯re with and all that.¡±

    Alberto was being unusually jolly, even for when he gorged himself on the memory of wine. Probably thinking about Maude¡¯s project, Allison decided.

    Alberto sucked his lips. ¡°First Tom and Louise, now ol¡¯ Lana. You sure one of your subjects doesn¡¯t have coincidence powers?¡±

    Allison put her hands on her hips. ¡°They¡¯re not my ¡®subjects¡¯, Alberto.¡±

    The esper snorted. ¡°Allie, they made your birthday a national holiday. Only other lady I know who gets that treatment is the Queen.¡±

    ¡°Whatever you say,¡± said Allison, walking past a rack of records dedicated to girls she didn¡¯t like. ¡°You coming?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Been cooped up here for ages.¡±

    The two made their way to a door at the back of the store. It opened out onto a vast crescent of light fixed in a starless void. Its edge was rimmed by hundreds more doors, in all colours and shapes. The one unifying element were the bronze plaques affixed to each. The names of everyone in Catalpa<sup>5</a></sup>.

    Allison and Alberto walked to their left, past the minds of Ralph, Sandra, and Maude Simmons. The Crimson Comet¡¯s door was a rusty ship¡¯s hatch. Nurse Pritchard¡¯s was dark brown wood with frosted glass panels engraved with bluebirds. Mistress Quickly¡¯s door, perhaps unsurprisingly, appeared to be a very oddly shaped plasma-globe.

    They soon reached a new door. It was made of heavy black wood and carved with roses. Lana Firrens¡¯ name was surrounded by a ring of gold circles.

    ¡°You put way too much effort into presentation,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Who¡¯s it for?¡±

    ¡°Me,¡± answered Allison. She pulled a skeleton key out of nothing and slipped it into the door¡¯s lock.

    ¡°And what¡¯s the point of that?¡±

    ¡°You.¡±

    The door opened. Allison and Alberto stepped into Lana¡¯s mind.

    They were standing on the shore of a cavernous underground lake. The black waters swarmed blue and white with glowing plankton. Swimming constellations.

    With no comment or gesture, a wooden rowboat rose from the water. Allison boarded the small vessel, settling in the back seat.

    She called back to Alberto, ¡°You¡¯re rowing.¡±

    The reluctant gondolier muttered foul insults at the girl as he clumsily boarded the boat, taking up an oar and pushing them off onto the tides of memory.

    They rowed towards the centre of the lake, where Allison knew instinctively the freshest memories lay. She may not have known the territory of Lana¡¯s mind, but she knew the map.

    There was a hole in the stony sky there, through which poured a glowing cataract. It was Lana¡¯s mind¡¯s eye, the sieve of senses and biases that filtered the outside world for her. Allison¡¯s took the shape of a wireless radio. Alberto was a dumbwaiter in his vast wine-cellar.

    The flow was light right now. No surprise: Lana was sleeping. That water was all dreams.

    While Alberto played Charon, Allison peered over the side boat, watching the water for memory.

    In many ways, the lake was a more honest space than Allison¡¯s record shop. Memories weren¡¯t LPs that played the same every time you put them on. They were a bin of props people used to try and recreate their lives, with only themselves for reference. Play scripts with fading letters, staged by actors who couldn¡¯t stop ad libbing.

    The records helped Allison keep her memories from drifting, but they didn¡¯t make them any more ¡°honest.¡± She¡¯d just placed them under glass. But at least she had them. At least she could still hear her mother¡¯s voice.

    You¡¯re being dumb, Allison told herself. They¡¯ll come. You¡¯ve made it so easy.

    The star-plankton formed into tables and chairs as tall as trees.

    Baby stuff.

    A star falling from a blue sky, somehow clear as day beneath the black water.

    She¡¯s not gonna be Superman¡¯s big sister, is she?

    A blackened crater smoking in a field of golden grass. Childish hands waving fractal stones that blurred and smeared the world behind them.

    ¡°Lawrence spent a lot of time and money trying to find those space rocks,¡± commented Alberto. ¡°A miracle-cure for normalcy was always one of his fantasies.¡±

    ¡°Should¡¯ve asked the Physician,¡± said Allison, thinking back to his educator-crown and taxidermied goddess.

    The Flying Man¡¯s mother, she remembered. They were both gone now¡­

    ¡°Be glad he didn¡¯t find them,¡± said Alberto. ¡°Mad git would¡¯ve mixed them into your Weet-Bix.¡±He stopped rowing. ¡°Fox¡¯s calling card, six o¡¯clock.¡±

    Allison scurried to the bow of the boat. A machine made of shadows towered over them¡ªa hybrid of industrial water-purifier and octopus.

    A safeguard by the Fox: the Coven¡¯s apparent leader. Near as Allison could tell, the man wasn¡¯t exactly a telepath. More a hypnotist. He could instill phobias stronger than life and death, or prime a man to turn homicidal if they heard a certain phrase in a crowded room.

    God, that had been a mess.

    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you¡¯ll want to take care of that?¡±

    Allison burst into blue and violet flames. A boil of lava bubbled into existence in her right hand. She hurled it like a discus at the shadow-machine.

    The thing went up like dry paper, shrieking and flailing as it burned and crumbled into the water.

    ¡°Christ, kid, you could¡¯ve just wished the thing to death,¡± said Alberto.

    Allison ignored him. Sometimes you had to spice things up.

    Out the corner of her eye, she spotted a new image in the water. Lana¡ªas she was out there in real space¡ªlying in what looked like a posh hotel room.

    Allison¡¯s flames went out. ¡°I think I found what we¡¯re looking over for.¡±

    She let herself fall backwards into the lake.

    A moment of bracing cold gave way to a syrupy, narcotic warmth. Allison found herself standing by Lana¡¯s bed.

    They were in a penthouse. The sort of place Allison didn¡¯t think you could physically exist in unless you were wearing a sparkling evening gown. For whatever reason, there was a full length mirror only a few feet in front of the queen-sized bed.

    Lana was breathing slowly on top of the covers, her eyelids fluttering. Clearly drugged.

    The ghosts of words brushed Allison. ¡°The baby,¡± ¡°Mockery,¡± and ¡°auction.¡±

    Allison shivered, remembering the story Tom once told around the fire back at the Institute.

    Lana groaned as movement drew Allison¡¯s eyes to the mirror. She had no reflection in it, but it would¡¯ve been stranger if she had. But there was a woman, covered head to toe in dark blue fabric, walking towards the bed.

    She was cradling a baby.

    Allison found herself holding her breath. This was the clearest look she¡¯d ever got at the Mirror Mistress. Or whatever she was called.

    Lana was whimpering. The light of the room became tinged with fear, but no surprise.

    The Mirror Mistress raised a hand. Black cloth covered everything up to her nose, and the rest of her face was concealed by mirrored-sunglasses. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Ex-Nihilo. I¡¯m getting you out of here.¡±

    Lana¡¯s eyes widened at the sight of her son.  She tried to raise herself, only to fall back against her pillow.

    The Mirror-Mistress rushed to her bedside, right through Allison¡¯s image. Still holding the baby in one arm, she hoisted up Lana with the other.

    The young woman tried to speak, but her rescuer shushed her. ¡°Don¡¯t talk. Just walk.¡±

    Allison watched as they made their way slowly over to the mirror, Lana leaning against the Mirror-Mistress.

    The woman was limping. Her fingers were blotched blue like a painter¡¯s. Every step seemed to send a wince shooting up her.

    But still, she kept on walking.

    The penthouse refracted, shattering. Allison opened her eyes back in the infirmary just in time to see the sleeves of her costume flowing back over her arms.

    ¡°What¡¯d you see?¡± asked Ralph.

    ¡°Definitely a woman,¡± said Allison. ¡°Some sort of superhero.¡±

    ¡°I thought we already knew that,¡± commented Dr. Beak.

    ¡°Pretty much,¡± said Allison. ¡°But she knew Lana¡¯s name. Her other name.¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Four: Cloudsong

    Allison swayed her hips from side to side in front of the Barnes¡¯ bedroom mirror, admiring Angela¡¯s handiwork: a mottled sundress in pale greens and pinks.

    ¡°Well,¡± said Mrs Barnes, standing behind the girl with her arms folded. She was wearing the green suit and hat she¡¯d worn for the Catalpa invite. Old church clothes. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    Allison knew Arnold¡¯s mother was trying hard to make the question sound neutral. The woman was very proud of her sewing, and hid it badly.

    ¡°It¡¯s nice!¡± the girl answered earnestly with a twirl. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to make me a new dress, though. My costume¡¯s comfy.¡±

    ¡°Allison, you wear that costume of yours all day, everyday. You could at least let me wash it.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t need it. It eats sweat and stuff.¡±

    Angela suppressed a shudder. That should¡¯ve been reason enough for her to burn the ghastly thing<sup>1</a></sup>. ¡°It¡¯s your special day, you should look special.¡±

    ¡°But I can make my costume look like whatever I want. You could¡¯ve just shown me a picture.¡±

    Mrs Barnes let out a sigh. How to explain this to a child. ¡°Allison¡­ I just wanted to make you something. Something you could use. A birthday present.¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°Oh, I getcha¡­ so I¡¯m not getting another present?¡±

    A smile like a lightning flash flickered across Angela¡¯s lips. Sometimes, she understood completely why her son liked this girl.

    Angela¡¯s reserve reasserted itself. ¡°Now, let¡¯s get that hair brushed.¡± She picked up a brush from her chest of drawers and started running it through Allison¡¯s chestnut hair.

    The child winced as Mrs Barnes yanked her head to the side. It was clear to Allison the only girl whose hair Angela had brushed in recent decades was the woman herself.

    ¡°Do we have to?¡±

    ¡°The whole town¡¯s coming to this party for you. You owe it to them to look your best.¡±

    Allison resigned herself to grumbling. At least ten was apparently the cut-off date for being allowed to wash your hair yourself. Or turn into mist and back in the shower and say you washed it.

    Mrs Barnes at least soon settled into a steady groove with the brush, leaving Allison to look in the mirror and think.

    I¡¯m surprised you still have a reflection.

    ¡°Allison, it¡¯s not nice to frown on your birthday.¡±

    ¡°Alberto said something lousy.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Well, ignore him. Doesn¡¯t sound like he ever says much worth listening to.¡±

    Angela wished she had better advice for Allison. Or a solution. As it was, she barely comprehended the girl¡¯s condition. The closest comparisons she could think of were what little she¡¯d heard of schizophrenics, which felt insulting, and Legion from the Gospels, which made her feel like a superstitious fool. And Miri seemed like a nice little girl.

    Mr. Moretti, on the other hand¡­

    Allison meanwhile found herself wondering what her party would¡¯ve been like if she¡¯d never left Harvey. They probably would¡¯ve gone to the dam again. Her parents would¡¯ve made her invite Jesse Perks, even though she was a complete cow who deserved to be covered in glue. Her mother might¡¯ve taken her up to Perth to pick out something nice.

    And what about after? Did anything change when you were ten? Allison had a vague idea she¡¯d be expected to dress more like a grownup. Maybe order from the grown-up menu. Probably have to wear bathers more. Stop running through the sprinklers.

    She wouldn¡¯t know the other Watercolours. Miri wouldn¡¯t even exist. That stung.

    And why did it have to be a choice? Why weren¡¯t her parents here? They picked people up from Perth every month! She¡¯d even made them do a pick up in Bunbury once, just for them. Bunbury. She¡¯d made it so easy for them to be together.

    ¡°Mrs Barnes?¡±

    ¡°Allison?¡±

    ¡°Before we came here, you saw my parents around, right?¡±

    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Angela answered warily.

    ¡°¡­Did they miss me?¡±

    Angela didn¡¯t answer for a moment, trying to puzzle out what Allison wanted to hear. Did she want to think her parents were okay? Or did she need to know she was wanted?

    Honesty. That was the Christian thing to do.

    ¡°Dearly. I don¡¯t know how they got out of bed.¡±

    ¡°Then why aren¡¯t they here?¡±

    Angela was prepared to offer a number of weak excuses for the elder Kinseys. Her father¡¯s job. Their house. What their neighbours or Mr. Kinsey¡¯s family would think.

    Again, the Christian thing.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Allie. I¡¯m sorry, but I just don¡¯t know.¡±

    It would¡¯ve been easier if Allison had cried. There were rote responses to that, programmed into every mother worth her salt.

    Instead, the little girl only nodded. ¡°Not your fault.¡±

    What could Angela say to that? It wasn¡¯t right that her parents weren¡¯t here, but she didn¡¯t know their hearts. Not really.

    Why are you making me do your job?

    To Angela¡¯s quiet relief, her son flung the bedroom door open:

    ¡°David¡¯s here!¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± said Angela, ¡°can¡¯t keep the other special guest waiting.¡±

    David was waiting outside the Barnes¡¯ house, impatiently tapping his foot on the dusty ground. Hundreds of overlapping conversations underscored by music and clinking glasses were pouring out of an egg-portal behind him.

    ¡°Come on, come on!¡± he whined as the family filed out the door. ¡°The party¡¯s starting!¡±

    Mrs Barnes stopped pushing her husband¡¯s wheelchair and looked around the street. She looked down at her son. ¡°Arnold, I thought you said David was waiting for us,¡± she said very evenly.

    David tilted his head. ¡°I¡¯m right here.¡±

    Angela made another show of searching for David. ¡°Can you see him anywhere, Fred?¡±

    Fred Barnes gave David a cruel smile. ¡°Fraid not, wife.¡±

    Angela folded her arms and looked right at David. ¡°Strange, his costume is so distinctive.¡±

    David looked down at his bare body. Allison and Arnold both stifled giggles as he balled his fists and fumed:

    ¡°Costume on.¡±

    A flash of light dressed David.

    Angela blinked. ¡°Ah, there you are David. Happy birthday.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Mrs Barnes,¡± David replied through grit teeth.

    Arnold smiled playfully. ¡°Happy birthday, Dave.¡±

    David¡¯s face brightened. ¡°Hey Arn.¡± He turned his attention to Allison. ¡°Hey birthday-partner!¡±

    Allison laughed. ¡°Hey David.¡±

    David pecked Allison and Arnold on the cheek in turn. They kissed him back.

    Almost too quick to be seen, the water-sprite shot Arnold¡¯s mother a very satisfied smile.

    Angela frowned.

    Well, he is French¡­

    ¡°Let¡¯s not hold up the party¡­¡±

    As the guests of honour, David and Allison stepped through the portal first. They came out into the canteen in Freedom Point, done up in theatre curtains and mood lighting like a senior school social. Someone had even hung up a mirror-ball.

    A crowd of hundreds swarmed the pair. Dozens of variations on ¡°Happy birthday!¡± buzzed like a beehive. The children got so many pats on the back, it bordered on a beating.

    Allison hunched her shoulders and smiled bracingly against the onslaught. David meanwhile was waving and blowing kisses:

    ¡°Mwha! Mwha! Thank you, I love you all!¡±

    Allison stifled a laugh. Where was this David at Parliament House?

    A foghorn blared, parting the crowd like a spear-thrust. Mistress Quickly and her young assistant Doc Danny<sup>2</a></sup> marched up to the pair in matching hot pink lab-blazers.

    Maude Simmons nodded to the kids in turn. ¡°David, Allison.¡±

    Doc Danny nudged her lightly.

    ¡°Oh right, happy birthday.¡±

    ¡°Hi Quickly,¡± said Allison. ¡°Nice party.¡±

    Danny scoffed. ¡°This?¡± He gestured about at the decorations. ¡°This isn¡¯t the party.¡±

    David tilted his head. ¡°Then where are we?¡±

    Maude enthused, ¡°The vestibule.¡± She took Allison¡¯s hand and pulled the girl behind her. ¡°Come on, we¡¯ll show you.¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t resist. Mostly she tried to keep from sliding on her heels. She shot a glance back at David, who shrugged and grabbed her hand in turn, forming a chain. They passed a well-stocked snack table, as well one ladden with rainbow and green-blue wrapped presents. Allison and David slowed to admire their haul, only for Maude to insistently yank them past.

    The centrepiece of the room was a topaz statue of David, standing triumphantly atop a milky jade crocodile lying on its back. It would¡¯ve been positively Grecian, if it weren¡¯t for the topaz David¡¯s broad, pearly grin.

    Allison glanced at her friend. ¡°You do that?¡±

    He grinned proudly. ¡°Yep. Well, Billy helped, but it was my idea.¡±

    At the back of the canteen was a rosette of twelve egg-portals, each floating under rustic wooden signs hanging from lengths of fishing line:Stolen novel; please report.

    WATERCOLOUR ISLAND

    THE SLOPES

    FANTASTIC UNIVERSE

    Mistress Quickly spread her arms. ¡°Behold, the world¡¯s first intercontinental birthday party<sup>3</a></sup>!¡±

    Allison blinked. ¡°Intercontinental?¡±

    Maude pointed at the portal under the ¡°WATERCOLOUR ISLAND¡± sign. ¡°Take a peek through that one.¡±

    David and Allison poked their heads through the pocket of interpolated space. They found themselves looking out on a familiar stretch of white-sanded beach. Kids splashed and played in sapphire waters. A woman with a mane of purple amethysts carved from bleached concrete was sunning herself on a deckchair. Ralph Rivers waved at the birthday children from the barbecue he was manning. Jungle bordered the edges of their vision.

    David grinned at Allison. ¡°It¡¯s our island!¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Doc Danny, looking very impressed with himself. ¡°We got the cords from Arnold¡¯s magic atlas thing.¡±

    Allison glanced back at Danny. ¡°The ¡®cords¡¯?¡±

    Danny folded his arms. ¡°It means ¡®coordinates¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I know! It¡¯s just¡­¡± She laughed. ¡°The cords¡­¡±

    ¡°Check out another one,¡± suggested Maude.

    The children took her advice, picking ¡°THE SLOPES¡±. They stepped out onto white, powdery snow. The ground sloped at their feet. Ant-people skied far below them with varying grace. Snowflakes settled and melted in their hair.

    Thousands of miles away right behind them, Mistress Quickly spoke, ¡°You are currently standing in a suitably anonymous stretch of mountain range in northern Montana. It¡¯s no Aspen, but the tourists haven¡¯t found it yet, so swings and roundabouts¡­¡±

    David smiled wryly at Allison. ¡°I guess it¡¯s good Mrs Barnes made you that dress. Otherwise you¡¯d be invisible here¡­¡±

    Allison grinned toothily. The red glow of her eyes flashed white just long enough for a wave of snow to rise and fall on top of David.

    The girl ran laughing back into the canteen, a volley of snowballs hurtling through the portal after her. One of them struck Doc hard in the face:

    ¡°Hey!¡±

    ¡°Harden up,¡± said Maude.

    Allison caught sight of the portal labelled ¡°FANTASTIC PLANET.¡± It looked like the night sky had laid an egg.

    Why didn¡¯t I look at that one first?

    She charged through the portal, only for her feet to meet thin air. Allison tumbled through the black, planets and stars flitting past her.

    She bounced against something unseen and spongy. As she rose, she saw Lily Nichols¡ªwearing a body formed out of silvery gallium¡ªricochet off a red ringed gas giant.

    ¡°Happy birthday Allie!¡± she called as she sailed past Allison.

    Either Lily was very big right now, or that planet was incredibly small.

    Allison¡¯s upwards momentum died. She started plummeting back into infinity. Curious, the girl angled herself towards an orange wormhole.

    It sucked Allison into a twisty, gravity defying fibreglass tunnel, depositing her in the air above the egg portal.

    Allison hurtled spinning back into the canteen, landing on her feet to some small applause.

    ¡°Where the heck was that?¡± Allison asked Maude.

    ¡°We fixed the juvenile wing,¡± answered Doc Danny. ¡°Burned that freaking clown out of the code, first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the other planners nixed any real offworld venues,¡± said Mistress Quickly.

    A dimly lit portal labelled ¡°GROWN-UPS ONLY¡± forcefully ejected David.

    ¡°People in there don¡¯t have to wear clothes inside¡­¡± he grumbled.

    Maude Simmons launched into a speech. ¡°This is just the beginning.¡± She gestured around at the portals. ¡°Why should a superhuman city¡¯s border be dictated by geography? Like it¡¯s the bloody Dark Ages and ¡®mass-transport¡¯ just means a really strong mule! We can make a city that spans continents! Whole worlds¡ª¡±

    ¡°Um, Mistress,¡± interjected Doc Danny, ¡°they¡¯re gone.¡±

    Maude looked about. Allison and David had in fact departed into the depths of the party.

    ¡°Bloody kids. We¡¯re wasted on them.¡±

    Doc Danny was looking pleadingly up at his mentor.

    Mistress Quickly sighed. ¡°Yes, Danny, you can go play.¡±

    Doc whooped and leapt into the beach portal.

    David and Allison romped across the entire planet. They ran through fields of yellow wildflowers at the bottom of Australia. They wrestled dolphins. They surfed avalanches and battled through space.

    They were playing off their old beach when the party started going peculiar. David¡¯s grandfather had turned up. Now him and David were riding on the shoulders of an icy giant while dozens of kids tried to fell it<sup>4</a></sup>.

    Allison and a few of Catalpa¡¯s other flyers weaved and dived around the ice-giant¡¯s swinging glacial fists. Honestly, apart from the one girl who could make it rain steel droplets, they weren¡¯t accomplishing much, at least not next to the children chipping away at the giant¡¯s feet.

    Allison was trying to melt a tunnel into the giant¡¯s side when she heard a familiar song. Well, it wasn¡¯t so much the song itself that was familiar. It shifted too constantly for that.

    Allison cleaved from the giant and looked in the direction of the inconsistent music.

    Far below, almost around the other side of the island, two children were playing alone in the water.

    Allison focused her more-than-human eyes. One of the children was a faintly blue-skinned boy,  wearing nothing besides a white, wide-brimmed hat rimmed with tiny roses. The other was an Arab girl in a sailor outfit, long white trousers pulled up around her knees. Her hair was striped, blonde and brunette.

    A memory from what Allison thought was long ago stirred in her. Another party being thrown for her. Those children, standing on the other side of the river¡­

    She swooped down into the sea, splashing down in front of the two children. ¡°Okay, who the heck are you?¡±

    The pair paused in their frolics. The blue boy looked at Allison and said, ¡°¡­Uh, hi. I¡¯m Sky.¡±

    The girl gave a small wave and smiled. ¡°I¡¯m Eve.¡±

    Their accents were odd. Slightly Australian, but put through some sort of strainer. A bit like David¡¯s, actually.

    Sky pointed a finger at Allie. ¡°You¡¯re Allison Kinsey, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Duh! It¡¯s my bloody birthday party!¡±

    Eve¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Really? How old are you?¡±

    ¡°Ten! What are you doing here?¡±

    Sky sucked his lips. ¡°Um, we just moved here.¡±

    Allison put her hands on her hips. ¡°This is my town. I meet everyone. No you didn¡¯t.¡± She frowned and leaned forward. ¡°And I saw you two at the Institute. Why are you following me?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not!¡± insisted Sky. ¡°It¡¯s someone else!¡±

    Eve glared at his companion. ¡°Don¡¯t tell her that!¡± She pulled him around and into a huddle.

    ¡°¡­Told you she wouldn¡¯t be here.¡±

    ¡°But I can feel her¡­¡±

    ¡°Hey, hey, hey!¡± Allison pried the two apart. ¡°Don¡¯t go whispering when I¡¯m asking you something.¡±

    Red blood showed under Sky¡¯s blue cheeks. He blushed rectangles.

    Allison¡¯s eyebrows knit. ¡°Are you from Enlil?¡±

    ¡°Ah, we gotta go,¡± said Sky, smiling a bit shakily.

    ¡°Have a good birthday!¡± said Eve.

    ¡°And look out for the witch!¡± Sky added.

    ¡°The witch?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell her about the witch!¡±

    The two flickered lime green and vanished.

    Allison growled and stamped her foot in the ocean.

    There was a splash behind the girl. Allison turned around to find a glowing Louise standing next to a happily shaken looking Billy. The girl was naked, but Billy¡¯s costume had turned into a shockingly old-fashioned, blue and white striped bathing suit. He even had a little boater hat.

    ¡°Happy birthday Allie!¡± cried Billy.

    ¡°Thanks Billy,¡± said Allison.

    She looked at Louise. The girl was shaking with ecstatic energy. Like standing still was physically painful, but she was too happy to care.

    Allison smiled. ¡°Hey Miri.¡±

    ¡°Hey Allie!¡± With viper quickness, Miri pulled Allison into a bear hug. ¡°Gosh, Louise has a fun body!¡± She let go of Allison and plunged her fist into the ocean, pulling it out clad in a shiny second skin. ¡°Ice-glove!¡±

    Allison giggled. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s neat.¡±

    ¡°You felt really cross a sec ago. What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°Weirdos I don¡¯t know were here.¡±

    Billy asked, ¡°Like when David¡¯s granddad brought that fire-girl to play?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°I saw them before. At the Institute.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Miri. ¡°They gone now?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± answered Allison.

    Miri kicked the water, making it steam. ¡°I could¡¯ve played with them!¡±

    Allison laughed. People were too good for her sister.

    There was a sound like a mountain being cut down. Children cheered around the ice-giant¡¯s carcass.

    David exploded out of the water between Miri and Allison, causing both girls to stumble backwards. ¡°Allie! You missed the best part!¡±

    Miri frowned. ¡°I really don¡¯t get why Louise likes you.¡±

    Allison smiled. ¡°She¡¯s not lending you her body again.¡±

    ?

    Eventually, people from the four corners of the party gathered around the birthday cake: a fifteen-foot monster in the shape of Freedom Point. Four hundred odd voices sung ¡°Happy Birthday.¡± Allison and David cut the cake with sharpened fingers of ice, and extinguished the ten candles with floating water-droplets.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s how you get a birthday wish,¡± commented Arnold.

    Allison shrugged and smiled. ¡°I don¡¯t need em¡¯.¡±

    That was a lie, of course. Allison had at least two wishes.

    After that, it was time to unwrap the presents. There were less than you might¡¯ve thought. It wasn¡¯t as though people tended to come to Catalpa with much. Mostly, David and Allison received trinkets. Handicrafts. Old bank notes. Pretty much every one of David¡¯s presents included shorts or shirts:

    ¡°Ha. Ha.¡±

    Fred Barnes got Allison a book on origami:

    ¡°How¡¯d you know I don¡¯t know how to do that?¡±

    Fred smiled crookedly. ¡°Because I¡¯ve seen you doing it, girl.¡±

    Despite some very politely worded discouragement, Ocean himself had brought a present for his grandson: a dead false killer whale.

    He dropped the dead, unmarred dolphin wet and dripping in front of David.

    ¡°Eat this and grow strong, my child.¡±

    David looked at Arnold¡¯s mother. ¡°Can you cut up dolphins, Mrs Barnes?¡±

    Angela hissed through her teeth. ¡°I can try¡­¡±

    Mabel gave her gifts last. They were both very flat and square.

    Arnold wrinkled his nose. ¡°You said you weren¡¯t getting them anything!¡±

    Mabel poked her tongue at Arnold. ¡°Yeah, because you¡¯d try to say one of them was yours.¡±

    Allison unwrapped hers first. It was a painting of her clad in knightly armour in front of Freedom Point, holding aloft a gleaming sword while a divine spotlight shone down on her.

    Allison smiled and nodded appreciatively. ¡°Nice.¡±

    Now gripped by suspense, David ripped the wrapping of his present, only to blink when he saw what Mabel had painted him.

    David and his mother sported and swam together through a green-blue ocean. Fran?oise was clearly laughing, holding her son¡¯s ankle as he chased after silver fish.

    Mabel watched David stare at her painting, suddenly wondering if she should¡¯ve waited till they weren¡¯t in front of the entire town. ¡°Ah, sorry if that¡¯s¡ª¡±

    David hugged her. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°¡­It was nothing.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t.¡±

    Sarah Allworth put a hand on David¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do you want us to hang it in my house. It¡¯s very nice.¡±

    David nodded. ¡°That¡¯d be nice.¡± He beckoned over the Ocean Beast. ¡°Hey, Grandpa, come and look at this. It¡¯s Mum!¡±

    The crowd parted hurried as Grandfather Ocean misted through them, rematerializing at his grandson¡¯s side. His dead, grey face lit with wonder at the sight of the painting. He looked at Mabel. ¡°How did you¡­ create my child again?¡±

    Mabel shrugged. ¡°I knew her a long time, sir.¡±

    ¡°¡­Thank you.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t know David¡¯s grandfather knew that phrase.

    David gently set the painting on the present table and clapped. ¡°Cake. I want cake now.¡±

    The party soon resumed, albeit with a more languid, cake-battened energy. Lily Nichols offered up her body to Miri, who promptly possessed a bowl of raspberry jelly. It was widely agreed to be a worthy sacrifice.

    Fantastic Space had transitioned to a bouncy, rose-tinted skyscape, which played host to a game of hide and seek. Allison was hiding behind a cumulonimbus cloud when Arnold crept up to Allison in his costume. He was carrying a cardboard box.

    ¡°Hey Allie.¡±

    Allison jerked. ¡°Jeez, Arn, don¡¯t sneak up on people dressed like that. You look like the Grim Reaper.¡±

    Arnold smirked. ¡°Okay, now I¡¯m definitely going to do that.¡±

    Allison pointed at the box. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah. So, I did getcha something. I just didn¡¯t want to give it to you in front of everyone.¡± Arnold offered her the box. ¡°Here.¡±

    Alison took the box and looked inside. It contained two stuffed animals, and she recognized both of them. One of them was a grey rabbit called Mr. Wuzzler, the other a yellow bear called Miss Fluffers. The former had been a literal birthday present, given to her by her father the day she was born. The other was from the New Human Institute¡¯s commonwealth of plush.

    Allison found her eyes stinging with tears.

    ¡°I know we¡¯re ten now and they¡¯re for little kids, but I thought you¡¯d¡­ yeah.¡±

    Allison looked up at Arnold. ¡°How¡¯d you get them?¡±

    ¡°Blancheflor helped. Miss Fluffers was in a plastic bag in some weird lab thing back at Circle¡¯s End. Not sure what they thought a teddy bear was going to tell them about us¡­¡±

    ¡°But what about Mr. Wuzzler?¡±

    Arnold stirred the clouds underfoot. ¡°I um¡­ I kinda snuck into your house. Your mum and dad haven¡¯t changed your room at all.¡±

    Allison stared at her friend. ¡°You snuck into my house?¡±

    Arnold threw his hands up. ¡°I didn¡¯t sneak. Blancheflor just teleported me in. I promise they didn¡¯t see me. Your dad was at work at thing, and your mum was asleep¡ª¡±

    Allison shouted, ¡°You saw my mum and didn¡¯t tell me?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to spoil the surprise¡­¡±

    ¡°Who cares about the surprise?¡±

    Billy appeared from around the crowd. ¡°Found you!¡±

    Allison turned on the tiger-boy and screamed, ¡°Buzz-off!, Billy¡±

    Billy jumped backwards and stammered, ¡°I¡ªI¡ªsorry¡­¡±

    Billy ran off, breaking into tears just on the edge of earshot.

    Arnold scowled. ¡°Now look what you did¡ª¡±

    Allison turned around and took to the air. ¡°Go steal more of my parents¡¯ stuff.¡±

    She flew back out into the canteen and through the ski-portal, up into the frigid grey clouds.

    Allison let the cold winds buffet her across the sky, clutching the box to her chest.

    The girl wasn¡¯t sure why she was so angry. It wasn¡¯t like Arnold had been trying to hurt her, or her parents. He hadn¡¯t broken anything. But she kept imagining her mother or father walking into her room, and seeing her oldest toy missing¡­

    But if they cared so bad about her stuffed rabbit so bad, if they missed Allison so much, then why weren¡¯t they here yet?

    Oh, for Christ¡¯s sake, Alberto said from some locked down corner of her mind. You know exactly why.

    Alberto screwed her eyes shut, trying to ignore Alberto and her own thoughts. She focused on the cold, and the wind, and¡ª

    There was a note in the air. A note of living music. Not a whole song. It was to a song what a candle flame was to a forest fire. But it came from everywhere, like the background din of the universe.

    Curious, and desperate for distraction, Allison grabbed onto the note¡ª

    For the first time in Allison¡¯s life, she saw the clouds for what they were. A vast, interconnected sphere dancing above the world. She could sense where it opened, where it wept. She could see the intermolecular bonds and ionic forces that made up every drop of water¡­

    Twin ruby beams erupted from Allison¡¯s eyes, blasting into a bank of clouds and scattering it like feathers.

    Allison forced the note out of her own song, breathing heavily.

    The music was gone. The sky was empty.

    So were hands.

    Allison looked down. The box and the stuffed toys were falling through the sky.

    Allison squeaked and dived, just managing to intercept the teddy-bear and rabbit. She found herself clinging to them for dear life.

    Not for the first time that night, Allison was confused. She also knew being stupid.

    Arnold was talking to David at the snack table.

    ¡°¡­It was so weird! I know she likes that stupid rabbit. She brought it on sleepovers.¡±

    David shrugged, sucking some lemon cordial through a straw. ¡°Yeah, Allie can be crazy sometimes.¡±

    Arnold narrowed his eyes at his friend. ¡°You actually going to eat that dolphin for your birthday?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Why wouldn¡¯t I.¡±

    ¡°¡­Okay.¡±

    Someone hugged him from behind.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± said Allison. ¡°It was a good present.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± was all Arnold said.

    It was a good birthday.

 Chapter Ninety-Five: The Way to Catalpa

    In some respects, 1966 was a much better year for the DDHA than 1965: they¡¯d gone nine months without their headquarters blowing up. Someone should have hung up a sign. Someone had hung up in a sign, in fact. Timothy Valour took it down.

    Tim Valour was currently stationed in the former New South Wales Premier¡¯s office in  Parliament House, Sydney. After Kirribilli House had been rendered permanently transparent, Sir Robert Askin had graciously offered Valour and his people exclusive use of the parliamentary districts for the increasingly unforeseeable future.

    Of course, the Parliament of New South Wales hadn¡¯t met in person for nearly a year now. No Australian parliament had. From what Valour had heard, governing bodies all across the globe were shying away from gathering in one place these days. Not when Arnold Barnes was out there. The conference call was rapidly becoming the new bedrock of democracy. Perhaps ¡°the office¡± was on its way out¡ªfor the important people, at least.

    Timothy Valour had no illusions about his importance.

    The DDHA chief regarded the young man sitting in the chair in front of him sternly. The boy was distressingly normal looking. He was maybe twenty, with what Valour considered long, shaggy hair on a man. His clothes looked like he¡¯d come directly from a construction site. For all Tim knew, he had.

    Tim picked up the form his secretary had brought him ahead of the meeting. ¡°You weren¡¯t exactly exacting about your powers, Mr. Ulles.¡± His eyes flitted down to the paper. ¡°All you wrote is ¡®Psychic.¡¯ ¡±¡ªValour clicked his tongue¡ª¡°¡­¡®Maybe.¡¯ Care to elaborate, Tommy?¡±

    Thomas Ulles kneaded at his sweaty singlet. ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain¡­¡±

    ¡°Is it now?¡±

    That¡¯s what they all said. Ever since the DDHA and the Australian Defence Force had belatedly started their recruitment drive, Tim¡¯s office had played host to a parade of fraudsters looking for a government paycheck. He¡¯d interviewed every shonky medium and palm-reader on the Eastern seaboard. Being double jointed or a ¡°pretty good¡± shot with a bow and arrow had nearly eclipsed university and homosexuality as potentual escape routes for draftable males.

    Tim didn¡¯t know why they bothered. They¡¯d just be sent to Europe when things finally got hot¡­

    Tommy gulped. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr. Valour. Never been good at talking about myself¡­¡±

    Tim sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s start simple. Can you read my mind?¡±

    Tommy shook his head. ¡°No can do, sir.¡±

    Of course he couldn¡¯t, thought Tim. None of the ¡°psychics¡± he¡¯d interviewed could do anything so simple as read his mind. Too easy to test.

    ¡°Let me guess,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re an empath?¡±

    Thomas raised an eyebrow. ¡°Pardon, sir?¡±

    Couldn¡¯t they at least do their research before bothering him? ¡°You can read my emotions? Tell me whether I¡¯m happy or cross, yeah?¡±

    Tim got a lot of would-be empaths. Probably because¡ªas far as Timothy could tell¡ªa half-decent empath was indistinguishable from a regular man who looked at people¡¯s faces when they talk.

    However, Tommy shook his head again. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡±

    ¡°Then how are you ¡®psychic¡¯? Come on, boy.¡±

    Thomas clutched his hands together. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m using the wrong word. It¡¯s something I¡­ do to people.¡±

    Timothy blinked. That was something. Usually the fakers didn¡¯t claim to have an effective ability. ¡°Go on¡­¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s really hard to explain.¡±

    Timothy leaned back in his high backed chair. ¡°Could you demonstrate?¡±

    Thomas narrowed his eyes. ¡°You mean¡­ on you?¡±

    Tim shrugged. ¡°Long as whatever it doesn¡¯t kill or cripple me.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t.¡±

    Lyman will be disappointed. ¡°Go ahead then.¡±

    Thomas raised his palms. He frowned. ¡°You sure, man?¡±

    ¡°Just do it, kid.¡±

    Thomas squinted.

    A jaunty pop-song blared inside Tim Valour¡¯s head. Not in his thoughts, inside his skull:

    Oh yeah, I¡¯ll tell you something,

    I think you¡¯ll understand,

    When I¡¯ll say that something¡­

    Timothy clapped his hands over his ears. It didn¡¯t do anything to shut out the noise. ¡°What the fuck are you doing to me?¡±

    Thomas threw his hands back at, this time defensively. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man! I just¡­ put songs in people¡¯s heads.¡±

    I want to hold your hand,

    I want to hold your hand¡­

    Tim snarled, ¡°How hard was that to say?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, man!¡±

    Oh please, say to me,

    You¡¯ll let me be your man¡­

    ¡°Can you make it stop?¡±

    It¡¯s such a feeling that my love, I can¡¯t hide

    I can¡¯t hide, I can¡¯t hide¡­

    ¡°No¡­¡±

    ¡°When does it stop on its own?¡±

    ¡°A few hours? Maybe five?¡±

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    I want to hold your hand,

    I want to hold your hand¡­

    ¡°I¡¯m really sorry, sir¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just go!¡±

    ¡°Am I out?¡±

    ¡°Talk to my secretary and piss off!¡±

    Tommy Ulles scarpered out of the office. Timothy Valour put his head against his desk and breathed rhythmically. Thankfully, after a few repeats, the song subsided to a merely infuriating musical tinnitus.

    How does Allison Kinsey stand it?

    The desk intercom buzzed. ¡°Mr. Lyman is here, sir.¡±

    Reluctantly, Timothy jabbed the talk button. ¡°Send him in.¡±

    Tim¡¯s head was still resting on the desk when James Lyman slipped praying-mantis like into the office. He¡¯d known the DOPO attach¨¦ long enough that he no longer feigned dignity in front of him.

    ¡°Afternoon, Valour.¡±

    Timothy grunted in acknowledgement.

    Lyman sat down in Ulles¡¯ vacated seat. ¡°Rough day?¡±

    Valour looked up miserably at the American. ¡°A tradie stuck a Beatles song in my head.¡±

    Lyman raised a salt and pepper eyebrow. ¡°You mean he hummed it¡­¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Tim hissed. ¡°He put the song in my head. By squinting.¡± He pointed at his temples with a shaky, manic grin. ¡°I can still hear it, James.¡±

    Lyman¡¯s narrow face lit with understanding. ¡°You mean he used a power?¡±

    Tim scowled. ¡°No, he trepanned me and stuck a record in my head. What do you think?¡±

    James leaned forward urgently. ¡°How did he do it? Did it seem sonic or psychic? Is it just that one song, or the whole Beatles catalog? What about other artists¡ª¡±

    Tim groaned. ¡°For God¡¯s sake, Lyman. My ears are still ringing!¡± He pointed at the door. ¡°Thumps has the kid¡¯s details. You go chase him up if you¡¯re so intrigued!¡±

    Lyman glared daggers at his Australian colleague. It might¡¯ve frightened softer, more settled men. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you let a potential asset wander out onto the street?¡±

    ¡°We have his phone and address. But I somehow doubt Captain Earworm is going to take down  Moscow.¡±

    ¡°Never write off a sorcerer,¡± insisted Lyman. ¡°For all you know, that boy is the perfect com-jammer.¡± The corner of his lip curled. ¡°Besides, not like you Aussies can afford to be picky.¡±

    They really couldn¡¯t. In the nine months since Allison Kinsey and her supervillain army had forced Valour to abandon the asylums, he¡¯d only managed to enlist eleven ¡°occult operatives¡± for the FWA<sup>1</a></sup>. Maybe three of them were what you¡¯d call superhero material. But what did the Yanks expect? Press-ganging was nigh-impossible. Even if more and more supers weren¡¯t hying themselves to Catalpa every month (and even if they weren¡¯t supers) there was nowhere to detain them. You couldn¡¯t even stack stones where the asylums had stood, and the Circle¡¯s End facility was still listed as ¡°missing.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Tim said flatly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t do for us to miss our quota¡­¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend the dominos won¡¯t fall on you, Tim!¡± snapped Lyman. ¡°The Fulda Gap<sup>2</a></sup> will be bleeding out by Easter. The Soviets have us cornered for conventional forces. They killed the Flying Man. With a nuke<sup>3</a></sup>.¡± He tapped his finger on the desk for emphasis. ¡°The only way we keep Europe is shoring up our occult assets. And all your sorcerers are botholled up at the end of the world, plotting and scheming God knows what.¡±

    Tim smiled sourly. ¡°That reminds me, what¡¯s Penderghast up to?¡±

    Lyman¡¯s lips tightened. ¡°Howard Penderghast is far from our only high grade sorcerous asset. Head office is sending you another magical consultant this month, in fact. Clement Strangefate<sup>4</a></sup>. Real up and comer, I¡¯m told.¡±

    ¡°Lovely,¡± said Valour, wondering if all wizards came from the same, stupid country. ¡°Is that all you¡¯re here to tell me?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Lyman closed his eyes and folded his hands. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware Catalpa is planning another mass-abduction in Perth this week.¡±

    ¡°Mass-abduction.¡± That was the official term for Catalpa¡¯s recruitment drives. Tim supposed it wasn¡¯t inaccurate, though it reminded him of when the Yanks tried calling sauerkraut ¡°liberty cabbage¡± back in the Great War.

    ¡°Yes¡­¡±

    ¡°Given you and your department¡¯s involvement in the Catalpa affair, I and our colleagues at ASIO<sup>5</a></sup>¡ª¡±

    Tim groaned. ¡°Not another infiltration, Lyman. It never works!¡±

    There¡¯d been numerous attempts to infiltrate or perform reconnaissance on Catalpa¡ªa difficult prospect, given both the difficult terrain, and its inhabitants. Black ops teams attempting to penetrate the settlement on foot had found themselves stranded in the middle of Bunbury or Brunswick. Paratroopers were thrown back into the holds of their planes. Powered spies had been returned with only recollections of strange children¡¯s theatre productions to show.

    James Lyman tensed and splayed his fingers, taking a slow, deep breath. ¡°If you would let me finish, I was going to tell you about the new tack we¡¯re taking.¡±

    Valour folded his arms. ¡°I¡¯m all ears.¡±

    And so, James Lyman explained his latest plan. It didn¡¯t take long.

    Tim looked blankly at the American. ¡°You bastard.¡±

    ¡°Hard times call for hard measures. I would argue there¡¯s a touch of kindness in it, even.¡±

    ¡°It still won¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°The strategy¡¯s been vetted by ten pediatric psychologists and psionic experts. It¡¯s the best we¡¯ve got.¡±

    Timothy Valour turned on the intercom again. ¡°Thumps, get me gin. Fast.¡±

    I want to hold your hand¡­

    ?

    Ralph Rivers adjusted his costume in the mirror. That was one upside to shacking up with a fashion designer: there was always a decent mirror lying around<sup>6</a></sup>.

    ¡°Daedalus.¡±

    The metal pack on Ralph¡¯s back unfolded into the angular, art-deco wings Mistress Quickly had built for him. Red electricity crackled across their surface.

    Good, they were on straight.

    Ralph frowned thoughtfully at the superhero in the mirror. More days than not, he still felt odd going out as the Crimson Comet. At first, it¡¯d stirred up memories of the war, but nearly a year of good times in the suit had soothed that. It wasn¡¯t even that he was fifty-fucking-six and dressing like a circus-angel. It was something else.

    Ralph Rivers felt¡­ fake. He might be dressed like a superhero, but truthfully, he hadn¡¯t put in any daring-do since the Sydney march. Most of his costumed activities lately consisted of rounding up children for school and breaking up bar fights. Sure, in Catalpa, both of those duties often involved fireballs, but they weren¡¯t adventures. Ralph felt like the imitation Father Christmases who tossed out wax paper lolly-bags from on top of fire-engines.

    It was a selfish thought, Ralph knew, wishing for danger. But it wasn¡¯t as though the world beyond Catalpa couldn¡¯t use a man of his vocation¡­

    Behind Ralph, a circle of paper-partitions dissolved into bright hologramatic debris, revealing Close-Cut decked out in his latest creation:

    The old man spread his arms grandly. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    Ralph smirked and regarded his boyfriend in the mirror. He was wearing a chrome three piece suit with subtle rainbow iridescence mixed into the fabric.

    ¡°Honestly, Wally, you look a bit underdressed.¡±

    Wallace frowned, his handlebar moustache contracting like two snakes rearing to strike. ¡°You mean I don¡¯t look gauche.¡±

    Ralph turned to face Wally. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure ¡°gauche¡± is the definition of superhero¡­¡± He blinked in thought. ¡°What does gauche mean?¡±

    Close-Cut sighed and reached into a suit jacket, pulling out a dark blue domino mask he applied to his face. ¡°There. ¡®Superhero¡¯ enough? Not that I am one.¡±

    Ralph strode over and kissed his boyfriend. ¡°Getting there.¡±

    Wallace smiled, eyes flitting down at Ralph¡¯s Crimson Comet suit. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you won¡¯t let me design you a new suit. That thing¡¯s more ¡®out¡¯ than me.¡±

    Ralph laughed. ¡°Careful there, my sister made me this. You¡¯ve got to at least meet my family before slagging off their work.¡±

    Wallace raised his hands placatingly as Ralph adjusted his lapels.

    ¡°Now now. Don¡¯t get me wrong. I¡¯m sure your sister¡¯s a lovely girl. But most heroes are supposed to move past the homemade pajama suit stage at some point. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d understand.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t change the costume,¡± Ralph growled, before flashing the other man a grin. ¡°More than two colors would make the comics harder to draw.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s why I only got to appear in one issue,¡± Wallace murmured. ¡°I was too much.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ralph agreed. ¡°Two decades of ¡®Too much.¡¯¡± He leaned his shoulder against the wall, casually ignoring the slight flicker as fine filigree wallpaper momentarily gave way to factory brushed polysteel.

    Wallace scowled.

    ¡°I do wish you¡¯d stop leaning on things.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a house. That¡¯s what it¡¯s for.¡±

    ¡°You make it so obvious we live in a dump.¡±

    ¡°Instead of living in a dump with fake lighting?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s stylistic!¡±

    ¡°Is it ever not with you?¡±

    Wallace sighed. ¡°I still don¡¯t know why you¡¯re dragging me to this.¡±

    Ralph grinned. ¡°Says the man who made a new suit for it. Think of it as a date!¡±

    ¡°A date to pick up refugees from a park.¡±

    ¡°Hey, King¡¯s Park is nice!¡± Ralph¡¯s smile grew wistful. ¡°Lawrence used to let me take Fran there, back in the day.¡±

    A quiet fell over the bedroom. Wallace had never met Fran?oise, but you didn¡¯t date Ralph Rivers for six months without hearing a great deal about her.

    Ralph couldn¡¯t let it stand:

    ¡°You know it¡¯s the biggest city park on the planet?¡±

    Close-Cut raised a trimmed eyebrow. ¡°Is it? I¡¯d have figured it was Central Park.¡±

    Ralph shrugged. ¡°Allie told me.¡±

    ¡°You know, that girl could tell us anything she liked, and we¡¯d probably buy it.¡±

    Both men laughed.

    Ralph¡¯s comm-watch beeped.

    ¡°Are you and Mr. Grimsby ready to be picked up, Mr. Rivers?¡±

    ¡°Just a second,¡± answered Wallace. He picked up a fine blackwood cane topped with a bronze eagle head and stood beside his partner, composing himself. ¡°I hope it starts raining soon so I can switch to the umbrella. Much easier to contrive defensive options.¡±

    ¡°I remember,¡± said Ralph fondly. ¡°Right, Blancheflor, showtime.¡±

    ¡°Prepare for transport,¡± warned the distant machine.

    The universe briefly turned inside out.

    Wallace stumbled as the world righted itself. The pair were standing on a raised metal viewing platform forty-nine feet feet in the air. A spiral staircase twisted under it¡ªa wrought steel double helix.

    ¡°How does one ¡®prepare¡¯ for that sensation, precisely?¡± Wally asked, fixing his mask. ¡°I never could tell.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, you big wally.¡±

    ¡°Hah.¡±

    ¡°Did you see what I did there?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Ralph. Yes I did.¡±

    ¡°It was a joke.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I know.¡±

    ¡°Because your name is Wally.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you laugh.¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°You said ¡®hah¡¯.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s not laughing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s what your pun deserved.¡±

    Mistress Quickly had fenced off the parkland around the DNA tower with force fields earlier that morning. The stubb-nosed pylons currently protected some sixty or so refugees waiting to be picked up. Most of them were pointing and murmuring up at Ralph and Wallace, but whatever they were saying was drowned out by the crowd amassed beyond the fence:

    ¡°Hang the bombers!¡±

    ¡°Kick out the kidnappers!¡±

    ¡°Flying saucers go home!¡±

    That last one perplexed Ralph: wasn¡¯t that what they were trying to do?

    ¡°This the NDF thing you told me about?¡± Wallace asked mildly.

    Ralph frowned. ¡°Mhmhm.¡±

    It is a sociological inevitability that any and every minority group will inspire at least one hate-group. It had taken longer than most for supers to attract one¡ªwhether because of their relative scarcity, or because picking on black or gay folks carried less of a risk of lightning. But Catalpa¡¯s recruitment drives had provided the scared and stupid with regular gatherings of superhumans. Thus, like cancer seeds, cells of the Natural Defense Front<sup>7</a></sup> had metastasized all over the country. The Crimson Comet had rumbled with them at a few pick-ups before Mistress Quickly came up with the pylons.

    Ralph Rivers looked out over the tide of humanity lapping at the fence, the frontmost rows pressed against the glassy force fields like bottom feeders sucking at aquarium walls. One protest sign caught his attention:

    ¡°Flush out the nest!¡±

    The Crimson Comet clenched his fist. Sometimes, Ralph wished Maude wasn¡¯t so clever¡­

    Most of the refugees had their eyes fixed up at Ralph now. About half of them were clearly homeless folk. Catalpa got a lot of those. The bulk of the rest were young people, teens and twenty-somethings. One woman was pregnant: far too pregnant to be seeking out Nurse Pritchard. The most spruced among them was a lady struggling under the weight of a blonde beehive, chatting avidly to a terrified looking woman in a very conspicuous hooded jacket. A young lad at her side was toting a camera case.

    Great, reporters.

    Ralph couldn¡¯t say for certain if any of them were super or not, but he was willing to wager the lone unaccompanied little boy in the homemade superhero costume was, or at least wanted to be. Sometimes it worried him how few children made it to these.

    Wallace nudged him in the side. ¡°Ah, Comet.¡± He gestured down at waiting refugees. ¡°You planning on addressing our future subjects?¡±

    Ralph shook himself. ¡°Right, right. And don¡¯t call them that!¡±

    Ralph pressed a switch on the rim of his com watch and spoke into the grill:

    ¡°Testing, testing, one, two, three¡­¡±

    The Crimson Comet¡¯s magnified voice rang out all across Kings Park, managing to momentarily dim the chants of the NDF.

    ¡°Ah, good. Hello everyone, Comet here. Glad you could make it.¡±

    Ralph never enjoyed this part much. Too much public speaking. He was half-hoping he could get Wally to give the speeches.

    ¡°We¡¯re a minute off from pick-up, and I want to make one thing clear¡ªthis isn¡¯t a one way trip. Everyone in Catalpa is free to leave whenever they wish.¡±

    We¡¯re not a cult, we swear, Ralph imagined himself saying.

    ¡°Now, I¡¯m sure a lot of you folks have seen pictures of this in the papers or on the tellie, and yes, it is a bit¡­ dramatic. But I swear on my mother, the tractor beam is completely harmless.¡±

    Most of the refugees didn¡¯t look assured. A couple were even shooting glances at the fence.

    Wally chuckled. ¡°Smooth.¡±

    Ralph covered his com-watch and glowered at his boyfriend. ¡°You know what¡¯s definitely going to put people at ease? Watching a supervillain laugh from a high tower¡ª¡±

    His voice carried more than he¡¯d like. Ralph realized the refugees were still watching him. Some of them were laughing. Somehow, this made him feel better.

    He turned back to the people and cleared his throat.

    ¡°Brace yourselves, folks.¡±

    A few seconds later, a warbling mechanical groan echoed through the sky.

    A red-hulled flying saucer topped with a silvery, geodesic dome and rimmed with navigational lights shimmered into existence over Kings Park. The crowds let out a familiar litany of gasps and screams as the thing crept through the air towards the DNA tower.

    Wallace rolled his eyes and wondered; how many of the people on the other side of the fence had come to boo hiss at the freaks, and how many had come to gawk at Mistress Quickly¡¯s new mobile-bunker?

    The saucer¡¯s shadow soon fell over the DNA tower. An iris-hatch on the bottom contracted to let a bright, yellow beam of light shine down over the cordon.

    Every blade of grass stood up very straight.

    Ralph spoke into his watch one more time:

    ¡°Okay, folks, here¡¯s the fun part.¡±

    Ralph and Wally both found their feet rising from the platform. Soon, the refugees followed, up into the sky. Some thrashed and screamed. The probable-reporter¡¯s equally probable cameraman struggled to keep a hold of his case. The little boy was somersaulting in the air.

    One fella looked down at the crowds below, and flipped them the bird.

    Ralph sat reclined in thin air, enjoying the novelty of non self-propelled flight. Wally stood with stately dignity beside him and raised his cane over his head.

    Ralph smirked up at him.

    Wally sighed. ¡°See, this would¡¯ve been fabulous if I¡¯d had my umbrella.¡±

    Everyone soon passed through the saucer¡¯s hatch, entering into a space-age hanger. The floor reformed beneath them, and they were set down softly back on their feet.

    They soon noticed the group of women standing behind a row of snack laden fold-out tables in the corner.

    ¡°Tea, anyone?¡± asked Sarah Allworth.

 Chapter Ninety-Six: Atalanta and Clymene

    ¡°Do you like my costume, Mr. Comet?¡±

    Ralph Rivers looked down at Gregory Collins. The boy was dressed in a bright blue wet-suit, decked out in knee and shoulder pads slathered with gravel and glue. He¡¯d also sticky taped flame covered streamers to his shoulders and hair.

    Does he sleep with those on? Must be hell to pull them off¡­

    There was only one possible answer:

    The Crimson Comet grinned. ¡°Nice, kid.¡±

    Gregory veritably shook with delight. ¡°Thank you, sir!¡±

    Close-Cut weaved his way through chatting refugees over to Ralph and the boy, drink in hand. ¡°Crimson<sup>1</a></sup>, have you talked to Anne Marie at all?¡±¡ªthe villain jabbed a thumb at the pregnant woman refilling her glass at the punch-bowl¡ª¡°I think she was messing around with Jimmy the Bastard¡ª¡±

    Close-Cut trailed off when he noticed Greg Collins. The child was snickering.

    Ralph put a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Company, C.C.¡±

    God, he sounded like Queen Victoria. At least David wasn¡¯t there to make him sound completely ridiculous.

    Wallace was now cooly regarding Gregory Collins¡¯ costume, a finger curled under his chin.

    Greg looked up at the man. ¡°Are you a superhero, mister?¡±

    ¡°Halfway.¡±

    That sounded like a ¡°yes¡± to Gregory. He stuck his chest out, eager for more professional input. ¡°What do you think of my superhero uniform?¡±

    Ralph cast a pleading glance at his boyfriend.

    Come on, Wally, be nice.

    Wallace nodded, as though agreeing with Ralph¡¯s silent request. ¡°It¡¯s a good start¡±, he said evenly. He snapped his fingers. ¡°What¡¯s your gimmick, though?¡±

    Gregory titled his head. ¡°Gimmick?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s asking what your power is,¡± clarified Ralph.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Greg opened his right hand. A red flame sparked over his palm. ¡°I can make more fire, but¡­¡± The child glanced around the burnished metal chamber.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Ralph. ¡°Good thought.¡±

    ¡°Solid,¡± remarked Close-Cut. ¡°Though you¡¯ve got a lot of blue for a fire-fella. Contrasting colours are one thing, but¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡±

    A ribbon of water flowed out of the cooler on the table, making folks yelp as it wormed between them to Greg¡¯s other hand.

    ¡°I can do water, too.¡±

    Ralph didn¡¯t know if he was relieved or deeply disappointed David wasn¡¯t there.

    Close-Cut nodded again, much more enthusiastically. ¡°Very solid.¡±

    Gregory grinned. A breeze troubled the hair of everyone in the room. ¡°And air! Rock and dirt, too, but we¡¯re real high up right now.¡±

    Close-Cut folded his arms, an approving smile playing his lips. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± He started leading Greg over to the snack table. ¡°Walk with me, talk with me.¡±

    Ralph smiled to himself. Sometimes it was good knowing he was dating a nice bloke.

    The Crimson Comet kept on mingling with the prospective new Catalpalans. This batch seemed to be an even split between supers and naturals. Good, Ralph thought. Sometimes he worried about what might happen to the community of the ratio skewed to much either direction. It also worried him that little Gregory was the only kid they¡¯d netted in the last three pick-ups. How many lost children out there couldn¡¯t find their way?This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Although, you could make the argument they¡¯d picked up two kids this time:

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a problem when me and James were just a fling, but then this¡­¡± Anne-Marie rubbed her baby-bump. ¡°Jimmy had shadow-tentacles. I have no clue how this kid¡¯s going to come out, and he¡¯s been a ghost for months!¡±

    Ralph nodded sympathetically. ¡°James was never the most dependable kinda bloke.¡± He pointed over at his boyfriend, still intently discussing costume options with Greg. ¡°And that¡¯s coming from his lot.¡±

    Anne let out a laugh. ¡°God. I need to get some taste¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Anne. This kid will be in good company.¡±

    Anne closed her eyes for a second. ¡°That¡¯s the thing, Mr. Comet. I know I¡¯m having this kid in Catalpa. I just don¡¯t know if I¡¯m staying.¡±

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s free to come and go.¡±

    ¡°I might be leaving alone, too.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    This was tricky. Catalpa had plenty of orphans and abandoned children. It had yet to deal with the issue of¡­ surrenders.

    ¡°Either way,¡± said the Crimson Comet. ¡°They¡¯ll be taken care of.¡±

    Anne-Marie nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Ralph felt a tap on his arm. The olive-skinned refugee woman in the hood was at his side.

    ¡°I need to speak to Allison Kinsey,¡± she said. Ralph thought she sounded a little like Eliza Winter. Maybe a touch more eastern.

    ¡°Everyone will get to talk to Allison,¡± he reassured the woman gently.

    Of course they would. No way they were letting anyone into the city without a chat with their premier mind-reader.

    ¡°It¡¯s urgent,¡± she insisted.

    Ralph gave the lady a sideways glance. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡±

    The woman¡¯s lip tightened. Her olive skin paled a touch.

    ¡°Come on, no judgement,¡± said the Crimson Comet. He flashed her the stock ¡°waggish superhero¡± smile. ¡°Unless you¡¯ve stuck a bomb somewhere, I might judge that a little.¡±

    Judging by the woman¡¯s frown, that wasn¡¯t Ralph¡¯s best move. Still, she stood up on her toes and whispered in his ear:

    Ralph Rivers¡¯ eyes widened. ¡°Oh.¡±

    Ralph almost wished it was a bomb.

    ?

    Recruitment drives were a mixed occasion for Allison. Sure, it meant new songs and new powers, but she also had to talk to a lot of grown-ups. Natural grown-ups, too. And never the ones she was waiting for¡­

    ¡°The way I see it,¡± said Jessica Switts. ¡°Your town has a big PR problem.¡± She remembered she was talking to a little girl. ¡°Oh, sorry, ¡®PR¡¯ means¡ª¡°

    ¡°She knows what it means,¡± said Mistress Quickly on her winged pop-art throne. ¡°She knows everything.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± said Miss Switts. ¡°My point is, there¡¯s never been as many supers in one place as your town, and nobody knows anything about you. That frightens folk.¡± She gave an enthusiastic realtor smile. ¡°Me and Ron here can help you with that.¡±

    The young photographer sitting on the velvet bench beside Miss Switts gave a shaky, bashful smile. A camera rested in his lap like a placid toddler.

    Allison¡ªcurled up inside her globe chair¡ªsquinted at the pair of them. ¡°So, you don¡¯t want to live in Catalpa, you want to write a newspaper story about us?¡±

    Jessica shot to her feet. ¡°Not just a story,¡± enthused the reporter. ¡°I¡¯m talking about a whole book.¡± She looked up towards the ceiling and swept her hands. ¡°A Year in Catalpa, by Jessica Switts.¡± Switts patted her companion on the shoulder hard enough to make the poor fella cringe. ¡°And Ronald French, of course.¡± She gave Allison an eager look. ¡°Has a ring to it, right?¡±

    ¡°¡­Uh huh,¡± said Maude. ¡°The West Australian put you two up to this?¡±

    Jessica scoffed bitterly. ¡°Hah! If it was up to them, me and Rolf would be covering the Royal Show<sup>2</a></sup> and playground dedications till we were drawing retirement.¡±

    ¡°It was time for a change,¡± Ron agreed timidly. ¡°And I always liked the old Crimson Comet comics, so¡­¡±

    Mistress Quickly and Allison exchanged a glance:

    They on the up? Maude thought loudly.

    Allison inspected the lights in Ron and Jessica¡¯s heads. They hummed a litany of boredom and simmering professional resentment.

    Yeah, they mean it, Allison thought at Maude. They were getting good at these mental conversations. The guy just wants to take some pictures and the lady really wants to be famous, but they¡¯re not working for Valour or anything.

    Maude looked back at the journalists. ¡°We¡¯ll take it to the council.¡±

    Ron and Jessica both cheered excitedly and embraced.

    Allison was about to call Ralph to bring in the next person, when she noticed a song cleaving from the crowd.

    She knew its tune.

    The interview chamber¡¯s door slid open with a proper sci-fi swoosh. The Crimson Comet stood in the doorway with uncomfortable gravity, eyes cast downwards.

    ¡°Ah, Comet, good timing,¡± said Mistress Quickly. She noticed her head at Ron and Jess. ¡°We were just finishing up with these two.¡±

    Ralph didn¡¯t answer the scientist, instead shuffling his feet against the metal floor. ¡°Allison¡ª¡°

    ¡°Move out of the way, please,¡± said Allison, voice too steady.

    The Crimson Comet obeyed.

    Drina Kinsey stood in the doorway, hands clasped in front of her dress. ¡°Allison?¡±

    The girl flew out of the globe-chair like a baby bird from a nest, launching herself against her mother¡¯s chest. Mrs Kinsey just barely managed to not be bowled over.

    Allison looked up from her mother¡¯s skirt, leaving tear marks on the fabric. ¡°Y¡ªyou came?¡±

    She said it like she wasn¡¯t sure this was really happening.

    Drina stared down at her daughters burning eyes. ¡°Allie, what¡¯s happened to you?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªit was¡­¡±

    Allison gave up on an explanation, burying her face again.

    Ron¡¯s camera flashed a few times. Mistress Quickly slapped it down.

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you?¡±

    A young, piping voice spoke, ¡°Allison said you¡¯d turn up!¡±

    Drina looked towards the back of the chamber. There was a little blonde girl in a strange one piece swimsuit who hadn¡¯t been there a second ago. Drina thought she looked like her Allison¡­

    ¡°Hello?¡± said Drina questioningly. ¡°Who are you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Miri,¡± the girl answered.

    Allison looked back up at her mother, a dizzy smile on her face. ¡°She¡¯s my sister!¡±

    ¡°¡­Pardon?¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Seven: Changelings

    Drina Kinsey watched the sunrise from the scrap-metal porch of her hastily assembled granny flat, nursing a cup of something dimly inspired by coffee. Automated mining machines crept along the horizon¡ªblack dragons chained by gold. Or maybe mosquitos, bloating themselves on iron-rich blood. A thin film of dawn mist was evaporating as the summer heat roused for the day.

    Not summer, Drina reminded herself. Wet season. They didn¡¯t do summer up here.

    Last night, for the second time in her life, a ship had carried Drina to a strange, too-warm country. For the second time, she¡¯d made the journey alone.

    For the first time, someone had been waiting for her.

    Drina had to hand it to Catalpa. Arthur Callwell<sup>1</a></sup> hadn¡¯t been nearly so fast to get her settled, though she could¡¯ve done without watching the mechanical spiders build her new home in real time.

    Home. Was that true?

    ¡°Mrs Kinsey.¡±

    Angela Barnes marched down the red-dirt path, a carry-cooler under her arm.

    ¡°Mrs Barnes.¡±

    Drina had known Mrs Barnes for over twenty years. She was one of the first people she¡¯d met in Harvey. Their children had been best friends since preschool. She still didn¡¯t call her ¡°Angela.¡± Drina wasn¡¯t sure why. Maybe it was because she¡¯d been a child when she¡¯d first met the woman. Maybe it was just because Angela Barnes was Angela Barnes.

    Angela set the cooler down on the porch. ¡°Sleep well?¡±

    Drina crooked her shoulders. ¡°Best I could. It was¡­ a lot.¡±

    A lot of people, mainly. Apparently, everyone in Catalpa had been waiting for Drina. She¡¯d felt like the Queen; if the Queen had been herded into a dingy pub the moment she made landfall. It¡¯d gotten overwhelming once Allison had fallen asleep. When the other adults started asking the obvious question:

    ¡°Where¡¯s her dad, Mrs Kinsey?¡±

    What kind of answer did they expect?

    ¡°So,¡± said Angela, even blunter than she always was. ¡°I take it Mr. Kinsey won¡¯t be coming.¡±

    Drina looked out at the ore trawlers. She didn¡¯t answer. Angela grunted.

    ¡°Coward. No good man abandons his child.¡±

    Drina let her shoulders rise, then slowly fall.

    ¡°Allison¡¯s a lot.¡±

    Angela tutted.

    ¡°My son shoots lightning from his hands. Your husband¡¯s a coward.¡±

    ¡°I know. He told me what he did. To Arnold. To Allison.¡±

    A moment¡¯s quiet.

    ¡°Good. I wasn¡¯t going to say. I don¡¯t believe in sharing the worst of people. But at least he had the spine for that much.¡±

    Drina sighed. ¡°I didn¡¯t even leave a note.¡±

    Angela hummed. ¡°I won¡¯t judge.¡± She clapped her hands. ¡°Anyway, essentials.¡± She opened the cooler. It was full of cutlery, bread and spreads. ¡°Who builds a woman a house and doesn¡¯t give her some knives and forks? I made you some¡ª¡±

    ¡°What are they like now?¡± Drina interrupted. ¡°Our children?¡±

    ¡°¡­Energetic.¡± Angela answered. ¡°Every day¡¯s a lesson here. Most of them ones I never thought I¡¯d learn. But now there¡¯s an eleven year old in our spare room who can make people out of paint. It¡¯s not the same. It¡¯s not worse, but¡­¡± She looked back toward the town. A few children were already sporting in the airspace about Freedom Point. Maybe one of them was Allison. ¡°No, not the same.¡±

    Drina laughed.

    ¡°Ah. Someone gets it. Would you like a coffee?¡±

    Angela tilted back her head, and sniffed.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine, thank you. Especially without that swill you¡¯re calling coffee. They get it from the Flying Man¡¯s undersea castle. No, really..¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t they just go to Perth for some decent beans?¡±

    Angela gave a small smile.

    ¡°That¡¯s not how these people think, Mrs. Kinsey. Hard to learn common sense when you can bend the world like they do. These people think in spirals.¡±

    Drina stared into her coffee cup, swirling the dregs around the base.

    ¡°That ghostly girl. Miri.¡±

    Angela nodded.

    ¡°Ah. So you¡¯ve met her. She¡¯s a good girl. Strange, though.¡±

    ¡°Who is she?¡± Drina asked. ¡°To my daughter?¡±

    Angela grimaced. ¡°I know it must be hard to fathom, but I think they mean it when they say they¡¯re sisters.¡±

    ¡°But then what am I to her?¡±

    Angela answered honestly. ¡°Not her mother, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking. She knows that Allison loves you. I don¡¯t think she¡¯s thought much more than that.¡±

    Drina hunched in around her cup.

    ¡°It¡¯s nobody¡¯s fault, Drina. But the kids¡­ they didn¡¯t stop living when we weren¡¯t watching them.¡±

    ¡°I met the Comet last night, Angela.¡± Drina muttered. ¡°The Crimson Comet. How do you keep a pace with that?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± Angela said. ¡°You just make sure there¡¯s a place at the table when they come back to you, and let the stories roll over you. Taking in too much of it might drown you.¡±

    ¡°¡­Are he and that sharp-dressed man¡­ you know.¡±

    Angela nodded, frowning. ¡°In sin, yes. Look, if you can¡¯t look past some¡­ shortcomings, you won¡¯t have many friends in this town.¡± Angela pictured an awful little grin resting under two mad green eyes. ¡°And frankly, I think we both have bigger problems.¡±

    Drina raised a quizzical eyebrow.

    ¡°We do?¡± she asked.

    Angela folded her arms, her bearing suddenly rigid.

    ¡°Did you meet the naked boy? David?¡±

    ¡°Briefly,¡± Drina replied. ¡°Didn¡¯t stick around for long. Why?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s after our children,¡± Angela said flatly. ¡°In the Christian way.¡±

    ¡°¡­Arnold too?¡±

    ¡°Arnold too. Both of them. At once.¡± She shook her head. ¡°At least Mr Rivers and his¡­ friend are monog¡ª ¡±

    That was as far as Angela got before Drina¡¯s coffee jumped out of its cup at her. The pale brown liquid ran down her narrow face. ¡°¡­Little shit.¡±

    Drina glanced about the place.

    ¡°Don¡¯t bother,¡± said Angela. ¡°He¡¯s everywhere.¡±

    Something seemed to be sing-songing from inside the bungalow.

    ¡°David and Arnold sitting in a tree¡ª¡±

    Angela shouted into the doorway. ¡°I swear to God, boy, I will sew your behind into some trousers!¡±

    ¡°¡ªK.I.S.S.I.N.G~¡±

    Drina found herself laughing. So was the voice in the bungalow.

    Angela turned on the other woman, pointing at her shakily, eyes wild. ¡°You¡ªyou don¡¯t know him yet, Drina. That boy will drive you mad.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m gonna make out with Arnold!¡± David crowed.

    Angela roared and charged into the hut. ¡°I¡¯m gonna give you such a belting¡ª¡±

    Drina tuned out the noise, her eyes returning to the little shapes cavorting about the skyline, the distant figure of the Comet trying to bring them to order. She could have sworn she saw her daughter at the head.

    ?

    The girl couldn¡¯t have been older than thirteen. She was fixed to the wall with a leash. The veiled woman barely even glanced at her, simply stepping over her sprawled form towards her captor¡¯s back.

    The woman drove her crowbar into the base of the thug¡¯s skull, her teeth clenched as the force vibrated through half a hand of broken fingers.

    ¡°Can¡¯t stop,¡± she told herself. ¡°You stop. You stay stopped. They have to die. Keep going. Kill them all.¡±

    The girl screamed. The woman was used to that. Couldn¡¯t expect scared people to react well to the madwoman in the shawl muttering to herself.

    The screams rose in pitch as the guard hit the floor and the woman approached her.

    She took a knife from her belt and cut the girl¡¯s leash. The child fell against her, clutching her legs like a fearful supplicant.

    The girl babbled something in what might¡¯ve been Chinese. The woman was a little vague about where they were.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re getting you out of here.¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    She looked around for a convenient reflection, settling for the room¡¯s hard water stained window:

    She took the child by the shoulder.

    ¡°Good luck in Catalpa,¡± she muttered as she pushed the girl through. In her mind¡¯s eye, she saw her fall through a world of ink. All shadow and faded color, the shapes all blending into one another. It gave her a headache. The mirror world had been so sharp back when she could sleep a full night.

    She left the knife half buried in the fallen guard¡¯s torso, then let the window swallow her. A hundred smudged and fuzzy doorways opened up around her. She watched in the reflection of the blade as his comrades found his body. Then she caved a face in with her crowbar. She was only in their world for half a second, back in the mirror before he fell. They had their guns out now. She buried her weapon in another man¡¯s eye. Back in the mirror.

    It almost felt unfair. Like whack-a-mole. The throb in the woman¡¯s fingers told her differently.

    Don¡¯t give them an inch.

    More dead. More broken, scared people dragged across the nothing between everything. All of them to Catalpa. Eventually, the woman floated alone in the reflective void, heavy breaths wracking her bruised ribs. A million, million eyes flitted about.

    A city of rust. A vampire-pale little girl with burning eyes was dragging an olive skinned lady with the same chestnut hair as hers down the street.

    ¡°Come onnn, Mum!¡± the girl cried. ¡°Mabel and Arnold are gonna be busy!¡±

    The woman closed her eyes. She needed to rest. Inaction was its own pain, but she¡¯d be useless again if she didn¡¯t.

    She staggered out of the mirrors into a dimly lit motel room. She¡¯d crashed here a day or two ago. She collapsed onto the damp smelling bed, the bloodied crowbar still clenched between throbbing fingers.

    Still, the woman comforted herself, Allison Kinsey had found her mother.

    Therese Fletcher hoped she hadn¡¯t spoiled anyone¡¯s day.

    ?

    Allison scowled as she studied the lights of the teenage girl¡¯s mind. No good. It was just like the others. Just like all the mirror people so far. She hadn¡¯t caught sight of her saviour¡¯s face, too well hidden behind that threadbare scarf wrapped around her head. Allison tutted.

    ¡°Welcome-to-Catalpa,¡± she blurted as one word. ¡°Doctor ladyperson¡¯ll look after you.¡±

    Allison made way for a flustered Nurse Pritchard and marched across the infirmary to the Crimson Comet. The superhero was standing at the bedside of a woman with a swollen purple eye, holding her hand.

    ¡°Checked everyone out,¡± reported Allison, not sparing the lady a glance. ¡°Still don¡¯t know who¡¯s dumping them here. Can I go now?¡±

    ¡°Sure, Allie,¡± Ralph said softly. He looked over at Mrs Kinsey standing in the infirmary doorway and forced a smile. ¡°Sorry for hogging this one, ma¡¯am.¡± Ralph mussed Allison¡¯s hair before the girl could get out of range.

    Drina looked around the sickbay, at the broken, battered girls and women lying in the open jaws of giant clams. They all were here because of Allison. Allison had saved them. And it barely seemed to phase her. Where was her daughter in all that?

    Allison darted over and took her mother¡¯s hand. ¡°Come on, they¡¯re waiting!¡±

    Mother and daughter made their way through the bright, multicoloured corridors and stairways of Freedom¡¯s Point. People told Drina Kinsey the tower used to be a secret prison. Even more surprising, they also said they hadn¡¯t repainted the place.

    The complex had a healthy bustle going on. Folks taking their lunch in the canteen, or patronizing the library, or waiting to petition the mad scientists in residence. A lot of people liked loitering in the tower purely for the air conditioning.

    ¡°Allie¡ª¡± Drina let out a hoarse laugh. ¡°Slow down.¡±

    ¡°Sorry Mum!¡±

    Allison was struggling not to break into a run. Her mum was here. And she had a city to show off. It was like when her mother would put her up drawings on the fridge, times a million.

    The entrance foyer of Freedom Point had undergone some changes since being lifted over a thousand feet above ground-level. A landing platform had been bolted to the front doors for Catalpa¡¯s flying residents, and most of the space within was now taken up by a bank of egg-portals, leading to every corner of the town and a few places beyond.

    Brandon Kurtz tipped his bell-boy hat at Allison and Drina in turn. ¡°Kinsey. Kinsey. Where to now?¡±

    Brandon was one of Catalpa¡¯s many human down-and-outs. He¡¯d been an elevator operator at an Adelaide hotel for thirty years until management invested in some buttons, so Mistress Quickly had put him in charge of the central portal-hub.

    ¡°Barnes and Henderson, thanks,¡± answered Allison.

    ¡°On the double.¡± Kurtz tapped a few buttons on his control panel. An egg-portal to the greenhouses collapsed in on itself, replaced by a domed building built of scrap-metal. A hodge podge of letters taken from a dozen disparate signs and billboards read:

    BARNES AND HENDERSON SHIPPING AND PERSONNEL

    Drina¡¯s nose wrinkled. The sight put her in mind of an overgrown lemonade stand or bush hide-out. But then, so did most of Catalpa.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mum?¡±

    Allison¡¯s mother shook her head. ¡°Nothing, nothing.¡± She looked at Brandon. ¡°These are safe, right?¡±

    Kurtz nodded solemnly. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°¡­Do you know how they work?¡±

    ¡°Not my department, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Mum,¡± said Allison, beaming up at her mother. ¡°I can fly you down!¡±

    They took the portal.

    Allison pulled her mother through the dirt street towards the scrap dome. The woman¡¯s shoulders were tense. This Henderson girl (Mabel?) was a complete mystery to Drina, but that wasn¡¯t the worst of it.

    She remembered Arnold. The rail-thin, shifty-looking boy whose Sunday best was shabbier than her daughter¡¯s play-clothes, yet seemed to occupy most of her world. That slightly pitious kid who made her hide the coin bowl when he slunk into the house. The boy whose eyes harboured a hunger she knew too well from the war. The one who apparently was sharing her daughter with a nudist water-demon¡­

    Of course, if Drina had asked Allison about that, she might¡¯ve gotten a different answer about who was being shared¡­

    When mother and daughter walked into the dome, a woman was standing in front of the plastic school table that served as a front desk, stooping slightly to lean on a work surface designed for children<sup>2</a></sup>. She wore a pair of chrome-clawed metal gauntlets, and a long, high-collared cape made from an old baby-blanket<sup>3</a></sup>.

    Arnold Barnes was scanning his eyes over an open bank-ledger book. ¡°For what you¡¯re offering, we can spare Dig-Dug-Doug and the Quantum Quintuplets for the afternoon on the fifth.¡±

    Drina thought the boy looked a lot better than she¡¯d last seen him. His figure had gone from borderline emaciated to the natural slenderness of a dancer. And when had he gotten so big?

    She supposed she could ask the same about Allison.

    Miss-Demeanor let out a disdainful scoff. ¡°We¡¯re digging for uranium here! At least throw in Polychroma.¡±

    Arnold folded his arms. ¡°Miss Stephenson<sup>4</a></sup>, we have a zero discount policy for dangerous isotopes. Maybe if you set up that air-conditioner in my dad¡¯s workshop¡­¡±

    The supervillain slammed her fist down on the table. ¡°Don¡¯t ¡®Miss Stephenson¡¯ me! What do I look like, a tradie? Give me Polychroma or I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    Leaning against the back of the dome, Mabel Henderson cleared her throat. There was a thick binder in her lap. ¡°Mrs Stephenson, it sounds awfully like you¡¯re about to threaten my partner.¡±

    Arnold smiled smugly up at Miss Demeanor. ¡°It sounds a bit like that, yeah.¡±

    Miss-Demeanor glared back at the girl. ¡°You¡¯re trying to rip me off!¡±

    Mabel held her binder open to a page from the old Crimson Comet comic. ¡°Do we need to bring in security?¡±

    The supervillain hunched her shoulders and growled in her throat. ¡°I expect your drawings to be at the dig-site noon sharpish.¡±

    Arnold gave a casual, off-hand salute before jotting something down in his ledger. ¡°Our guarantee, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Miss-Demeanor stalked out of the hut. ¡°Allie, Mrs Kinsey,¡± she said perfunctorily as she walked between Allison and Drina. Allison tilted an imaginary hat.

    It was strange, Drina thought, hearing her daughter¡¯s name before her own.

    Arnold noticed the Kinseys first. ¡°Mrs Kinsey!¡± He beamed and ran out from behind the desk, arms open for a hug, only to stop short of the woman and let them drop to his side.

    Oh yeah, Allie¡¯s mum.

    Arnold settled for a simple, ¡°Great to have you here!¡±

    Drina smiled reservedly. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too, Arnold.¡±

    He was wearing clothes. That seemed like a good sign.

    ¡°Thank God you got here when you did,¡± said Mabel as she walked over to Drina. ¡°Allie was moping for months without you.¡± The girl held out her hand. ¡°Mabel Henderson, pleased to meetcha.¡±

    ¡°She¡ªshe was?¡± Drina asked as she shook Mabel¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Oh yeah,¡± replied Mabel. ¡°Every time they went to pick people up from Perth, she¡¯d come back all sad and spend all day sulking up in the clouds. And I mean, literally, up in the clouds¡ª¡±

    Allison punched her friend in the arm. ¡°Shut up!¡±

    Mrs Kinsey felt a guilty stab of relief. Allison had missed her. She still needed her.

    For nine months. She¡¯d needed her for nine months¡­

    ¡°So,¡± Drina said, looking for a distraction, ¡°what do you kids get up to here?¡±

    Mabel answered first. ¡°I guess I¡¯m a¡­ recruitment specialist?¡±

    Allison grinned. ¡°Or a slavemaster.¡±

    ¡°Shut up.¡± Mabel opened her binder and narrowed her eyes slightly.

    Drina Kinsey jumped as a man in sweat-stained singlet with hulking bulldozer troughs for hands burst into existence between her and Mabel.

    The new creature rumbled like an earthmover¡¯s engine. ¡°Who dares summon Dig-Dug-Doug?¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t deign to explain herself to Dig-Dug-Doug, too busy with Mrs Kinsey. ¡°People who need extra-hands come to me, and I whip up characters like Doug to help them out.¡±

    Drina had no response. She just stared wide eyed at Dig-Dug-Doug, face nearly as pale as her daughter¡¯s.

    Mabel sighed. Dig-Dug-Doug vanished like a whisper. ¡°Sorry, shoulda warned ya.¡±

    In a small voice, Drina said, ¡°Oh, that¡¯s alright, Mabel.¡±

    She¡¯d nearly forgotten what these children were.

    ¡°That¡¯s Mabel¡¯s side of the business,¡± said Arnold. ¡°I move stuff for people. Sometimes I send letters out.¡± He tutted and shook his head. ¡°Lotta people here who still have family out there in the world. The council checks those, though. Don¡¯t want people doing spy stuff.¡±

    ¡°¡­People do that?¡±

    Arnold shrugged. ¡°Sometimes. Sometimes not even on purpose.¡±

    The operation sounded surprisingly serious to Drina. Half of her was impressed by these two. The other half wondered if the grown-ups ran anything around here.

    A blast of thunder rattled the shop. Shouting peeled off the boom.

    Drina dropped to the floor, dragging Allison down with her.

    ¡°Mum!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re being bombed.¡±

    Not again, not yet¡­

    Allison shot up out of her mother¡¯s grip, tilted her head, and sighed. ¡°No, we¡¯re not.¡± She trotted out the door. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    Drina tried to grab her daughter. ¡°Wait, Allie¡ª¡±

    Mabel and Arnold tried to hold the woman back by the arms.

    ¡°Don¡¯t¡ªworry¡ªMrs Kinsey,¡± Arnold grunted. ¡°Allie can handle¡ª¡±

    ¡°Get off me!¡± Drina shook the children off her and ran after Allison.

    She pushed her way through the crowd thronging the street. A pillar of flame gusted above their heads. People cheered and whooped, which made Drina shove them harder than she needed to.

    Drina heard her daughter scream. Even as her blood froze at the sound, she saw a burly man hurl into the air.

    ¡°I am talking!¡±

    What the¡ª

    After what felt like hours, Drina had fought her way up the street. Miss-Demeanour and the large man Drina had just seen being tossed like a graduation cap were kneeling in the dirt on either side of Allison. On closer inspection, Drina noticed his hands appeared to be volcanos.

    Allison had an imperious expression on her face. ¡°This is the third time this month you two¡¯ve tried bashing each other in the street.¡±

    The man muttered, ¡°Bloody stupid, letting people like her stay here¡­¡±

    Miss-Demeanour¡¯s eyes quite literally flashed. She opened her mouth, baleful light escaping from between her teeth, but Allison put a hand on her and the man¡¯s shoulders.

    ¡°We are all the same here,¡± Allison said sternly. She looked down at the man. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter if you were arch-enemies back in the day: you¡¯re just supers now. Krakatoa, you started it¡ªdon¡¯t try and argue. I can read your mind¡ªso you¡¯re going to buy the pint at Libertalia tonight. Got it?¡±

    Krakatoa didn¡¯t meet Allison¡¯s eyes, but he did say: ¡°Fine.¡±

    Allison turned to Miss-Demeanour. ¡°Miss Stephenson, you¡¯re going to let him buy you that pint. And have lunch.¡±

    The woman nodded. ¡°Yes, Allison.¡±

    The spectators let out a light cheer. Allison noticed her mother watching. ¡°Sorry, Mum. Someone¡¯s gotta keep them from killing each other.¡±

    Drina didn¡¯t say anything.

    What was wrong with these people?

 Chapter Ninety-Eight: Tiger-Sharks

    Maude Simmons never expected to wind up the sort of supervillain who kept little girls in jars.

    ¡°¡­Cell division meeting projections, hormone levels appropriate¡±¡ªMaude looked up from her notepad and squinted¡ª¡°Hair still the right shade of blonde.¡± The super-scientist rapped her knuckles against the growth-tank¡¯s viewing window. ¡°How we doing in there, honey?¡±

    The little girl floating curled in the amniotic cradle didn¡¯t answer. Good thing, too. If she had, there would have been all kinds of ethical headaches. Six months slaving over petri-dishes, wasted.

    Maude sighed and set her notes down on one of the lab consoles. Everything was nearly ready. Soon, it¡¯d be time to disconnect the umbilicus, flush the glass womb, and¡ª

    Maude didn¡¯t even want to think about it. Growing a body for Miri was easy. Maude was no stranger to cloning and biological fabrication, as her current left hand and right kidney could attest. Maybe blending Allison¡¯s Kinsey¡¯s DNA with the product of a ten thousand year space eugenics project<sup>1</a></sup> was more complicated than growing one of her own organs in a pig. Maybe Maude had had to sell some of Catalpa¡¯s more interesting genomes to her biologist friend with the thing for kids in jars. Maybe Maude now had more dead fetuses on her conscience than an East-End coat-hanger. Point was, none of this was virgin territory for her.

    Getting Miri into the body, that was where the map stopped. And the only people remotely qualified to talk it over with her were either fashion designers or under twelve.

    As for folks who weren¡¯t qualified, well, Libertalia was open all day.

    Maude took the elevator up from her lab at the bottom of the tower. Freedom Point was something of a reversal of most modern high-rises. Everything important was tucked away down in the ground floor. That wouldn¡¯t have been an issue if the front door wasn¡¯t located at the top storey.

    Mistress Quickly stepped out into one of the complex¡¯s many pastel and dayglo hallways<sup>2</a></sup>. She didn¡¯t make it two steps before a vertical sheet of water dropped on top of her.

    The super-scientist sighed as water sizzled into steam against the green chroma key outline surrounding her body. She reached into a blazer pocket and said:

    ¡°Dam.¡±

    Maude pressed the switch on her cylindrical Certainty Enforcer as it landed in her hand. Some of the billowing steam coalesced mid-air into David Barthe¡¯s naked form.

    The boy tumbled to the floor at Maude¡¯s feet. She put her hands on her hips and frowned down at the water-sprite. ¡°Come on, David, you can do better than that.¡±

    David didn¡¯t look up at Maude, instead giggling into the carpet.

    Silver flashed in the corner of Maude¡¯s eye. The hall was blocked by a bank of silver mist.

    She tilted her head. ¡°Billy?¡±

    The mist evaporated, revealing a quivering membrane of green slime.

    Behind it, William St. George roared.

    The membrane exploded violently, drenching everything in the corridor with goo

    Maude yelled as the stuff baked against her shield, barely managing to scrape enough from her eyes to avoid being blinded with green.

    Billy stood proudly in front of the mess he created. His costume was a photonegative of itself, all blacks and purples. His usual domino mask now had bat wings, and¡ªmost shockingly of all¡ªhis shirt wasn¡¯t tucked in.

    Billy grinned his fangs and pointed at Maude. ¡°You have been pranked by¡­¡±

    David, unsurprisingly unconcerned by the goo coating him, jumped to his feet and misted over to Billy¡¯s side. ¡°¡­Tiger-Rebel!¡±

    The boys took off running down the hall, laughing like devils.

    Maude turned off her protective aura, shedding the dried slime like a crust of green dandruff.

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said to herself. ¡°That was alright.¡±

    Up in Freedom¡¯s Point library¡ªgreatly expanded using the Flying Man¡¯s book collection at Lyonesse¡ªTom Long sat in his usual private corner. Today he was reading Lord of the Flies, having lived through the premise once or twice.

    Tom wrinkled his nose at a particular paragraph:

    ¡°Ralph did a surface dive and swam under water with his eyes open; the sandy edge of the pool loomed up like a hillside. He turned over, holding his nose, and a golden light danced and shattered just over his face. Piggy was looking determined and began to take off his shorts. Presently he was palely and fatly naked.¡±

    He reminded himself never to let William Golding near David. He¡¯d probably write half a page about his boxer¡¯s shoulders or whatever. Also, what the hell did fat kids do to this guy?

    Something struck him in the back of the head; far from hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him twist around in his seat and shout, ¡°Oi!¡±

    Nobody was there. Other scattered readers loudly shushed him.

    ¡°¡­Sorry,¡± Tom muttered, warily settling back into his chair.

    He managed to get a few more lines in before fog started seeping out from under a reading table.

    Tom rolled his eyes. ¡°David, Allie¡¯s just gonna just make you dry out the books again.¡±

    There was a crystalline chuckle. Two books shot out from the mist and hurtled towards Tom¡¯s head. The pair of them swooped erratically at his head like disabled magpies.

    Tom swiped at them like flies, shouting, ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    More shushing. Someone cried, ¡°Language!¡±

    ¡°Oh, come on!¡± Tom yelled back. ¡°I¡¯m being pecked at by books!¡±

    The fog rushed out from under the table, swirling into the air and forming a halo around Tom¡¯s head. A ghostly voice moaned in his ears:This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°Your snobbing has caught up to you, Tom Long!¡±

    Tom turned intangible, letting the books pass through his wireframe body. ¡°Snobbing? You mean snobbery, right?¡±

    The ice was silent for a moment.

    ¡°¡­Shut it!¡±

    Tom glanced at one of his assailant¡¯s titles:

    Five on a Secret Trail

    Tom¡¯s flesh filled his outline again. His eyes glowed white. The corner of his lip curled quizzically.

    ¡°Billy?¡±

    Tom watched as Billy¡¯s outline silently yelped and made a run for the library entrance, the fog following him like a ribbon blowing in the wind.

    Tom thought about following his young friend. Asking what had gotten into him. Or just giving his ear a good twist. He sighed and sat back down, opening his book again. Maybe Billy needed to be proper stupid for a bit.

    Besides, he wanted to get to the part where the rich white boys started killing each other for no reason. Sounded like a battle royale of Lawrences.

    ?

    Billy and David burst into Freedom Point¡¯s lobby, an imagined angry mob hot on their heels.

    David pointed at Brandon Kurtz. ¡°Open a portal to the beach, old man!¡±

    Billy added, ¡°Or else!¡±

    Kurtz looked down at his console, one eyebrow raised. Only an hour before he¡¯d witnessed ¡°Tiger-Rebel¡± riding into the lobby on a flying ice-disk, promising doom to everyone in the tower. ¡°Oh, are you sure I should?¡±

    ¡°We mean it!¡± insisted Billy. ¡°Do it! Or we¡¯ll¡­ bite you!¡±

    David bared his perfect teeth.

    Brandon threw his hands up. ¡°Alright, alright, just spare me, you villainous fiends!¡±

    He put in the usual button combo for David¡¯s preferred cove.

    The boys both leapt through the egg-portal as though it was mere moments from collapsing.

    A second later, Billy stuck his head back through. ¡°Tell no one where we went!¡±

    Kurtz suppressed a chuckle. ¡°My hand to God, Tiger-Rebel.¡±

    Nobody asked.

    Satisfied with their reign of terror, David and Billy spent a companionable hour body-surfing and building the biggest sandcastles they could muster.

    Billy roared at their latest creation, blasting the fortress across the beach.

    David clapped. ¡°Bravo!¡±

    Billy roared again at the sky, sending a crest of clouds fleeing like startled sheep.

    For a few moments, the boys just stood enjoying the sea-breeze and the tide washing in and out around their feet. David stirred circles in the foam with his toe. ¡°Not that I care,¡± he said to Billy, ¡°but why are you being so cool today?¡±

    Billy frowned. ¡°I¡¯m always cool¡­¡±

    David let out one of his musical laughs. ¡°No you¡¯re not! You¡¯re cute!¡±

    Billy balled his fists and snarled, ¡°Am not!¡±

    David danced around his friend, stomping in the water and chanting, ¡°Cute and soft and cuddly¡ª¡°

    Billy growled out the corner of his mouth, sending David hurtling out to sea. He landed with a splash, surfacing laughing on his back.

    When he looked back at the shore, though, Billy wasn¡¯t laughing. He was baring his fangs in an ugly scowl:

    ¡°I¡¯m sick of being cute! Cute¡¯s just another word for dumb and stupid!¡±

    An arc of water formed between Billy and David, the latter riding it over to his friend¡¯s side.

    ¡°No it¡¯s not!¡± David insisted as he splashed down. ¡°It just means you¡¯re fuzzy and made of hugs! And you have a tail!¡±

    Billy kicked the water. ¡°What¡¯s any of that gotten me? You guys aren¡¯t all nice all the time, and you¡¯ve got your grandpa, Arn¡¯s got his mum and dad, and Allie just got her mum!¡±

    David titled his head. ¡°¡­You miss your parents? Why?¡±

    Billy looked at David like he¡¯d asked if he missed having his tail broken. He shook his head. ¡°Why would I want them back? They don¡¯t give a crap about me.¡±

    David had to suppress a smile. It was the first time he¡¯d ever heard Billy swear.

    ¡°I want Betty¡­¡±

    It took David a second to remember who Billy was talking about.

    ¡°Oh, your nanny? Yeah, she seemed nice.¡±

    ¡°Nice? She was more my mum than my mum!¡± Billy¡¯s tail swished angrily behind him. ¡°Why isn¡¯t she here? I thought she loved me!¡±

    David wrapped an arm around Billy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Can¡¯t say I know, buddy. Could be anything. Humans are stupid and weird. They have jobs and houses and clothes and stuff to worry about.¡± He gestured about at the cove. ¡°Plus, we¡¯re not exactly on the map. She might not even know you¡¯re here.¡± An idea occurred to him. ¡°Maybe you could ask Allie to let you do one of those TV things? Hell, maybe you could get Tom or anyone else with folks out there in on it.¡±

    ¡°¡­That¡¯s a good idea.¡±

    David polished his knuckles against his chest. ¡°Duh. I¡¯m me.¡±

    Billy stared down at the churning green water. ¡°What if she doesn¡¯t come, though?¡±

    David quirked his shoulders. ¡°Just means she¡¯s silly. Nothing about you.¡±

    ¡°¡­Thanks, Dave.¡±

    There was a familiar chorus of thunder-cracks.

    Allison¡¯s voice called out over the water, ¡°Hey Billy, hey David!¡±

    Billy looked at the shore. Allison, Arnold, and Mabel were standing on the sand with Mrs Kinsey.

    Billy yelped and quickly uttered, ¡°Costume on!¡± his super-suit appearing in its old-time bathing suit pattern, its colours his usual blue and white.

    David did¡­ not do that, instead wading out of the surf, pulling Billy along by the hand. It was nothing Drina hadn¡¯t seen.

    David strode up to Allison¡¯s mother and took her hand, kissing it softly. He smiled up at her. ¡°Enchante, Mrs Kinsey.¡±

    Drina blushed. ¡°It¡¯s David, no?¡±

    David bowed with a flourish, ¡°Yes ma¡¯am, David Barthe, at your service.¡±

    Allison and Mabel both rolled their eyes.

    ¡°Ignore him, Mum,¡± said Allison. ¡°He gets stupid like this sometimes.¡±

    Drina Kinsey laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t know, love. I like a polite boy.¡±

    That made Arnold snort.

    Billy barged into the gathering and offered his hand to Drina. ¡°Billy St. George, pleased to meetcha!¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Drina. ¡°Hello.¡±

    She slowly, painfully reached out to take Billy¡¯s hand, seeming to hesitate around his claws.

    Billy made the last move, grabbing Mrs Kinsey¡¯s hand. She felt her flinch.

    ¡°Billy!¡± cried Allison

    ¡°Sorry! Sorry!¡± he repeated, released Drina¡¯s hand.

    ¡°No, no,¡± said Allison¡¯s mother. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Billy, really. Just never shook a hand with fur before, that¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Mrs Kinsey,¡± said David. ¡°Wanna see something neat?¡±

    Drina smiled. ¡°Sure, why not?¡±

    David pointed out to sea. At his silent command, paired dolphins made of water leapt from the ocean, chittering like glass chimes and glinting in the afternoon sun.

    Drina clapped. ¡°Encore!¡±

    David bowed again. ¡°I¡¯m open to requests.¡±

    Billy watched frowning as everyone shouted subjects for David to sculpt. It felt backwards. Since when was he better at making people like him? He didn¡¯t even wear pants.

    Quietly, Billy moved into the bush that backed the beach.

    ¡°¡­Alright,¡± said Drina, ¡°how about a mermaid this time?¡± She looked at her daughter. ¡°You like mermaids, don¡¯t you, Allie?¡±

    Allison hunched her shoulders and looked down, hiding a smile. ¡°Mermaids are for babies¡­¡±

    David twirled on his heels. ¡°I beg to differ.¡±

    ¡°Hey, guys!¡±

    Everyone turned in the direction of Billy¡¯s echo. The boy was standing at the edge of one of the short cliffs that cradled the cove.

    ¡°Who wants to see me do a dive bomb?¡±

    Mabel cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot! Do you even know how deep the water is?¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± said David. He started pumping his fists in the air. ¡°Jump! Jump! Jum¡ª¡±

    Mabel clapped her hand over David¡¯s mouth.

    Drina called, ¡°Honey, please come down. You¡¯re very high up!¡±

    Billy peered over the precipice. Drina was right, he was very high up. But he couldn¡¯t see any rocks sticking out of the water. David said it was okay. Well, not exactly, but he had implied it.

    Billy took a deep breath and ran for the edge:

    ¡°Geronimo!¡±

    One step stone, the next air. For half a moment, Billy kicked at nothing, before gravity started grabbing at his heels¡ª

    Allison flew sideways past Billy, pulling him into her arms and making a u-turn back towards the beach.

    Allison dropped Billy rough back onto the sand. ¡°You idiot!¡± She pointed at David. ¡°At least he can just make a new body!¡±

    Drina fell upon Billy instantly. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± she asked, frantically fussing over Billy in case he bruised himself against the air. She looked about at the other children. ¡°How far are we from town?¡±

    ¡°About¡­ ten miles?¡± replied David.

    The answer made Drina gawp. ¡°They just let you wander out into the bush? Without any grown ups watching you?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re watching us,¡± pointed out Billy.

    ¡°I don¡¯t count!¡±

    For half an hour Drina fawned over Billy, keeping him close lest he wander off a cliff again. She asked a lot of questions about what took up the children¡¯s days in Catalpa. The answers didn¡¯t seem to please her.

    At one point, Billy transmuted some air into a molecularly seamless ruby and silver rose.

    ¡°Oh, Billy,¡± said Drina, admiring the sculpture. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡±

    Billy grinned. ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡±

    When Drina was distracted asking about where exactly her daughter slept before she arrived, David sat down beside Billy.

    ¡°Nice move,¡± he commented.

    ¡°The rose?¡± asked Billy. ¡°It was nothing.¡±

    ¡°That was pretty good,¡± said David. ¡°But I was talking about the stunt on the cliff. Played Mrs Kinsey like a violin.¡±

    Billy blushed under his fur. ¡°That¡¯s not what I was doing.¡±

    David didn¡¯t bother arguing the point. ¡°You know, Billy¡± he said, ¡°You and me, we could run this town.¡±

    Billy thought the idea over.

    ¡°¡­You think so?¡±

 Chapter Ninety-Nine: Make Way for Miri

    Sleep wasn¡¯t sleep for Miri. Sleep was the world falling away, and a new one rising to meet her feet. A world of velvet shadows and dark new colours. A cat-eye moon usurped the sun in the sky and shattered its glare into millions of blinking stars.

    Miri drifted invisibly above Catalpa, more at home in the hot night air than a fish in a tropic sea. Nothing real could touch her¡ªnot even gravity. Below her, the city lay in quiet shadow, its citizens in their beds or behind drawn curtains.

    There were always a few boltholes of light. Libertalia had no true closing hours, only a limit to its  stone-skinned mistress¡¯s patience. Tonight it was alive with laughter. Laughter and alcohol-slurred, grown up feelings¡­

    Miri tried to tune out the fog of alcohol slurred thought. It made her feel blurry.

    More inviting was the children¡¯s hall: a rusty chrome rocketship half-buried in the red clay of Catalpa. In October, someone had hung a plastic skeleton dressed like Buck Rogers out one of the windows. Now tinsel and Christmas lights were creeping up its face like myrtle vines.

    It was the home of all the children who had nowhere else to rest their heads. Until recently, Allison and Miri had kept their body there most nights. Miri could feel the lights glowing in their fixtures. Kids running and laughing. Bedtime was hours ago, but nobody could spare the time and energy to corral the residents.

    As soon as the hall had crossed Miri¡¯s mind, she was there at the speed of thought. Because that¡¯s what she was. A dream freed from sleep.

    A clam-shaped record player from another dimension, kindly donated by Maude Simmons (without her knowledge) filled the hall¡¯s conical attic. A horned boy juggled strobing will o¡¯ wisps, while a floating crystal sphere served as a mirror-ball.

    ¡°Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock,¡±

    ¡°Jingle bell swing and jingle bells ring¡­¡±

    Miri giggled silently. The vibrations in the air tickled her astral body. Young children and increasingly gangly teenagers alike were dancing and singing off-key in their pyjamas, or whatever cast-offs they chose to sleep in.

    Miri was about to turn visible when she saw Louise. The girl was twirling in the centre of the floor, skin bleeding white with potential energy. Her long black hair swirling around her, blue low-lights flashing as they caught the disparate light.

    Miri frowned. She and Louise were usually quite tight. The latter even lent Miri her body once or twice a week; didn¡¯t even ask her to wear clothes in it if she didn¡¯t want to. But Louise had gotten very frowny since Allie¡¯s birthday party. Allison said it was because she told David Louise liked him. Miri supposed she could see why Louise didn¡¯t want people to know she liked David¡ªDavid was David¡ªexcept lots of people said they liked him. Even Allie and Arnold.

    Especially Allie and Arnold.

    Mabel was stationed next to the record player, trying to make herself heard over Bobby Helms:

    ¡°Anyone got a request?¡±

    Miri popped next to Mabel, yelling in her ear, ¡°The Bug-Guys!¡±

    Mabel shuddered and jumped. ¡°Don¡¯t do that, Miri!¡± She frowned and tilted her head. ¡°And the ¡®Bug-Guys¡¯?¡±

    ¡°You know!¡± said Miri. ¡°The ones with the hair and the suits? They make really good songs about submarines and holding hands!¡±

    Mabel nodded with realisation. ¡°Oh!¡±

    She pulled a record out of the box and stuck it in the player. ¡°I Want to Hold Your Hand¡± started blaring.

    Miri grinned at Mabel, accompanied by an excited clapping noise. Sometimes she forgot to affect the gesture that typically accompanied the sound.

    Mabel saw David emerge from the crowd and danced up to Louise. She pointed at the pair, hiding a grin.

    ¡°See David over there by Brit?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°Something cheesy and romancey coming up.¡±

    David danced around Brit with perfect, fluid grace and utter, unreserved dorkiness. ¡°So¡­¡± he whistled. ¡°Wanna kiss?¡±

    Brit wrinkled her nose. ¡°Really, Dave?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Is this because of the Miri thing? Also, Dave?¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t just say ¡®wanna kiss¡¯ like that.¡±

    David shrugged and took Brit¡¯s hand, spinning the girl and dipping her. ¡°Works for me and Allie. And Arnold.¡±

    Brit giggled. ¡°Arnold and Allie aren¡¯t everyone else. There¡¯s steps for the rest of us.¡±

    Brit knew that was true. Movies and books said so.

    David¡¯s tongue curled in thought. ¡°¡­Swimming?¡±

    ¡°Maybe in the middle,¡± replied Brit, ¡°but more like¡ª¡±

    Miri appeared beside the pair and crowed, ¡°Flirting!¡±

    David and Brit¡¯s turned as one towards the phantom girl.

    ¡°Hi Miri,¡± said Brit, a touch flatly.

    Miri didn¡¯t return the greeting. ¡°The thing you do before kissing is flirting! I got it from Allie¡¯s big dusty brain library!¡±

    ¡°¡­Why do we have to do that?¡± asked David.

    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± answered Miri. ¡°I was looking for stuff about frogs.¡±

    Brit smiled and cocked her head at David. ¡°Okay Miri, tell him how to flirt.¡±

    Miri rubbed her chin. ¡°¡­Tell her she¡¯s cute.¡±

    David beamed at Brit. ¡°You are cute!¡±

    Brit blushed, but Miri snapped, ¡°No! You have to say it all sideways.¡±

    David and Brit looked at each other.

    ¡°¡­Your hair is like the sea at night?¡±

    ¡°Foamy and weird?¡± asked Miri.

    ¡°No! Like¡­ you ever been to the beach when there¡¯s a full moon? It¡¯s all black, but the bits the light touches are all silvery blue. It¡¯s prettier than anything!¡±

    Brit laughed. ¡°I like that!¡± She looked back at Miri. ¡°What¡¯s next?¡±

    ¡°Um, I think before you do the kissing now you have to go on a date?¡±

    David and Brit¡¯s expressions both dimned, until the former¡¯s eyes widened with an idea. He took Brit¡¯s hand:

    ¡°Swimming?¡±

    ¡°Swimming!¡±

    Miri watched the two of them run down the attic stairs. None of them remembered it was technically bedtime.

    Miri was happy. She helped! She even helped David, which was very generous of her.

    For the next fifteen minutes she literally moved through the crowd, possessing dancers for fractions of a second, riding the endorphins that swelled and dipped with the music and every transfer.

    Something down there niggled at Miri. A normally bright and buzzy nebula turned to sullen red giants and white dwarfs.

    Billy.

    Miri flickered between the attic and one of the ringed dormitories. Billy was curled up in a hammock, tail sullenly shooing away hot, heavy air. He was cradling one of his Famous Five books. It didn¡¯t look to Miri like he was reading, though. Just staring at the pages.

    Miri was about to solidly place herself by Billy¡¯s side, but then she saw what was going through his head. A little house, far away, beside a copse of glass and gold trees. But they were shadows compared to the smiling, dark-lady.

    Miri hissed through her teeth. Mothers. Nannies. Granddads. Why was that all anyone could think about lately? She¡¯d never had any of those, and she was fine.

    Miri didn¡¯t appear to her friend. What good would it have done? She didn¡¯t know what Billy had lost. She couldn¡¯t even hug him.

    Instead, she found Tom Long on the lowest floor, trying to block out the party-noises with a pillow.

    He jerked as Miri appeared above him, almost tumbling out of his hammock.

    ¡°Billy¡¯s being sad upstairs. Go be not-nice-but-sorta-nice to him.¡±

    ¡°¡­Not-nice-but-sorta-nice.¡± Tom nodded. ¡°Sounds about right. Will do, Ghost-Girl.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    Miri hung in the sky again. The last major hub of activity in Catalpa was Mistress Quickly¡¯s lab in Freedom Tower. She and Doc Danny were conducting half-mystical rituals over the sleeping stranger that, if they were right, would soon be Miri herself.

    A body. Her own set of flesh and bones. Miri still didn¡¯t know what to think of that. Did she know how to be her own person? Would deciding everything she did every day be hard? Would she and Allie still be sisters?

    Would she be able to do stuff like this anymore?

    On the other hand, she could eat coconut ice cream without Allie whingeing about it. She¡¯d be able to see herself in a mirror. She wouldn¡¯t have to hug Billy according to a time-table.

    And when the sun rose, she¡¯d be able to feel it on her skin.

    Well, either way, she was going to enjoy being ghosty while it lasted.

    Miri fled into the wild bush that cradled Catalpa. She sunk into the patient consciousness of a crocodile and glided through black waters, scaring the life out of fish as she passed. Then she took to the trees, singing with the metallic, whooping voice of a nightjar.

    She was a native rat, running with all it had from a feral cat. She was the cat, too. She was everything.

    Minutes and hours blurred together. Beyond the very basics of cause and effect, time was subjective¡ªand Miri¡¯s entire existence was subjective.

    A thought occurred to the girl. How did Brit and David¡¯s date go?

    She flew into the cove on the sea breeze. The curved sliver of silver that was the moon that night lit the crashing waves. Brit and David were lying asleep beside each other, sprawled like seal pups on the moondust sand. Brit¡¯s head was resting against the boy¡¯s shoulder.

    Miri smiled. That looked like a good sign. She wondered if they¡¯d gotten a kiss in¡­

    She was about to plunge back through the layers of time to the date itself, when she noticed something.

    David was twitching in his sleep. A low whimper escaped his lips. Miri could see his eyes glowing under their lids.

    Miri titled her head. She¡¯d watched a lot of folks sleep in her time. They usually didn¡¯t do that. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Miri rained down over David, soaking into his dreams:

    She was standing somewhere familiar she¡¯d never seen before. A dim cave of timber and hay. A barn. Like where they kept the town¡¯s cows.

    It was nighttime, she knew that. The only illumination was a moonbeam spotlight pouring in through a window frame.

    Miri breathed sharply¡ª

    Pain. Like razor blades stuck between her ribs and lungs. Her body was covered in bruises she could not see.

    Miri wasn¡¯t wearing any clothes. That itself wasn¡¯t unusual. It was kind of her preference. One thing she and David agreed on. But it felt wrong. Like she was standing there with no skin. She was the wrong shape, too.

    There was someone there with her, in the dark. She knew it in her teeth roots. Miri wanted to run out into the night¡ªrun and run and run¡ªbut her legs weren¡¯t listening.

    For the first time, that felt wrong.

    Her fingers throbbed.

    Groans in the shadow. Slurring, sour words:

    ¡°Should invite Bertie to one of our parties¡­ old fuck probably would mount you in a second if I gave him the excuse.¡±

    Something stepped into the light. A man in a mulberry bathrobe, holding a heavy bucket of water in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

    His cheeks were marked with flushed hexagons.

    Alberto Moretti gave a cold, pale smile. ¡°Might take a raincheck if he saw you now.¡±

    Miri whimpered. She knew what was going to happen. It had happened so many times. How did she keep forgetting?

    Alberto set down the bucket and took a long swig of his whiskey. ¡°You know, Miri (or was it ¡°Mealy¡±?), I used to be the favourite.¡± He twitched. ¡°Well, besides Auntie Witch, but like any of us are ever going to top that stuck-up bitch.¡±

    He stumbled forward towards Miri. She tried to step back, or dissolve into something the psychic could not touch, but her skin might as well have been an iron maiden.

    Alberto gave a wonky grin. ¡°I was going to unite the world in telepathic unity. I was going to make misunderstanding extinct.¡± Alberto¡¯s shoulders drooped. His smile died. ¡°Then he found out what I could really do. But that was okay. He had you.¡±

    Alberto leaned down, whispering hot, burning breath in Miri¡¯s ear. ¡°I know your mother, boy. I¡¯ve seen your heart. ¡®New human.¡¯ Nothing human in there¡­¡±

    Alberto was right. She was wrong, and awful, and evil, and Lawrence should hate her¡ª

    Alberto pointed at the bucket. ¡°Make us a couple of chopsticks. Sharp ones.¡±

    Miri obeyed without hesitation, and the water answered her just as readily. Two sharp skewers of ice flowed into her hands.

    ¡°Don¡¯t scream.¡±

    Again, Miri didn¡¯t hesitate. Her vision shattered into sharp, bloody darkness. She didn¡¯t scream, either. What sounds did force their way out of her made her fingers feel like they were breaking inside their skin.

    She fell hard to the ground, dropping the now red and sticky skewers. Tears and worse retraced old, dried out paths.

    She could still feel the water. Alberto was standing over her. A sewer network of alcohol tainted blood.

    ¡°Get up.¡±

    She did, working shakily back to her feet.

    ¡°Clean yourself up, get your pyjamas back on, and go back to bed.¡±

    Miri broke out in quiet, wrenching sobs.

    ¡°Oh, shut up, Mealy,¡± she heard Alberto say.

    All of a sudden, he grabbed her somewhere tender. Hard.

    He hissed, ¡°Next time, maybe I¡¯ll make you poke something Bertie gives a fuck about.¡±

    Miri exorcised herself from David¡¯s body, fleeing into the night. If she had a real voice, she would have screamed.

    ?

    Alberto Moretti sat alone in his old bedroom. There was a lock on the door. The esper was reading a magazine bearing the masthead ¡°STUPID FUCKING DECISIONS.¡± His face scowled out from the cover.

    Alberto lowered his printed memories to find Miri standing in front of him. To his welcome surprise, she¡¯d bothered with that shiny bathing suit she projected for people in meat-space. In fact, it was now a cover-all.

    She was crying, too, eyes red with tears.

    Alberto raised an eyebrow. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, kid? Finally read the wrong creep¡¯s mind?¡±

    ¡°Why did you do that?¡±

    Alberto looked around his mental prison. ¡°Seeing I haven¡¯t had hands since before you were born, I kinda want to know how I did whatever you¡¯re talking about?¡±

    Miri balled her fists and glared, eyes burning with Allison¡¯s stolen fire. ¡°This.¡±

    Distant cries echoed through the room. David lay bruised and bloody between the girl and the esper. Somehow, despite his blind, ruined eye sockets, he stared right at Alberto.

    The psychic drew deeper into his chair, recoiling from the prone boy. But he couldn¡¯t avert his eyes from  ¡°Get that away from me.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    Alberto roared. ¡°Take him away!¡±

    David vanished.

    ¡°I thought you were just sad,¡± said Miri. ¡°And silly! You taught me the fun bad words! Allie kept telling me you were bad, but I didn¡¯t think¡ª¡±

    ¡°I was drunk most of the time.¡±

    ¡°Then why did you keep getting drunk?¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t there¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes I was!¡±

    Alberto was quiet.

    ¡°Would you do that to me if you could?¡±

    A sigh. ¡°Look, Miri, it was a long time ago¡ª¡±

    Miri snapped, ¡°David didn¡¯t look much smaller.¡±

    ¡°David was barely David back then¡­ you never met his mother, did ya?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    Alberto shook his head. ¡°Course not, you weren¡¯t a¡­ thing yet. She was a monster of a kid. Tear you apart just like that if you pissed her off. For her life was all running and screaming and tearing the world apart for kicks. Tried to drown me when I first met her. Just because she could.¡±

    He smiled at the recollection. ¡°She was fucking beautiful.¡±

    Miri frowned. ¡°How is being mean beautiful?¡±

    Alberto rolled his eyes. ¡°No wonder the tiger-plush likes you. Nothing has ever been as free as her. You hear that, kid? Nothing. Even I couldn¡¯t control her completely, and God fucking knows I tried. My life literally depended on it!¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with David?¡±

    Alberto spat, ¡°That little shit was the anchor Laurie hung around Fran¡¯s neck! He was the thing that made her give up the ghost! He was such a fucking pussy. I could¡¯ve forgiven that. Billy¡¯s a pussy, and you didn¡¯t see me cutting off his tail or shaving him or something. But he dragged Fran down with him! Domesticated her!¡±

    Alberto pointed angrily at Miri. ¡°You know what? David should fucking thank me! You think he could be what he is now without the rage I gave him?¡± He broke out in a shaky grin that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°I killed Mealy! I made David his mother¡¯s son.¡±

    Miri gave Alberto a long, hard look. ¡°¡­You¡¯re mean,¡± she said. ¡°And stupid¡±

    ¡°Well, piss off.¡±

    Miri left Alberto in his private purgatory. Now more than ever, she wanted that body. Better a blind, deaf and dumb form of her own than having to share a brain with someone who did that.

    But then, if she had a body of her own¡ªif she could be touched¡ªsomeone could hurt her like David had been.

    She needed to talk to Allie about it. She was smart. She was older.

    Allison was asleep right now. Early on, her and Miri had experimented with doing away with sleep entirely in favour of alternating twelve hour shifts in the driver¡¯s seat. The result had been two equally grumpy sisters.

    Miri sifted through the fogbank of dreams until she found Allison standing in the middle of a snowy field. Between her and a tall wall of snow-capped pines stood a muscular, curly-haired blond man in blue jeans and a brown fleece jacket. He had his back to the girls, hammering away at a fifteen foot model of Freedom Point and rambling into the cold air:

    ¡°¡­I¡¯m doing it right the first time. Don¡¯t want to do this again next winter.¡±

    Miri tilted her head at the sight.

    Dreams are weird.

    Allison didn¡¯t seem to notice her sister¡¯s appearance in the vista, instead watching the blond man with narrowed eyes.

    ¡°Allie,¡± Miri said into the other girl¡¯s ear. ¡°I need to talk about something¡­¡±

    Allison¡¯s only response was to ask, ¡°What is he doing?¡±

    Miri glanced quickly at the blond man. ¡°I don¡¯t know, it¡¯s a dream. So, I made David and Brit go on a date-thing, and then¡ª¡±

    Allison clearly wasn¡¯t listening, still watching the man at work.

    ¡°Allie!¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t even look at her.

    Miri growled to herself. Fine. If Allison wasn¡¯t going to talk to her for some dumb reason, she was just going to wake up and take her turn in the body.

    Miri opened their eyes. She felt Allison¡¯s costume melt and reform into her own. The morning light that flowed in through the room¡¯s open window was still burnished with dawn. She was lying on top of a bed¡ª

    Miri squeaked when she registered Drina Kinsey¡¯s arm draped across her chest, scrambling so fast out of the woman¡¯s embrace that she rolled off the side of the bed.

    The thud only made Mrs Kinsey groan in her sleep.

    Miri hopped to her feet and looked at the woman who¡¯d mothered her body and sister. It was funny. She looked more like Allison than you¡¯d think on first look. It was their skin. Allison was about as tanned as a cavefish. Drina Kinsey was a solid Hungarian olive. Or Roma, if Miri¡¯s creator told the truth. Seemed like an odd thing to lie about to her.

    Miri wondered if she looked anything like Drina.

    She decided not to wake up Drina, instead heading into the kitchen and getting started on breakfast.

    A lot of breakfast. It¡¯d been a while.

    When Drina Kinsey emerged from her room, she found herself walking into a veritable kingdom of food. The air was thick with smoke and grease. She saw her daughter sitting between two towers of maple syrup drenched pancakes, inhaling bacon and scrambled eggs like black hole.

    Drina smiled bemusedly at the sight. ¡°Jeez, Allie. You¡¯re going to give yourself a heart attack.¡±

    The girl looked up at Mrs Kinsey, cheeks bulging. ¡°Sorry, Mrs Kinsey,¡± she murmured through the egg and bacon bits. ¡°I¡¯m Miri.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Hello then. Pleased to meet you then, Miri.¡± Drina took a seat at the kitchen table. ¡°So¡­ where is Allie right now?¡±

    Miri looked up at the ceiling. ¡°Hanging out in the sky.¡±

    ¡°Ah. Was this planned?¡±

    Miri nodded vigorously. ¡°Yep! The calendar¡¯s in her room at the kids¡¯ house. I get to be in charge for two days now, unless there¡¯s an emergency.¡±

    ¡°¡­Emergency?¡±

    Miri shrugged. ¡°Like if there¡¯s a big fight, or the big people try attacking the town, or we need something welded quick.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re saying all that¡¯s up to Allie to handle?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s good at lots of things!¡±

    Drina nodded. ¡°Always has been.¡±

    She was starting to suspect there was a reason her daughter was willing to rent out her body for days at a time.

    The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Drina was silent, at least. Miri was a loud eater.

    Eventually, Drina felt the need to say, ¡°You know, Miri, you can call me ¡®Mum¡¯ if you want to.¡±

    Miri gulped down her current mouthful and considered the idea. ¡°¡­No thanks,¡± she answered matter-a-factly. ¡°Don¡¯t feel like it right now.¡±

    A little relieved, Drina said, ¡°That¡¯s alright too.¡±

    Miri hummed in thought. ¡°¡­¡®Aunt Drina¡¯ okay?¡±

    Drina smiled. ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    There was a knock on the door.

    ¡°Probably Mrs Barnes,¡± said Drina.

    Miri sat stock still. One of the benefits of being an esper, even by proxy: you always knew who was at the door. And why.

    Drina opened the door to find Maude Simmons standing in front of her. The super-scientist¡¯s lead apron was stained with oil and amnio, and her expression looked like she was simultaneously about to hand Drina a giant novelty cheque and tell her she had cancer.

    ¡°Is Miri here?¡±

    In a small voice, Miri answered, ¡°Yes, Mistress Quickly.¡±

    ¡°Is something the matter?¡± asked Drina.

    Maude grinned with a kind of exhausted mania. ¡°I think we¡¯re ready for the transfer.¡±

    ?

    Miri lay on an old doctor¡¯s examination bed in the centre of Mistress Quickly¡¯s lab, or as it had once been known, the boiler room. A band of dull grey metal crowned her brow, tethered by dozens of wires to a beeping, radio antennaed octopus of super-science and hospital cast-offs.

    Miri was told that, for a few seconds, this machine would be her brain.

    This machine had many tentacles. Python-thick power cables that snaked across the metal floor. Wires that burrowed into the sleeping girl lying beside Miri.

    The empty body lay half-submerged in a tray of synthetic amniotic fluid, pale and naked. A caterpillar ripped from its chrysalis too early. Miri herself was in a paper-gown. Mistress Quickly and Doc Danny said they didn¡¯t want to risk psychic interference from her costume.

    Sitting at her side, Drina Kinsey squeezed the girl¡¯s hand. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll go fine.¡±

    Miri knew Mrs Kinsey was trying to be nice. But how could she know?

    Miri couldn¡¯t stop looking at her self-to-be. It looked a lot like Allie. But not exactly like her sister. She guessed that was a good sign. It looked a fair bit younger than Allison, but that was okay. Miri never felt as big as Allie did.

    It had her hair. The hair Miri always thought she¡¯d have, if she had hair. She hoped she¡¯d described everything right to Mistress Quickly¡­

    Drina asked Doc Danny, ¡°How long until we start?¡±

    ¡°Few minutes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Drina smiled gently at Miri. ¡°You ready for this? I¡¯m sure we could put it off for a day or two if you needed¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Miri tried to say firmly. ¡°Me and Allie have been waiting for this forever. We¡¯re ready.¡±

    Miri wished Allison could¡¯ve really been here. Mabel had even offered them use of her body for the occasion. But Maude had put her foot down.

    ¡°We¡¯re trying to transplant a consciousness. I¡¯d rather have as few of those as possible floating around. Unless Allison wants the new body.¡±

    Besides, someone had to be ready if Alberto made a break for it.

    The metal plague-doctor from Freedom Point¡¯s infirmary drew some blood and collected some spittle from Miri¡¯s new body.

    ¡°Vessel¡¯s vitals are in the green, Miss Quick,¡± said Dr. Beak.

    ¡°Right,¡± said Mistress Quickly, face lit by the green glow of her CRT console. ¡°You good, Miri?¡±

    Miri nodded. ¡°Yes, Miss Quick.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s get cracking.¡±

    Maude pointed at Doc Danny. The boy pushed some buttons on the transfer machine.

    The lab was filled with a rising electric hum. Miri winced as what felt like tiny needles made of headache drove themselves into her skull.

    Drina frowned. ¡°Is something wrong, Miri?¡±

    Miri had her eyes screwed shut. ¡°Hurts.¡±

    Mrs Kinsey glanced over at Mistress Quickly.

    ¡°That means it¡¯s doing its job,¡± Maude assured them. ¡°Now, Miri, I want you to project yourself out of Allie¡¯s body. Slowly as possible. Can you do that?¡±

    Miri nodded. She took a deep breath and exhaled, picturing herself riding out on the air¡ª

    It was like being peeled out of her own skin. The lab swirled around Miri as she tumbled intangible through the air, unable to find purchase.

    The transfer machine¡¯s antenna became black hole and lightning rod in one, drawing Miri inexorably into the machine.

    For the first time, Miri truly knew gravity.

    She found herself nowhere. That was the only word for it. There was no sound, light, or even darkness. She couldn¡¯t feel Allison, or anyone else. She couldn¡¯t move, for there was nothing to move in.

    Was this what sleep was like? How could anyone bear it?

    Miri waited. And waited. She kept waiting. She waited forever.

    When Miri opened Allison¡¯s eyes again, she was screaming. Drina and Mistress Quickly were gently but firmly keeping her pinned.

    Doc Danny was scanning frantically at the console read-outs. ¡°I think the connection between the bodies is too loose. If we adjust¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, for crying out loud, Danny,¡± shouted Mistress Quickly. ¡°Does she look like she¡¯s good for another go?¡±

    Miri whimpered. She¡¯d messed up. It was all her fault. Allison was going to be stuck with her forever.

    She wouldn¡¯t get to feel the sun after all.

    Drina shushed the child with decade-practised skill. ¡°There there. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    ?

    William St. George hid in the attic of the children¡¯s hall, torch propped between his legs shining on his already impressively worn copy of Five Run Away Together. He startled when the attic hatch creaked open.

    ¡°Ah, hi!¡±

    Allison floated up through the floor.

    Billy squinted at her costume. No, not Allie.

    ¡°Hey, Miri.¡±

    ¡°Hi, Billy.¡±

    ¡°Sorry about the body stuff.¡±

    Miri shrugged. ¡°Miss Quickly put it in the freezer or something. Says we can try again.¡±

    ¡°We got cocky. This thing is alien meets Artisan meets me. We¡¯re lucky it didn¡¯t explode¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good. Allie alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Gave me a couple extra days in charge, too.¡± Miri drifted over to the record player and dropped the needle. ¡°I Want to Hold Your Hand¡± again blared through the attic. She extended a hand to Billy. ¡°You wanna dance?¡±

    Billy smiled. ¡°Sure!¡±

    The pair laughed and threw each other around the room for hours.

    It felt good to move. It was better than nothing.

    ?

    On another world, somewhere beyond ¡°somewhere else¡±, a witch gazed into a well. It was a deep well. It yawned down past the earth it dug into, deeper than time itself.

    ¡°Oh,¡± the witch said. ¡°How cute.¡±

    Elsa Lieroinen shouted over her shoulder. ¡°¨¢vr¨¢! Fetch me my super-duds! We¡¯re going to Catalpa.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred: The Singular Elsas Christmas Spectacular!

    William St. George brandished a wooden sword at his foe. ¡°En garde, foul monster!¡±

    To anyone watching, the cardboard and sticky-tape dragon gave no answer to the challenge.

    To Billy¡¯s ears, it roared.

    The tiger-boy rolled to his side, just barely dodging a gout of imaginary flame, while also just barely keeping his paper knight¡¯s helmet from sliding down his face.

    ¡°Rwoar!

    Billy laid a frant flurry of blows on the beast, twirling around it like a homicidal ballerina.

    After a few circuits, Billy staggered backwards, panting with exertion. He raised a shaky sword arm.

    ¡°Do you yield, creature?¡±

    As always, the dragon was silent and still.

    Billy sighed, stood very straight, and spat, ¡°So be it.¡±

    The boy inhaled so deeply his torso practically perpendicular to his waist, let the breath gather power in his diaphragm, and threw himself forward with a great shout:

    ¡°For justice!¡±

    The pile of painted cardboard boxes exploded. The trees behind it recoiled from the shockwave, their leaves whipped away in the momentary gale.

    Billy pumped his fist in the air and cried, ¡°Showed him!¡±

    Nobody answered.

    Billy regarded the scattered dragon parts and smacked his hands together. ¡°Right, Mr. Dragon, time to put you back together.¡±

    Billy proceeded to reassemble his honoured foe. The summer heat was sweltering. More so if you had fur. Christmas was only a week away, and Billy was looking forward to it. He and his nanny were going to get out the film projector and watch Miracle on 34th Street.

    His parents had already written to say they wouldn¡¯t be flying out to visit. And Billy understood. They were busy people. Albany was pretty remote. Sure, he¡¯d had a few crying jags, but he hadn¡¯t let Betsy hear them.

    Christmas would be good. They¡¯d watch their movie, eat homemade popcorn (though Billy had never tasted any other kind) and he¡¯d get to open presents. Even if they¡¯d mostly been picked out by people who only knew him by description.

    Billy was about to affix the dragon¡¯s head back on when he heard a song echoing through the bush. It wasn¡¯t Betsy¡¯s voice; it wasn¡¯t even in English. A second later, a meaty spice-rich aroma hit his nose.

    Billy licked his lips. Betsy was very clear about not approaching strangers without permission.

    But the smell was tasty.

    Billy pushed his way through the brush until he came to the edge of a clearing. A woman with long red hair in an arsenic green gown was stirring a copper cauldron big enough to fit a well-grown child over a roaring fire. Beside her was an old fashioned buggy with a white hart painted on the side. It was reined to two large reindeer, tended to by a coachmen in an equally black cloak and tophat. It made Billy sweat just looking at him. It was like the Gypsies from one of his books had ridden out into the real world.

    The woman finished whatever she was singing and called over to the coachman in foreign-accented English, ¡°Are the deer happy, Myles?¡±

    ¡°Perfectly content, ma¡¯am,¡± the coachmen replied in an equally foreign, though distinct lilt. He had a grey beard that looked like a bundle of scouring pads fused together. ¡°How¡¯s lunch coming along?¡±

    The woman scooped a ladle of broth and sipped it. ¡°Few minutes, I¡¯d say.¡± Without looking away from the cauldron, she said, ¡°You, in the bushes, why don¡¯t you come out so you can have a bowl?¡±

    Billy squeaked. ¡°Um¡­ hi?¡±

    ¡°Hi right back at you. Any reason you¡¯re crouching like a goblin back there? It¡¯s not a good look.¡±

    ¡°...Promise you won¡¯t laugh? Or shout and stuff?¡±

    The woman raised her free arm. ¡°Our hands to God.¡±

    Trepidatiously, Billy stepped out into the open. His tail swayed nervously behind him.

    ¡°My name¡¯s Billy.¡±

    The woman grinned. ¡°Pleased to meet ya, Billy. Elsa Lieroinen.¡± She nodded her head at the coachmen. ¡°That¡¯s Myles.¡±

    Myles waved absently, still fussing over the horses.

    Billy blinked and looked down at himself. ¡°You¡¯re not scared of me?¡±

    Elsa laughed. ¡°Why would I be scared? You¡¯re the cuddliest looking thing I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±

    Under his fur, Billy blushed.

    Elsa tasted her concoction again. ¡°Right. Join us for lunch, young man?¡±

    The soup was good. Elsa said it was something called bierggojubttsa.

    ¡°The meat¡¯s reindeer.¡±

    Billy laughed. ¡°People don¡¯t eat reindeer.¡±

    ¡°They do where I come from.¡±

    Billy looked at the reindeer. ¡°You eat the things that pull your wagon?¡±

    Elsa grinned darkly. ¡°One way to make sure they pull their weight. And ours.¡±

    ¡°...Are you two Gypsies?¡± Billy asked. ¡°I didn¡¯t know Australia had those.¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± said Elsa. ¡°I¡¯m Sami.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Like Finnish. But more so.¡±

    Billy looked at the coachman. ¡°What about you, Mr. Myles? Are you Sami?¡±

    The man shook his head. ¡°Spartan, lad.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a Spartan?¡±

    Myles¡¯ answer was simple:

    ¡°Warriors.¡±

    Elsa chuckled. ¡°That was the problem, though, wasn¡¯t it? Too many warriors, not enough¡±¡ªshe started counting off fingers¡ª¡°bakers¡­ bankers¡­ greengrocers¡­ everything else really.¡±

    Myles smiled wistfully. ¡°Oh, we had people for that.¡±

    ¡°Thing is,¡± said Elsa, ¡°I¡¯m not just Sami. I¡¯m a witch.¡±

    Billy giggled. ¡°Sure. And I¡¯m the king of the world.¡±

    Elsa gave a tight lipped smile, spread her arms, and spat some gutterel, Slavic sounding syllables:

    Fireworks burst from her upturned palms, audibly wizzing and whistling in the air.

    Billy¡¯s jaw dropped.

    ¡°Oh my gosh¡ªoh my gosh!¡± Billy hopped around the cauldron with excitement. ¡°How do you do that? Can you teach me?¡±

    Myles watched on, bemused. Elsa smiled gently. ¡°Sorry, hon, no can do.¡±

    Billy¡¯s excitement barely dimmed. Knowing magic was real was almost as good as being able to do it.

    Inwardly, Elsa Lieroinen was pleased at the boy¡¯s reaction. You never could tell pre-Rowling. Of course, Frank Baum walked so she could run¡­

    ¡°Tell me, Billy, can you do anything interesting?¡±

    Billy stopped in his tracks. ¡°Like what?¡±

    Elsa shrugged. ¡°Oh, anything.¡±

    Billy took a deep breath. ¡°Okay. Watch this.¡±

    He cupped his hands. A ball of floating mercury bloomed into his existence. Billy screwed his features in concentration, and the silver sphere vanished, leaving him holding a tiny, golden flower. He offered it to the witch a proud smile.

    Elsa took the creation into her hands with an impressed whistle.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Hopefully, Billy asked. ¡°Is that magic?¡±

    Elsa hummed and tapped her chin in thought. ¡°...I don¡¯t think so. This is what we call a superpower.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I guess it is.¡±

    It had occurred to Billy a few times that the things he did could be called superpowers. It was a strange idea, that he was anything like the Crimson Comet or the Flying Man. He definitely didn¡¯t look like them¡­

    Myles asked, ¡°Got any other tricks, lad?¡±

    Billy grinned. Then he vanished.

    Seconds passed. Elsa briefly glanced at her watch.

    Billy reappeared, still grinning. ¡°Invisible!¡±

    The reindeer did not react very well to the demonstration of Billy¡¯s third power. Nor did the birds it sent squawking into the sky.

    ¡°Oh, settle down,¡± Elsa told her spooked draft animals. ¡°Or I¡¯ll put you in the pot with your brothers!¡±

    The deer went very quiet.

    ¡°So,¡± Elsa said to Billy. ¡°Tell us about yourself.¡±

    Elsa and Myles were good listeners. They let Billy talk for nearly an hour about his narrow little life. Making excuses for his parents in the way other children reserved for themselves. Praising his nanny to the high-heavens.

    ¡°...I also like stamps!¡±

    Elsa nodded. ¡°You sound like a multifarious young man, Mr. St. George. Always good to see.¡± She glanced at the deer and buggy. ¡°Me and Myles here have to get going soon.¡±

    Billy frowned. ¡°You do? I thought you could come and meet my nanny. We have coffee! And biscuits.¡±

    Elsa shook her head. ¡°Afraid not. We have a schedule to keep.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Billy¡¯s chin drooped. ¡°Thanks for the soup and all.¡±

    Elsa raised a finger. ¡°You¡¯re very welcome. In fact, you were such good company, I want to do you a favour.¡±

    ¡°What kinda favour?¡±

    ¡°A magic favour. A wish. I just need a little something from you¡­¡±

    Billy glanced at the witch sideways. ¡°What sorta thing?¡±

    ¡°Nothing much. Just a single hair from your head. For the magic, you see.¡±

    ¡°Just a hair?¡±

    ¡°Just a hair.¡± Elsa folded her hands on her lap. ¡°Tell me, Billy, what do you want the most.¡±

    There was deep quiet in the clearing.

    ¡°...I want friends. Is that something you can do?¡±

    A smile. ¡°Easy.¡±

    Without hesitation, Billy plucked one of his hairs and handed it to Elsa. ¡°Please.¡±

    Elsa examined the fine blond hair between her fingers. Billy half-expected her to dump it in the cauldron. Instead, a small bottle appeared in her other hand that she slipped the hair into. Billy didn¡¯t notice the label with his name already written on it.

    ¡°It will be done. Now, run along home.¡±

    Billy took off running, laughing like mad. Wait till Betty heard about this.

    ?

    As soon as Billy¡¯s footsteps faded from earshot, Myles ripped the fake grey beard off, revealing his ruddy cheeks and true neat black facial hair. ¡°I still don¡¯t know why you made me wear this bloody thing. It¡¯s not like the boy was going to recognize me.¡±

    ¡°Purely for my amusement, dear,¡± said Elsa. She stood up, letting her hazel wand slip from her sleeve. She tapped the cauldron¡¯s rim, causing it to be utterly consumed in blue flame. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t moan anyway. I owe you five horns. Really thought he¡¯d wish to look proper human.¡±

    Myles shrugged. ¡°From what you¡¯ve told me, didn¡¯t think he¡¯d know anything else.¡±

    ¡°Well, it saves me some effort. Prepare the buggy. I don¡¯t want that nanny or someone stumbling on us. Better we stay imaginary friends.¡±

    The buggy sped through the bush, the reindeer galloping like the Devil was on their heels. Trees leapt out of its way, fearful of offending the mighty witch it carried. The terrain smoothed itself under hoof and wheel in timid acquiescence.

    In the driver¡¯s seat, Myles spotted water ahead. ¡°Mistress, we¡¯re coming up on the river!¡±

    Within the buggy, Elsa curled the knuckle of her ring finger. It bore a link from chains she had forged a long time ago. She whispered, ¡°Take us home, Lady.¡±

    Myles drove the buggy into the river with unerring verve, mushing the reindeer on until they disappeared beneath the water.

    Somewhere else, sideways of everything¡ªthey came charging bone dry out of another river. The sky had been perfect, blue back in Australia. Here it was slate grey, thick battlements of cloud gently weeping snowflakes. The river ran iron black through fields of white and grey. A titanic maelstrom of blues and greens spied the land through a gap in the clouds. The eye of Donbettyr.

    They had come to shore near a watermill built of weathered stone and timber, forever gnawing on the icy waters that flowed by. By Riverlands law, all such structures had to be blessed by a priest; an offering made to the Lady. She was a generous goddess, but that generosity had to be acknowledged. Not this one, though. Elsa Lieroinen bowed to no goddess. They bowed to her.

    The witch stepped out from the buggy, now clad in a thick fur cloak and hood. At the same time, a little red haired girl came running out from the mill.

    Myles tilted his hat at the child. ¡°Good to see you, ¨¢vr¨¢.¡±

    ¨¢vr¨¢ stopped at the greeting, swallowing involuntarily. ¡°Thank you, Myles.¡± She turned her head down, as though expecting a blow. ¡°Greetings, Mother.¡±

    Elsa¡¯s only answer was a question, ¡°Are the fires burning inside?¡±

    ¨¢vr¨¢ nodded. It¡¯d been summer when she¡¯d last seen her mother.

    It was a good summer.

    ¡°Take the reindeer to the stables and water them well. It was bloody hot out there. Also make sure your thighs are clean, girl.¡± Elsa smiled indulgently at Myles. ¡°I think our valet has earned a bonus.¡±

    Myles grinned at the girl. ¨¢vr¨¢ didn¡¯t look at him.

    ¡°Yes, mother.¡±

    As ¨¢vr¨¢ led the reindeer away, Myles and Elsa headed into the warmth of the mill, and the latter¡¯s occult workshop, a hexagonal stone room with a deep well sunk into the centre.

    Elsa placed Billy¡¯s bottled hair on a shelf with more than two dozen more vials, each containing their own hairs and labelled with different names:

    ALLISON

    DAVID

    CHEN

    TOM

    ADAM

    And many more.

    ¡°Mistress, may I ask you something?¡± asked Myles, boredly bopping the snout of the stuffed alligator that hung from the ceiling.

    ¡°Of course, Myles,¡± replied Elsa, still admiring her collection.

    ¡°Why are you limiting yourself to these children? The Allworth Alternative has more strong supers than I can count. Why from this one little school?¡±

    Elsa and Myles had stumbled upon the Allworth Alternative while half-heartedly hunting for her wayward daughter Eir¨¢. Apparently the little slattern fancied herself a supervillain now. Elsa had quickly written off the girl, but the strand of reality had turned out to be a fertile source of resources. Elsa had even stashed some of her most prized possessions there.

    For the last few weeks, she and Myles had been traipsing up and down the sheath of timelines, trading wishes for hairs with the victims of some bizarre super-cult. They¡¯d changed and boosted powers, reunited families, and killed the same old man three or four times. When they weren¡¯t giving him bombs for whatever silly reason. One young lady had wished for the power to turn her womb on and off. From what Elsa had told him, Myles couldn¡¯t fault her pick.

    Still, it seemed like a lot of work.

    Elsa smiled. ¡°Oh, lots of reasons. For starters, their commonality will make our little Reprisal more coherent. Two, they¡¯re mostly all in the same bloody place. Three, old Laurie¡¯s done the collating for us. Better than procrastinating forever.¡± Elsa started pantomiming eenie-meenie-minie-mo. ¡°No no, I should add this super, no wait¡ªyou get my picture.¡±

    Myles nodded. ¡°Impeccable reasoning, Mistress. Though, I didn''t get the impression William was a student at any school.¡±

    Elsa cracked her knuckles. ¡°Well then, we¡¯re going to kill two birds with one stone.¡±  She pulled an Australian sixpence out of her sleeve. ¡°Or one coin.¡±

    She dropped the coin into the well. ¡°Myles, fetch me my stirring rod.¡±

    Myles handed his mistress a long copper staff. She plunged it into the well and stirred the waters, chanting Russian in a low, deep voice.

    Somewhere, somewhen, a psychiatrist proposed a venture with an old friend. Somewhere else, a rich man¡¯s assistant stumbled upon an old book, while searching for some way to dispose of a strange, inconvenient child¡­

    Myles stood beside Elsa, looking down into the shifting waters of the well. ¡°This¡¯ll really get the boy what he wants?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Elsa. ¡°It¡¯s only fair.¡±

    That was the downside of magic. It made you fair.

    ?

    Allison slammed into the laboratory wall, shattering into an explosion of ice shards. They swirled in the air, reforming into the girl¡¯s shape and then her flesh. The girl landed on her feet and growled.

    Before her, the witch stood in the middle of the lab¡ªresplendent in arsenic green finery¡ª beneath a tunnel of trap doors that hadn¡¯t been there only a minute before. Smoke and the wail of alarms drifted down from the ruined floors above. She clapped politely.

    ¡°Very nice,¡± she said, only to quirk her shoulders, ¡°for a super.¡±

    Allison roared with Billy¡¯s voice. The shock front blew away the witch like she was made of coloured smoke.

    Allison breathed heavily.

    She couldn¡¯t be gone. She wouldn¡¯t just¡ª

    A crack answered her dread. Tree roots exploded up through the metal floor like it was the softest soil, wrapping vice-tight around Allison. As she squirmed and thrashed, the witch reappeared an inch from her face.

    Her eyes were black as space. She snarled, ¡°I was giving you a compliment¡ª¡±

    A black-clad Mistress Quickly dropped through the trap doors and fired off a shot at the witch¡¯s back. The sorceress exploded into a cloud of dusky moths.

    Allison managed to touch her toes to the floor. She burst into angry, hot light, burning away the tree roots.

    Elsa Lieroinen became herself once more. ¡°Alright, that¡¯s a new trick.¡±

    Mistress Quickly lunged forward, striking the witch with electrically charged fists. Allison joined the assault, blood thrumming with the Crimson¡¯s song. Every blow revealed a lattice of light clinging to the witch¡¯s from.

    Allison thought loudly at Maude:

    Who the heck is this lady?

    Maude thought back:

    Elsa Lieroinen. Evil bitch-queen of the Riverlands¡ª

    Elsa grabbed them both by the wrists. Her grip was ice.

    ¡°Please, ladies. I abdicated.¡±

    She threw them both backwards.

    Elsa grinned and wagged a finger at Maude. ¡°I remember you! You stole that idol out from under my nose! Still, always nice to meet people in the right order for a change.¡±

    Maude looked up at the witch, her scowl hidden by her mask. ¡°You killed that whole world¡­¡±

    Elsa raised her hands. ¡°And?¡±

    Twin eagles of darkness soared from her palms.

    Allison spotted something in the corner of her eye. She pulled Maude to her side.

    The shadow-raptors smashed against a gigantic yellow hazard sign, proudly emblazoned with a black exclamation mark.

    ¡°Clever!¡±

    Elsa charged at Maude and Allison. The former rolled away and turned on her camouflage net.

    Allison flew up to the ceiling, searching the soundscape for a song, trying to ignore the ones that had gone missing.

    Elsa looked up and laughed. ¡°I¡¯m a witch. You don¡¯t think I can fly?¡±

    Lilly.

    Allison dropped down, right into the floor. Behind Elsa, a girl formed of dull grey steel pulled itself out into the air and punched the witch in the square in the back.

    Elsa fell onto her hands and knees. She hissed, ¡°little shit¡­¡±

    Allison screamed silently and went for another blow. Her fist came down on prismatic, shimmering armour.

    Elsa rose to her feet. ¡°So it¡¯s a punchup you want?¡± A transparent sword appeared in her hand. ¡°Fine.¡±

    It was blade versus small metal fists. The girl couldn¡¯t hope to breach Elsa¡¯s astral armour, but she was quick. Her metal body moved like a flesh and blood child. A child with a surprising grasp of martial arts. Every few seconds, Elsa had to dodge lances of poisoned light erupting from around the lab. That trumped up little mad scientist no doubt.

    What to do, what to do? The girl hadn¡¯t exactly picked cold iron for her new body, but whatever the floor was made of wasn¡¯t the most magically reactive substance in the world.

    Elsa glanced up at the lab¡¯s ceiling. At the pipes.

    Oh yes. She¡¯s a child.

    Elsa stopped fighting back, letting Allison hammer against her wards. She murmured some Russian syllables¡­

    The ceiling rattled. In a corner of the lab, the pipes wrenched themselves free and stabbed down below.

    There was a ragged gasp. The air bled.

    Allison let her fists drop, staring at the bloodied pipes. Her metal skin fell away, leaving only herself. ¡°Maude?¡±

    Mistress Quickly reappeared. Around the pipes.

    Allison ran to her side, ¡°Maude!¡±

    The scientist was shuddering. Her song was dropping beats and stuttering.

    Allison whispered, ¡°No, no, no¡­¡±

    Elsa watched, bemused.

    Kids.

    Elsa glanced around the lab, quickly spotting her prize, a tank hidden behind a curtain of metal.

    Bingo.

    The witch strode over to the tank. It was attached to a console of some sort, but that was no trouble. Elsa had a long standing agreement with the machine elves. She twitched her fingers, and the curtain drew into the wall.

    The little girl floating in the glass womb was empty of all soul and thought, but Elsa could feel the power coming off her. The capacity to hold power.

    Merry fucking Christmas.

    Maude was drowning in her own blood. She didn¡¯t speak. She didn¡¯t need to.

    Don¡¯t let her get what she wants¡­

    Allison blinked back tears and nodded.

    Elsa was about to reach through the glass when a child-sized comet slammed into her side.

    Allison staggered to a stop in front of the tank. In front of her sister¡¯s body.

    Ready, Miri?

    Yeah, sis.

    Molten magma bubbled in Allison¡¯s hands. It spiraled forth white hot and lashed at the tank. It exploded in a blast of broken glass and superheated steam¡ª

    ¡°Alright, D¨¢idu, I¡¯ve seen enough.¡±

    In Elsa¡¯s mill, a ten-sided die came to rest on a stone table. All its faces were freshly marred.

    D¨¢idu¡ªwhite-haired state oracle and Elsa¡¯s fifth son¡ªlooked up at his mother. ¡°I take it that didn¡¯t turn out well either?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Elsa said mildly, rapping her fingers against the table and staring off into space. Absently, she said, ¡°Sorry about wasting your fate die.¡±

    D¨¢idu threw his hands up. ¡°It¡¯s in the name.¡±

    Elsa turned and smiled at her son. ¡°I should kill you where you sit for that pun.¡±

    Myles walked into the workshop, gargling mouthwash.

    ¡°How was the vintage today?¡± asked Elsa.

    ¡°Lovely. Don¡¯t make ¨¢vr¨¢ do any heavy lifting tomorrow.¡± Myles looked at the spent fate die. ¡°Got a plan yet?¡±

    Elsa breathed through her teeth. ¡°No. Not yet.¡±

    Elsa and her son had so far looked at ten possible futures. In six, the body was damaged or destroyed irreparably. In one, she herself had been slain, which was unacceptable. In two more, Myles had been nailed to a wall through the heart, which was almost as unacceptable. In one, the Miri girl claimed the body herself, which was just a waste of everyone¡¯s bloody time.

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking the direct attack isn¡¯t a great tact.¡±

    Myles hummed. ¡°...You say this city is full of children?¡±

    ¡°Quite full, yes.¡±

    ¡°Remember that stunt your boy pulled in Hamlin?¡±

    Elsa grinned. Trust Myles to get right to the quick of it.

    And they did have a circus tent¡­

 Chapter One Hundred and One: Wanton as Water

    David floated on his back in the open seas, letting the sun bake his wet skin. He was bored. That happened to him a lot. It wasn¡¯t altogether unpleasant. More of an opportunity, really. He considered courses of action:

    Dolphin wrestling? Did that yesterday. Be naked in front of Arn¡¯s mum? Eh, she¡¯s getting too good at pretending I¡¯m not there. Kiss Brit again? Nah, too soon. Don¡¯t want her getting sick of it. Arn and Mabes? They¡¯re at work. Why the heck do they work?

    Allison. Always Allison.

    David melted into the seawater and let the waves and tide push him back to shore. It took nearly twenty minutes, but that was okay. David had nothing but time. As soon as the foam that carried his being crashed into the beach, he noticed someone standing on the sand. A freckled boy with curly brown hair in a blue and black wetsuit. Said wetsuit appeared to have survived an attack by a kindergarten art-class, armed to the milk-teeth with glitter and glue.

    David rose from the surf in front of him, brightly calling, ¡°Hey! Haven¡¯t seen you around. You a new kid?¡± He had to assume the kid was from Catalpa. Where else in a hundred miles would you find white boys?

    The child looked at David and gulped. David detected some blush. ¡°Ah, hi. Yeah, I came with the last lot. Name¡¯s Greg.¡±

    David grinned and waved. ¡°Welcome to Catalpa!¡±

    ¡°Thanks¡­ so, you¡¯re David Barthe, right?¡±

    David puffed out his chest. ¡°Yep! Also Venter, but eh.¡±

    ¡°You fought that wizard guy in Melbourne back in Jan?¡±

    David grinned. ¡°Double-yep.¡± His legend was spreading. He¡¯d managed to forget that he¡¯d lost that fight. ¡°So, super, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Greg. He was kneading his hands. It struck David as¡­ familiar.

    ¡°So, what do you do?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ the science lady called me an elementalist.¡±

    ¡°Oh, like, hydrogen, plutonium, that kinda stuff?¡±

    Gregory shook his head. ¡°Nah, more like¡ªwell, here.¡±

    Greg opened his hands. Fire plumed from his palms. Sand swirled up around him on a non-existent breeze. Then a very real gust of air lifted the boy a few feet into the air.

    ¡°Also¡­¡±

    He pointed behind David. A tendril of water slapped him in the back.

    David startled, falling face first in the sand. A wave washed over him before he got back up. For the first time in his life, the sea had surprised him.

    Greg winced. Some of the other kids said David could get scary when he was mad.

    But then, the water-sprite laughed. ¡°You can do water? That¡¯s great!¡± He dissolved into mist.

    Greg rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Ah, thanks?¡±

    David coalesced behind him, peering at the other boy quizzically. ¡°Can you turn into water?¡± Absently, he added, ¡°Or any of the other things?¡±

    Gregory jerked at the sudden guest in his personal space. ¡°Nope. Just make them do stuff.¡±

    Poor kid, thought David. That must be annoying. ¡°Can you do stuff like blood? Or air in people¡¯s lungs?¡±

    ¡°Ah, pretty sure nope.¡±

    ¡°Was your mum or dad a¡­ monster I guess?¡±

    ¡°Just dickheads.¡±

    ¡°Sorry about that. Can you breathe underwater?¡±

    ¡°If I take air with me.¡±

    ¡°Close enough! Your powers sound pretty cool.¡±

    ¡°Not compared to you. Aren¡¯t you like, indestructible and stuff?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. But most people are way less cool than me. You¡¯re fine. Better than fine.¡±

    Gregory smiled shyly. ¡°Ah, yeah, that¡¯s kinda why I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°Could you¡±¡ªGregory took a deep breath¡ª¡°teach me to be like you?¡±

    David tilted his head. ¡°You want to be like me?¡±

    ¡°Yeah! I mean, you fight wizards and do whatever you want!¡± He looked down at his costume. ¡°Sounds way more fun than being a superhero, honestly.¡±

    ¡°¡­I like you Greg. A lot.¡±

    Gregory squeaked, ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Consider me your sensei.¡±

    ¡°Great! Can we start now?¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    ¡°¡­What first?¡±

    David rubbed his chin. ¡°You ran away from home, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah. They tried to¡±¡ªGregory searched for something he was willing to say aloud¡ª¡°¡­fix me.

    ¡°Sucks. Still, that¡¯s step one out the way.¡± David went back to pondering. ¡°I guess if you wanted to be just like me, you¡¯d lose the costume.¡±

    Gregory shrunk a little. ¡°Do I have to?¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°Not really. I¡¯m a state of mind, not a costume. Or a no-costume, I guess.¡±

    Gregory smiled crookedly. ¡°Gee, thanks, sensei.¡±

    ¡°Also, don¡¯t keep calling me that. It¡¯s David. Or Dave. Or Beachmaster.¡±

    Greg raised an eyebrow. ¡°Beachmaster?¡±

    The water-sprite frowned. Was this peasant doubting his sensei? A wave loomed out of the ocean and pounced on Gregory, knocking the boy to his back.

    David stood smugly above him. ¡°Beachmaster.¡±

    Something inside Greg twitched. The ground rumbled under David¡¯s feet. A pillar of sand erupted from beneath him, pushing him ten meters into the air and forming into a clenched fist around him.

    Greg got to his feet, another sand pillar lifting him up to David¡¯s eye-level. ¡°No,¡± he said curtly. ¡°You can be Oceanmaster. I¡¯m Beachmaster.¡±

    David laughed. ¡°Thank God.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    An icey David exploded out of Gregory¡¯s sandy grip and tackled him off his platform. The wind rose to catch the boys as they tumbled in the air.

    ¡°Already teaching the tiger-kid to have balls. Didn¡¯t need another one.¡±

    ¡°Git!¡±

    ¡°Yep!¡±

    Gregory growled. The winds pried him and David apart, flinging the ice-sculpture boy into the ocean.

    Gregory tumbled happily in the air for a bit, awaiting the inevitable counterattack. Half a mile out to sea, a hole opened in the water¡¯s glassy blue surface.

    Greg grinned to himself. The wind pushed him out towards the vortex.

    David was standing at the bottom of a funnel of water, feet planted in a fighting stance on the suddenly dry sea-floor. He grinned wickedly up at Gregory.

    ¡°That the best you got?¡±

    Clouds formed in Greg¡¯s eyes, and clouds gathered in the sky above him.

    ¡°Nope.¡±

    The seabed shook. Craggy stone giants tore themselves out of the rock and circled David like hungry trolls.

    David giggled madly and switched to ice. The ocean vibrated with his voice:

    ¡°Hell yeah!¡±

    The sea warred with the sky. The birds and fish shared in a mutual, perfect terror. The clouds wept spears of ice. The ocean spewed geysers of steam. Fires burned bright beneath the waves.

    David flew up out of the sea, riding a glittering M?bius strip. He caught sight of Gregory and laughed. ¡°Okay, good fight. No more playing now.¡±

    David and his water-ribbon dropped back into the ocean.

    Greg called down, ¡°That a surrender?¡±

    In answer, the sea¡¯s surface swelled and deformed. A fist the size of a fishing boat emerged. Then an arm a fathom long. A giant, grinning boy formed of green-blue water pulled itself out the ocean, his upper-legs trailing off into sea-foam.

    A musical glass echo boomed from the ocean:

    ¡°Bet you can¡¯t do this.¡±

    Gregory stared at what his new friend had become. He thought he could make out a shark swimming behind David¡¯s eye. And had he kept his junk on purpose<sup>1</a></sup>? Why?

    David slammed one of his enormous hands down on top of Greg. He swerved out of the way, just as the giant arched his back and spat a salty, boulder sized globule right at him. That hit Greg front and centre.

    Gregory spun head over heels, the wind struggling to stabilize him again.

    ¡°Gross, gross, gross¡­¡±

    ¡°Come on, it¡¯s not real spit.¡±

    David didn¡¯t bother with the lip movements. Somehow, that offended Greg more than the spit. Or the water-junk.

    ¡°Surrender? No shame in losing to a god¡­¡±

    Gregory roared and soared at David, plunging right into his chest. A fire lit inside the boy. A fire lit within the giant. Gregory burst into flames hotter than the sea was wet. David exploded into a mountain of steam.

    Greg lay laughing on a powerful updraft, a child shaped ember glowing in the centre of an inferno. The ashes of his costume fell like snow down into the ocean.

    A wisp of steam floated up from the water, forming again into David¡¯s image. ¡°Nice one, Greg¡ª¡±

    David¡¯s synthetic voice trailed off. He¡¯d caught sight of the half-healed bruises marring Greg¡¯s skin.

    Greg looked down at himself and tried to cover them. ¡°I¡ª¡±

    David cut him off, ¡°I¡¯ll get you some clothes. Back in a bit.¡±

    The water-sprite rode the wind back to Catalpa, back to Sarah¡¯s house. He reformed on her doorstep, running through the front-door yelling, ¡°Sarah! I need my dinner clothes.¡±

    Sarah was in her shanty¡¯s kitchen cutting vegetables. ¡°Folded on your bed, same as always. You¡¯re not going to try and hide them again, are you?¡±

    David streaked through the kitchen into his room. ¡°Not for me! A friend!¡± He left through the window.

    Sarah went back to her vegetables. She tried to decide which was more of a surprise: David demanding clothes; or aiding and abetting someone else¡¯s modesty.

    The round-trip took David about half an hour. When he reached the cove again, Greg was sitting on the shore, knees against his chest.

    David tossed his shorts and t-shirt at his back. ¡°Here.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡±

    David turned around while Greg redressed. It seemed silly to him, he¡¯d already seen everything, but humans were generally quite silly. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°¡­The guy who owned me beat me up too,¡± he said. ¡°Not much, but when he did, he did it hard. In front of everyone¡ª¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± said Greg.

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°If you talk about your stuff, I¡¯ll have to talk about mine. Don¡¯t wanna.¡±

    David sighed with relief. ¡°Okay.¡±

    ¡°You can turn around now.¡±

    David did. Luckily, the baby-blue shirt and shorts he wore for dinner with Sarah fit Greg fine. David smirked. ¡°Better you than me.¡±

    Greg grinned. ¡°Shut up.¡±

    David jabbed his thumb at the wall of bush behind them. ¡°Wanna head back to town? Get some lunch.¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡±

    ¡°Cool.¡± David started walking towards the greenery.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    David looked back over his shoulder. ¡°¡­Heading into town.¡±

    ¡°Dude, I¡¯m the boss of the wind.¡±

    The pair screamed with laughter as they were buffeted across the sky, riding a roller-coaster whose rails were built of jetstreams and windcurrents, with absolutely no restraints. David suddenly knew what being a leaf in a storm felt like. It felt great. Like skydiving, sideways.

    The trees and scrub below the boys gave way to the rust and red dirt of Catalpa. There was a lot of silver, gold and green, too. Christmas was only a few days away. Didn¡¯t make much of a difference to David. Lawrence wasn¡¯t big on celebrating ¡°human¡± holidays at the Institute. He¡¯d wanted the new race to cultivate their own sacred days and festivals. Except for his old college¡¯s, of course. Besides, David was hoping to God he didn¡¯t qualify as a good boy in 1966.

    The streets were surprisingly sparse for the middle of the day, not that either child noticed in their whirling private hurricane. David pointed down at the tinsel-trimmed pancake that was Libertalia Tavern. ¡°Set us down there!¡±

    The wind thinned slowly under David and Greg. The former managed a perfect three point superhero landing. The latter settled for tucking and rolling. Either way, it would have been more impressive if they hadn¡¯t landed halfway down the street from the pub.

    David barged into the packed, sodium lit tavern, loudly declaring, ¡°Lunchtime! Fish and chips for me and Greg! And cook some of the fish for him!¡±

    Everyone in the pub glared at David. Most were standing facing the small stage set against the building¡¯s east wall in case someone got drunk enough to start singing. At the moment it played host to Drina Kinsey, who looked far too nervous to be drunk.

    David¡¯s eyes darted around the room. ¡°¡­What? I got the fish in the first place!¡±

    Gregory wandered in behind the water-sprite. ¡°Ah, sorry. We interrupting something?¡±

    David saw Allison¡¯s pale hand wave above the crowd. She called, ¡°Just a town meeting. Didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be interested.¡±

    David folded his arms. ¡°Well we are.¡±

    ¡°We are?¡± asked Greg.

    David felt Allie shrug. ¡°Stay then.¡±

    ¡°Still think he should have to wear clothes in here,¡± Angela Barnes grumbled loudly from some corner of the bar<sup>2</a></sup>.

    ¡°Tough,¡± said David, wading into the crowd, Greg in tow. He found Allison standing with the other two Watercolours near the rudimentary restrooms<sup>3</a></sup>. For whatever reason, Mabel and Arnold looked vaguely uncomfortable.

    ¡°So what¡¯s this about?¡± David asked.

    Allison shushed him with an almost serpentine hiss. ¡°My mum is talking.¡±

    ¡°¡­As I was saying,¡± said Drina. ¡°I think it¡¯s an issue when children are running around the streets unsupervised at eleven at night.¡±

    David didn¡¯t pay too much attention to the lady. He was too busy looking for opportunities. He found Close-Cut standing with his arm around Ralph, nursing a pint of beer. Said pint proceeded to throw itself in the old man¡¯s face.

    David snorted.

    ¡°¡­And is anyone doing anything to give these kids a Merry Christmas? There isn¡¯t even a tree in the dorms!¡±

    Wallace muttered under his breath, ¡°I¡¯m going to sew that little shit into some goddamn pants.¡±

    Ralph chuckled. ¡°You¡¯d never taste a drop again.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯d be worth it.¡±

    ¡°¡­No sane city should be so dependent on child labour.¡±

    A woman¡¯s voice called from the crowd. ¡°Who are you to come in and give us a sermon on child-welfare? Your daughter was here for nine months before you bothered showing up.¡±

    Allison yelled, ¡°Don¡¯t talk to my mum like that, Jenny.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Miss-Demeanor!¡±

    David was really hoping for a bar-fight. He could do so much with all the liquor and beer lying around.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to defend my track-record as a mother,¡± said Drina. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize my daughter had superpowers for nearly ten years. I¡¯m just saying I think the children could do with some structure.¡±

    Mabel rolled her eyes. ¡°Excuse me, Mrs Kinsey. Some of us aren¡¯t lazing around all day like this one.¡± She pointed at David.

    ¡°Eh? I¡¯m chief fisherman.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just what you¡¯d be doing anyway.¡± Mabel pulled Arnold into her side, smiling proudly. ¡°Me and Arn here have full-time jobs.¡±

    Drina shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s my point! You¡¯re eleven, Mabel! You shouldn¡¯t have a job.¡± She cast her gaze about the crowd, searching out its smallest members. ¡°You should be in school!¡±

    The children present let out an almost-universal groan.

    Allison floated above the crowd, raising her hand like she was already back in a classroom. ¡°Ah, Mum. I kinda don¡¯t¡­ need school.¡±

    ¡°Said every little girl ever,¡± commented Fred Barnes.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t!¡±

    Drina raised a hand. ¡°I¡¯m not just talking about you, Allie. Everyone needs an education.¡±

    ¡°I agree,¡± said Mistress Quickly, leaning against one of the fishnets that hung on the walls. ¡°Nobody should grow up ignorant.¡±

    ¡°Seconded,¡± said Angela.

    Mabel protested, ¡°We¡¯re not ignorant.¡± She looked at Arnold. ¡°Tell ¡®em, Arn!¡±

    Arnold opened his mouth to speak, but his mother managed to lock eyes with him. He smiled brittly ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Mabel huffed.

    David wasn¡¯t sure why Mabel was getting so cross. They¡¯d both been good at school. School meant company. Attention. Admittedly it also implied sitting still and wearing clothes, but David figured those were negotiable.

    From behind the bar, Hettie Haldor added, ¡°Not all the children here are super, either.¡±

    Hettie and her husband Paul were one of the few intact married couples to have made their way to Catalpa, not even for the sake of a powered child. Hettie had been a normal wife and mother before she¡¯d suddenly and inexplicably transformed into stone and crystal. At first she¡¯d fled from her family, even joined up with two other future Catalpa residents as a supervillain, but she¡¯d found her way back to them. Eventually.

    ¡°My kids can¡¯t coast on superpowers like Davie or Allison can.¡±

    David wondered if he should¡¯ve been offended by that. He decided to not be. His powers were great.

    A squeaking, teenage voice called, ¡°Gee, thanks, Mum.¡±

    ¡°Come on, Steven, your ma¡¯s just thinking about your future¡­¡± said Fo-Fum, his great frame balanced precariously on a barstool.

    ¡°Robbing banks with my mum doesn¡¯t make you my uncle!¡±

    Hettie snapped, ¡°Don¡¯t talk to Barry like that, young man!¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± said Drina, trying to grab the reins of the meeting again. ¡°It looks like most of us agree there needs to be a school¡ª¡±

    ¡°No we don¡¯t!¡± Mabel insisted.

    Drina threw a hand up, blinking hard with frustration. ¡°¡­Do we have anyone qualified to teach.¡±

    An awkward silence fell upon the crowd. There was sadly little higher education¡ªlet alone pedagogical expertise¡ªto be found in that collection of ex-criminals, vigilantes, asylum inmates in burnouts.

    Mabel smiled with satisfaction. Saved by grown-up incompetence. That or being doomed by it was pretty much the story of her life.

    Ralph said, ¡°I¡¯ll happily teach sports. Maybe Wally here could pitch in. He¡¯d make a great science teacher¡ª¡±

    Wally shook his head silently.

    ¡°Oh. Nevermind.¡±

    Doc Danny climbed up onto the bar bench, declaring, ¡°Put me in a school and I will burn this fucking town to the ground!¡±

    ¡°Language, boy!¡± cried Angela.

    Hettie perfunctorily yanked the child down. ¡°Get down from there!¡±

    Mabel shouted, ¡°I¡¯m calling a general children¡¯s strike until this dumb idea is abandoned! Who¡¯s with me?¡±

    Most of the children started pumping their fists and yelling, ¡°Strike! Strike! Strike!¡± pushing and shoving their way outside.

    Eventually, the only kids left in Libertalia were: Allison (for her mother¡¯s sake), Arnold (in deep fear of his mother), Billy (ever the good boy), Tom (because the ¡°strike¡± was the dumbest thing he¡¯d ever heard, even after a childhood spent in Herbert Lawrence¡¯s care), Gregory (because he was just confused), and David (who was barely listening.)

    Fred Barnes took a long sip from his beer. ¡°A strike, eh? Guess her dad was a miner¡­¡±

    David sat himself down on the stool in front of Hettie. ¡°So, fish now?¡±

    ?

    ¡°It¡¯s not a bad idea,¡± remarked Therese Fletcher¡¯s companion, watching the tavern from a dozen different angles of widely varying quality. He had an odd fondness for the reflection in one old man¡¯s false eye. ¡°Maybe you should volunteer.¡±

    ¡°I was never a great teacher. Not for super-kids, at least. Too much of a pushover.¡±

    ¡°You killed ten of the Coven¡¯s guys.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s easier when they¡¯re bastards. Why not you? You were a teacher once, too.¡±

    The man tilted his hand. ¡°Things were a lot more¡­ home-spun back then. I ducked out before things got too scholastic. Or strange. Plus, I don¡¯t think I could look Mrs Barnes in the eye. Or Allison.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll find someone,¡± said Therese. ¡°There¡¯s kids out there who need me more.¡±

    Still, the pair stood together in the void of mirrors. Watching.

    ?

    The Great Catalpa Children¡¯s Strike of 1966 might¡¯ve had more of an impact if it wasn¡¯t so close to Christmas. Not like anyone was in much of a mood to work with Father Christmas on his way. It also might¡¯ve been more convenient for Doc Danny if he hadn¡¯t stopped working on getting Miri into her new body. And if Miri hadn¡¯t been an implacable, indestructible, impatient ghost. He spent most of the strike hiding in his makeshift bedroom in Freedom¡¯s Point, wearing a tinfoil armoured helmet and clutching a golf-club covered in sparking electronics:

    ¡°Can¡¯t get me, can¡¯t get me¡­¡±

    Mabel moved back into the Children¡¯s Hall. Fourteen year old Steven Haldor also decided to take up residence there, becoming its only baseline resident. First night, he woke up on the ceiling. This would be the high point of his stay.

    David remained firmly neutral. As he saw it, if a Catalpa got a school, he could go and outshine the other children whenever he wanted. And when he didn¡¯t want to go to school, what were they going to do? Send a submarine after him?

    As for his opinion on the strike, David broadly approved. It meant Mabel spent a lot more time with him. Unfortunately, she spent much of that time grumbling.

    Mabel stabbed at the guttering campfire with a stick. ¡°¡­Bet she isn¡¯t going to make Allie go to school. Bloody hypocrite¡­¡±

    Steve Haldor was sitting on a log across from her, munching sullenly on stale marshmallows. ¡°At least her mum came to her. Mine ran off, then came back and dragged us all up to woop-woop!¡±

    Mabel frowned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with Catalpa?¡±

    ¡°Nothing, if you have powers.¡± Steve spat in the sand. ¡°If you don¡¯t, you get beaten up by freaking nine year old girls!¡±

    ¡°You were the one who challenged Brit.¡±

    Steve picked up a stick and started smacking the embers, sending up sparks with every strike. ¡°Got no friends! Got no TV! Got no powers! Got no nothing!¡±

    ¡°Double negative,¡± Mabel said, hand under her chin.

    ¡°And now she wants me to sit all day in a classroom with a bunch of little kids!¡±

    Mabel was wondering if Steve ought to be part of this strike. Maybe he, specifically, did need to go to school. Mabel could create life and make it dig holes for people. Arnold could teleport crap to the moon. What good was Steve to anyone if nobody taught him how to be an accountant or something? Plus, he was a teen. And not a cool teen like Tom Long. Why couldn¡¯t he have joined the strike?

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Mabel said, badly pretending to pay attention to Steve¡¯s rant. ¡°It¡¯s a load of crap. I¡¯m gonna go see what the others are doing.¡±

    ¡°The others¡± were David, Brit, and Greg. Right then, they were down the beach. Gregory was conducting gale force winds directly into Brit, letting her power gorge itself on the kinetic energy.

    Brit stood with her arms outstretched, back facing Gregory, glowing so bright she might as well have been carved from plasma, a thin layer of frost building on her shoulders. By the time it passed over her, there wasn¡¯t enough energy left in the air to ruffle her hair.

    David stood in front of the girl, squinting at the ocean before them and gently nudging the currents. He raised a hand, holding it in the air for a moment before crying, ¡°Now!¡±

    Brit made a great pantherine leap forward, landing in the surf on her knees and slamming her fist down in the water.

    The sea turned into a solid wall of foam, roaring up above the children¡¯s heads before raining back down. A second later, dozens of dead fish bobbed to the troubled surface.

    ¡°Heck yeah!¡± yelled David.

    Brit¡ªthoroughly soaked¡ªstood up, clapping her hands together theatrically. She looked back at Gregory. ¡°Told you it would work. You owe me¡±¡ªBrit looked out to sea, mouthing numbers as she counted¡ª¡°Forty-two chickens!¡±

    Gregory folded his arms. ¡°Sure.¡±

    The ocean ejected a fish from its surface, right into Brit¡¯s hair.

    Brit shrieked. The boys both laughed, at least until Brit pulled the mackerel out of her hair and charged screaming at them with it.

    ¡°Furthering the cause are we?¡± Mabel asked sourly, walking up to the three with her hands in her costume pockets. It would¡¯ve made a decent album cover if anyone had had a camera.

    David looked up from amidst the scuffle. ¡°Hey Mabes!¡± he shouted, grabbing the mackerel Brit was currently hitting him with. ¡°We got fish!¡±

    Mabel grunted. ¡°I¡¯m sick of fish.¡±

    ¡°Then go get something at the tavern,¡± Brit suggested, hammering her fists against David¡¯s chest.

    Mabel sighed. ¡°Brit, we¡¯re on strike. That means we don¡¯t let the grown-ups make us dinner.¡±

    ¡°I was wondering,¡± said Gregory, trying to pin Brit by the legs, ¡°can we really have a strike when we don¡¯t have money here?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said David. ¡°Not like Hettie¡¯s going to go out of business or starve or something if you don¡¯t eat her shepherd¡¯s pie.¡±

    Mabel didn¡¯t like being lectured on economics by a naked sea-fairy, even if he was her best friend. Her best friend that wasn¡¯t busy sucking up to his mother because Arnold was a big massive wimp, anyway.

    ¡°I could maybe hunt something,¡± said Brit, tossing both the boys off her. ¡°I used to do that sometimes when me and Tom were on our own.¡± She smiled proudly. ¡°I once snapped a bull¡¯s neck.¡±

    ¡°Ah, sure,¡± said Mabel. She noticed something out the corner of her eye. ¡°You might want to start with Steve.¡±

    Brit grimaced. ¡°You want to hunt Steve?¡±

    Mabel shook her head. ¡°No¡ªI mean¡±¡ªshe pointed back at the campfire. ¡°Steve¡¯s gone.¡±

    She was right. The fire was deserted. The children could make out a set of footprints in the sand leading into the bush.

    Brit glanced up at the sky. It was getting dark. ¡°We should probably go find him,¡± she said. ¡°Hettie¡¯s probably not gonna negotiate if her son gets eaten by a crocodile.¡±

    ¡°Or a buffalo,¡± said Gregory. ¡°I heard they have those up there.¡±

    ¡°Do buffalo eat meat?¡± asked Brit.

    ¡°Nope,¡± said David. He grinned. ¡°But marsh-spiders do.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing!¡± insisted Brit.

    ¡°Is so!¡±

    Mabel pinched the bridge of her nose. Little kids, thought the eleven year old. ¡°Can you track him?¡± she asked David.

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    The four children made their way to the footprints. As they neared the bush, a sound drifted through the greenery. Woodwinds and cheerful percussion. It carried scents with it, too. Peanut oil and hot sugar.

    Brit spoke first. ¡°Is that¡ª¡±

    ¡°Circus music?¡± finished David.

    For a moment, David¡¯s heart jumped. A memory struggled to reach the surface of his mind, but was drowned by a kind of drowsy excitement. ¡°Bet that¡¯s where Steve¡¯s going.¡±

    David led them through the bush, following the water in Steve¡¯s blood. They soon crossed into open grass.

    Mabel said, ¡°Wasn¡¯t this bush be¡ª¡±

    Her voice trailed off. A perfectly classical, red and white circus tent stood against the tangerine sky and amber clouds, surrounded by stalls, carts, and rides. The shadow of a ferris wheel loomed over the fairgrounds, the setting sun caged in its girders.

    Brit shouted, ¡°Circus!¡± running towards the tent at half the speed of sound.

    ¡°Showoff,¡± Mabel muttered. She started walking after the other girl, grumbling all the while at her frustratingly human pace.

    David followed. ¡°Weird place for a circus,¡± he said.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for Noongar<sup>4</a></sup> kids,¡± Mabel said. ¡°Mostly them who live out here.¡±

    As soon as she suggested the idea, neither child needed any other explanation.

    Brit was waiting for the other two at the ticket booth. It was under a wooden sign that read.

    FAMILY CIRCUS

    The words were off-center. The wood next to ¡°Family¡± was heavily scratched.

    ¡°That sign doesn¡¯t look right,¡± commented David.

    ¡°Bet they had the clowns paint it,¡± Mabel suggested.

    Again, the explanation seemed diamond-solid.

    Brit was hopping up and down, only occasionally sailing ten feet into the air. ¡°The ticket-girl says Steve¡¯s in there, so we have to go in too!¡±

    Mabel looked at the ticket-booth. The girl manning it was a pale redhead, only a year or two older than herself. Carnie family, she guessed. ¡°Do we need any money?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the girl said dejectedly. ¡°Special Christmas price. Or no price, I guess.¡±

    Mabel looked back at the other kids. David could suck it up and put on his costume, but all Brit had was her shorts. ¡°Do they need clothes?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± said the girl. ¡°No rules in this circus. Or grown-ups.¡±

    Mabel rubbed her chin. She could smell the popcorn from there. She hadn¡¯t had popcorn in a year. ¡°I guess we¡¯re not on strike against a circus¡ª¡±

    David and Brit ran past Mabel into the yellow light of the circus, the former clipping her in the shoulder. Mabel proceeded to run right after them.

    ¨¢vr¨¢ Lieroinen watched them go, sighing. ¡°Poor, dumb donkeys.¡±

    She wondered if Pinocchio was a thing on this Earth.

 Chapter One Hundred and Two: Some Children Do Wanderâ€¦

    Children enjoyed great latitude in Catalpa. This was less a result of philosophy than pure pragmatism. There was too much to build to worry overmuch about regular bedtimes. Or meals. Catalpa¡¯s children were (mostly) made of sturdy stuff. If a water-god or a girl with unbreakable skin chose to sleep under the stars, why worry? But even Catalpa had standards. When the same five children weren¡¯t seen by adult eyes for two days, people got worried.

    The sun was setting behind Freedom¡¯s point. The sky was as red as the one Louise Michelson was born under. Normally in Catalpa, the sunset was welcome. It dulled the edge of the tropical heat. Tonight, it was like being abandoned by a friend. Catalpa needed daylight.

    The tower canteen was buzzed with an energy caught between panic and pure exhaustion. Women passed empty-handed searchers hot cups of coffee and cold sandwiches from behind the tray-line. Guilty, anxious conversation warbled around the hall, tolerated only in fear of inviting silence. Blooms of translocated space opened and closed in the corner, disgorging men in ochre-stained boots and ladies with the hems of their dresses rolled up around their knees.

    Fred Barnes sat alone at one of the tables with a pencil and a few pieces of grid paper. A thin, sand-blond man with a drawn, gaunt face walked solemnly up to him.

    ¡°Sectors thirty-three to forty-five are all empty, sorry to say, Mr. Barnes,¡± reported Peter Frum.

    Fred found the correct boxes on his grid and crossed them out, grunting, ¡°I¡¯m sure you did your best.¡±

    Peter Frum¡¯s best was a lot more than most men. He was one of Hettie Haldor¡¯s teammates in the Fearsome Three; Menagerie, able to command and see through the eyes of birds, lizards; pretty much anything dumber than a human. Fred had never asked if he could do frogs and mozzies as well, but he wouldn¡¯t have been surprised. Hettie and her man had set him looking for her son before anyone else even thought to start worrying.

    She hadn¡¯t let anyone forget that, not that Fred could blame her.

    Frum pointed his thumb back at the row of winking egg-portals. ¡°I¡¯m gonna get back out¡ª¡±

    ¡°Mate, you haven¡¯t slept since yesterday. Go get a bloody coffee. Hettie will understand.¡±

    Frum opened his mouth to protest, but it was like his soul took the chance to escape. His shoulders slumped. The man almost lost a full inch of height. Peter nodded. ¡°Yeah. Better do that.¡±

    Fred watched the ex-supervillain drag himself to the serving line. He felt the man¡¯s frustration. God knew he wanted to be out there, too.

    Bloody chair¡­

    Fred saw Hettie and Paul step together out of a portal. Paul was a tall man, but his wife was more than two heads taller than him. The woman¡¯s polished concrete face was powdered with the dust she perspired, except for tell-tale tracks winding down from her eyes.

    Poor things, Fred thought. Hettie and Paul couldn¡¯t even tell themselves their boy was more dangerous than anything out in the wild.

    Except Mabel had left her sketchbook in the Children¡¯s Hall.

    The bulk of Catalpa¡¯s children were holled up in the dorms that night under Mrs Barnes¡¯ unshakeable watch.

    Not Allison Kinsey, though. She was too useful.

    Allison sat behind the old warden¡¯s desk, staring up at the mirrored ceiling. She still wondered about that. Did the boss need to be able to inspect the top of his head at a moment¡¯s notice. Her mother sat beside her with an ancient Women¡¯s Weekly, more a prop than reading material.

    Allison screwed her eyes shut, trying to another peak at the future. Again, it looked wrong. The storm of futures had coalesced into one flat, monolithic surface. Ominous, but possibly more useful than the usual format¡ªif only Allison could make out a single bloody detail. The future¡¯s face rippled constantly, like a lake being riddled by torrential rains.

    It felt diluted.

    Drina reached over and squeezed her daughter¡¯s hand. ¡°They¡¯ll be alright, love.¡±

    Allison opened her eyes and forced a small smile. It¡¯d been a long time since her mother¡¯s reassurances felt like solid fact. ¡°Yeah. David¡¯s probably just taken them all to Hawaii or something.¡±

    Allison wished the future agreed with either of them.

    A portal ballooned in the office: a black and orange painted egg amongst pastel purples and pinks. The Crimson Comet, Mistress Quickly, and Tom Long stepped through. Even without telepathy, their faces told Allison nobody would be following.

    ¡°Nobody in Gan Gan, Ramingining, or Gapuwiyak has seen the kids,¡± Ralph reported.

    ¡°At least we¡¯re pretty sure they haven¡¯t,¡± added Maude. ¡°Ran into a few language barriers. Can you believe there¡¯s still folk born and bred in Australia that don¡¯t speak any English? It¡¯s wild.¡±

    Tom scowled. ¡°You do know they were here first, right?¡±

    Maude shrugged. ¡°Fair cop.¡±

    Tom grunted. ¡°Still don¡¯t know why you brought me. I¡¯m not even from around here! Like bringing a bloody Pom to negotiate with the fuckin¡¯ French!¡±

    Drina considered admonishing the boy¡¯s language, but it didn¡¯t feel like her place. Besides, she was too young to start talking like Angela.

    ¡°Come now, Tom¡± said Ralph Rivers, ¡°a familiar looking face still couldn¡¯t have hurt. Poor blighters looked scared stiff.¡±

    Tom scowled up at the old superhero. ¡°Bunch of pale folk in uniform asking about kids, I wonder why?¡± He looked about the office contemptuously. ¡°Fucking white fellas¡­¡±

    The boy turned transparent and sank down through the floor.

    ¡°Oh, Tom, honey¡­¡± Drina said as the top of Tom¡¯s hair was subsumed by the shag carpet.

    Allison sighed. ¡°He¡¯s just worried about Brit.¡± She thought about it for a second. ¡°Okay, he¡¯s also mad about the white people thing, but he¡¯s always¡ª¡±

    Allison¡¯s train-of-thought was violently derailed by two voices yelling over each other in her head:

    ¡°We saw the kids!¡±

    ¡°¡­Bloody circus behind the beach! Just appeared out of nothing right before¡ª¡±

    ¡°The air felt all stupid!¡±

    Allison clapped her hands over her ears and shouted, ¡°Shut up!¡±

    Everyone in the office was staring at her. Allison blushed and shrank into her chair slightly. ¡°Miri and Alberto are back. I think they found something.¡±

    Miri¡¯s voice blared again, ¡°We did!¡±

    Allison winced and put her fingers to her temples in time honoured psychic tradition. ¡°I¡¯ll let them show you.¡±

    Allison pushed the alien consciousnesses out of her head. Miri and Alberto appeared in the middle of the office. The man and child looked vaguely out of sync with their surroundings. Superimposed and oversaturated, light not so much reflected as seeping out of their skin and clothes. Like Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews dancing with penguins.

    Alberto shot the Crimson Comet an acid smile. ¡°Hey, Ralph. Long time no see.¡±

    Ralph Rivers tried not to look at the spectre. He remembered Alberto Moretti as a mopey little boy. He¡¯d rather not have a face to go with what he¡¯d been told about the man.

    ¡°Just tell them what you saw or I¡¯m sticking you in the day I called the teacher ¡®Mummy¡¯,¡± cautioned Allison.

    ¡°Fine,¡± spat Alberto.

    Alberto and Miri¡¯s bodies evaporated and swirled together. Images formed in the resulting cloud, like a projectionist had confused the art of cinema with the bat-signal. A dead fire on David¡¯s favourite beach, its ghost rising into the air.

    Alberto¡¯s voice spoke within everyone in the office:

    ¡°Figured this had to be their doing, so me and Miri followed the smoke back a couple¡ª¡±

    Miri cut in. ¡°Quiet, meanie! You¡¯re gonna tell it wrong!¡±

    Brit wielding a fish like it was a silver scaled sword against a madly, mutely cackling David. Gregory Collins was sitting dazedly in the sand, massaging a red patch on his cheek where the girl¡¯s weapon had slapped him. Brit¡¯s glow was more golden than usual. Her expression bore a Boudica-like severity.

    Maude muttered, ¡°Maybe you should¡¯ve left Miri in your body¡­¡±

    In the cloud, Brit had tripped up David and was standing with a foot on his chest and the fish at his throat, only for Mabel to run up to them and mouth something while pointing to the left.

    ¡°So Brit was being cool and beating up David and Not-So-David when Mabel was like ¡®The no-powers boy is gone!¡¯ and he was!¡±

    Circus music got stuck in everyone¡¯s head like a bad pop-song.

    ¡°Then they heard this music and¡­ kinda forgot about him? The air got weird, too. Dumb. I didn¡¯t know air could be dumb! ¡±

    The image in the cloud broke up and reformed. The missing children were running towards a circus tent on a floodplain. Alberto spoke again:

    ¡°Apparently, two days ago, there was a whole circus between here and the beach for a couple of hours.¡±

    ¡°Did you check it out?¡± asked Allison.

    The cloud dissipated.

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t, sis,¡± said Miri. ¡°It was in front of us but¡­ really far away. At the same time.¡±

    ¡°Like trying to project to the Moon,¡± added Alberto.

    Outside the tower, the sun finally slipped below the horizon, dipping the world into shadow.

    Allison startled when she felt something land in her hair. ¡°Ahh!¡± She scrambled to snatch whatever it was off, her hand finding a piece of paper.

    ¡°Where did that come from?¡± asked her mother, searching the ceiling for a vent or the like.

    Allison looked down at the leaflet she was holding and read aloud, ¡°Lieroinen Family Circus.¡±

    The name was written in bold letters circling the likeness of a white stag, above a goateed ringmaster in a red tux and top-hat. The name felt weirdly familiar to Allison

    Maude¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Lieroinen?¡±

    Allison¡¯s hands trembled. The ringmaster was surrounded by circles, each containing one of the missing¡¯s faces. They all looked like they¡¯d been crying. Below the ringmaster was another message:Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°This Christmas Eve, a special show for one and a half special sisters.¡±

    ¡°Fuck,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck.¡±

    Ralph looked at the scientist. ¡°You¡¯ve heard about this outfit?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard about their boss. Bad, bad news.¡±

    Between the profanity and general confusion, only Drina saw the man and woman appear in the back of the office, silent as an eyeblink. Not the strangest thing in Catalpa, but the sight of the man¡¯s armour made her go stiff.

    He cleared his throat. ¡°Do you folks need any extra hands?¡±

    AU was standing beside the Mirror Mistress.

    Ralph narrowed his eyes. ¡°Chen?¡±

    The Mirror Mistress pulled down her face-scarf and took off her mirrored sunglasses, revealing two very large brown eyes. She looked right at Allison. ¡°Hello, Myriad.¡±

    Allison tilted her head. ¡°Therese?¡±

    Therese Fletcher wished she didn¡¯t understand the surprise.

    ?

    David wasn¡¯t sure if this circus¡¯s hall of mirrors was defective or working far beyond expectation. None of his reflections were stretched or squashed. In fact, they were mostly absent. Other boys looked back at the water sprite from the polished silver. One was a pale, black-haired boy in a neatly tailored pinstripe with a mulberry coloured flower pinned to his breast pocket. Despite David¡¯s puzzled frown, the other boy was smiling with a quiet, but unmistakable confidence. And if David wasn¡¯t seeing things, his cheeks were flushed with hexagons.

    Another boy looked a bit Chinese to David¡¯s eyes, and seemed to share his taste in clothing, except for the gold bands and bracelets he wore on his wrists and arms. One mirror did reflect David, only with slightly denser muscles under even darker skin, his long hair tangled with seaweed and lichen. They all had his mother¡¯s eyes, though. Except boy with irises like the sea at sunset and curly blond hair<sup>1</a></sup> floating cross-legged in thin air wearing a tacky pair of hand-me down bell-bottoms.

    Eh. Whatever.

    David started hopping on one foot. The strange reflections all followed suit, the floating boy jabbing at the empty air with his toes. Then David waved his hands above his head. Again, the crowd of familiar strangers obeyed. It was like playing Simon Says with a crowd of new cousins.

    David high-fived the Chinese boy, him and the rest of the kids moving in sync. The mirror predictably flexed and rattled in its fixture. Less predictably, so did all the others.

    ¡°Neat!¡±

    The strange boys were each joined by a girl. Specifically, a dozen so variations of Brit holding the same stick of blue fairy-floss. One had elaborate face-paint and a gold-trimmed red skirt that went down to her ankles, but no top. Another was shaved b dressed neck to toe in something shiny and black, with firm-edged creases clamped in place with metal. The most accurate Brit was just naked, but had utterly bloodless looking skin and very pronounced canines.

    They all held out the fairy-floss<sup>2</a></sup> to David. ¡°You have got to try¡±¡ªBrit caught sight of her altered reflections¡ª¡°Woah.¡±

    ¡°Cool, innit?¡± asked David. He cocked his head as a thought occurred to him. ¡°Why are all the reflections still you?¡±

    ¡°Dunno,¡± replied Brit. She grinned, adjusting her bangs. ¡°Maybe I look too good not to show.¡± She pointed at the vampire looking Brit, who of course seemed equally puzzled by her living counterpart. ¡°How does that mirror know what I look like without shorts?¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that hard to guess,¡± David said as he leaned forward and took a big, theatrical bite out of the fairy-floss. He chewed avidly for a second, stopping a moment, resuming, masticating like a sommelier savouring a mouthful of red. ¡°¡­It tastes like the sky.¡±

    ¡°I know!¡± Brit turned toward the house of mirrors¡¯ exit. ¡°Come on, they¡¯ve got a ton of flavours.¡±

    The children burst back out onto the fairgrounds. The sun had set completely by then, but the stars were being outshone by the strands of red and green lights strung about like the web of some Christmas spider. An ornate traction engine trundled in a never ending circle around the silk big tent, dragging a calliope wailing Christmas carols with thirty-two (slightly off-pitch) tongues of spiced and scented steam.

    There was snow on the ground. Neither Brit or David questioned it. Why should they have? It was Christmas, after all. They weaved through crowds of men in block colour sports coats, their arms around ladies in bouffants and pencil dresses. Their banter was a tide of ¡°rhubarb¡± and ¡°peas and carrots.¡± The children didn¡¯t notice they all had the same faces, or that their clothing and hair differed only in colour. Who cared about grown ups?<sup>3</a></sup>

    They came upon Mabel dominating the ring-toss. The girl was surrounded by prizes: a stuffed panda twice her size, a literal lava-lamp, and a weirdly flat colour-television the size and shape of a screen door<sup>4</a></sup>. She was in the middle of psyching herself up for another throw, arm raised to beside her head, tongue curled in the corner of her mouth as she gazed steel-eyed at the middle, tallest pillar.

    David thumped her on the shoulder as he and Brit passed. ¡°Good luck!¡±

    Mabel jerked at the sudden contact, dropping the ring. It bounced impossibly hard off the stall¡¯s counter, ricocheted wildly off the tarp walls, finally landing around the middle pillar with a satisfying rattle.

    Mabel smiled proudly. Who knew she had such good aim?

    ¡°You win,¡± droned the melting soft-serve ice-cream cone of a man running the stall. He took a clear bag off the prize rack and plonked it down in front of Mabel. A small fish glinted within.

    Mabel squinted at the creature. ¡°That goldfish looks more silver.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s platinum.¡±

    Steven Haldor was parked in front of a stage where a beautiful woman was taking a frothy bubble-bath in a claw-footed tub, leg pointed almost horizontally. David felt sorry for the older boy. This was what happens when people had to wear clothes all the time. Greg was watching some clowns pull themselves in and out of each other. That at least looked interesting. David guessed their car was in the shop.

    The cotton candy tasted the way butterfly wings looked. Of dreams and stars. The way Brit and David had imagined wine before actually tasting it. They were soon full to bursting. And sticky.

    A megaphone echoed over the fairgrounds:

    ¡°The ring-show will be starting in five minutes.¡±

    David looked at Brit, his mouth mottled with blue and pink sugar stains. ¡°Wanna check it out?¡±

    Brit giggled woozily. ¡°Sure, why not?¡¯

    Exactly four minutes later, the adult circus patrons started feeding themselves to the plywood clown that framed the big-top¡¯s entrance. Their feet thumped out the ghost of a marching beat as the five children found each other at the back of the throng. An aerial observer would have found their ambling, organic gait out of place in that crowd. Pillbugs crawling through clockwork. None of the children noticed.

    In the dark silk cave of the tent, Mabel pointed to an empty stretch of seats dead centre in one of the stands. ¡°Five chairs, right there!¡±

    It only seemed right to the children that the rest of the audience had left them seats next to each other. What were they supposed to do, sit separately?

    David misted into the right most seat. Brit made one of her Superman leaps, managing to land deftly next to him. Gregory followed, allowing an uncanny breeze to deliver him to his seat. Steven and Mabel, of course, went the long way, cursing their friends all the while. Nobody in the tent seemed to care that they¡¯d witnessed the impossible before the show even started, but then, they didn¡¯t seem to care that David was naked, either.

    Almost the second the children settled in their seats, a spotlight clicked to life and gently burned a circle of bright blue and yellow tarpaulin into the middle of darkness, revealing a man decked out in a red tuxedo and top-hat. The artfully swirled corners of his moustache were visible from the cheap seats. His entire aura screamed ¡°ring-master.¡±

    The man swept a ruby topped cane in front of him. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Gods and mortals!¡±

    There was a quick wave of perfectly timed, almost metallic applause. David grinned. Inclusivity was important, especially when it involved him.

    ¡°Welcome to the Lieroinen Family Circus!¡±

    ¡°Lieroinen.¡± The name¡­ sat funny in Mabel¡¯s brain. She turned to David and whispered, ¡°You heard the name before? It sounds¡­¡± Mabel tried to find a word.

    ¡°¡­Funny?¡±

    It was the best she could do, even if it didn¡¯t feel ¡°ha ha¡± funny. Mabel bet Allison would¡¯ve known the right word¡ªif she wasn¡¯t being a complete scab about the strike. Or ?ywie. She had German words for everything.

    Mabel found herself blinking back tears. She hadn¡¯t thought about Eliza Winter for months. With the same impulse that drives children (and too many adults) to pick at healing sores, she tried to recall some of the healer¡¯s turns of phrases, but it was like trying to focus on an eye-floater. Her thoughts kept drifting¡ª

    David shrugged. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s one of those famous circuses, like Barnum<sup>5</a></sup> & Bailey?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s foreign,¡± said Steve, arms folded wisely. ¡°Foreign names always sound funny.¡±

    That made sense, Mabel decided. The ringmaster sounded foreign, too. Which was just right in her book. It wouldn¡¯t be a proper circus if it wasn¡¯t run by foreigners. In fact, Mabel thought, if all new qualified carnie-folk weren¡¯t shipped somewhere they had an accent the day they qualified to run so much as a merry-go-round, they ought to be.

    ¡°Here, in this Alladin¡¯s Cave of the here and now, Heaven¡¯s wonders reach down and dazzle the eyes of man! A million, million sorcerers and miracle-workers couldn¡¯t match us! God Himself wouldn¡¯t make it past the auditions!¡±

    A programmatic chuckle rumbled through the crowd; sedate for such a blasphemous remark. The effect was somewhat muddled by the children¡¯s own raucous laughter, much like if an electronica track was interrupted by a campfire singalong.

    ¡°In this cynical age, we often forget the wonder of flight. We walk beneath birds without looking up. The rich sail through the clouds in metal mockeries of those wonderful creatures, and don¡¯t even look out the window!¡± A smirk curled in the corner of his mouth. ¡°And let¡¯s not forget that busy-body flitting about the globe like bad news.¡±

    Another round of uniform laughter. The kids didn¡¯t join in this time.

    ¡°Does he think the Flying Man¡¯s still alive?¡± hissed Steve. ¡°Bloke¡¯s been dead for months.¡±

    ¡°Maybe they don¡¯t get the papers on the road,¡± suggested David, trying to imagine how a mailman could keep up with a Gypsy caravan or whatever. Maybe he would ask Allie¡¯s mother.

    The ringmaster raised his cane up at the shadows that shrouded the tent¡¯s ceiling. ¡°In case any of you good people need a reminder¡­¡±

    A knowing smile played on the man¡¯s lips. A drumroll started building. The upper-shadows faded, banished by gold and crimson light. A man and a woman stood waving atop a forty-foot high platform in matching fluorescent leotards, close-cousin to superhero uniforms everywhere.

    A symbol was struck.

    ¡°¡­The Careening Capeks!¡±

    The man ran fearlessly off the platform, arching his body and snatching a hanging catch-bar as he sailed forward into the air. He swung towards the other end of the tent. At the very pinnacle of his arc, just as his legs were in danger of disappearing in the shadows that still bordered the ring, his lady partner also leapt into the air.

    A well-timed gasp rose from the crowd. No catch-bar for her.

    Before gravity could even stop the lady Capek¡¯s climbing height, her partner swung back and snatched her hands. The pair swung forward together as human rope. At the peak of momentum, the man let go. The pair twirled in the air like a windblown ribbon, the woman grabbing the catch-bar just before it swung out of reach.

    Needless to say, there was no net.

    David watched in awe as the Capeks swung and flew through their air, in time to music he hadn¡¯t even heard start playing. The light reflecting off their leotards left watercolour streaks across his retinas. David knew a fair number of people who defied gravity, himself included, really. But people like Brit fought gravity. Allison ignored it all together. These people worked with gravity, the way David did water.

    Soon they were barely touching the catch-bars. At one point the man landed feet-first on top of one, not even flinching when the woman landed in a handstand on his shoulders. Her grip remained just as steady as he fell face-forwards, clinging to the bar with his toes.

    David had no real fear of heights, or even pain in general. Not anymore, at least. If he fell and broke a bone, water would carry the hurt away. But these people were trapped in their flesh¡­

    They can¡¯t be human, they can¡¯t be¡­

    ¡°Eh, I could do all that,¡± commented Greg.

    Steve scoffed. ¡°But they¡¯re not you. That¡¯s the point.¡±

    If the Capeks weren¡¯t so high up, or if the kids paid any mind to their neighbours in the stands, they might¡¯ve noticed a resemblance.

    The ringmaster had his back to the children, seemingly as enraptured with the performance above his head as the audience, his shadow stretched out behind him like a wedding train.

    ¡°Go on! Put your back into it!¡±

    The shadow folded upward and inflated from a black cut-out of the ringmaster into a three-dimensional double dipped in ink. The shadow glanced about at the audience, put a finger to where his lips would¡¯ve been, tip-toed towards the man who cast him, and snatched his cane from under his hand.

    Laughter. The ringmaster swung around and scowled at his shadow. ¡°Why you¡ª¡±

    The shadow whacked him on the head. The two were quickly scuffling on the floor, until they were pulled apart by the quartet of clowns who ran into the light.

    The ringmaster dusted himself off while his shadow struggled in the arms of two of the clowns. ¡°Strap him to the board!¡±

    The spotlight expanded to cover the whole ring, revealing a wheel of death behind the ringmaster and company. The clowns dragged the shadow kicking and screaming to the apparatus, strapping him spread-eagled to the wheel like they were going to offer the apparition to King Kong.

    ¡°Spin ¡®em.¡±

    The clowns obeyed. The wheel became a blur of colour and black.

    The ringmaster flicked his wrist, a dagger slipping out of his sleeve. He hurled it at the wheel faster than the human eye could comfortably follow.

    A stalk of silver burst from the wood above the shadow¡¯s head. Another dagger embedded itself next to his hand, and then another between his legs. The ringmaster was hurling blades with both arms, cackling grandly.

    A sound like tearing velvet. A repeated gasp from the audience.

    The ringmaster froze mid-throw, his whole body shaking. There was a dagger embedded in his chest. With a trembling hand, he pulled it free.

    The blade was clean.

    ¡°Damn,¡± he said, casually appraising the dagger. ¡°I didn¡¯t miss.¡±

    Laughter.

    ¡°Right, we need some volunteers for the next part of the show!¡±

    The ringmaster looked about at the audience, turning a full circle on his feet before narrowing his eyes and pointing at the children. ¡°You, the kids in the middle row! How would you like to join the circus for a day?¡±

    He needn¡¯t have specified. They were the only children in the big top.

    The children glanced at each other. Their grins answered were all the answers they needed. David stood up on his seat. ¡°Hell yeah!¡±

    He felt hands on his shoulders. He looked up to find a lady with a dark smile standing over him.

    ¡°Thank you, David.¡±

    David¡¯s eyes widened. He recognized the woman.

    Unfortunately.

 Chapter One-Hundred and Three: Charivari

    On Christmas Eve, Drina and Allison Kinsey marched through strange country, the night sky nearly white with crowded stars. The enemy camp lay ahead, a gaudy tropical reef in an indigo sea. The hooting, train-whistle music that echoed from it was audible even in Catalpa itself. The lights of the ferris-wheel watched the pair like eyes in a dark theatre.

    It was wrong. Allison had been playing here for nearly a year. They should¡¯ve been walking through bush so thick, even the noon sun could only rain down shadows. These people were stealing her memories along with her friends.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have come,¡± Allison mumbled. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s too dangerous for me, it¡¯s too dangerous for you. Take your pick.¡±

    Allison sighed and looked down at her feet. It was a hopeless cause. She¡¯d spent the better part of two hours trying to convince her mother to stay behind. The woman hadn¡¯t been moved, and Allison hadn¡¯t exactly been able to find allies among the other grown-ups.

    ¡°I¡¯m not exactly opposed to you having adult supervision while negotiating with kidnappers, Allie,¡± Mistress Quickly had said.

    The Kinseys walked surrounded by a cometary halo of mosquitos. The ones who tasted Allison¡¯s blood died almost immediately¡ª?ywie¡¯s revenge. Poor Drina had to settle for swatting and waving them away with as much dignity as possible. She was wearing a chequered, collarless dress and a cardigan held partially open by a single turquoise button, both supplied by Close-Cut. She¡¯d even brought her purse. Allison was in her rainbow costume, the colours slightly muted from stress. If the mother looked like she was heading out to watch the circus, the daughter looked like she was going to audition for it. Either way, they were definitely going to speak with the manager.

    A red haired girl loping towards being a teenager was leaning against the ticket booth when the pair reached the outskirts of the circus.

    Drina raised her closed hand to her mouth and cleared her throat.

    The girl sighed.

    ¡°Mother, the Kinsey girl is here. She brought someone.¡±

    Allison¡¯s keen eyes saw a small pellet appear in the air in front of them and fall to the ground. It exploded in a plume of festively red smoke, clearing to reveal Elsa Lieroinen and her loyal assistant. Myles was in his usual ringmaster getup, but Elsa had dressed for the occasion in a long silk coat and harem trousers silk nightmare¡ªsea-greens interrupted by orange and white psychedelia and peacocks.

    They were both chuckling.

    ¡°Ares!¡± Myles exclaimed, bemused. ¡°Never seen such a dusky woman produce something so pale. What did you do, Mrs Kinsey? Bed a snowman?¡±

    Drina clenched a fist at her side.

    Allison folded her arms, trying her best to look stone-faced. ¡°Says the vampire.¡±

    Myles threw his hands up. ¡°Who says I¡¯m a vampire?¡±

    He didn¡¯t sound offended by the accusation.

    Allison pointed at ¨¢vr¨¢ Lieroinen. ¡°Her. Brain¡¯s like a neon sign saying ¡®VAMPIRE.¡¯ Pretty sure the stuff you make her do is mostly because you¡¯re you, though.¡±

    ¨¢vr¨¢¡¯s eyes went wide. Her body developed a subtle tremor. She was also treated to a rare and terrible sight: her mother smiling at her.

    ¡°Heart of my heart,¡± Elsa said, voice an octave and a half too high. ¡°What did I tell you about practising your wards.¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    The girl went up in blue and violet flames. They consumed her to the bones, clothes and all. The patch of grass she was standing on wasn¡¯t even scorched.

    Drina was aghast. ¡°What did you do to that girl?¡±

    ¡°Made sure my daughter¡¯s sloppy mental hygiene would no longer offend your daughter¡¯s delicate sensibilities,¡± answered Elsa.

    Allison couldn¡¯t tell if the girl had been teleported away or¡­ burned. Her song had stopped, either way. Had she just made that happen? Just to try and embarrass a vampire?

    I got a girl killed¡ªI got a girl killed¡ªI¡ª

    She needed to say something, quick, before she exploded.

    ¡°Here to tell my fortune again, Elsa?¡±

    Drina looked down at her daughter. ¡°Wait, you¡¯ve met this woman too?¡±

    Allison froze. She had honestly forgotten about the witch and her weird friend until she laid eyes on them again. She¡¯d even forgotten the fact of forgetting. She¡¯d also forgotten her mother was standing next to her. ¡°Ah, yeah,¡± she admitted stiffly. ¡°...Apparently ¡±

    Drina frowned at her child. ¡°Apparently?¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± said Elsa cooly. ¡°I thought underlining PRIVATE would¡¯ve gotten the point across.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s ten years old,¡± said Drina firmly. ¡°She was never coming alone.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough, I suppose,¡± replied Elsa. ¡°Could always have you keep ¨¢vr¨¢ company¡­¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t,¡± Allison said, voice small, all thought of sounding tough forgotten. ¡°She¡¯s harmless.¡±

    ¡°Allie, I¡¯m¡ª¡±

    Allison grabbed her mother¡¯s hand and squeezed.

    ¡°Hmm.¡± Elsa flicked her wrist, a literal little black book appearing in her hand. She flicked through its pages before stabbing her finger at whatever she was looking for. The witch recited, ¡°Drina Kinsey, n¨¦e M¨®r¨¦¡­¡±

    The name felt familiar to Allison, but most names and words were like that. She didn¡¯t think she¡¯d ever heard her mother¡¯s maiden name before.

    ¡°Hungarian Romani, migrated to Australia with her mother post World War 2.¡± Elsa flashed the other woman a smile. ¡°Arrived alone.¡±

    Allison looked up at her mother, silent questions in her red eyes. Drina said nothing, head turned down.

    ¡°Primary schooling spotty and haphazard at best. Flunked out of middle-school of all things! Last gainful employment was waiting tables, quit for housewifery after marrying Jack Kinsey age nineteen. Present in forty-eight percent of early Catalpa instances.¡± Elsa smacked her lips. ¡°Not even a threat to wood-lice.¡± She looked up from the book. ¡°Sure, you can stay. Oh, Miri, I assume you¡¯re joining us for the evening?¡±

    Miri¡¯s image stepped out from behind her sister, as though she¡¯d been hiding there all along. She didn¡¯t say anything, only looking at the witch with watery eyes.

    ¡°Good, good.¡± Elsa raised a hand in a warding gesture.

    Allison felt what she could only describe as a slimy wind rush through her.

    Alberto staggered backwards from the girl.

    ¡°You can wait outside,¡± said Elsa. ¡°No arguments.¡±

    Alberto huffed and tugged the corners of his translucent vest. ¡°Fine. I don¡¯t stay where I¡¯m not fucking welcome¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a minority view,¡± muttered Allison.

    ¡°Fuck off, baby vampire,¡± Alberto said over his shoulder.

    Elsa turned around and started walking into the fairgrounds. ¡°The rest of you, to quote a psilocybin loving friend of mine: come and see.¡±

    Allison, Miri and their mother followed the witch resignedly. Drina asked herself: ¡°Forty-eight?¡±

    Entering the circus proper was like stepping into an overly air-conditioned room without the walls. Drina suddenly wanted a proper coat. There was even snow. Sort of. Drina had lived through ten European winters; most without a regular roof over her head. This wasn¡¯t how snow felt underfoot. This was¡­ marshmallow and bubble-bath froth. This was what snow felt like in the dreams of Australian children.

    ¡°She¡¯s not very good at snow,¡± Drina said under her breath.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison. ¡°Isn¡¯t even proper cold.¡±

    Drina let out an edgy laugh. ¡°How would you know, sun-baby?¡±

    ¡°It was snowing in Canberra. ¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Allison remembered the message she¡¯d given to the reporter. It felt like years ago. ¡°Did you see me in the papers?¡±

    ¡°Of course, honey. Wish I¡¯d been there.¡±

    ¡°Also, there was snow on Ross Island. It¡¯s in Antarctica.¡±

    God, Drina thought. She¡¯d missed so much¡­

    Even without the benefit of exotic senses, the whole circus was patently false. Endless palette-swapped copies of the same couple¡ªso still, they could''ve been posing for a fotoromanzo¡ªwatched blatantly looped fire-eaters and jugglers. Living GIFs, generations early. To Allison¡¯s surprise, the spectators did have songs. Two of them, in fact, funnelled through the crowd like electricity along a wire. These people weren¡¯t people, they were speakers.  The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Remarkable trapeze artists, though. Allison hoped she¡¯d get to show David and Mabel.

    Trying to read Elsa and Myles as they walked was no good. They might as well have had TV static for greymatter. And Elsa¡¯s song still had that curious, clipped quality. Like bits had been left out or scrambled. For Allison¡¯s benefit, no doubt.

    The two of them led the Kinseys down sideshow alley, past laughing clowns forever shaking their heads at some unseen absurdity, motorized moles free to taste the evening air without fear of mallet-heads, and rubber ducks with metal loops on their backs swimming around a blue water barrel. Allison half-expected Elsa to make them play a ring-toss for the hostage¡¯s freedom. Instead, she led them to a large marquee, the little sister of the big top at the centre of the circus.

    ¡°Here it is, the new jewel of the Lieroinen Family Circus.¡±

    The placard above the entrance read:

    <h2 style="text-align: center">ELSA LIEROINEN¡¯S EXTRA-NORMAL ETHNOLOGICAL EXHIBITION </h2>

    It seemed like a lot of words for a circus like this, Allison thought. But then that sourceless well of knowledge inside her told her what they meant. She sucked in a breath.

    Elsa slipped halfway into the tent, beckoning the others to follow.

    The marquee interior was lit by powerful floodlights shining through the thin ceiling fabric. It contained five glass cases on raised stands: terrariums, or maybe dioramas.

    Each contained a hostage.

    Elsa stood proudly before her specimens arms spread. ¡°Behold, my human wonders!¡±

    Drina put her hands over her mouth. Allison looked pleadingly at Elsa. ¡°We can just talk. You don¡¯t have to do¡­ this.¡±

    Elsa smiled. ¡°Please, child. I worked hard on this.¡±

    The witch strode over to David Barthe¡¯s case. It was an aquarium, filled with coral and small tropical fish. Their scales could¡¯ve been coloured in with highlighters. There was hardly enough room for the young boy floating curled in on himself in the centre.

    Else cleared her throat and produced a hazel wand from her cavernous sleeves, using it as a pointer:

    ¡°Here we see a fine young specimen of chaos godling, derived from, in this case, water. Particularly saltwater, though I wouldn¡¯t count on that to save your life if he got bored of you in a lake. Frequent contact, intimate and otherwise, with mankind has taught this strain to mimic human flesh and cognition with impressive fidelity.¡±

    She swirled the air with her wand. The fish in the tank went wild, attacking David with needle-sharp teeth. Blood plumed like smoke from his wounds. The boy didn¡¯t fight back.

    ¡°Christ!¡± cried Drina.

    Allison shouted, ¡°Stop it!¡±

    The fish kept tearing at David. Chunks of flesh, skin and hair floated to the top of the tank. Still, he did not react.

    Allison¡¯s eyes flared. Intense heat rippled through the stolid, humid air of the marquee.

    ¡°Stop it!¡±

    Elsa tilted her wand up. The fish ceased their assault, swimming back to their corners of the aquarium. At the same time, the colour drained from David until he seemed to be made of glass. Water filled his wounds and froze over, perfectly replacing the lost flesh.

    ¡°As you can see, despite being two generations removed from the original chaotic manifestation, and being three quarters human in terms of ancestry, our specimen¡¯s godhood remains potent and intact. Compare and contrast with the rather more brittle Olympian variety.¡± Elsa looked at Allison. ¡°See, Allie, if you¡¯d just kept that Linus boy alive, this could¡¯ve been even more educational.¡±

    ¡°Bitch,¡± spat Drina. Allison could hardly believe her ears, accurate as the assessment was.

    Elsa spun on one foot before moving to Mabel¡¯s display case. Its walls were padded. Mabel was locked in a straightjacket and literally muzzled, thrashing against the chains that anchored her to the corners of the tank. Perversely enough, the jacket was patterned with comic-panels.

    ¡°Here we see Mabel ¡®Mad Dog¡¯ Henderson.¡±

    Drina shook her head at the sight. ¡°Why on Earth have you got her bound up like that?¡±

    Elsa cocked her head at the woman. ¡°Didn¡¯t you know? The moment this girl became a superhuman, she fried the brains of over a hundred people. Including her own father.¡± Elsa put her hands to her cheeks in mock shock. ¡°I mean, been there, sister. Hasn¡¯t repeated that little trick since, but I say she¡¯s got promise.¡±

    Brit¡¯s display-case looked like the inside of a sea-anemone, the painted back-wall showing a dark-sky dominated by a red sun and a gigantic, volcanic moon. She was dressed in what looked like live moths fluttering against her skin, eating at a table that appeared to have been grown or carved out of the floor. She was surrounded by crude animatronics with sculpted navy-blue quoffers, incongruously dressed in the same alien finery.

    ¡°This here is a real rare find. The last known¡ªI mean, I could check, but who has the time¡ªexample of the superhuman Menvra civilization, destroyed by the moon from which they derived their wealth. New Child author and beard enthusiast Herbert Lawrence had plans to preserve the subspecies, but that might¡¯ve been a fringe benefit to his program.¡±

    Miri and Allison watched Brit spoon what looked like plucked dandelion fluff. Her movements were as stiff and mechanical as the animatronics.

    Elsa clapped her hands together. ¡°Speaking of which!¡±

    Steven Haldor looked quite at ease in what Allison imagined was a decent recreation of his old bedroom. Posters for the Beatles and the Kinks duelled for supremacy above his headboard. The boy himself was engrossed in an issue of G-Men, as though he weren¡¯t being watched a housewife, a super-girl, a ghost, a vampire, and a smirking witch:

    ¡°Here we see a typical juvenile example of Homo sapiens, soon to be swept into history by the many breeds of super-being arising on this planet.¡± Elsa pointed her fingers at herself. ¡°Hereditary witch speaking here, but I don¡¯t think it¡¯ll be a great loss.¡±

    Elsa turned to face the last display case. Gregory floated cross-legged in the centre of the otherwise empty enclosure, naked and burning, livid bruises on his bare chest. His eyes were vacant; white, in fact. A hurricane of rock and ice swirled around him. Allison could see his Socii playing across his skin, bright gems of lapis, orange agate, jade, and topaz connected by veins of light. They reminded her greater store of knowledge of Indian chakras

    ¡°Gregory Collins is an example of one of Steven¡¯s successors, transformed in the womb into a superhuman by the birth trauma of two gods yet to come. Judging by the charming violence of his gifts, I¡¯d say the agent responsible was Andromeda.¡± The witch squinted at Allison. ¡°I¡¯d peg you more as a Meredith.¡±

    Allison wrinkled her nose. ¡°A ¡®Meredith¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Long story.¡±

    Miri raised a hand.

    ¡°You got a question, ghostling?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± replied Miri. ¡°How long have you had our friends?¡±

    Elsa saw no particular reason not to answer. ¡°Two days or so. This isn¡¯t Narnia.¡±

    ¡°And they¡¯ve been in those cases the whole time?¡±

    Elsa saw a lot of reasons to answer that one. She grinned wickedly. ¡°The whole time.¡±

    ¡°...How do they go to the bathroom?¡±

    The grown-ups in the marquee found themselves sharing silent glances, soundtracked by the muted howl of the wind within Gregory¡¯s cage.

    Myles and Elsa laughed. The witch pinched Allison¡¯s cheek in proxy. ¡°Oh, Miri, I could just keep you.¡±

    On a gamble, Allison tried to reach the least savoury part of Alberto¡¯s power into Elsa, but her skin could¡¯ve been laminated with steel for all that amounted to. The girl bet she¡¯d just wanted to show off.

    ¡°So,¡± said Elsa. ¡°Tea and biscuits?¡±

    Drina sighed. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ?

    By this point, Allison was both surprised and a touch disappointed by the fact Elsa¡¯s buggy wasn¡¯t bigger on the inside. She¡¯d expected the witch to hide a grand manor under its canvas roof, or a cathedral of blood and bone; not a kerosine stove, a dozen tea-light candles, and a few throw-pillows. If she was going to be evil, she could at least be impressive.

    Myles poured Allison and Drina each a cup of salted caramel tea and offered them to the Kinseys on rugged cast-iron plates with fresh kourabiethes. He smiled his not-very-friendly-vampire-smile at the pair, the glow of the candles colouring his pale face sour yellow:

    ¡°Enjoy, honoured guests.¡±

    Drina took her plate like it was made of poisoned thorns. She looked at her daughter questioningly.

    Allison sipped her cup. ¡°We¡¯re guests. Vampires can¡¯t break xenia. You¡¯re good.¡±

    Drina hissed through her teeth. She knew her irritation was unfair. Allison couldn¡¯t help making her feel ignorant. ¡°Xenia?¡±

    ¡°Hospitality,¡± Myles translated. ¡°Roughly.¡±

    Drina looked down into her tea, steeled her shoulders, and took a long hard gulp, almost burning her tongue and throat.

    It didn¡¯t taste drugged. But then, what would be the point if it did?

    The vampire settled down beside his mistress on the other side of the stove. Allison noticed Myles cast no shadow in the flicker of the candlelight. She wondered if that was usual for his kind. For a few moments, the only sounds in the buggy were the bronchial crackle and pop of the candles and Elsa loudly chewing a kourambiethe.

    Allison broke the detente, ¡°What do you want, Elsa?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Elsa said through a mouthful of shortbread. ¡°Not much, just that empty-headed little girl you¡¯ve got jarred up at Freedom¡¯s Point.¡±

    It took the Kinseys a moment to realise what the witch was asking for.

    ¡°...You want Miri¡¯s body?¡±

    Mistress Quickly had suggested a few potential motives for the kidnapping. Catalpa¡¯s aid in some ghastly campaign somewhere in the multiverse. Information or resources. Kicks. This hadn¡¯t come up.

    Elsa swallowed. ¡°Well, given that little Miri is still rattling around your skull, can we really say it¡¯s her body yet?¡±

    Miri wasn¡¯t bothering to visualize herself for Elsa and Myles, but she was screaming inside Allison:

    ¡°It is my body! She can¡¯t have it! Why does she want my body?¡±

    Allison winced at her sister¡¯s onslaught, asking aloud for her, ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Allie, when your little friend¡¯s mother sells someone sliced polony, she doesn¡¯t get to ask whether they¡¯re gonna eat it or wear it, do they?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s going to eat it! She¡¯s going to eat me!¡±

    ¡°Look, am I really asking for that much? You haven¡¯t even figured out how to transfer Miri over yet. You¡¯ll still have your alien blood and all that Simmons¡¯ woman¡¯s notes. I doubt it¡¯ll be harder growing a girl the second time. A lot easier than replacing your friends, I¡¯d wager, even if ¡®Mistress Quickly¡¯ fancies herself a multiversial tourist.¡±

    Allison kept the thought far away from her sister, but the witch had a point. They could make Miri another body. They couldn¡¯t make another Mabel or David. But she also remembered what Maude had told her:

    ¡°Whatever she asks for, don¡¯t give her it. I¡¯ve seen that woman commit genocide with goddamn toothpicks. If she asks you to help her with something, say no. If she asks for an old toy, say no. If she asks for a hair on your head, say no.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want this to be one-sided,¡± said Elsa. ¡°I mean, aside from being willing to give up some great new acquisitions, I¡¯m willing to offer all three of you additional compensation.¡± She looked at Drina. ¡°And you weren¡¯t even invited to this pow-wow.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡± Allison asked, arms folded.

    Elsa smiled.

    The buggy split into three streams like a forking river. In a bit of New Testament flourish, Elsa Lieroinen addressed the three Kinseys individually and simultaneously:

    ¡°You know, Allie, I don¡¯t think Miri is the biggest problem in your life. I get it, kind of rubbish having to share your stomach, skin, and womb with your little sister. But Miri seems like a good kid. She isn¡¯t a drunk old Italian rapist¡­¡±

    Before Allison could recoil from the witch, Elsa reached over the stove and laid a finger on the girl¡¯s forehead. Her touch was like wet ice.

    ¡°Even when you tried to strangle my brain, I could feel him chained to your soul, Allie. I could free you. I could rip Alberto out of you by the roots.¡±

    ¡°...What would happen to Alberto?¡± asked Allison despite herself. Hopefully, she added, ¡°Would he be dead?¡±

    Elsa smiled again. ¡°Nah. I¡¯ve always got a use for a psychic ghost.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯d have him. Like you have my friends.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s evil.¡±

    ¡°...So are you.¡±

    Elsa quirked her shoulder. ¡°Still be a net-increase in evil people having a bad time. Literally everyone wins except Alberto.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡±

    Part of Allison liked imagining Alberto at Elsa¡¯s mercy. Hammering tiny ghostly fists against walls of glass on some apothecary shelf. For a while. Then it just kept going and going. If she knew he¡¯d be snuffed out like one of these candles¡­

    ¡°I could fix Billy,¡± Elsa said to Miri. ¡°Make him look like a normal boy.¡±

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t care,¡± replied Miri curtly. ¡°And he¡¯s cuddly the way he is.¡±

    ¡°Scratch the easy option then¡­¡± sighed Elsa.

    With blue pointer quickness, the witch grabbed Miri by the wrist.

    Miri stared at her hand. She could feel the pressure of Elsa¡¯s fingers on her skin. ¡°How¡ª¡±

    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even need a body,¡± Elsa enthused. ¡°I could give you touch. Mass. Let you do everything your sister can do, whenever you want.¡± Elsa looked up thoughtfully for a moment. ¡°Not sure what would happen if you tried conceiving, but you¡¯ve got plenty of options. And you wouldn¡¯t have to leave Allison.¡±

    Miri bit her lip. She tasted blood.

    ¡°You know, Mrs Kinsey, you have loco parentis over the girls. You could override them both. Honestly, I should''ve invited you in the first place. Forgive me, you¡¯re not the most memorable woman in the world.¡±

    ¡°I have my daughter,¡± Drina said firmly. ¡°I don¡¯t need anything else.¡±

    Elsa chuckled in her throat. ¡°How about bare equality, ma¡¯am?¡±

    She blew a handful of dust in Mrs Kinsey¡¯s face.

    Drina was flying, caught between a roiling sea of thrashing steel and black battlements of storm clouds. She was a figure of solid light, so smooth and perfect not even gravity could find purchase on her. She was wrapped in bright blue and red fabric, scarlet and yellow cape fluttering around her neck. Her skin thrilled at the bite of the wind and the sea-spray.

    ¡°Have you ever imagined being like your daughter, Drina? Strong? Glorious?¡±

    The clouds vented down golden spite at Drina. She laughed at the lightning as it ran down her veins. The world could only give her pleasure. Her thoughts were crystal machinery.

    Drina lifted a train like a metal wyrm over her head above a roaring crowd. Men in uniforms shouted up at her. Their guns chorused tiny, flashing oaths, their metal sputum hammering harmlessly against her.

    ¡°Being able to fight instead of running?¡±

    The soldiers below withered under Drina¡¯s gaze, their skin turning to dust. She found her own long-ago face down among the masses, cheering with her sister and parents. Unafraid. Together.

    Jack was on his knees below Drina, gazing up at her. There was love in his eyes, but something else, too. Something new.

    ¡°To be something your man could be in awe of?¡±

    Drina swooped down and pulled her husband to his feet, pulling him into a kiss the way he had done with her a thousand times. He felt like glass and cobwebs in her arms. He could do nothing except love her. And if he didn¡¯t, thousands of others would.

    Drina and Allison danced together above the sun itself, swooping under and over coronal loops like arches built of burning auroras. The solar winds caressed them as gently as a warm summer breeze.

    Drina¡¯s impossible eyes saw something graze her daughter. A micrometeorite smaller than a grain of rice and a hundred times faster than sound itself.

    Allison looked down at herself. She had a thin red scratch across her paper-pale skin. Nothing to creatures such as them. Still, tears formed in her eyes, boiling away in the superheated vacuum.

    Drina gathered her daughter into her arms, letting her weep out still-new pain.

    ¡°For you daughter to need you again?¡±

    Above the plains of fire, Drina wept, too.

 Chapter One-Hundred and Four: A War of Jokes and Spells

    As Christmas Eve inched closer and closer to Christmas Day, the sorcerous algorithm that was the Lieroinen Family Circus cycled through snowfall. Errors were creeping in. Snow settled on the flames of the fire-eater¡¯s torch as though it were a wand of amber. Members of the Potemkin crowd let the white powder pile atop their heads and shoulders. Every third or fourth snowflake was composed of pink or blue cotton-candy. Worst of all, the calliope was actually tuned properly. It wasn¡¯t surprising, really. Elsa had meant for this web of spells to stand for less than a week, for the benefit of seven children at most.

    One of these assumptions was incorrect.

    Outside the Hall of the Possible, a pair of small, orphaned footprints pressed down into the snowy carpet. Falling snowflakes vanished in the space above. Then they started marching forward, five more sets of footprints of wildly varying size following hot on their track; a conga-line of ghosts. The train meandered about the circus, weaving in and out of the big top and the smattering of out-buildings, only occasionally bumping into static circus-goers. Anyone watching from above would¡¯ve assumed Bill Keane was responsible.

    After ten minutes of wandering, the footprints strayed into Elsa Lieroinen¡¯s Extra-Normal Ethnological Exhibition.

    The curtain of invisibility fell from Billy St. George and the five-person human train hanging onto his shoulders.

    ¡°Aww, jeez,¡± he said, surveying his glass-jarred friends. ¡°What¡¯s she done to them?¡±

    Hettie Haldor ran over to her son¡¯s case, hammering on the glass with her marble fists. It did not shatter. ¡°Stevie? Honey, it¡¯s Mum.¡±

    Steven didn¡¯t answer, not even looking up from his comic.

    A trace of anger seeped into Hettie¡¯s fear. ¡°Steve? Answer me!¡±

    Mrs Barnes was standing with her son in front of Mabel¡¯s enclosure. ¡°Mabel, can you hear us?¡± She snapped her fingers twice. ¡°It¡¯s Angela.¡±

    The muzzled girl thrashed against her restraints, seemingly blind to the two people on the other side of the glass.

    Angela looked down at her son. ¡°Arnold, get rid of the glass.¡±

    Arnold nodded. ¡°Yes Mum.¡± He laid a hand on the glass and sparked alight with lime lightning, teleportation scrambled air lifting his costume¡¯s cloak, his power pulsing into the glass.

    Nothing happened.

    After nearly ten seconds, Arnold pulled his hand away and stamped his foot. He felt like Zeus trying to smite a rubber sheet.

    ¡°It¡¯s like there¡¯s nothing there!¡±

    The Crimson Comet pounded a closed fist against David¡¯s aquarium with as much strength as he dared muster. Having no better luck than Hettie, he shot a look back at Mistress Quickly. ¡°The hell is this stuff made off?¡±

    The super-scientist squinted at the glass, her combat-mask¡¯s goggles dissecting the air for clues. ¡°Spectrographics aren¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an illusion.¡±

    Everyone looked at Liam Pittenweem. He was a somewhat goatish eleven year old old boy with uncombable orange hair and two increasingly curled horns growing out of his forehead. He was also Catalpa¡¯s one warlock, if only a novice working from the memory of a confiscated scrapbook. ¡°Can even see where it¡¯s peeling.¡± Appraisingly, he added, ¡°Don¡¯t think what¡¯s-her-name expected another magic person to look at it.¡±

    Ralph thumped David¡¯s tank again. ¡°Feels pretty real to me.¡±

    Liam shook his head. ¡°Magic, mate. It¡¯s more real than most real things. So real it outranks the really real stuff.¡±

    ¡°Can you get rid of it?¡± asked Hettie, still not looking away from her son.

    Liam shrugged. ¡°I can try. Don¡¯t know what it¡¯s hiding, though.¡±

    Angela wondered if she should technically condone literal witchcraft. Then she looked again at Mabel, still screaming in silence.

    ¡°Do it, lad.¡±

    Liam cleared his throat and raised his arms over his head. In faltering Latin, he chanted, ¡°Ex oculis abi imago!¡±

    Liam closed his hands. The air wrinkled under his fingers. He pulled downwards. The rest of the extraction team felt a layer of the world peel away around them like they were in a reverse sticker-book.

    A sound of tearing paper. The superhuman zoo was ripped away. The missing children were standing around preening themselves. Brit and Gregory were dressed in acrobat leotards, the first blue and white, the second orange and brown. Mabel was in her costume, albeit with added top-hat. David was in his, too, which was both odd and utterly appropriate.

    Steven Haldor, meanwhile, was in full auguste clown gear, manning an old fashioned water-pump in the middle of the tent.

    ¡°Stevie!¡±¡±

    Hettie pulled her son into her arms. Given the state of her physiology, this was less than advisable.

    Steven wheezed, ¡°Too¡­ tight¡­ Mum¡­¡±

    Hettie yelped and let go of her son, thanking her lucky stars she¡¯d worn the floofy jumper that night. Looking down, she noticed said jumper was stained with red rouge and white face paint.  ¡°Why on Earth are you dressed like that?¡±

    Steven tilted his head. ¡°It¡¯s for the show.¡±

    Mabel grinned crookedly at the sight of Arnold and his mother, waving at them with her whole body. ¡°Hi guys! You here to watch us in the big top?¡±

    Angela frowned. ¡°It¡¯s been two days, young lady! We were worried sick!¡±

    The children exchanged glances. Then they laughed.

    ¡°No it hasn¡¯t!¡± Brit insisted.

    David added, ¡°Maybe Mrs Barnes is going all scatter-brained. She is pretty old.¡±

    Brit giggled. ¡°Human, human, human, human¡­¡±

    Gregory was sitting on the grassy floor, staring at his hands. ¡°Man, what if, like, people only get wrinkly because they have too many baths?¡±  He looked questioningly at Billy. ¡°Hey, Tigger, do you get pruney in the bath?¡±

    Billy allowed himself a frown, balling his clawed fists at his sides. ¡°My name¡¯s not Tigger¡­¡±

    Angela inhaled, shoulders arching in full-on lecture mode, only for Arnold to put a hand on her arm. ¡°I think this is a magic thing, Mum.¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± said Liam, peering at the spell-grammar scrawled all over the other children. ¡°They¡¯re bewitched. Used to do this when kids at school pulled on my horns.¡± He walked towards David and sniffed the water-sprite¡¯s breath.

    David grinned, slurring, ¡°Is this that flirting thing again?¡±

    Liam looked back at Mrs Barnes. ¡°I think they got them normal-drunk a bit, too?¡±

    Billy bristled quietly. Didn¡¯t the witch-lady know kids weren¡¯t supposed to have that stuff?

    Angela nodded stiffly. ¡°Of course, of course.¡± Maternal indignation also made a strong liquor.

    Hettie raised a hand to her mouth. ¡°Is it permanent?¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± Liam reassured her. ¡°Just need to get them outta here.¡±

    Ralph clapped his hands. It sounded like two oak trees colliding. ¡°Right, kids, we¡¯re leaving.¡±

    ¡°Nooo!¡± whined Mabel. She pointed at the water-pail hanging from the water-pump¡¯s spout. ¡°Mr. Myles says we¡¯re going on as soon as the bucket¡¯s full!¡±

    Ralph pulled the bucket off the pump. It bled water from a dozen pin-prick punctures. ¡°You mean this?¡± he asked flatly.

    ¡°Yeah!¡± exclaimed Brit. She glared at Steven. ¡°He just needs to pump faster!¡±

    ¡°Why am I doing it?¡± Steven jabbed a finger at David. ¡°Why not him?¡±

    David shuddered. ¡°I can¡¯t stick water in a bucket. It¡¯d be mad at me!¡±

    Angela watched the children argue. She muttered under her breath, ¡°Now would be a good time to send them home, Arnold.¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡± Arnold raised his fingertip and summoned Libertalia to his mind¡¯s eye.

    His fingernail glowed green, only to spark and sputter. Arnold tried again. Still, the lightning did not come. He screwed his eyes shut and pictured any and all safe places he knew. The children¡¯s hall, Freedom¡¯s point, David¡¯s beach¡­

    Nothing.

    He let his arm go limp. Arnold¡¯s vocabulary spasmed inside him, searching for an oath he could say in front of his mother. ¡°...Cripes. I can¡¯t make it work.¡± He put his hands to his head. ¡°It¡¯s like I don¡¯t know where here is.¡±

    Angela sighed and put a hand on her son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Long as you tried your best, Arnold.¡±

    Looked like they were taking the long way home.

    ¡°...Okay,¡± said Brit, ¡°what if we put the bucket in Steve¡ª¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Angela raised her voice half an octave. It might as well have been her son¡¯s thunder. ¡°Everyone be quiet.¡±

    The stolen children went as silent and still as their condition allowed¡ªswaying on their feet like saplings facing a storm. Even Arnold reflexively straightened his back.

    ¡°It¡¯s Christmas Eve. We are going home now and having dinner. If you don¡¯t do as you¡¯re told this very second, we¡¯re skipping straight to Boxing Day. Are we clear?¡±

    The kids all nodded. Mighty a witch as Elsa Lieroinen was, no spell could match Angela Barnes.

    ¡°Right. Everyone get in line.¡±

    The rescue party reformed the train, a touch more ungainly with five extra passengers. Mabel had her hands on the Crimson Comet¡¯s back. She giggled.

    ¡°Something funny, Mabes?¡± asked the superhero.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had two shadows.¡±

    Ralph looked down. Like a fork in a tree trunk, a second silhouette sprouted from his feet.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Wh¡ª¡±

    Half a sound. A whisper¡¯s little brother.

    ¡°Um,¡± said Billy, staring at a blank stretch of canvas in front of him. ¡°Where¡¯d the door go?¡±

    The imposter-shadow pulled itself off the ground, Ralph Rivers¡¯ titanic frame shrinking and narrowing. A top hat sprouted from his head.

    David wagged a finger at the apparition. ¡°Hey, Mr. Myles. I wanted to ask, do I really need my cost¡ª¡±

    The shadow screamed.

    ?

    Elsa Lieroinen sat across from the two-and-a-half Kinseys in her covered wagon, voice triplicating and transfiguring as it reached their ears, whispering their dreams:

    ¡°...I can give you freedom.¡±

    ¡°...I can give your substance.¡±

    ¡°...I can give you power.¡±

    Allison could feel what the witch was offering her. A tumour excised. Poison sucked from her bones. Her and Miri, together and alone. Not having to worry about him slipping in while they slept. Not having to feel all his second-hand lusts and bitterness like hot breath. Who cared about Alberto? All he ever did was hurt people. David. Adam Sinclair. Her. Over and over¡­

    Miri spoke within Allison:

    ¡°It¡¯d be good if it was just us, right? Alberto¡¯s mean. And if we could touch things at the same time.¡±

    Allison tried to remember why they weren¡¯t saying yes. They could get their friends back. They could get so much more. Elsa wasn¡¯t going to be less evil somewhere else if they didn¡¯t¡­

    Drina was still floating above the sun, holding her crying daughter against her adamantine skin. She was strong. She was needed.

    ¡­Why did she need power to comfort her child? And why would she ever want Allison to be in pain?

    Drina looked away from the vision, over at Allison. There was another girl too, she knew, under her daughter¡¯s skin. Drina didn¡¯t know what they were to each other yet, but they were something. And even if they weren¡¯t, Miri was a child. Drina was a grown-up. She shouldn¡¯t have to give up anything for her.

    ¡°...Allison. Miri,¡± Drina said, ¡°I don¡¯t know what this woman is offering you two, but we don¡¯t need her.¡± She put a hand on her shoulder. ¡°You built a city. Helped hundreds of people.¡± She managed a smile. ¡°How¡¯s she going to top that?¡±

    Allison strained her back. Inside, she felt Miri puff out her chest. ¡°Yeah. Yeah. You¡¯re right, Mum.¡± She smiled pridefully at the witch. ¡°No deal.¡±

    Elsa rolled her eyes and mimed sticking a finger down her throat.

    Myles¡¯ face twitched. He whispered something in his mistress¡¯s ear.

    ¡°Oh. So much for do ut des. Go on ahead, will you Myles?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Mistress.¡±

    Myles flashed the Kinseys a grin (or maybe just bared his fangs) before crumpling and discolouring into a tawny owl, screeching and sending Mrs Kinsey flailing as he flew past her head.

    Allison watched it flee into the night, then glared back at Elsa. ¡°What¡¯s he up to?¡±

    The witch smiled and arched her eyebrows. ¡°Ladies, I think negotiations are over.¡±

    At the edge of Allison¡¯s clairvoyance, ten blossoms of shock bloomed like atomic sunflowers.

    ¡°Shit.¡±

    Elsa flourished her hands. ¡°Per aera atrae calentesque favillae volate!¡±

    The candles guttered. Then they geysered. Jets of fire bent and twisted, becoming burning serpents that slithered onto Elsa¡¯s body like torcs and bracelets smithed from forge-fire instead of ore. Sparks from her silk suit tinted the flame maroon as the same light poured from her eyes and mouth.

    Allison threw herself over her mother, wrapping her arms around the woman as best she could and flying out of the buggy at a hundred knots. Part of Drina Kinsey felt belittled being carried through the air by her ten year old. Mostly, she just screamed. Behind them, Elsa Lieroinen exploded out of the wagon, a meteor trying to rejoin the sky.

    Allison set her mother down next to a high-striker topped with a Flying Man diamond, its barker programmatically enticing non-existent passersby:

    ¡°Can you match the world¡¯s strongest man? Who are the supermen among the boys?¡±

    ¡°Go hide in one of the stalls,¡± Allison said.

    Drina shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not hiding¡ª¡±

    Allison took back off, leaving her mother alone on the ground.

    Drina seethed with worry. ¡°Allie¡ª¡±

    Her eye caught the high-striker. Its mallet wasn¡¯t attached to anything.

    ¡°Step right up! Test your strength!¡±

    Elsa Lieroinen hovered above the Ethnological Exhibition, still clad in flames. She raised her ring-finger:

    ¡°Ad ferrum venistis ab sericis, saecula!¡±

    The canvas tent below her hardened and darkened into metal. Almost the same time, the shape of a burly man bulged out of one of the walls, glowing red like a torch-light through paper.

    Elsa smiled. Bloody strong man¡ª

    Something struck Elsa in the side, sending her spinning sideways. As she reoriented herself, she spotted two figures riding a golden disk through the air, surrounded by an unnaturally silent cloud of metal birds. One was a woman in what Elsa could only think of as a blue burqa and mirrored sunglasses. At night.

    Mirror-Queen. Figures I landed on the steep-end of the bell-curve.

    Her companion was a Chinese looking man in an elaborate gold breastplate, greaves and helmet. The effect was spoiled somewhat by the cargo pants and work boots.

    Elsa grinned and shouted across the night air. ¡°Chen Liu! I didn¡¯t think we¡¯d meet again!¡±

    AU called back, ¡°Never laid eyes on you, crazy bitch!¡±

    Ah. Wrong timeline.

    AU thrust his palms forward, sending golden crows flying at Elsa. The witch smiled and pulled a translucent blue stone from her sleeve, raising it to meet the approaching murder. It flashed white, transforming the animate sculptures into squawking, deeply confused flesh and blood birds. Elsa waved at her foes.

    ¡°Empiricist¡¯s stone, honey! Never leave the Riverlands without one!¡± Elsa let out some unnaturally realistic bird calls. The ex-gold crows fell into formation and flew back at AU and the Mirror-Mistress as a black blade of Hitchcockian menace.

    Chen cocked his head at Therese Fletcher. ¡°Could use that compact right now, love.¡±

    Therese nodded. She hated pulling this trick. At least it wasn¡¯t people this time. She opened her make-up compact and raised it to the sky, gathering the light of the circus below and the stars above and refracting it just right, like she was rattling dice inside her head¡­

    Thin wires of light cut wide swathes through the night. Elsa¡¯s crows burst into flames as they grazed them, Therese wincing as the birds shrieked. Their burning feathers rained down over the circus.

    Elsa ducked and weaved about the lasers. She hated super-fights. So physical. She wondered why Allison wasn¡¯t presently trying to kill her. That girl was made of aggression¡­

    A dull thunderclap drew the witch¡¯s attention downwards. Chisel and the Crimson Comet had appeared outside the metal marquee, the former trying to yank dear Myles¡¯ shadow off her back like it¡¯d failed the audition to be her cape. Allison Kinsey was melting away part of the front wall with heat from her hands.

    Ah. Halfway clever little shit. Better bring in ground support.

    Elsa stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled. Down in the fairgrounds, a compact, polka-dotted Morris Minor with grinning, lipsticked lips over the grill and a giant red nose for a hood ornament crashed through the shooting gallery. It came to a stop by the exhibition marquee, engine idling.

    Everyone on the ground (who wasn¡¯t wrestling with a vampire¡¯s shadow) watched the car warily, Allison included:

    Tiny car, circus...

    Allison groaned. Freaking hell, Elsa.

    The car¡¯s passenger door flung open. A clown tumbled head over heels onto the snow. Then another. And another. And another¡­

    They just kept coming Within ten seconds there was a veritable wall of painted grins and baggy polyester shifts rolling towards the Catalpans. Bike-horns chorused like vulgar war-drums.

    Myles the owl landed on top of the calliope, reverting with a laugh to his human form. He drew a line with his cane between the Catalpans and the clowns. ¡°Slapstick heaven, boys!¡± the vampire crowed. ¡°Grab a stick and start slappin¡¯!¡±

    Allison wanted to stake him just for that.

    The clowns let out a peal of joyless laughter and charged.

    Allison leapt over and slapped Chisel¡¯s back with a burning hand. Myles¡¯ shadow burned fast as ash paper, its owner screaming with a feral tenor. The concrete woman flipped him the bird as the clowns fell upon them. She punched one in the gut, making him cough up a mouthful of red handkerchiefs in her face. Another got a fist slammed on the top of his skull, his head disappearing like a periscope into his tall, stiff collar. Hettie smacked one more in the side of the head, feeling his cheekbone shatter satisfying under his painted face. The clown staggered about, literal stars and windings circling above him.

    It¡¯s a bit, Hettie realized with contempt. They¡¯ve got me doing a bit.

    Allison stuck close to the marquee, guarding the rent she¡¯d made until the molten metal cooled, the power the Flying Man¡¯s song left her at full heat. Any clown that strayed too close caught fire, predictably spreading their flames as they ran screaming through the crowd. Some of their comrades gamely threw buckets over their burning friends, but unfortunately for them, those buckets were mostly filled with confetti.

    Other clowns were launched up into the air as the ground erupted beneath them, or were carried away by the wind. Allison liked Gregory¡¯s song. It was like someone had recruited Mercury, Venus, and Earth themselves into a string quartet. She couldn¡¯t help but compare it to David¡¯s song. If David¡¯s powers were one big, immaculately prepared meal, Gregory was an ice-cream bar with unlimited samples.

    Inside the tent, David was straining against Angela¡¯s arms. ¡°But I want to play too!¡± he protested.

    ¡°They¡¯re not playing out there, David.¡±

    David grinned wickedly. ¡°Costume off.¡±

    A flash. Angela scoffed, unmoved. ¡°Not that precious, son.¡±

    David humphed and misted out of Angela¡¯s grip.

    ¡°Maude.¡±

    Mistress Quickly pointed her Certainty Enforcer at the fog floating towards the hole in the wall. David dropped to the floor. The boy rubbed his shoulder. ¡°None of you are any fun¡­¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Brit, hogtied with rubber-steel flexi-cuffs.

    Outside Myles was still standing on the calliope, rubbing his back like he¡¯d fallen asleep on a hot stove. A cloud of butterflies coalesced into Elsa Lieroinen beside him.

    ¡°Got bored fighting Free Trial Magneto and the school-teacher?¡± the vampire asked, only to wince. ¡°Fuck, this hurts.¡±

    Elsa chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t be a baby, Myles. It¡¯ll grow back.¡±

    ¡°I feel naked.¡±

    ¡°Aww, poor thing. Something I can do to cheer you up?¡±

    Myles surveyed the melee going on around them. He spotted the Crimson Comet¡ªmetal wings spread and glowing¡ªbrawling with unrefined superhuman verve. It was like if crap television fight choreography was a martial art. It reminded him of something¡­

    ¡°You know that TV show about the vigilante and his eromenos?¡±

    Elsa smiled. ¡°I think so, Dr. Wertham.¡±

    Myles pointed his cane at the Comet. ¡°That thing that happened when they punched people, you don¡¯t think¡­¡±

    Elsa¡¯s eyes lit up. She flexed her fingers. ¡°I can certainly try.¡±

    The witch raised her wand. ¡°Tunc colaphos incuties cum scripti lusorique strepitus oboriantur!¡±

    The poetry could¡¯ve been better, Elsa had to admit.

    Ralph Rivers held a struggling clown by the neck in each hand. ¡°Let¡¯s put our heads together, shall we?¡±

    The Comet brought his arms together, the clowns heads connected¡ª

    A white starburst against flat green nothingness consumed Ralph¡¯s world. A four-letter word in bold red letters dominated his vision:

    <h1 style="text-align: center">WHAM!!</h1>

    Ralph dropped the clowns in shock. Another tried to tackle him. He absently smacked it down:

    <h1 style="text-align: center">POW!!</h1>

    The Crimson Comet flinched, staring at his own fist. Experimentally, he grabbed another clown and jabbed it in the eye:

    <h1 style="text-align: center">POKE!!</h1>

    ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    Gold birds dive bombed the clowns, flattening their beaks against the sides of their heads like prohibitively expensive cannonballs.

    Above the fray, Therese turned to the birds¡¯ master. ¡°Set me down, Chen.¡±

    Chen nodded, lowering their golden disc enough for Therese to jump down. The Mirror-Mistress landed in the snow with a grace that would have surprised anyone who¡¯d known Therese. She pulled out her old knife and got to work. She felt her reflection glinting off the sides of Chen¡¯s birds. A platoon of golden ghosts appeared at Therese¡¯s side, all with her face, fighting not quite in synch. A foretelling, perhaps; of death or glorification, who could say? Or just a Therese diptych.

    They cracked bones. They gouged eyes. Laughter was cut short by slit throats. Whenever someone laid a hand on Therese, she retreated into Chen¡¯s gold, riding the light bouncing off them back out and pushing her blade into their back.

    It had been a long year for Therese Fletcher.

    AU meanwhile was stabbing at clowns with sharpened gold vambraces. They came free bloody, but he was fairly sure they weren¡¯t real people. Real people didn¡¯t laugh when you stabbed them¡ª

    A clown grabbed Chen¡¯s ankle, pulling him off his disc and climbing on top of his chest.

    ¡°You ready to laugh, sonny?¡±

    The clown didn¡¯t wait for AU to answer, letting out a great, gurgly laugh. Flecks of makeup and spittle fell into Chen¡¯s open mouth. In that moment, Chen discovered a simple truth: clowns were terrifying.

    The clown in question¡¯s laughter was cut off by a thrack. His eyes rolled up into his head as he slumped to the side.

    Mrs Kinsey stood over Chen, breathing hard, a mallet raised above her head. She helped AU to his feet, glancing at the clown she felled.  ¡°Why do kids like these goddamn things so much?¡±

    AU smiled. ¡°Do they?¡±

    Therese had caught sight of the clown-mobile. Even as they all fought, clowns were still being vomited out of the car.

    Someone has to close the door, she thought, slashing a clown across the eyes. Probably smash it, actually.

    But how? Therese¡¯s powers could do a lot of things. They could make a lot more of her, for one thing. But they couldn¡¯t make her be more than what she was¡ª

    She remembered the Hall of the Possible. The mirrors. All those reflections. All those costumes¡­

    The Mirror Mistress vanished. After an eyeblink waiting for a bird to angle itself just right, she appeared in front of the marquee¡¯s new entrance.

    ¡°I need David!¡± she exclaimed as she ran in.

    ¡°See?¡± said David, still being held by Therese. ¡°Even this weird lady wants me to play!¡±

    He doesn¡¯t recognize me, Therese realized. The relief almost made her giddy.

    Angela stood up, bringing David with her. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Long story.¡±

    ¡°...Do you swear to keep him safe?¡±

    ¡°On my hat.¡±

    Angela let go of David. The boy jumped for joy.

    ¡°Can Brit come?¡±

    Therese looked at the bound alien child, then at Mistress Quickly.

    Maude sighed. ¡°Might as well.¡± She pressed a button on her belt. The flexi-cuffs binding Brit released themselves. The girl happily scrambled to David¡¯s side.

    ¡°Arnold,¡± said Therese. ¡°Think you could send us to the mirror-house?¡±

    Arnold bit his lip. He pointed at a small rock lying in the grass and fired off a bolt. It reappeared with a bang lodged in the wall.

    ¡°...We can walk,¡± said Therese. She crouched in front of Brit and David, putting a hand on their shoulders. She forced a smile, not that they could see it. ¡°Think you two could stick close to me, alright?¡±

    ¡°Like follow-the-leader?¡± Brit offered brightly.

    Therese clapped. ¡°Yes! Exactly! Sure! And do you think you two could run, too?¡±

    David laughed in a way that reminded Therese of Saturday nights with the girls. Didn¡¯t sound quite right coming from a ten year old boy. ¡°I¡¯m the best at running!¡±

    ¡°I am!¡± insisted Brit.

    ¡°I¡ª¡±

    Therese grabbed David¡¯s arm and yanked him forward. ¡°Off we go!¡±

    Thankfully, Brit followed them out into the circus grounds. Therese let go of David¡¯s arm, running dead ahead without looking back at her changes. She didn¡¯t have to. She could watch them from every remotely reflective surface they passed. Her golden doubles ran alongside the children, ready to strike any who¡ª

    Clowns fell to their knees in pained laughter, blood pouring down their faces. Snow spired into the air as sharpened tendrils, skewering them through the hearts or forcing its way down their throats. David was laughing. Brit was laughing too, but Therese didn¡¯t think she was paying attention. Or at least she hoped she wasn¡¯t.

    What happened to these kids? Therese asked herself.

    She shook her head. She knew that already.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the three of them to stagger into the Hall of the Possible. David span in the centre of the room, admiring the many different boys who took his place in the mirrors. ¡°Hello, Davids!¡±

    Brit joined him. ¡°Hi, Brits!¡±

    Her statement might¡¯ve had more truth than David¡¯s. All Brit¡¯s reflections were clearly her, if altered in oh so many ways.

    David looked at the Mirror Mistress. ¡°So, what now?¡±

    Therese raised her hand. ¡°Try to stand still, okay kids?¡±

    I bet this doesn¡¯t work.

    Therese closed her eyes. Over a dozen other Therese¡¯s joined her. Some wore blood-red body-gloves and had yellow flames for hair. Some had metal skin and eyes full of cold light. One was nude, but seemingly made of glass. Another wore the Flying Man¡¯s own costume; three sizes too big for her, but wore it with more confidence than life itself.

    It perhaps said something about our Therese that she didn¡¯t invite any of them out.

 Chapter One Hundred and Five: David and Brit and Brit and David...

    Elsa Lieroinen was getting tired of clowns. Luckily for her, circuses were a deep and multifarious well of opportunities:

    Daggers, knives, and chainsaws zoomed about the fairgrounds like upgraded mosquitos. They mostly bounced off invulnerable and concrete skin, or occasionally found themselves teleported randomly across space and time; if not very far. They did however make sure to periodically circle back to the man standing in the middle of the battlefield, lightly grazing his palms as he weighed invisible fruit.

    Or, if you were being very charitable, ¡°juggling.¡±

    Hettie Haldor tied serpentine contortionists into human knots. Liam Pittenweem crouched under a honeycomb of light, a fire-breather¡¯s breath turning into autumn leaves as it smashed against his shield. Arnold Barnes stood downwind of a cadaverous tattooed man. Chinese dragons, mermaids, and sword waving skeletons flowed off his illustrated skin, charging at the lightning-clad child.

    Arnold¡¯s internal compass was still caught between a dozen magnets, but that didn¡¯t matter. His jagged aura exploded the living tattoos into clouds of pigment dust. He seethed inwardly. The witch-lady was clearly ripping off Mabel.

    Allison meanwhile was ripping off Arnold. A contingent of clowns had clustered together like army-ants building a living bridge with their own bodies, forming into a twenty-foot colossus of themselves. A harlequinade fractal stomping about, not caring if its feet came down on friend or foe. A number of clowns had even stripped off and skinned themselves, their naked, dripping red musculture forming the nose. Allison flew around the giant like an absinthe shooting star, chipping away at it with her friend¡¯s lightning. A colonial organism, she could only take out a clown or two at the time, as new components eagerly threw themselves at their greater image.

    Elsa and Myles watched all this from atop the calliope, Elsa having lifted it into the sky on the backs of straining pixies. The witch had her servant¡¯s top hat in her lap.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± hummed Myles. ¡°Shuriken?¡±

    Elsa reached into the hat, removing three keen-bladed throwing stars between her fingers. She dropped them into the fray, right above her juggler. He caught them deftly, tossing them into the complex orbit of projectiles.

    ¡°Got another one?¡± asked Elsa.

    ¡°Greek fire.¡±

    Elsa cupped her hands and dipped them into the hat. When she raised them again, they were full of some thick, pale liquid. The witch spat into it. The fluid burst into flames, which she quickly tossed down.

    The pair laughed together. ¡°Okay,¡± said Elsa, ¡°one more.¡±

    Myles rubbed his beard. ¡°¡­Seal pup.¡±

    ¡°Sure! Should confuse them.¡±

    Elsa lifted a wiggling white baby seal from the hat. She kissed it on the nose, throwing it yapping and trilling down.

    The pup flew past the Crimson Comet as he faced off against a classic strongman in leopard print briefs; arguably a cousin of sorts to his kind, if only in appearance. His muscles were bowling balls trying to mate beneath his oiled skin, his moustache pronged like a union anchor. He pointed at the Comet, crying in a thick transatlantic accent, ¡°Bully! You dare challenge Megacles the Invincible?¡±

    Honestly, Ralph would rather not. Every time he hit anything, his world was briefly replaced by what he reckoned they called onomatopoeia. It was incredibly jarring, like a record skipping, if the record was him.

    The strongman roared and ran at the Comet. Ralph got an idea. He stepped sideway, lightly grabbing his assailant by the tree-trunk ankle. Apparently grappling didn¡¯t count as an impact.

    ¡°Going up!¡±

    The Crimson Comet kicked off the ground, launching into the air in an arc of red light, dragging the strongman bellowing behind him. He threw the man towards the wire fence that ringed the circus. The brute vanished as he passed over the boundary.

    ¡°Whew!¡±

    Ralph flipped in the air, soared over the battle and shouting, ¡°Try getting them over the fence! It¡¯ll take them out of the picture!¡±

    Arnold watched the superhero go by, nodding to himself. He threw out his arms, dendrites of lightning lashing out of his bodies. Flashing silhouettes lit the air above the fence. Clowns and carnies in nicotine stained singlets fell from the sky.

    Elsa stood up on the flying carpet. ¡°Shit,¡± she said. ¡°They¡¯re getting clever. Better end this.¡±

    ¡°Good luck, mistress.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Myles.¡± Elsa cleared her throat. ¡°Pallida Mors pulsat aequa ala pauperum tabernas regumque turris<sup>1</a></sup>!¡±

    Thick, raven dark wings sprouted from the witch¡¯s back. She leapt off the carpet, swooping down towards the circus, snatching Allison like a hawk claiming a dove.

    The pair shot up into the lower reaches of clouds. Allison thrashed and bit, flashing with Arnold¡¯s lightning and burning with Gregory¡¯s fire. The wind roared with her.

    Elsa¡¯s grip remained a vice. Runes lit up on her skin like sympathetic ink under UV light. ¡°Give up, girl. All Creation answers my call. I draw from the same well as God. Take my offer, and be glad I left you with anything at all!¡±

    A sound like sliding silver echoed through the air. Allison grinned. Elsa scowled. ¡°What are you smiling at?¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer. She was too busy taking in the music.

    Drina and Chen Liu were fighting together, Drina wildly swinging her stolen enchanted mallet, Chen with gold gauntleted fists. They were distracted by the sound of hundreds of strains of bright, young laughter.

    Children were pouring out of the Hall of the Possible. Boys and girls¡ªor maybe boys and girl. The boys came in all colours, but the girls were all clearly the same, just in different strange outfits and haircuts.

    Brit.

    The new children fanned amongst the roiling crowd. As Chen watched them, he felt some of his gold birds wrench themselves out of his power¡¯s grip. His attention snapped towards them just in time to see them start bubbling. They began to glow as they lost their shape, exploding into spider webs of gold like rivers of light. The molten metal speared through skulls and guts with a sizzle of blood and bone marrow.

    Chen felt a small hand tap him on the side. He flinched, looking down to find a naked boy with his little brother¡¯s face and Fran¡¯s eyes. His body was decorated with gold that looked like it had be pourn directly onto his skin.

    The boy grinned, crowing, ¡°Hi Dad!¡± before running off to find more sport.

    Drina laughed, a touch hysterically. ¡°Your son sure is something, Mr. Liu!¡±

    Chen stammered. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t have a son¡­¡±

    High above, Elsa watched aghast as the snow she laid down so artfully (cotton candy contamination aside) turned against her, becoming spike traps and walls of ice, or just plain boiling. Little girls glowing like angels were tearing through her forces like paper dolls.

    In her arms, Allison laughed.

    Elsa shook the girl. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Below them, one last boy stepped out of the Hall of the Possible. He was bare-chested, but wearing a pair of white bell-bottoms that pooled around his ankles. His eyes were the kind of red-violet you only saw in the sea at sunset. David Allworth watched his half-brothers and their faintly familiar female comrades run roughhouse over the weird circus people. He smiled, feet lifting off the ground.

    His song was a shadow of what it should¡¯ve been. A shadow made of light, but a shadow still. Maybe that¡¯s why it wasn¡¯t blowing out her ears. It was a tidal wave. It was a white hole spewing stars like sea-spray at the heart of the universe. It was the shore that time crashed again. So much of it was David, but there was more. She¡¯d heard it before. In her dreams. On her birthday, up in the sky.

    That last night at the Institute¡ª

    Allison broke into a fresh jag of laughter. ¡°He¡¯s alive!¡±

    ¡°What the hell are you talking about?¡± Elsa asked, mostly out of reflex.

    Allison pulled the song into herself and rode the thunder:

    A shockwave sent Esla spinning across the sky like she was hula-hooping. When she slowed enough to see anything besides blurred stars, the sorceress found Allison floating with a kind of primal serenity behind her. The girl¡¯s costume had changed: no longer a mess of tye-dye rainbows, but the whites and greys of a stormy sea. The only colours were a blue and red diamond crystallizing inside the nine-pointed star on the child¡¯s chest.

    Elsa¡¯s eyes widened. She knew this world¡¯s history enough to recognize that symbol:

    ¡°Oh. Fuck.¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    In the span of a synapse sparking, she was upon her.

    In the Hall of the Possible, Therese Fletcher¡¯s heart was a thrumming impeller engine. She felt like she was trying to stand at the bottom of the ocean. She was pretty sure she was crying blood. But she couldn¡¯t stop laughing.

    Brit and David stood in the centre of the mirrors, petals of lights passing between them and the polished silver.

    ¡°So, um, what¡¯s she laughing about?¡± asked Brit. She looked at her hands. ¡°Heck, what is she doing?¡±

    ¡°No clue,¡± replied David, wonderfully dizzy from the dozen odd conflicting sets of memories and sensory input. ¡°Feels fun, though.¡±

    With Allison occupied in the sky, the Brits and the weird Fran eyes handling the bulk of Elsa¡¯s retinue, and everyone struggling to comprehend¡­ whatever Therese was doing in the Hall of the Possible; Arnold had turned his efforts to the recursive clown giant. He chipped away at it man by man, all while dodging its massive footsteps and swinging wrecking ball fists.

    ¡°Stupid¡±¡ªzzzzt¡ª¡°friggin¡±¡ªsssssst¡ª¡°clowns!¡±

    A booming, out of tune chorus of laughter.

    ¡°And you¡¯re not funny, either!¡±

    A boy danced up to Arnold. He was wearing a dark suit with a red-purple flower pinned to his front pocket. His eyes were, of course, ultramarine blue. In a familiar European mongrel lilt, he said, ¡°Hey zappy!¡±

    ¡°Bit busy¡ªwait, who are you?¡±

    The boy spun around Arnold. It didn¡¯t show on his face, but he was almost offended. Everyone knew him. ¡°Lorenzo Moretti, at your service.¡±

    ¡°Moretti?¡±

    Arnold was forced to leap to his side. The giant had started throwing excess clowns. It was one way to lose weight.

    ¡°¡­Little help?¡¯

    Lorenzo grinned. ¡°Sure.¡±

    He cracked his knuckles and evaporated out of his suit like Gabriel had blown his trumpet. The mist wafted into the giant, settling on the clowns that comprised his body like dew. The droplets seeped through their costumes and into their skin. Two simple thoughts filled their rudimentary minds:

    Kill. Die.

    Arnold watched the giant begin to stagger. Its fat and skinny zo?ids were tearing at each other with maenad ferocity, like a baroque reimagining of cancer. It sweat blood and gore into the snow as dead and dying clowns were ejected by their fellows. The boy rolled out of the way as the clown o¡¯ war fell forward on its ¡°face¡±, writhing and twitching in fragmented death.

    A wine-dark fountain spewed out of the pile, forming into a boy covered in an oily red film of blood. Lorenzo Moretti bowed grandly. ¡°I trust that was of use, cloaky?¡±

    Arnold blushed. If he was a little bit older, he might have had a word for how that made him feel.

    Myles glided over the crowd owl-shaped, occasionally swooping to claw some little water-brat¡¯s eyes out. He came to a hover over a gaggle of Brits. They were swarming about the clown-mobile, tormenting it like too-young children with a new kitten. One girl in a liquid metal membrane punctured a tire with a fingerpoke. An arterial spray spurted in the girl¡¯s face, the car¡¯s horn howling like a wounded beast. Another Brit in a black floral dress held a redwood staff in one hand, and the driver door shut with the other. Five clowns¡¯ faces pressed against the window glass, the pressure warping their skulls as viscera leaked out the door-frame. The roof of the car started peeling back like an overstuffed can of fish, revealing a red, wet palette for a ceiling. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    A Brit in a dress of fluttering tortoiseshell butterflies happily babbled something in alienese<sup>2</a></sup>. None of her other selves understood a word, but that was okay. She wrapped her fingers underneath the car¡¯s hood and wrenched it open with a crack of snapping bone.

    The Menrvan child let out a shriek. The car¡¯s engine compartment was filled with intestines like volcanic tube worms, writhing around an engorged set of lungs and a panic-beating heart the size of a manhole cover. With great trepidation, she lightly tapped the organ, pulling away as it twitched beneath her finger.

    ¡­Then she started pounding it with her fists like a bongo set.

    Myles dropped out of the air in human form. Darkness gathered into an obsidian xiphos in his right hand. ¡°You know, girls,¡± he asked, raising the shadow sword. ¡°That car doesn¡¯t make the clowns out of nothing.¡±

    The girls turned almost as one. They all smiled.

    The brood of Brits rushed at Myles like a low-flying meteor shower. Behind them, the car door burst back open, disgorging a pile of twisted, stunted clowns.

    Myles swung his sword-arm with all his strength, but the girls drained his momentum like kinetic ticks. He might as well have been trying to brush their hair with a feather-duster. They made him slow. Weak. He could only watch as the chaos-star child abomination lifted the clown car up into the air, shaking out clowns like sand from a shoe. The flying boy threw the car down on top of them in a mess of flesh and metal. The Brits clapped and cheered, Myles taking the chance to slip owl-shaped back into the air.

    Everything was going wrong. Myles needed an easy win. Preferably over one of these little shits.

    He spotted a lone Brit lying on her back, hugging the conjured seal pup against her chest¡ªits fur and her naked, bloodless skin almost invisible against the snow. She was clearly some sort of sickly. Myles dived.

    Laurina Sands wasn¡¯t sure what was going on. The last thing she could remember was running with her cousins across the moonlit desert. Somehow, she was pretty sure she was still doing that. But now she was also in some snowy circus, running around with girls who looked like her, smelled kinda-sorta human, but also had her blood gift? It was weird. Still, she was having fun. She squeezed the seal pup against her chest.

    God, it was squishy.

    Myles landed in front of the girl, brushing off his tuxedo trousers and smiling as much as he could without revealing any teeth. ¡°Hello, little lady. Aren¡¯t you cold?¡±

    Laurina sat up. ¡°Nope!¡± She squinted at the man¡¯s top-hat. ¡°Is this your circus?¡±

    Myles clapped, a slight tremor running through his smile. ¡°Yep! I¡¯m the ringmaster, you see.¡±

    Laurina smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve never been to a circus before. Is it a good one?¡±

    Myles looked about the fairgrounds. He saw the Crimson Comet hurling his mistress¡¯s artisanally crafted minions over the fence into oblivion. He saw gusts of sharpened hail rip through Bornean wild-men and human lobsters like bullets. He watched as that Gypsy sow smacked clowns in the head with the magic mallet he and Elsa had conned idiots with back in Northam.

    ¡°¡­Yes¡±

    Laurina got to her feet, only for the seal pup to squirm out of her grip. She snatched after the pinniped as it was pulled back into the juggler¡¯s power, scowling when her hands found only empty air. The pale girl huffed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t done hugging¡­¡±

    Myles chucked. He layered his voice thick with mesmer. ¡°That¡¯s okay, child. I can get you plenty of soft things¡­¡±

    Laurina turned to look at the ringmaster. ¡°You can?¡±

    ¡°As sure as anything, child.¡± Myles locked eyes with the girl. They glinted like a cat¡¯s. ¡°Come here, and I¡¯ll show you.¡±

    Laurina walked slowly towards the vampire with a dreamy expression. Soon she was close enough for Miles to lay a hand on her trunk. He didn¡¯t care what this girl said, her skin was ice. Soft, though. Her blood was exotically spiced, even by superhuman standards. The roots of his fangs ached with anticipation¡ª

    Laurina leapt up, wrapping her arms around Myles¡¯ head and sinking her teeth into his neck. He screamed, digging his fingernails into the child as he struggled to pry her off. In the end, though, Laurina let go of him.

    The young vampiress spat Myles¡¯ blood into the snow, grimacing. ¡°Chalky.¡±

    Myles stumbled backwards, clutching his ice-encrusted wound. For a second, he just stared at the girl. Then he charged madly at her. ¡°Alal?!¡±

    Laurina moved like ink in water. The blood of lost Menrva and Mother Lilith mingled in her muscles as petrol and flame. Myles¡¯ ribs popped and shattered almost of their own accord. The softest prod from a big toe bent his leg bow-shaped beneath him¡ª

    Myles gathered the darkness and thrust his hand out. His blade buried itself in Laurina¡¯s navel. The vampire gasped and shuddered as her cold blood beaded around the xiphos. Myles grinned. Ancient memory stirred inside him. The way brave, handsome helots looked at him when they learnt the consequence of their merits¡ª

    Myles felt his veins burst inside him. Pain flowed like blood through him, pooling into the empty spaces within his body. He wept red. When he tried to scream, all that emerged from his throat was bloody bile.

    He turned his head to find a vaguely Indochinese boy smiling behind him. He was dressed in vines and flowering water-lilies. His eyes were bluer than delphinium.

    Perhaps unfortunately for Myles, Father Zeus did not let his accursed die so easily.

    Laurina screwed her eyes shut and pushed herself off the now brittle shadow-sword. She waved at the new boy. ¡°Thanks! What¡¯s your name?¡±

    If she had to guess, Laurina would¡¯ve guessed the boy was fae¡ªbut he didn¡¯t smell lilim at all.

    ¡°David Ly,¡± the other child said, skipping towards the girl. He held out a moss-covered hand, from which a bright poppy bloomed. He picked it from his skin and offered it to Laurina. ¡°Wanna flower?¡±

    She took it eagerly, sniffing it happily. ¡°Yep!¡±

    Ly pointed at the bleeding heap in the snow. ¡°Let¡¯s play with him some more.¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    Laurina decided she wouldn¡¯t eat this boy.

    Up above, Elsa was faring no better. Allison Kinsey¡¯s fists tore through her wards like icebergs through bulkheads. Every blow brought the promise of pain closer and closer. Elsa tried hardening the air around the girl into orichalcum. She burst free with an arch of her back. She pelted her with marbles the mass of worlds. She caught them between her fingers. Elsa even opened a portal into the heart of the sun.

    But, of course, we were talking about star-gods.

    Allison punched Elsa square in the chin, solar plasma clinging to her body like bubble bath scrum. Allison was shaking with giddiness. She felt like she was holding her hands against a water jet, but all over and inside her.

    Miri trilled within her, ¡°We¡¯re flying!¡±

    Allison giggled. ¡°We can always fly!¡±

    ¡°I know, but twice!¡±

    Elsa had to count herself lucky. At least the child seemed content with pure violence. The things a star-god could do. Even the idiot, half-pagan son of Space Tarzan. The witch flipped around and flew into a cloud-bank, desperate for a moment¡¯s reprieve.

    Elsa¡¯s wings beat the black mist like fish-fins in a dark ocean as she refreshed her warding spells under her breath. She would find a way out. She¡¯d killed two variations of Zeus, and personally driven great Cthoolo mad. She was not going to be beaten by a ten year old albino.

    Allison floated above the witch¡¯s cloudy sanctuary. Even if the water vapour wasn¡¯t eagerly surrendering Elsa¡¯s location, she could see the detritus of cosmic rays settling on her skin and tacky silk outfit. Manna from Heaven, if manna could give people cancer.

    She considered her next move. Blow the cloud away? Vapourise it¡ªand Elsa¡ªwith hex-vision?

    (She wasn¡¯t sure where she¡¯d gotten ¡°hex vision¡± from, but it sounded right)

    Allison smiled and started rubbing her hands together.

    Elsa¡¯s skin started to tingle. She could feel the hairs on her arms standing on end. Her tongue tasted dust. The air around her sparked.

    ¡°Oh, God¡ª¡±

    The cloud screamed lightning, with Elsa cowering right in its throat. Her recitations saved her, but the wings she conjured burned to ashes on her back, sending her plummeting through the sky. Elsa let herself scream. It would be a waste of steel not to. The world blurred, the stars becoming tear-trails of icy light all around her. The snowy ground slammed into her back. Before Elsa could move, a pair of ruby-red beams blasted her in the chest, pinning the witch to the snow. Allison floated above her, the contempt in her gaze turned to diamond light.

    ¡°Might wanna give up,¡± the girl said, arms folded. She smiled. ¡°Maybe throw in some of those goodies you were talking about on your way out.¡±

    Elsa looked around her. At the mere possibilities of children tearing apart her handiwork. At the son of a country butcher play-acting Jupiter, with her forces as Salmoneus. At the half-educated housewife pretending to be Thor with a gilded Chinaman. Maybe it was time to cut her losses.

    Then Elsa spotted the tree. It was an apple tree, in full fruit despite the bewitched winter. Two children were lounging beneath its branches, happily devouring its bounty. At its base, Myles¡¯ bloodied body lay gasping, the trunk growing out his splayed rib-cage.

    Elsa screamed, ¡°What have you done? What have you done to him?¡±

    Laurina Sands and David Ly poked their tongues out at the woman.

    Rage always bred ingenuity in Elsa. As Arnold Barnes raised a hand to blast a surviving clown, she raised hers:

    ¡°Capiaris vibratus ab aethere fulgor<sup>3</a></sup>!¡±

    The chain of lightning that lashed from Arnold¡¯s finger was violet, not green. It bent and arced over the boy¡¯s head, hitting AU and Mrs Kinsey. They didn¡¯t go far, reappearing in the shadow of the Ferris wheel. The two startled, glancing at each other and the structure looming over them.

    ¡°Ut pereas rubigine<sup>4</a></sup>!¡±

    The Ferris-wheel¡¯s twin-sided supports crumbled to red iron dust: a thousand years at the bottom of the ocean in a single moment. The steel wheel tottered and fell, right over Drina and Chen.

    Allison screamed, ¡°Stop!¡±

    The wheel stopped an inch above the mother and supervillain. Everything did. The circus army. The Catalpans. The snowflakes in the air. Chen had reflexively pulled Drina into his side and thrown up an umbrella of gold between them and a steel girder. It most definitely would not have saved them.

    ¡°Mummy!¡±

    Allison flew down to the pair. With strength enough to move an ocean-liner, she tried to pull her mother clear of the wheel. Neither she nor AU budged a micron. They were affixed in time itself.

    Elsa took the chance to wiggle out from the frozen eyebeams. She hurried over to the vampire-tree, taking a moment to kick David Ly in the ribs as she passed. The witch knelt next to her servant, stroking his ruddy cheek. ¡°Oh, Myles¡­¡±

    Myles didn¡¯t respond. He was as frozen as everything else in the fairgrounds, to Elsa¡¯s relief, really. She dared a look inside his chest. His innards were riddled with tree roots. One had pierced his left lung. Another had narrowly missed his heart, but a third was growing right towards it. Nature¡¯s stake.

    Allison appeared behind Elsa, wrenching her into the air by the neck. She growled in her ear, ¡°Stop it!¡±

    Elsa hissed, ¡°Fine.¡± She twirled her finger clockwise.

    Allison was suddenly in the air again. Before it could register, her ears were filled with a colossal thud.

    She heard her mother¡¯s bones crunch. Allison wailed¡ª

    She was back by the tree, clutching Elsa¡¯s neck.

    ¡°That was two seconds in the future,¡± she wheezed. ¡°Myles, for your mother. That a trade you¡¯re willing to make?¡±

    David Allworth¡¯s song still rang in Allison¡¯s ears. She could hear Elsa¡¯s pulse race, smell  the stress hormones in her sweat. She was terrified.

    That day, Allison Kinsey learned an important lesson. Herbert Lawrence had taught it to Arnold Barnes a Christmas past: some people, you didn¡¯t want to scare.

    Allison searched for a solution. Some path for her mother that didn¡¯t involve giving Elsa what she wanted. Some of them were possible, even plausible. Allison could do anything right then. But none of them were certain.

    ¡°It¡¯s not worth it,¡± Miri said. ¡°Your mummy¡¯s nice. And Mr. Chen tried to help us.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°Go,¡± she said quietly.

    ¡°You¡¯ll give me what I want?¡±

    ¡°Yes, just go!¡±

    Elsa vanished. Myles vanished. Laurina and David Ly vanished. The whole circus was gone in an instant, taking all the new yet familiar songs with it. The impossible open plane it had stood upon contracted, filling with trees and shrubbery.

    The Mirror Mistress pulled her hood back, face glistening with sweat. She smiled shakily. ¡°Well! That was interesting!¡±

    Therese fainted.

    David shook his head. He looked about at the other Catalpans. ¡°Ah, hi. Why¡¯s everyone standing around here? And wasn¡¯t there a circus here?¡±

    Brit pointed at Therese lying in the dirt. ¡°Uh, why is Therese here? And a superhero?¡±

    A newly clear-headed Gregory looked down at his clown costume, before glaring at the other ex-hostages. ¡°Who the hell dressed me¡ªeggh!¡±

    Hettie hugged her son as tight as her concrete frame permitted.

    ¡°What happened?¡± asked Billy. ¡°Did we run the witch-lady off?¡±

    Allison couldn¡¯t bring herself to answer.

    ?

    Nobody was surprised to find Miri¡¯s new body missing when they got back to Freedom¡¯s Point. The growth tank had been neatly removed from its cradle. Less neaty, Dr. Beaks had been reduced to a smouldering, sparking ruin. Looking at the destroyed robot produced a unique discomfort in Ralph Rivers. His brain couldn¡¯t decide if he was looking at a corpse, or an especially expensive piece of broken furniture. ¡°Maybe he tried to stop them?¡± he offered.

    Maude removed the note pinned to the medical machine¡¯s plague-mask face:

    ¡ªFor my servant.

    ¡°I think she¡¯s just a bitch.¡±

    Allison stood with her mother in front of the space her flesh and blood sister should¡¯ve occupied. ¡°¡­I¡¯m still glad we didn¡¯t take her offer,¡± she said, mostly to herself. ¡°It would¡¯ve been like those stories with evil genies¡ª¡±

    Drina pulled her daughters into a hug. ¡°Allie. Miri. It¡¯s alright to cry.¡±

    They did.

    ?

    Whatever their founding daughters had lost that night, Libertalia rang in Christmas triumphantly.

    ¡°Drinks are on us!¡± cried Paul Haldor behind the bar.

    ¡°Nobody has any bloody money!¡± retorted Close-Cut, his immaculately tailored arm around his lover. ¡°They¡¯re always on you!¡±

    ¡°You know what we mean!¡±

    Mabel Henderson hopped into Fred Barnes¡¯ lap. ¡°Miss me?¡±

    Fred ruffled the girl¡¯s hair. ¡°Bloody hell we did!¡±

    Gregory Collins nursed a lemonade through a curly straw, watching as Steve got fussed over by his mum and dad.

    Sarah Allworth put a hand on the boy¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Greg, right?¡±

    Greg looked up at the old lady. ¡°Yeah.¡± Recognition. ¡°You¡¯re the Flying Man¡¯s mum, right?¡±

    Sarah nodded. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry about your son, he sounded cool. Really cool.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. David tells me you two were getting along before all that circus nonsense.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, David¡¯s cool.¡±

    ¡°Well, me and David are having Christmas dinner together tomorrow.¡± Sarah glanced at the pub clock. ¡°Or this evening, I suppose. We¡¯d be happy to have you.¡±

    ¡°Sure!¡±

    Close-Cut waded through the partying crowd to the pair. ¡°Gregory! Glad to have you back.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, sir.¡±

    ¡°You still up for working out a costume sometime? I¡¯ve got a lot of ideas about aesthetic fire-proofing¡­¡±

    Gregory nodded eagerly. Sarah called out across the tavern, ¡°David, we¡¯re having Greg over for dinner! I¡¯ll find you another set of clothes.¡±

    David ignored the threat, continuing to dance to the blaring Louis Armstrong record. He was thinking about all those other hims¡ªwas ¡°brothers¡± the word?¡ªTherese invited into the world.

    He wondered if his grandfather was ever going to have more kids.

    Chen found Angela Barnes standing at the back of the pub with a pint. He¡¯d left his armour outside the door in gold bars. He didn¡¯t expect them to be there when the night was over. He didn¡¯t mind. More where that came from.

    ¡°Mrs. Barnes.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Liu.¡±

    Chen took a deep breath. ¡°I didn¡¯t get a chance to say before¡ªback at the Institute¡­ I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°All in the past.¡±

    Chen shook his head. ¡°It was stupid and cruel.¡± He sighed. ¡°And it didn¡¯t help anyone in the end.¡±

    Angela looked at the young man. ¡°¡­Take a walk with me, Chen?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t far to the Barnes family home. Angela opened a kitchen cabinet, removing a gold Grecian helmet.

    Chen blinked. ¡°You kept that?¡±

    ¡°Yes. We melted the rest down for cash, but it felt wrong not to keep something.¡±

    ¡°Why are you showing me this?¡±

    ¡°Because that money¡ªand I know you didn¡¯t just leave us that gold on a lark¡ªwas what let us drive all the way to Sydney for that protest. That¡¯s where Arnold found us.¡±

    Chen looked away from the woman. ¡°Ah, he would¡¯ve picked you guys up sooner or later.¡±

    ¡°Chen, I like to think I¡¯m a practical woman. I don¡¯t deal with hypotheticals. Besides, you helped us get Mabel and the rest back.¡±

    ¡°But we fucked it up!¡±

    ¡°You still tried.¡±

    Chen looked down at his boots. ¡°¡­The Institute wasn¡¯t the end of it, Mrs Barnes. I¡­ got into some messes. Bad messes.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Chen.¡± Angela placed her hand on the nape of Chen¡¯s neck. It covered the pentagram tattoo.

    ¡°God forgives all.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Six: A Mirror for Superheroes

    A blaring claxon woke Therese Fletcher in her cell at Freedom¡¯s Point. Calling it a cell might¡¯ve been a touch harsh, if it weren¡¯t literally true.

    ¡°You want me to change the wake-up call?¡± Doc Danny had asked her dutifully the first night. ¡°Pump it up an hour or two? Change it to birdsong or something?¡±

    Therese had shaken her head. ¡°I was a school teacher. Seven o¡¯clock on a Tuesday is complete luxury.¡±

    This was true. Still, she maybe could¡¯ve done with a gentler alarm. But Therese hated

    people making a fuss over her. A surprisingly rare trait in her current profession.

    About half of Catalpa still slept in the prison cells Doc Danny helped devise. They were private, climate controlled in the heart of the tropics, and now you could even have bedsheets if you wanted. They were home to older teens (at least, those who whined about being put up with the little kids), bachelors, and transients.

    Therese was hurtling away from the first category into the second with every passing birthday. As for the third, she still couldn¡¯t decide. She automatically reached down for the makeup compact lying on the floor with her left hand. She was a rightie by nature, but that hand had been a mess of broken bones for weeks. Not that it mattered anymore¡ªa few deeply mysterious injections from Dr. Beak had mended the bones as fast as shallow bruises. Mended a lot of things that¡¯d been steadily killing her, really. His last wonder before Elsa Lieroinen had gone all Ned Ludd on the poor robot. An early Christmas present, Therese supposed. Stolen handfuls of opiates and speed had yet to provide Therese with a stranger high than the simple absence of pain.

    She clenched her fingers experimentally, then flexed them.

    Fuck, that felt good.

    Therese opened the compact. Her large, brown eyes stared blearily out at her from the polished glass. And behind them she knew¡ªfelt¡ªwas everything and everywhere.

    She could go now, she thought. She¡¯d helped Allison and David and the rest. She should go. Lounging around here while people all around the world¡ª

    Therese snapped the compact shut. She¡¯d let the Mirror-Queen do her thing for the better part of a year. Some honest to God rest would do them both some good. Therese swung her legs out of bed and staggered over to a donated set of skivvies lying in university student disarray under a pair of well-worn running shoes. Whatever she ended up doing with herself, you had to keep fit.

    Slacks on a weekday still felt a touch contrary to Therese. St. Mary¡¯s hadn¡¯t allowed its lady teachers to wear trousers to work. The New Human Institute had no such dress-code, but Therese wasn¡¯t one for needless change. Lately, she¡¯d been more into leggings and cloaks. If there was one thing Therese could say in favour of her recent vocation, it¡¯d given her legs excellent definition.

    Therese glanced at the compact resting on her bed, weighing the mental cost of an elevator ride followed by inevitable, mandatory small talk with Kurtz the portal-man, against courting the temptation to dive back into the fight. There was always a fight.

    She sighed. Easy choice, really.

    Therese Fletcher opened the mirror and rode the light out onto one of Catalpa¡¯s dusty red streets. None of the pedestrians still filtering out of their homes paid her any mind. Women appearing in flashes of light was to be expected in that town. At least she was quiet.

    About summed up Therese as a whole, really. She took a deep breath, did some stretches, and set off on her jog. She couldn¡¯t help but watch herself: from the polished spots where the sun struck the buildings, from the faces of wristwatches, from the eyes of passersby. She¡¯d never been an athletic woman. Sometimes just chasing after students at recess left her winded. But her last year¡¯s labours had tempered her stride with a certain steady grace. Her breathing was easy and circular. Therese hoped neither of those were a super-thing. It felt good to have improved by her own action.

    After a couple of minutes, Therese became aware of another set of footprints struggling to keep apace with her, probably attached to the set of lungs she heard huffing and puffing.

    A young woman just about Therese¡¯s age ran inelegantly alongside her. She wore a somewhat ruffled bright red pencil skirt and short-jacket with scuffed and dusted Mary-Janes. Her blonde hair¡ªmuch more solidly yellow than Therese¡¯s¡ªwas done up in a beehive slowly succumbing to colony collapse syndrome. She was also holding a tape recorder. The woman forced a grin through her exertion.

    ¡°Jessica¡±¡ªa gasp¡ª¡°Swift. West Australian.¡±

    ¡°Good morning, Miss Switt,¡± Therese said, eyes fixed on the path ahead.

    ¡°Therese Fletcher¡±¡ªMiss Switt tripped over a rock in the dirt road, only barely keeping her footing¡ª¡°correct?¡±

    Therese nodded curtly, pointedly not stopping or slowing down.

    Jessica smiled knowingly. ¡°The Mirror Mistress?¡±

    A few of the old superheroes that haunted Libertalia had warned Therese there was a reporter in town. The only one who seemed to have anything nice to say about the woman was the Neon Ghost, a journalist himself. Which, to Therese¡¯s estimate, made him about as popular with his peers as a London kid with the surname ¡°Fritz.¡± That had surprised her slightly. Wasn¡¯t Superman¡¯s girlfriend a reporter?

    But then, in the few Lois Lane comics Therese dimly recalled from her adolescence, not even Superman seemed to like her much.

    ¡°Mirror-Queen,¡± she said, almost under her breath.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°Mirror-Queen,¡± Therese repeated. ¡°I call myself ¡®Mirror-Queen¡¯.¡±

    It was a half-truth. Therese had never said the name aloud when she was actually being Mirror-Queen. She¡¯d barely spoken to anyone for months. It was a label purely for her own benefit. A border drawn across the map of her person. Imaginary, maybe, but still there. Still defining something. Besides, there was already a ¡°Mistress¡± in town.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to spread the word!¡± Jessica Switt had fallen into a decent rhythm by then. Therese supposed a reporter would at least have practise chasing folks. She pressed the red button on her tape-recorder, holding it out towards the other woman. ¡°So,¡± she said, only wheezing lightly, ¡°you¡¯re probably Australia¡¯s newest superhero.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± replied Therese. ¡°There isn¡¯t really a census of us.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it like? Honest and truly?¡±

    There was genuine curiosity in the reporter¡¯s voice, shining through the hunger. Therese wasn¡¯t surprised. Policemen, firemen, doctors; most folk knew at least one or the other. The books and films made about them were such well crafted frauds, most people treated them as documentaries. Not so much with superheroes. They were where the ordinary intersected with something stranger. Something higher, even.

    That¡¯s what Therese had thought before she joined their number, anyway. She¡¯d revised her view somewhat since then. Because she was Therese Fletcher, she now assumed all the other superheroes stood at that intersection. A proper superhero should at a minimum be immune to heavy clubs, Therese reasoned. She just had extra eyes and saved a bunch on petrol.

    ¡°I¡ªI wouldn¡¯t know where to start¡­¡±

    What did this woman want to hear? The human misery she¡¯d waded through? The grubby catharsis when its authors got what was coming to them? The way every blow she took picked at the scab of guilt? The joyless ecstasy of a pitched fight? The way fear and cold adrenaline turned into pure exhilaration not a moment in hindsight?

    The moment she realized it felt good? The thrill of taking a bastard twice her size and winning?  Of knowing he deserved it? The realization that she wasn¡¯t a right-minded woman anymore? It¡¯d be like trying to explain colour to the blind, if colour were a drug.

    Therese picked up her pace, her jog slowly morphing into a run. For now, Jessica Swift kept up. Between gasps, she got out:

    ¡°Little Kinsey says you taught at the Institute. I think people would like to know what went on in there?¡±

    The part of Therese that got no vote wanted to smack her out. The part that got to speak stuttered, ¡°I¡ªI¡¯m on my run.¡±

    Jessica¡¯s voice almost ran over Therese¡¯s, ¡°The Neon Ghost¡¯s office, tonight at six, maybe.¡±

    Therese didn¡¯t hear a question mark. ¡°Sure, sure!¡±

    Jessica beamed. ¡°Excellent. See you tonight, then!¡±

    With some mutual relief, Miss Swift let herself fall behind Therese, panting as she clutched her knees.

    Therese cursed her delaying tactics. This was why she went on so many dates. But at least schmoozing male teachers would rather talk about themselves than the Institute¡­Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Her route took her through a jungle of kids engaged in some formless game. All Therese could glean was that it involved a lot of running around and squealing. David appeared to be holding court at the centre, children swarming around him like pilot fish around a tiny, laughing shark. Therese slowed, regarding the boy. She remembered Maelstrom. That sweet boy trapped inside the gleaming idol Lawrence had built around him. He¡¯d gotten what he wanted in a way. A new creature, beyond human fear and shame. She doubted he¡¯d be pleased.

    A child ran into Therese. She didn¡¯t stumble. Months of literally rolling with the punches taught a woman how to stay on her feet. Her eyes did go wide, though. The boy¡¯s skin was nearly as dark as David¡¯s, but Therese knew exactly where he was from.

    ¡°Sorry, ma¡¯am,¡± the boy said in new, faltering English. ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to hit you.¡±

    ¡°No harm done, son.¡±

    Therese had rescued Hy from a bombing in Vietnam. Therese didn¡¯t always get their names, but she always remembered when she did. She¡¯d carried him through a ball of fire in a broken window. And he didn¡¯t recognise her.

    Thank God.

    David caught sight of his old teacher, cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting, ¡°Hey Mirror-Queen!¡±

    Therese yelped, taking off again at speed.

    Once she was out of sight of the children, Therese decided to stop for a drink. Water-fountains in Catalpa doubled as public art. A spherical glass reservoir above the basin bubbled beneath an oversized metal butterfly. Moisture from the humid air beaded on its refrigerated metal wings<sup>1</a></sup>, running down into the crevices where they slotted into the sculpture¡¯s thorax.

    Anyone who¡¯s lived through a Australian summer knows how good water can taste, especially at the country¡¯s very tip. As Therese straightened herself, relishing the coolness clinging to her tongue, she heard a woman clearing her throat. She turned to find Drina Kinsey standing behind her, hands clasped in front of her skirt.

    ¡°Morning Therese.¡±

    Two instincts battle inside Therese. One involved life or death hand-to-hand combat. Another, older one was to freeze like a rabbit in the middle of the road. Thankfully, it was that impulse that won out. After an agonizing second, Therese managed to step to the side. ¡°Fountain¡¯s free!¡± she exclaimed, a little too brightly.

    Drina flashed a bemused smile. ¡°Not thirsty, dear. I wanted to talk to you.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Of course.¡±

    In some way, this was a longed for nightmare. Back at the Institute, Therese never questioned why none of the children¡¯s parents ever wrote or visited. The idea that¡ªstatistically¡ªsome of them would have tried to be involved hadn¡¯t even occurred to her. Most of her students might as well have come from the cabbage patch or been delivered by storks.

    She¡¯d been told recently that Alberto had dug that blindspot. It didn¡¯t make Therese feel any less foolish. She¡¯d often wished for a chance to speak to the Institute¡¯s forgotten mothers and fathers, whilst simultaneously dreading the possibility.

    Drina glanced up at the sun. ¡°Actually, I could use a drink. Python¡¯s?¡±

    Therese nodded. ¡°Sure. Do we walk or¡­¡±

    Mrs Kinsey shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ve walked, I¡¯ve flown, I¡¯ve teleported. Might as well keep filling the bingo-card<sup>2</a></sup>.¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Therese took the other woman¡¯s hand. ¡°Keep a good grip.¡±

    It didn¡¯t take Therese a moment to find a suitable entrance: namely the glass orb above the fountain. Drina found herself being led through a void of reflective fog like vapourized mercury. Omnipresent light dazzled her eyes, assaulting them with glimpses of places near and far, familiar and strange. Gently swaying fields of sea. Cityscapes collaged in dawn, noon, and dusk. Millions of men and women brushing their teeth in front of many-coloured tiled walls. Drina swore she spotted Jack shaving¡­

    A few steps, and the women were standing in the former Circle¡¯s End canteen. A new sign hung above the serving window, two black-headed serpents tangled into an ouroboros above the legend:

    <h2 style="text-align: center"></h2>

    ¡°How was it?¡± Therese asked half-apologetically. ¡°It¡¯s a bit different for everyone.¡±

    Drina scrunched her features as she tried to find the most honest words. ¡°¡­A lot smoother than some,¡± she said, finally. ¡°Bit¡­ troubling, though.¡±

    ¡°Sounds about right.¡±

    Two fresh coffees were already steaming on a picnic cloth draped metal bench. A middle-aged lady in the kitchen called out, ¡°Skinny flat-white extra shot and a latte for Fletcher and Kinsey?¡±

    ¡°Exactly right, Sam,¡± replied Therese.

    ¡°Don¡¯t have to tell me, dear.¡±

    Sam Sybil had commandeered the canteen early on. According to the ex-superhero, she was an ¡°oracle in reverse¡± able to send herself messages backwards in time. Catalpa¡¯s more probing minds balked at the implications of that, but most of her citizens were content to enjoy the best table-service in the known universe.

    ¡°What did you teach at the Institute?¡±

    She asked the question like the Institute was merely a boarding school, and not¡­ what it was. Like the teaching was the point, and not just something to occupy the children while they ripened. Didn¡¯t she know? It¡¯d been plastered all over the papers for months. Lurid speculation that was somehow wilder and more tame than anything from Lawrence¡¯s imagination. Deniable allusions to orgies and satanic or pagan rituals. Shockingly few words for the children themselves, except perhaps what horrors they might have spawned if left to it. Like it was their idea¡­

    ¡°It was all a bit hodge-podge, but science, mostly,¡± said Therese. She smiled sadly. ¡°I felt a bit like Columbus trying to tell the Gatehouse the Earth was flat<sup>3</a></sup>. Every time I tried to tell them how the world worked, they kept proving me wrong.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think superpowers count.¡±

    ¡°Of course they ¡®count¡¯! They work, don¡¯t they¡ª¡± Therese bit her lip. ¡°I¡¯m talking like Lawrence¡­¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± said Drina. ¡°Never met the man.¡±

    ¡°He was¡ª ¡± Therese struggled for an explanation. ¡°¡­He made sense when you were listening to him. They say a lot of that was just mind control but the thing is¡ªa lot of what he said¡ªI think a lot of it did make sense.¡± She sighed. ¡°And I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever be sure which is which.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything wrong with being curious about that kind of thing,¡± said Drina. ¡°God knows I¡¯ve been asking myself a lot of questions about my Allie¡¯s¡­ knacks.¡± Laughter pulled at the woman¡¯s shoulders. She shook her head at some inner folly. ¡°God, I¡¯m doing it again. Powers. My daughter has powers.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t know before?¡±

    ¡°It was easier not to know back when she didn¡¯t have hundreds of superpowers to choose from,¡± Drina explained. ¡°Even the¡­ knowing I guess you could call it, I just thought she was smart. It¡¯s a nice thought. That something inside you could turn out so special.¡± She sipped her coffee. ¡°Would¡¯ve had to be from her father, though. He¡¯s the bright one. I didn¡¯t even finish school.¡±

    Ever conciliatory, Therese said, ¡°Plenty of people don¡¯t finish high school. Nothing to be ashamed of.¡±

    Drina laughed. ¡°High school? Try primary.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°It was the war. And my family was never very¡­ settled. They tried to catch me up when I got over here, but they put me in the same room with all the little ones. I thought I was too good for that, so I left. They didn¡¯t try too hard to keep me. I picked up enough to get by, but sometimes¡ª¡± Drina shook her head. ¡°It would be nice to know things.¡±

    ¡°Maybe she did get it from you,¡± suggested Therese. ¡°Self-taught and all.¡±

    Drina smiled. ¡°You¡¯re very kind, Miss Fletcher.¡± She looked down at the white swirls in her coffee. She wondered where they got milk around here<sup>4</a></sup>. ¡°¡­What was she like there?¡±

    Therese needed no clarification. She suddenly felt like a water-bearer in the Saharra. She wished she had more to give. ¡°I didn¡¯t have her in class long. Poor thing was bored to tears. Lawrence decided to have her shadow Mael¡ªDavid¡¯s father. He had trouble¡­ touching things.¡±

    Drina frowned, looking pensively at a spot in front of her nose and humming.

    Wait, Therese thought. That¡¯s what¡¯s bothering her?

    Still, the poor woman deserved more.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong,¡± said Therese, ¡°I saw a lot of your daughter. She has a very¡­ you know cats?¡±

    Drina raised an eyebrow. ¡°Dimly familiar.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re very¡­ proud. Graceful. Strong, for their size.  Everything they do is so beautiful and self-assured. But they¡¯re also¡­¡± Therese kneaded the air in front of her with her hands, searching for the word.

    Drina finished the sentence. ¡°¡­Idiots.¡±

    Therese¡¯s face went red. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that¡ª¡±

    ¡°No! You¡¯ve hit it right on the head! They¡¯re always running into things, they¡¯re surprised by their own bloody tails. They think you¡¯re scared of them. Just like Allison.¡± Drina laughed. ¡°God help her. You know, if she was just a little girl, I could cope. If she were a little grown-up¡­ well, I¡¯d feel even more useless, but at least she¡¯d be alright.¡± She threw her hands up. ¡°But no, she¡¯s¡­ Allison. Girl can¡¯t decide if she¡¯s sixty or six. Frees her people, builds them a city, won¡¯t wear a bathing suit.¡±

    Drina exhaled deeply, head tilted towards the canteen ceiling, smiling. It was good to name the beast. Then she looked back at Therese. ¡°¡­Anyway, I wanted to ask, would you consider teaching again? Here in Catalpa?¡±

    Therese blinked. ¡°You want me?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t see anyone else around here with a teaching certificate.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    Of course.

    Talking with Therese Fletcher was a little like being telepathic sometimes. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant, Therese,¡± said Drina. ¡°You¡¯ve got experience. Experience with super-kids. You are a super. You know a fair few of the children here. Who else is more qualified?¡±

    Therese shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m really not, Mrs Kinsey.¡±

    Drina reached across the bench, laying a hand on Therese¡¯s arm. ¡°You can¡¯t blame yourself for what happened. Alie told me, well, that man told me himself¡ª¡±

    Therese looked at Drina. ¡°Wha¡ªoh, that. It isn¡¯t about the Institute. I¡¯ve always been a rubbish  teacher.¡± She actually smiled. ¡°Complete pushover!¡±

    ¡°¡­Aren¡¯t you a superhero?¡±

    Therese laid her hands flat on the table, eyes fixed down on the polka-dotted fabric. ¡°There¡¯s more than one kind of superhero, Mrs Kinsey. My sort¡ªI¡¯m not the fun kind. The Flying Man, Crimson Comet type. Bouncing kids on their biceps and pulling zoo animals out of fires. Being the Mirror-Queen is all hot blood and crunching bone. Shadows and hands over screaming mouths. It¡¯s not the kind of thing you ought let bleed into your real life. I won¡¯t let it. Not into a classroom. You need someone who can be strong without being cruel.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t strike me as cruel, Miss Fletcher.¡±

    ¡°Not here, I¡¯m not. Don¡¯t have the guts. I¡¯d say just the opposite if I was Mirror Queen right now. She can¡¯t afford to be Miss Fletcher, and Miss Fletcher can¡¯t afford to be Mirror Queen. You understand?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± admitted Drina. ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s alright. Not even most super-people would.¡±

    ¡°We still need a school,¡± said Drina. ¡°I don¡¯t know what this place will grow up to be yet. Probably something good. But the kids need to have something else, too. They can¡¯t all be superheroes. They shouldn¡¯t need to rely on what they are. Allison has, I think. Since birth. And God love her¡ªmaybe too much¡ªbut I don¡¯t think it¡¯s doing her any favours.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do her any favours either,¡± said Therese. ¡°You¡¯ll find someone. Someone better.¡±

    The two women sat in companionable silence for a minute. Therese considered ordering another coffee. Sam Sybil brought them another round before she could even open her mouth.

    ¡°Drina,¡± Therese said, ¡°are you really not angry with me? For letting things go on as long as they did?¡±

    Drina smiled tiredly. ¡°Therese, if I was telling anyone off for leaving things too late, I¡¯d have to start with myself.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Seven: Reflections in Gold

    Chen Liu clapped his hand over the pentagram tattooed on his neck. The pigment burned acidly under his skin. Somewhere, the Witch of Claremont was stabbing at her little black book with  childish intensity. If she had been within five miles of him, Chen would have envied the dead. He knew that from experience. No matter what some of the Coven¡¯s minions boasted, the tattoo didn¡¯t indicate membership. The five¡¯s skin was unmarked. It was a cattle brand.

    Chen grit his teeth and kept walking, the tattoo pulsing almost in time with his steps. Jonna would get bored soon. She always did. He distracted himself by tossing gold pieces from his pockets to passing children. They caught the coins giddily. Some of them (especially Therese¡¯s foreign foundlings) tried unwrapping them, taking them for chocolate. Kids threw the coins in the air, laughing at how they flashed as they spun. Others bent the soft metal between their fingers. A few adults tried to intercept the coins or grub for them in the dirt, but they fled from their hands like goldfinches. Or dinged them in the side of the head. There was something very pure about how kids appreciated gold, Chen thought. They knew its true worth.

    Chen spied Arnold Barnes and Mabel Henderson picking up a coin. The girl bit it and nodded at her friend before pocketing it.

    Most of them did, anyway.

    The looks Chen got from passersby could be divided into four broad categories. First were the dirty looks. Those came from the civilian supers and those who loved them. The people whose lives Chen had helped ruin with his bloody-minded crusade.

    Second were the suspicious looks, superficially similar to the first set but subtly distinct. Those were the domain of the superheroes, which was only to be expected. The other villains in town were known quantities; fixtures in rogues galleries. At the very least, they¡¯d lived and worked with their old foes for months now. Many were so minor in their former lives as to not be counted as a threat. Chen had managed to go his whole ¡°career¡± without tangling with any superheroes. He hadn¡¯t socialized. And with one foolish exception, he hadn¡¯t done team-ups.

    Admittedly, some of those suspicious looks might¡¯ve just been racism. It was hard to tell.

    The third category were the ones Chen hated. The knowing smiles. The comradical nods. The supervillains and the wannabes. The folks who counted Chen as one of them. Even if they were right.

    Worst were the fans.

    A towheaded little girl bounced into Chen¡¯s path, clearly drunk with excitement. There could¡¯ve been springs in her heels. She was dressed in faded denim jeans covered in stars cut out of pink cardstock and a brown corduroy jacket, a shoddily glued fur ruff circling her neck like a wildcat mane. It must¡¯ve been cooking her in that heat. Her face was hidden behind a dollar store tiger mask, but Chen could tell she was grinning. Any self respecting child in such an outfit would be. ¡°Are you really AU, mister?¡±

    Chen sighed. He¡¯d not intended for strangers to call him by that name. He couldn¡¯t even blame Lawrence now. ¡°Chen, kid. Chen Liu.¡± He waited for her to go away, and when she didn¡¯t, heaved a sigh. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯m AU.¡±

    A delighted squeal. ¡°I knew Billy was telling the truth! He never lies.¡±

    ¡°Good on him,¡± Chen half-muttered.

    ¡°I¡¯ve read all the newspaper stories about you, AU!¡± the girl enthused. ¡°Me and my parents are villains too!¡± She tilted her head, seeming to consider something. ¡°Well, I¡¯m gonna be once they take me on my first heist! Mum and Dad say they¡¯re gonna start doing crimes and stuff again soon. Real soon!<sup>1</a></sup> Dad helped me make a costume and everything.¡±

    Chen hoped to God her parents were humouring her. Well, if they weren¡¯t, he was. He forced a smile. ¡°Really? You didn¡¯t make that yourself?¡±

    Fuck, Chen thought, that just sounded mean.

    The girl didn¡¯t seem to notice. ¡°I cut out the stars!¡± She thrust out a journal and pen. ¡°Um, do you mind¡­ could I have your autograph?¡±

    Chen¡¯s smile grew a touch more genuine. That was too dumb not to appreciate. ¡°Sure, kid.¡± He took the pen and book. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°Thunder-Tiger.¡±

    Chen laughed. ¡°Hah! Nice one.¡± He started writing. ¡°To Thunder Tiger, I look forward to our team-up, your mate AU.¡±

    Chen handed the book back to Thunder-Tiger, who handled it like a hallowed relic. ¡°Thank you,¡¯ she said, almost whispering.

    ¡°You really should call me Chen. All my proper friends do.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± asked Thunder-Tiger, eyes widening to fill the slits in her mask.

    ¡°Yeah. Quid pro quo, though. What¡¯s your name?¡±

    ¡°¡­Thunder-Tiger,¡± she replied. ¡°I already told you.¡±

    ¡°Nah, girl, I mean your real name. What your parents call ya.¡±

    ¡°They call me Thunder-Tiger.¡±

    Chen frowned. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re telling me your actual mother and father named you Thunder-Tiger?¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± Thunder-Tiger planted her hands on her hips. ¡°Great, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Chen shook his head. ¡°I swear to Christ, some people should be fixed like bloody cats¡­¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°How on Earth do they expect you to get through life being called ¡®Thunder-Tiger¡¯?¡± Chen¡¯s voice started rising. ¡°Who¡¯s going to enrol you into school with a name like that? Or hire you? Or marry you?¡± He scowled. Fuck it, your name is ¡®Amy¡¯. You¡¯ll thank me later.¡±

    Thunder-Tiger pushed her mask up over her hair, revealing a scowl. ¡°No it¡¯s not! I don¡¯t need a dumb normal job, or school, or getting married. I¡¯m a villain! Just like my parents!¡±

    ¡°Your parents are fucking idiots.¡±

    Thunder-Tiger eyes fluttered. Then she started bawling. Chen watched her run off, leaving her autograph book in the dust. People were staring reproachfully at him.

    Chen glared about them, jabbing a thumb in Thunder-Tiger¡¯s direction. ¡°Is nobody looking into that family? Christ¡­¡±

    Chen stalked down the street. People treated their kids like art projects. Parents and teachers.

    It didn¡¯t take long for Chen to find the house he was looking for. Drips of copper and platinum¡ªno gold, to Chen¡¯s complete non-surprise¡ªran down its rust-red facade like icing melting in the sun. Crystal cherubs danced around marble columns. The front door had panels of jade and sapphire. You could always tell where the matter-manipulators lived in Catalpa.

    For Chen, walking up the veranda steps was like tunnelling through solid glass. Every step drove spikes through Chen¡¯s muscles, as strong and real as any of the Fox¡¯s geases. He stood still at the door for nearly two minutes. Chen took a deep breath and raised his hand. He needed to do this¡ª

    The door opened. The former Ex-Nihilo sighed scornfully. ¡°What are you doing here, Chen?¡±

    Chen staggered backwards like the young woman had greeted him with a shotgun. ¡°Ah, morning, Lana.¡±

    Lana was still a disorienting sight for Chen. When he¡¯d first left the Institute, she¡¯d been a little girl. Her hair had been as white-gold as ¡°Thunder-Tiger¡¯s¡±. Now she was a woman, or close to it. Her hair was honey, almost brown. She was tall as Chen. It made him feel like Rip Van Winkle. At least this time, her stomach was mercifully flat.

    ¡°I asked you a question. Hurry up. I just got the baby down to sleep.¡±

    Chen hung his head, as though meeting Lana¡¯s gaze might petrify him. ¡°I need to talk to you.¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Of course you do.¡±

    ¡°I mean¡ªI want to apologize.¡±

    Lana folded her arms. ¡°Apologize for what?¡±

    Chen frowned and shook his head. ¡°You know¡ª¡°

    Lana raised her hand. ¡°Of course I know. I want to hear you say it.¡±

    It was a petty thing, but Chen deserved some pettiness.

    ¡°I¡­ I¡­¡± Chen¡¯s words kept trailing off. He felt like he was back in primary school, trying to force himself through the doors and face a dozen white little shits. How did you even put what he¡¯d done into plain English? It¡¯d sound like the blurb of a pulp novel. Or maybe those stalag<sup>2</a></sup> books they had in Israel. Shameful and ugly.

    Lana smirked mirthlessly. ¡°What? Can¡¯t bring yourself to say it?¡± she jeered. ¡°Is that too hard for you? Maybe we can make up a pretty name for it.¡± She threw her head back in laughter. ¡°Fuck¡¯s sake, you really are Laurie¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Chen shouted. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I kidnapped you for a bunch of witch fucks.¡±

    Lana had been living in a boarding house for young women of reduced circumstances when Chen found her, paying her way with strategic transactions at cash for gold joints around Perth.

    She hadn¡¯t put up much of a fight. She¡¯d been pregnant, after all.

    Chen stood there breathless. Empty.

    ¡°You feel better?¡± asked Lana.

    ¡°No.¡±

    She leaned forward and hissed, ¡°How do you think I feel?¡±

    ¡°I am sorry, Lana.¡±

    Lana pointed her thumb behind her. ¡°You know the Witch delivered Jason? No gas and air<sup>3</a></sup> by the way. I think they collected the shit that came out of my hands during. Guess there¡¯s a reason they used to burn midwives.¡± She looked off to the side. ¡°They talked about selling him. Right in front of me¡­¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t imagine.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t,¡± said Lana. ¡°Chen, could I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°When you left the Institute, when you left us, did you know what Alberto could do?¡±

    Chen had no choice. If he didn¡¯t answer honestly, he wouldn¡¯t deserve to live:

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Chen landed with a thud in the dirt, a cannonball of sand crumbling down his front. He sat up, sucking in a knocked out breath. ¡°Look, I deserve¡ª¡±

    Lana ran forward and leapt from the veranda, gliding on twin streams of protoplasm. Her knees struck him in the chest:

    ¡°Oof!¡±

    Lana screamed, ¡°You fucking think?¡± golden globes orbiting her hands. ¡°Lawrence wanted you to rape Fran! What did you think he was going to do with us?¡±

    ¡°I never thought he¡¯d¡ª¡±

    Lana punched him in the jaw. It was weak, inexpert. But it hurt. ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t! You never think, do you? You leave us with Lawrence, never write, never call! Just let him do whatever he wants because it didn¡¯t affect you!¡±

    People were gathering around the two now, some murmuring amongst themselves, others loudly egging Lana on.

    ¡°Fight! Fight!¡±

    ¡°Get the bloody chink!¡±

    To Chen¡¯s disappointment, that fella had no fillings.

    ¡°¡­And then you go around getting the naturals riled up! It wasn¡¯t just Circle¡¯s End. Or the Flying Man! You¡¯re why they opened the fucking asylums! You¡¯re why Lawrence had his pick of girls!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry but¡ª¡±

    Lana slapped him. ¡°Stop saying that!¡±

    ¡°No¡ªI mean¡ªtake it from a Chinaman, Lana, folks out there don¡¯t need a reason to hate us. Me, my family, we tried not to give them any. Even Lawrence tried. They didn¡¯t care. They never care.¡±

    Lana brought her face up to Chen¡¯s. He felt her spite against his skin:

    ¡°Is that why you joined a white slavery<sup>4</a></sup> ring? Because people are mean?¡±

    Allison Kinsey dropped down from the sky, executing a perfect three-point landing. The crowd parted for her.

    ¡°What the heck are you doing, Lana?¡±

    Lana swung around to face the little girl. She jabbed her finger against Chen¡¯s nose, making the man sneeze. ¡°What is he doing here?¡±

    Allison raised her hands. ¡°Catalpa is for everyone, Lana.¡±

    Lana growled, ¡°He¡¯s Coven. They buy and sell us like fucking cows. Would you let Lawrence just walk around here?¡±

    The crowd murmured. Lawrence was already a folk-devil in Catalpa: both for the Canberra bombings and what he¡¯d put their founding children through. Chen shouldn¡¯t have been able to get angry at anything Lana said about him. God knew he deserved it. But beneath the earth, sleeping gold roused. A few onlookers suddenly developed toothaches¡­

    ¡°That includes Chen, too, Lana¡±¡ªAllison wondered if she was saying Lana¡¯s name too much¡ª¡°You can see the brand.¡±

    Lana spread her hands above Chen¡¯s face. The globes sped and blurred into solid rings. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll brand him alright!¡±

    Chen screwed his eyes shut. He¡¯d rather have his face torn up than be compared to Laurie any day.

    Allison ran towards the two. ¡°Don¡¯t!¡ª¡±

    Lana pointed a haloed hand at her. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me! I know he¡¯s inside you.¡±

    Allison froze in her tracks.

    At the same time, Therese Fletcher and Drina Kinsey rounded the corner, chatting and carrying takeaway coffees.

    ¡°So, I said to Mabel, I said¡ª¡± Therese caught sight of the commotion down the street. ¡°Oh dear.¡±

    Drina spotted Allison and groaned, gesturing towards the scene. ¡°Is my ten year old daughter really the only thing keeping these people from killing each other?¡±

    Through the glint in Allison¡¯s eyes, Therese saw who was involved and tutted. ¡°Oh, Chen.¡± She handed Drina her coffee. ¡°Hold this for me?¡±

    ¡°Okay but¡ª¡±

    Therese dissolved into white petals of light. An instant later, she was standing not far from Lana and Chen.

    ¡°Ex-Nihilo, sweetie¡ª¡±

    Therese dodged a blob of protoplasm.

    ¡°That¡¯s not my name!¡±

    Therese perceived water running down a window behind her, soda-lime glass melting like ice in her mind¡¯s eye.

    Still a good girl.

    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t,¡± said Therese. ¡°Slip of the tongue. Not that that¡¯s any excuse.¡± She pointed between herself and Chen. ¡°Neither of us have any.¡±

    Lana shook her head. ¡°You saved me.¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯m trying to be better. So¡¯s Chen. He¡¯s just well¡­¡± Even now, this sort of thing didn¡¯t come easy to Therese. Her go-to responses to conflict were ¡°queasy smile of acquiescence¡± or ¡°deadly violence.¡± This was uncomfortably¡­ well, not even in the middle, really. That¡¯d be a left-hook and an apology. ¡°¡­An idiot.¡± She gave the man a flat look. ¡°And frankly very self-centred.¡±

    Chen¡ªeyes still shut tight¡ªnodded vigorously.

    Lana looked down at him for a moment. Then laughter began to escape her, first in short, jerking spasms, then in long, hysterical peals.

    ¡°It was wrong of Chen to impose on you like that,¡± said Therese. ¡°You don¡¯t owe anybody forgiveness.¡±

    The laughter became tears. Lana¡¯s halos extinguished. She sniffled, ¡°My life is over¡­¡±

    Therese regarded Lana. The girl was looking at her house. A quick glance at the reflections within¡­

    A baby, asleep in a rust-framed crib.

    Ah.

    ¡°Oh, no, honey.¡± Therese stepped over and drew Lana up into her arms. She wasn¡¯t even ten years older than the girl, but right then, nobody could¡¯ve told you that. ¡°Look, Lana. Plenty of young women have lives outside their kids. And you¡¯ve got a whole town behind you. Takes a village and all.¡±

    Therese wanted to tell Lana she didn¡¯t have to keep Jason. She shouldn¡¯t have to. But there weren¡¯t many options for people like them, the world being what it was right then.

    ¡°Tell you what. Some time, I¡¯ll sit for Jason, and you and the rest of the girls can have a night on the town.¡±

    Chen surreptitiously got to his feet.

    Lana muttered, ¡°You mean get drunk at Libertalia¡­¡±

    Therese scoffed. ¡°Libertalia? Maude¡¯s machines can make portals to anywhere. Paris! London! Sky¡¯s the limit!¡± She twitched her finger from Allison to Chen, silently mouthing, ¡°Go.¡±

    They were quick to obey.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Chen said under his breath. ¡°No wonder Lawrence hired her.¡±

    Allison shook her head and grabbed the man¡¯s hand. ¡°We¡¯re getting rid of the tattoo.¡±

    ¡°No objections here, little lady.¡±

    Despite this assurance, Allison still insisted on dragging Chen over to her mother. ¡°Wanna watch me work, Mum?¡± she asked with a pleading smile.

    ¡°Sure thing, love,¡± answered Drina. She looked at Chen. ¡°Afternoon, Mr. Liu.¡±

    If Chen still had his Akubra, he would¡¯ve tipped it at the lady. ¡°Afternoon, Mrs Kinsey.¡±

    The two shared a smile. Allison spoke into her com-watch. ¡°Blancheflor, open me a portal to the infirmary, please.¡±

    ¡°Of course, miss.¡±

    An egg-portal bloomed. As the three of them stepped through, Drina called out, ¡°It was nice talking, Therese!¡±

    ¡°Same,¡± said Therese absently, still comforting Lana.

    Drina decided to file that away for later.

    ?

    Liam Pittenweem dabbed a foul smelling ointment on Chen¡¯s neck.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure this¡¯ll work?¡± he asked warily. Usually, messing with one of Jonna¡¯s tattoos resulted in a small, but very inconveniently placed explosion.

    ¡°Oh sure,¡± replied the boy-wizard confidently. ¡°Took a few goes to figure out the recipe, but it works.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Chen. ¡°How many ¡®goes¡¯? Have you blown anyone-¡±

    ¡°And¡­ done!¡± Liam withdrew his hand like a painter admiring his masterpiece. He picked up a bottle of whiskey from the table beside him and offered it to Chen. ¡°You might want to take another gulp of this.¡±

    Chen took the bottle and obeyed. The liquor burned a path down his throat. Chen gasped, waiting half a minute for the warmth to reach his fingers. ¡°Right, let¡¯s get this over with.¡±

    Chen lay on his side across the metal bench. Liam moved aside for Allison, masked and gloved with a scalpel sterilized by the heat of her second (or was it third?) power. ¡°Okay, hold still¡­¡±

    Chen clutched the side of the bench as a thin line of pain was cut into his neck, meeting itself to form a small square. Previously, the actual tattoo removal was handled painlessly by Dr. Beaks. Witches got you coming and going in this business it seemed.

    At least Lana got the robot treatment, Chen thought.

    Allison peeled away the skin. ¡°David?¡±

    David waltzed up and sprinkled a couple of drops of water on the livid square of exposed neck.

    Should he really be naked in the sick¡ª

    Chen gasped as he felt new nerve endings reach out to each other.

    David handed him a mirror. ¡°Did I get the colour right?¡±

    Chen sat up and looked:

    Unmarked skin.

    ¡°Yeah, Dave. You did.¡±

    He was free, of all chains except history.

 Chapter One Hundred and Eight: Become Impossible

    Drina Kinsey and Chen Liu ate cold chicken rolls on the beach, watching the children play in the water.

    ¡°There¡¯s something I don¡¯t quite understand,¡± said Drina between bites. ¡°You talk as though you chose to work for these people yourself. But also some witch trapped you with a cursed tattoo?¡±

    ¡°Both,¡± said Chen. ¡°I found them. Asked if they had any work. They were so happy to have me, they threw a party! Got me drunk as a skunk, then Jonna asked if I wanted a tat. Nobody would think of messing with me if they knew who I was running with!¡± He smiled darkly at his own folly.  ¡°Seemed like a banger of an idea at the time.¡± Chen took a bite of his roll, resisting the urge to spit out a sesame seed in front of a lady. ¡°I think she had to get me to say yes. Magic likes it when you agree to shit you shouldn¡¯t. Like the rules of the world were drawn up by lawyers.¡±

    Drina nodded. ¡°I can see that. That Elsa woman tried to trade for the body.¡± She looked out past the shore. Miri¡¯s image sported and twirled above the waves, seaspray passing through her like rain through fog.

    ¡°Should¡¯ve taken her up on it, for all the good it did¡­¡±

    Chen shook his head. ¡°Nah, you did the right thing. Those deals always come with nasty catches.¡±

    Drina smiled sadly. ¡°Guess the fairy tales are there for a reason.¡±

    ¡°The tattoo doesn¡¯t make you do anything, though,¡± said Chen. ¡°They¡¯re more like those tags they put on bears. Or shock collars. No, the Fox was in charge of that.¡±

    Drina had a dim mental image of a scowling man in an all orange zoot-suit. Or maybe a character from Pinocchio.  ¡°The Fox?¡±

    ¡°The leader. He¡¯s like one of those stage hypnotists, except his shit works. Worst thing was, sometimes you don¡¯t even remember he¡¯s worked you over. Once, they were chewing out some other idiot they got working for them in front of me, the Fox said something about lemon pie and I¡­¡± The words caught in Chen¡¯s mouth.

    Drina put a hand on his shoulder. Her face told Chen he didn¡¯t need to say it.

    ¡°They had a good laugh at that. Except the Fox. He never laughs. Not on the outside, at least.¡± Chen folded his arms over his knees. ¡°Your daughter scrubbed the Fox out of my brain the hour I got here. Wouldn¡¯t risk having me around otherwise. But I keep wondering, did she miss something? How deep could he go?¡± Chen looked out to sea. ¡°Is this another trick?

    ¡°Oh, Mr. Liu,¡± said Drina. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I wanted to join them. Play stupid games¡­¡±

    ¡°Everyone makes mistakes. Nobody deserves that.¡±

    ¡°My mistake was cruel. There¡¯s a difference there.¡±

    Drina shrugged. ¡°Maybe. Sometimes it can be hard to tell which is which. You could always warn people. It¡¯d make recruiting harder, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, maybe.¡±

    Out on the water, Allison and David were facing down each other on ice drift. From where Drina and Chen were sitting, they could¡¯ve been dancers in a music box, carved from ivory and sun-baked clay. Even at that distance, Chen could tell they were about to spring at each other like alley cats.

    Chen smiled. ¡°So, which one are you rooting for?¡±

    Drina cocked her head. ¡°I suppose I have to say Allie, don¡¯t I?¡±

    Chen rubbed his hands together. ¡°If you say so, ma¡¯am.¡±

    On the ice, David flexed his fingers at his waist like a gunslinger itching to draw. Draw what was something of a mystery, but still. Allison grinned at him:

    ¡°Make your move, coward!¡±

    David roared and leapt at the girl¡ª

    A gold thread snaked through the air, wrapped itself around David¡¯s ankles and started reeling him into shore. His teeth chattered as his chin juddered against the surf, then scraped on sand. The snare tightened vertically, pulling the boy screaming up into the air.

    Chen furiously turned the handle of a golden fishing reel, inexpertly recreating the winding sound with his mouth. Drina was on her back with laughter.

    ¡°We got ourselves a big one today!¡± Chen cried. ¡°Used to use this trick on your ma, you know.¡±

    David flopped and flailed, thrashing his bound legs like a mer-child¡¯s tail, too blinded with fury to do anything so simple as reduce himself to mist. ¡°Let me go!¡±

    Chen jeered, ¡°Come on, at least stick around for the papers. This has to be a record!¡±

    David kicked at nothing, the momentum of his struggles sending him spinning. ¡°You friggin gold¡­ bastard!¡±

    Allison zoomed over the adults, snatching David and dragging him into the sky, back into their melee:

    ¡°Mine!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re daughter¡¯s a real firecracker, Mrs Kinsey,¡± said Chen.

    Drina smiled. ¡°Sure is.¡± Her expression wearied. ¡°God, it¡¯s going to be way less charming when she hits her teens¡­¡±

    ¡°Give her time,¡± said Chen.

    He watched the pair fight above them. David had merged with heavy grey clouds, swinging mountainous, fleecy fists at a weaving and swooping Allison. How did something grown in Lawrence¡¯s hothouse turn out like that? The old man talked a lot about how different the coming race would be, but Chen doubted he meant David. Was his mother¡¯s blood so strong?

    Mabel walked out of the ocean towards the picnic blanket. Unlike her friends, she¡¯d shaped her life-fibre costume into a bathing suit. With the comic panels, it looked like Andy Warhol had gone into children¡¯s swimwear. ¡°See, there¡¯s hope for Allison yet!¡± Chen wanted to tell Drina.

    ¡°Hey kid,¡± Chen said. He pointed up at the warring children. ¡°You¡¯ve known David a while, right?¡±

    ¡°Since forever,¡± said Mabel, bending over to fish a Coke out of the cooler box. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Was he always so¡­ him?¡±

    Mabel laughed. ¡°God no. He used to be¡­ look, David was always great, but he used to be a great wimp. I think his granddad scrambled his brains.¡±

    ¡°His grand¡ª¡± Chen blinked, then glanced about nervously. ¡°Shit, Fran¡¯s dad¡¯s around?¡±

    ¡°I guess he¡¯s everywhere, isn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Drina. ¡°David has family? I wouldn¡¯t mind speaking to him¡ª¡±

    Chen shook his head at the woman.

    ¡°Okay then¡­¡±

    ¡°But yeah,¡± said Mabel. ¡°This David¡¯s new.¡± She tilted her head, dusty memories wiggling free inside her. ¡°Well, I guess not that new. More like he was when I first met him?¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    Mabel snickered. ¡°Yeah. I remember once, Laurie was trying to pull a t-shirt over his head, and the river just kinda snuck up behind him and body-slammed him. Like a wrestler. Only people David listened to were Mels and ?ywie. Sometimes.¡± Mabel sighed. ¡°Didn¡¯t last. David likes people liking him. Laurie knew that. Maybe he was the one who scrambled his brains.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that sounds like him,¡± grunted Chen. ¡°Manipulative bloody wanker¡­¡±

    Part of him wondered if he could¡¯ve kept that David alive. If he¡¯d stayed. But then, if he¡¯d stayed, David would¡¯ve been his son. He remembered that boy at the circus. What was his life like? Was it any better?

    Chen looked where Arnold Barnes was putting the finishing touches on a sandcastle, Billy St. George crouching next to them. They looked like a Victorian painting. He walked over to the pair, his boots leaving deep prints in the wet sand. ¡°You know, I could turn that castle into gold for you two. You could take it home with you.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± said Billy. He grinned. ¡°So can I!¡±

    Arnold smiled, not looking up at the man. ¡°Or platinum, or silver, or diamond¡­¡±

    Chen laughed. ¡°Damn. I¡¯m obsolete.¡±

    Billy¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Don¡¯t say that¡­¡± His voice quavered slightly.

    Chen grinned. ¡°It¡¯s alright, kid. Arn¡¯s right.¡± He ran a hand along his arm. ¡°See. I bet I won¡¯t last the winter.¡±

    The boys laughed. Chen sat down next to Arnold. ¡°You know, kid, I should¡¯ve said this the second I got here, but I¡¯m sorry¡ª-¡±

    Arnold frowned. ¡°Nope!¡±

    ¡°¡­Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Not talking about it.¡±

    ¡°I just¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not having a stupid grown-up talk without pants on just to make you feel better.¡±

    ¡°If this is about Canberra, it was Lawrence¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not about Canberra, arsehole.¡±

    Billy gasped at the language, putting his clawed hand over his mouth.

    ¡°You threatened my mum.¡±

    Chen stopped mid sentence.

    ¡°So,¡± Arnold asked. ¡°Wanna unpack that?¡±

    ¡°¡­ Sorry,¡± Chen muttered, backing off.

    ¡°Seriously, is saying sorry like, your hobby?¡± asked Arnold.

    Chen stopped and sighed. ¡°Seems like it. Practise isn¡¯t making perfect, though.¡± He dug his hand into the sand, pulling up a handful. He grasped at it with his power. At first it was like trying to grip a wet bar of soap. But then Chen found purchase. Water and silica adapted to his will. Dark brown became bright yellow.

    Chen blew the gold dust out of his palm. It hung in the air like a swarm of fireflies, before settling all over sandcastle. The whole creation glimmered in the sun.

    The boys oohed.

    ¡°Neat, huh?¡± said Chen.

    ¡°Wait!¡± said Billy. ¡°I wanna try something.¡±

    A storm of mercury smoked between Billy¡¯s hands. It fell over the sandcastle. Billy worked the air like a sculptor, tongue curled in concentration under one of his fangs. The mist evaporated. The castle was now cast in blood red glass. Arnold and Chen clapped at the sight. Billy stood and bowed modestly.

    ¡°It¡¯s called cranberry glass,¡± he said. ¡°You make it by adding gold to, well, glass.¡±

    ¡°Hah! Not even the best gold guy anymore,¡± said Chen.

    Arnold looked out at the water. ¡°Hey, Billy. Wanna air-drop?¡±

    Billy threw his arms up. ¡°Heck yeah!¡±

    Arnold¡¯s skin became phosphorescent. Lime lightning lashed at the tiger-boy. Billy screamed in delight as he appeared ten feet in the air above the ocean, tucking his arms and legs in as he landed with a splash. He surfaced, waving.

    Chen and Arnold waved back from the shore.

    ¡°Did he give a speech?¡± Chen asked. He didn¡¯t have to say who.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Don¡¯t remember what he said really. I remember the scream, though.¡±He risked a guilty smile, hoping God and his mum weren¡¯t looking. ¡°Like a girl. Not an Allison kinda girl, either.¡±This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    That would probably haunt Arnold when he was old enough to have a working soul. Still, why spoil it for him now?

    Miri appeared next to Chen. ¡°Is your dad gold?¡±

    Chen jumped. ¡°Jesus!¡ªI¡ªwhat?¡±

    No matter where Chen looked, Miri stayed in the centre of his vision, like she was stamped on his eyeball. ¡°Is your dad gold?¡± repeated Miri. ¡°You know, like how David¡¯s granddad is water?¡±

    Arnold snickered.

    ¡°Oh. No. My dad was just a bloke.¡± Hastily, Chen added, ¡°Is a bloke.¡±

    Chen wished he hadn¡¯t used the past tense. He hadn¡¯t seen either of his parents in over three years. Not since Lawrence sicced the freak-finders on him. The closest thing to contact he¡¯d had was checking their local paper¡¯s obituary section.

    Oh, God, Chen realized. They must¡¯ve read about me.

    He wondered, did people know who Mr. and Mrs Liu¡¯s eldest son had become?

    ¡°So, you can¡¯t turn into gold?¡±

    ¡°¡­No. No I don¡¯t.¡± Chen tried to imagine that. Somehow, he doubted it¡¯d be as fun as Fran and David made turning into water look. ¡°Kinda glad, honestly. Old Laurie probably would¡¯ve named me ¡®Oscar¡¯.¡±

    Arnold and Miri both looked at Chen blankly.

    ¡°Come on, that was great.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Miri. She was watching Allison and David crash into the sand, limbs tangling. Touching.

    Chen wasn¡¯t completely clear on what Miri was, exactly. Back when he was playing Holy Ghost with Therese in the mirror-void, he¡¯d vaguely assumed she was some exotic and detailed delusion of Allison¡¯s they were going to foist onto the empty little girl Mistress Quickly was growing. But delusion or not, she was clearly real enough to want. Real enough to give up that want for a complete stranger.

    ¡°Hey, Miri,¡± said Chen. ¡°Want to play a game?¡±

    Miri looked away from her sister. Her expression brightened a touch. ¡°Sure! What sort of game?¡±

    Billy was wading out of the water, shaking his fur dry.

    ¡°Oi, Billy!¡± Chen called. ¡°Mind making us some gold?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing Mr. Liu. How much?¡±

    Chen glanced at Miri. ¡°Mhmm. Seventy stone maybe? Twenty-four karat.¡±

    Billy produced the material without question. It occurred to Chen that a canny supervillain could probably crash the world economy just by asking him nicely. In half a minute, there was a heap of perfect gold spheres between Miri and Chen, like the world¡¯s most useless pinballs.

    Miri tilted her head. ¡°Is this the game? I don¡¯t think it works with people who aren¡¯t you. Or you and Allie, I guess, but only if you¡¯re in the same place.¡±

    Chen smiled. ¡°Hold ya horses, I¡¯m working.¡±

    The gold melted together without any heat, rising and reshaping into a solid, aureate double of Miri. Or a shorter Allison, depending how you looked at it. After regarding her for a moment, Miri took a step towards her twin. The statue matched it. Miri flinched backwards, her double arching away from her in time. Miri looked behind her copy. Unlike her, this Miri left footprints. She looked at Chen.

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    Miri locked eyes with the gold golem. They shared a grin.

    Miri swept her foot in front of her. The double matched the motion, but she sent up a curtain of sand. Miri laughed and ran for the water, the golden girl following at side, her metallic substance flowing as readily as flesh. They stomped and splashed in synch. Impact and echo, reversed.

    Drina moved to Chen¡¯s side.

    ¡°Shame she can¡¯t feel it,¡± he said.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think she cares right now.¡±

    David strolled up to the two Miris atop the water. ¡°What¡¯s going on here?¡±

    Miri swung around to face the boy and punched him in the belly. Her first passed through his navel.

    David looked down at himself and grinned at her. ¡°That only works if you¡¯re Tom, Miri.¡±

    Miri¡¯s statue was frozen mid-punch. The real, if less substantial girl looked at Chen and huffed.

    Chen blinked and glanced at Drina.

    ¡°Little demons,¡± she said fondly, ¡°all of them.¡¯

    ?

    Therese Fletcher¡¯s walked along the Bunda Cliffs, the Nullarbor Plain stretching brown and flat towards the horizon off her right, the Great Southern Sea flaming with the sunset on her left. When Therese had been marginally more ignorant, she¡¯d assumed Nullarbor was an Aboriginal name. It sounded like one. But it was actually almost childishly simple Latin. ¡°No trees,¡± because there weren¡¯t any here. The soil was rough and shallow, mostly calcium from seashells. Try growing a forest from a boneyard sometime.

    A sun glint off a wave whisked Therese across the ocean to a confectured main street in a California amusement park. It was about fifty years out of date, a recreation of one man¡¯s nostalgia in pastel Americana. A castle loomed at the end of the street, enlarged by forced perspective. As Therese strolled past false storefronts, a barbershop quartet rode past on her on a bicycle built for four:

    ¡°When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are¡­¡±

    Therese had chatted with one of the singers on their lunch break once, down in the utility corridors that ran beneath the park like an ant-colony. He said the quartet actually had twelve members, plus the odd understudy. Nobody ever noticed the switches. They only saw the costume.

    A window took Therese to the very edge of her reach. She strolled down a path run through with ribbons of moonstone and turquoise, past folks dressed in solid, unbroken primary colours cut into unfamiliar fashions. A child or two pointed at her strange, mixed-up clothing, asking their parents what caste she belonged to. The Earth shone above them through layers of artificial atmosphere.

    Therese glanced at her watch and sighed. Ten to six. She¡¯d promised Miss Switt that interview¡­

    Therese appeared across the street from the home and office of the Neon Ghost, the yet unborn Catalpa Messenger. Chen Liu was milling about in front of the door.

    ¡°Evening,¡± Therese called.

    Chen startled. ¡°They should put a bell on you.¡±

    Therese walked to his side. ¡°I¡¯m sure a lot of people have said that about me lately. What are you doing here?¡± She pointed at the newspaper¡¯s sign. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯re ready to tell us the cricket scores.¡±

    Chen shook his head. ¡°Got a radio for that. I just¡ªthat reporter lady is desperate to talk to anyone halfway interesting, right? I think I need to talk about¡±¡ªhe waved a hand¡ª¡°all of that. Preferably with someone who doesn¡¯t want to punch me in the jaw.¡±

    Therese nodded. ¡°Very wise, Chen. Definitely better than bugging Lana about it.¡±

    ¡°Fair cop. Why are you here?¡±

    Therese smiled bashfully. ¡°Miss Switt cornered me today. Bribed her to go away with an interview.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    The door swung open between the two of them. Miss Switt leaned out and beamed at Therese. ¡°Miss Fletcher! Right on time!¡± She looked at Chen. ¡°AU, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Chen said. ¡°I thought we could sit down and chat.¡± He looked at Therese. ¡°I mean, set a date or something, Therese was here first.¡±

    ¡°No, no!¡± Switt enthused. ¡°This is perfect!¡±

    She yanked them both inside with surprising strength. The interior of the Catalpa Messenger  was a dim cave lit by a bare fluorescent bulb. Moths circled the light worshipfully, casting shadows like great bats over the floor. The whole space smelled of machine oil and printing ink. The Neon Ghost¡ªMartin Lewis¡ªwas on his knees, ministering to a Heidelberg Windmill in stained overalls.

    ¡°Good evening, Mr. Lewis,¡± Therese said politely.

    King grunted. ¡°Not sure what good an interview is if we can¡¯t print it.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll make a hell of a first front page,¡± countered Miss Switt. She spread her hands in the air. ¡°Heroes and villains breaking bread in strange times.¡±

    Therese and Chen exchanged a look.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the whole point of this town?¡± Switt declared.

    ¡°Because your lot won¡¯t leave us alone, yes,¡± said Lewis.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you only turn into a super while writing a book about them?¡± asked Miss Switt, eyebrow raised.

    ¡°¡­ Just don¡¯t get in the way, please.¡± Mr. Lewis turned his attention back to his printing press. ¡°Bloody mad-scientists. Could probably clone us newspapers if they bothered¡­¡±

    Jessica Switt settled Chen and Therese in the building¡¯s kitchenette with a couple cups of bad coffee. She sat down herself and turned on her tape recorder:

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you two hear this one a lot, but how did you two get in the super way?¡±

    Chen answered first. ¡°Just born this way, love.¡± He flashed Switt an apologetic smile. ¡°Sorry. Not very juicy, is it?¡±

    ¡°I take it you¡¯re the only super in your family?¡± asked Jessica. ¡°Not related to any superheroes or gods or aliens?¡±

    Chen cocked his head. ¡°That¡¯s right. Huh. Would you believe you¡¯re not the first person to ask me that today?¡±

    Therese raised her hand like she was in one of her own classes. ¡°I only got my powers last year. Right around Christmas, too.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± said Miss Switt. ¡°Can you tell us about it? What set it off?¡±

    ¡°What set it off?¡± repeated Therese. ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know. It just sort of happened¡­¡±

    Jessica turned her hand over in front of her, gently beckoning for more, ¡°Was there a process?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I think so.¡± Therese bent her head. ¡°You know about the New Human Institute, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Miss Switt nodded diplomatically. ¡°I¡¯ve read the stories. Can¡¯t say how much truth is in them, but I can¡¯t see the reality being that much better.¡±

    ¡°The core is there,¡± said Therese. ¡°Herbert Lawrence¡ªmy employer¡ªhe wanted to breed a better class of superman, and he used what he had on hand. Love was no obstacle. Nor was age.¡±

    Chen nodded. ¡°I left before things got as bad as they did, but even then¡­ he wanted me to sleep with my little sister¡ª¡± He saw the look in Miss Switt¡¯s eyes. ¡°Adopted. But if you think that made any difference¡­¡±

    ¡°No, I understand,¡± ¡°I¡¯m surprised he was able to force this on your students. I mean, the super-kids around here don¡¯t seem very placid.¡±

    Chen scoffed. ¡°Your parents must be very good people, Miss Switt.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps they are. Forgive my naivete, Mr. Liu. I must admit, this is all very alien to me.¡±

    ¡°Parents say children don¡¯t listen to them,¡± said Therese. ¡°That¡¯s rubbish. Children don¡¯t listen when you¡¯re talking about bedtimes or eating their greens or drinking. But when they think your love is on the line¡­¡± She shook her head. ¡°Gods and kings wish for that kind of loyalty.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter anyway,¡± said Chen. ¡°My¡­ I guess brother is the only word for it, he could mess with people¡¯s heads. Make them do what he wanted. Or what Lawrence wanted, most of the time.¡±

    Jessica scratched something down in her notebook. ¡°Mr. Liu¡ªand I apologize in advance if this is something tender for you¡ªbut how did you get away if your brother could do all that?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know. He had to have let me go¡­¡± A long-delayed, terrible revelation hit Chen. ¡°Oh, God. I think he just liked me¡­¡±

    Therese continued, ¡°I¡¯m not sure Alberto even needed to work me over. I was young. Herbert and Mary were like mountains. I felt like an idiot whenever I tried to argue with them, even in my head.¡± She sighed. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s how he got his hooks in me. Watered that feeling like a tree.  But the kids were hurting. All the time. I couldn¡¯t let it go on. Lawrence caught me trying to call someone and told me to get out.¡±

    Therese left out the hitting. She thought it would distract from the point.

    ¡°Wait,¡± said Chen, ¡°Why did Alberto¡ªoh.¡±

    Chen looked at Therese with a little awe. She didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    ¡°I was walking down the road when I realised, he was still telling me what to do.¡± Therese¡¯s expression hardened. ¡°After everything he¡¯d done, after everything he was doing, he thought he could send me away. And I was letting him¡­ something in me broke. And it broke the world, too.¡±

    ¡°There was a man?¡± asked Miss Switt.

    Therese smiled. ¡°You¡¯ve been asking around.¡± She called over the reporter¡¯s head, ¡°Did you see the man, Mr. Lewis?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± he answered. ¡°Fell in a vat at a chemical plant. Got a bloody terrible rash for a week, then I could turn into smoke. About as meaningful as nits.¡±

    Therese got back to her story, ¡°Other people say he¡¯s a giant. Maybe he is for them, but he wasn¡¯t for me. Just a man in a jacket. He didn¡¯t say a word, but I trusted him. The way you trust your father when you¡¯re very small? He walked, and I followed.¡± She shivered. ¡°It was so cold. I didn¡¯t think it was possible to be that cold in Australia, but I don¡¯t think I was walking through somewhere else. He led me to a pool and told me to dive in.¡±

    ¡°You said he didn¡¯t speak.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t have to. I dived and¡­ it was like the water was a tarp over a well. I fell and fell¡­¡± Therese folded her hands on her lap. ¡°I think that¡¯s what did it. The diving. The choice.¡±

    ¡°Interesting,¡± said Miss Switt. ¡°Do you think this was something inside you? Latent?¡±

    Therese shook her head. ¡°No. It was a change, I¡¯m sure of it. Something reached down and¡­ added something. But I think you¡¯re asking the wrong question, Miss Switt.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°You could ask half the people here about being a super. You want to know about superheroes. I wasn¡¯t a superhero when I got my powers. Not yet.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Chen. ¡°Old Laurie was full of shit about a lot of things, but there¡¯s something he used to say a lot: the mightiest super in the world is probably a green grocer.¡±

    ¡°Seems like a waste,¡± remarked Jessica.

    ¡°And what if he¡¯s happy?¡± retorted Chen. ¡°Is that a waste? Most supers, we just want to live our lives. I did, until Lawrence sicced the freak-finders on me.¡±

    ¡°So then, Miss Fletcher, how did you become a superhero?¡±

    Therese took a deep breath. ¡°I found Tim Valour. In the mirrors. I told him what happened.¡± A sad laugh. ¡°He already knew! I could¡¯ve gone to Boa Boa for all the good it did! But he still had to do something with me¡­¡±

    Chen¡¯s attention snapped right to Therese. ¡°You met Tim?¡± He clenched a fist. ¡°What did he do?¡±

    ¡°It could¡¯ve been worse, I suppose,¡± said Therese. ¡°He could¡¯ve sent me to Circle¡¯s End. Instead, he put me in a room with no windows. Nothing metal or glass. Nothing that cast a reflection. The toilet didn¡¯t even have water in it.¡± She looked at the light in the main room. She knew how those moths felt. All attention focused on one source of light, neither sun nor moon. ¡°Don¡¯t know how long I was in there. I slept a bunch, but there wasn¡¯t much else to do. Eventually, Tim came back.¡±

    She remembered those dark glasses. The tan line around his ring finger. What did he think she was going to do? She¡¯d come to him.

    ¡°He told me there¡¯d been a raid on the Institute. People had died. Children had died.¡± The memory stung Therese¡¯s eyes. ¡°I beat at his chest. I clawed. He just stood there. But then I looked at his face¡­ he was crying.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure he had the right, truthfully.¡±

    Chen snarled, ¡°Fuck no he didn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Therese held up a finger. ¡°I escaped through the reflections in his tears. Next few nights, I slept in wintered penthouses. I raided the back rooms of pubs around the world. I raged. All my life, I felt like a ghost. Breeze against a cliff. Things just happened around me, or to me. I wanted to make things better, for once in my life. Or even just change something. I could go anywhere, but I still felt like me. An idiot with a magic wand. So I made a new woman. Someone I could slip inside like a suit of armour. Someone brighter and stranger. Someone who could do the impossible.¡± She looked at Martin. ¡°Mr. Lewis, you know what I mean, right?¡±

    The Neon Ghost stopped what he was doing. ¡°¡­Yeah, Miss Fletcher. I do. The powers; I mean, they¡¯re important. But when I was wearing that old coat and mask, it was like I could run faster, jump higher¡­¡±

    Therese smiled. ¡°Hit harder. And the way people look at you¡ª¡± She sighed wistfully. ¡°First time they see you, they think you¡¯re a joke.¡± Therese clapped. ¡°And then you¡¯re on them. That¡¯s what being a superhero is. Being impossible. Being bigger than yourself. It¡¯s not a super thing, either. It¡¯s just easier for us.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s like that for us, too,¡± said Chen. No use lying to himself anymore. ¡°Supervillains I mean. I hated the name AU. Fuckin¡¯ loathed it. It was something Lawrence built around me. But when I was being him¡ªwhen I had nothing else¡ªit was like nothing could touch me. People who sneered at my skin ran scared. And that felt good. Anger felt good. I don¡¯t want to be AU anymore, Miss Switt. He¡¯s a creature of spite. Stupid spite. No good for anyone. But I think I¡¯ll miss him a bit.¡±

    Therese spoke again, ¡°That¡¯s why I don¡¯t think this town is all that strange, Miss Switt. Supervillains, superheroes. We both know what it feels like.¡±

    Jessica Switt was writing feverishly. ¡°This is all very enlightening. How did you two meet?¡±

    Therese and Chen looked at one another. A nod.

    ¡°The Coven sent Chen after me for killing their men and stealing their ¡®product¡¯,¡± said Therese.

    ¡°She beat the shit out of me,¡± added Chen. He looked at Therese again. ¡°But afterwards. You were kind.¡±

    ?

    Decades later, a young man stands on the viewing platform of a high rise. A modest thing by global standards, but after about fifty feet the all heights register much the same to the human mind. The city of his childhood lies spread out in nightly splendour below him, lights blinking like dreaming synapses. Somewhere down there, he knows a coven is gathering.

    He glances at the book lying on the glass table by his chair. He turns words over in his head:

    Someone I could slip inside like a suit of armour. Someone brighter and stranger. Someone who could do the impossible.

    He looks down into the streets of Perth. He imagines a living shadow, leaping between islands of darkness in that sea of light.

    He would become impossible.

 Chapter One Hundred and Nine: The Arrows of the Sun

    Angela Barnes was sweltering. She¡¯d thought she was done with hot flushes months back. It was probably the summer heat. Or the ¡°wet¡± or the ¡°build up¡± or whatever they called it up here. The sky was a miser rich with rain, and Angela bore its weight on her shoulders with none of its cool relief. Her skin itched. Too much Irish in her, she guessed. What Angela was sure of was that she wasn¡¯t ill. She didn¡¯t have time for it.

    The gravy congealed on the cooling lamb chops. The steam rising from the peas and mash potatoes slowly dwindled. Two seats at the Barnes table were empty.

    ¡°Fred,¡± Angela said evenly, ¡°what time did I tell Arnold and Mabel to be home?¡±

    ¡°Six, love,¡± her husband answered.

    ¡°And what time is it now?¡± she asked, knowing the answer down to the second.

    Fred obediently glanced at his watch. ¡°A quarter-past.¡± His hand crept towards his fork.

    Angela clapped her hand over his. She almost fell over in her chair. ¡°Not until everyone¡¯s here.¡±

    Fred laughed. ¡°Feeling petty tonight, Ange?¡±

    Angela winced. Blood roared in her temples ¡°I told them. I told them¡ª¡±

    ¡°Costume off!¡±

    There was a muted thunderclap. The back screen-door rattled open and shut:

    ¡°I¡¯m here, I¡¯m here!¡±

    ¡°See?¡± said Fred. ¡°No harm done.¡±

    Arnold ran into the kitchen in plainclothes, smelling faintly of lightning. ¡°Sorry Mum!¡± he said, sliding sideways into his usual chair and digging in without a second thought. He didn¡¯t offer an apology to his father, not that the man wanted for one.

    ¡°Mistress Quickly needed me for vacuum work,¡± Arnold explained through a mouthful of potato and pea mush. ¡°She was super particular about it, too.¡±

    Angela screwed her eyes shut and banged the hilt of her knife against the table. ¡°Don¡¯t talk with your mouth full!¡± she said, a little too loud for her own liking. ¡°We haven¡¯t even said grace!¡±

    Arnold swallowed so hard it hurt. ¡°Sorry, Mum.¡±

    ¡°Ah, leave off him, woman,¡± said Fred. ¡°What¡¯s the point of praying when you¡¯re hungry?¡± He gestured at Arnold. ¡°Boy¡¯ll just ask for food.¡±

    Arnold stifled a giggle.

    ¡°It¡¯s not about asking for¡ª¡± Angela kept eyes fixed on her plate like she was trying to ward off motion sickness. Her brain felt like a fish tank in an earthquake. It sloshed. Why did Fred have to be so blasphemous in front of the boy? She closed her eyes. ¡°Where¡¯s Mabel?¡±

    An arch, boyish voice drawled into the kitchen, ¡°She¡¯s having dinner at the Kinseys tonight.¡±

    David was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, smiling impishly. As usual, he was stark naked.

    Angela groaned. ¡°For crying out loud, Arnold, I made up a plate for her!¡±

    ¡°Sorry!¡± Arnold whined. ¡°It¡¯s not like she said she¡¯d be home for dinner.¡±

    Silly me, Angela fumed inside, assuming the girl who eats and sleeps here almost every night might be around for dinner. Children were beasts. What did they think she was? A machine? An automatic assembly line of meals and clean laundry?

    There was no question of inviting David to eat with them. The fragile non-aggression pact between him and Angela wouldn¡¯t survive it. But like many such doctrines, it depended on both sides keeping to their lines. David strolled over and picked up Mabel¡¯s plate.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch it!¡± Angela snapped, inadvertently banging her knee against the underside of the table and sending the cutlery rattling. She hissed through her teeth. It felt like she¡¯d hit solid steel.

    Fred put a hand on David¡¯s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. ¡°What¡¯re you doing with my wife¡¯s cooking, boy?¡±

    David gave Fred six more years until calling him ¡°boy¡± would go from accurate to racist. He shrugged. ¡°Sarah doesn¡¯t feel like cooking tonight. Says it¡¯s too hot and that I¡¯d probably just eat the rest of Granddad¡¯s birthday porpoise because I¡¯m an awful sea-goblin.¡± She was right<sup>1</a></sup>. David looked over at Angela. ¡°Figured she might like a home-cooked meal. And everyone loves your lamb so¡­¡±

    Fred held his gaze for a moment, then let go of the water-sprite. ¡°Good lad.¡± He looked at his wife. ¡°You fine with that, Ange?¡±

    Arnold¡¯s eyes darted nervously between David and his mother.

    Angela sighed and nodded. Wastefulness was a sin, and the Lord knew Sarah had a lot on her shoulders. At least some of that burden was trying to pay her back with food tonight. ¡°Sure, go ahead. Send Mrs Allworth my regards.¡±

    ¡°Cool,¡± said David. He plucked the plate back up and made for the door. When he passed Arnold, he pivoted downward on one foot and kissed him on the lips. Forgetting where he was for a moment, Arnold kissed him back.

    David and Arnold yelped as Angela¡¯s plate flew over the former¡¯s head, shattering in a splattery mess against the kitchen wall. Arnold¡¯s mother had risen from her chair, breathing heavily.

    Fred shook his head, gawping slightly. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into ya, Ange?¡±

    Angela pointed a shaky finger at David. ¡°You see what he¡¯s doing, don¡¯t you?¡±

    David scowled. ¡°And what¡¯s that, lady?¡±

    Arnold desperately mimed ¡°silence¡± at the other boy.

    ¡°Taking him. And Allison.¡± Angela wiped sweat from her brow. ¡°Making them¡­ animals. Slimy and slippery and wrong. Arnold was a good boy, Fred.¡±

    ¡°Still is,¡± Fred replied sternly.

    ¡°But he won¡¯t be!¡± she snapped. ¡°Not if this keeps up! Not with this little toe rag and his¡ª  ways.¡±

    There was a long silence at that.

    ¡°Boyfriend,¡± David said flatly. ¡°That¡¯s the word you¡¯re too scared to say. And fuck you.¡±

    ¡°Get out of my house you queer little shit!¡±

    Nobody in the kitchen spoke. Arnold¡¯s eyes were watering.

    ¡°And would it kill you to say grace?¡±

    Angela slumped forwards against the table, her water glass toppling and soaking her hair.

    ¡°¡­Ange?¡± Fred wheeled over to his wife¡¯s side. He hoisted her upright best he could. ¡°Ange!¡±

    David frowned. Then flinched when Arnold slapped him.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± Arnold yelled. ¡°You let her up right now!¡±

    ¡°What¡ªfuck. It¡¯s not me, Arn!¡±

    Fred put his hand over Angela¡¯s forehead. Her skin screamed with heat. He looked at David and shouted, ¡°Get help! For Christ¡¯s sake, get help!¡±

    Before David could respond, Arnold zapped him to the sickbay, followed seconds later by his parents.

    Arnold fell to his knees and burst into confused tears. Somewhere out there, Elsa Lieroinen was laughing.

    ?

    Chen Liu sat at his workbench, grinding a silver disk against his electric grinding wheel, fingers wrapped in blue alligator tape. There was something humbling about working with silver. It wasn¡¯t that its colour or luster appealed less to Chen. He had a soft spot for the metal. It didn¡¯t listen to his power. He had to work with it¡ªbrowbeat and wheedle it into shape. If gold was Chen¡¯s dog, silver was his cat.

    A quick flash with a blowtorch and a sulphur bath darkened the face of the coin. The engraving work shone against the black patina. It could¡¯ve been a roadmap for Therese. It¡¯d turned out well, Chen thought. It felt good to do some proper jeweling again. Made him feel less ¡°AU¡± and more ¡°Chen.¡± But the circumstances¡­

    There was a knock at Chen¡¯s front door. He decided the bandana he had tied around his face counted as a mask.

    ¡°I hope this is important¡ª¡±

    Chen froze mid-sentence. Drina Kinsey was on his doorstop. And he wasn¡¯t wearing a shirt.

    ¡°Afternoon, Chen.¡±

    Chen stammered. ¡°Hey, Drina, I¡ª¡± He glanced down at his bare chest. ¡°¡­Sorry. Wasn¡¯t expecting company.¡± He scratched the back of his neck. ¡°Ruddy hot today, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Behind her cloth mask, Drina smiled. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Nothing I haven¡¯t seen before.¡± She flexed her eyebrows. ¡°A bit less, actually.¡±

    Chen blinked. ¡°Drina!¡±

    ¡°Ah, lighten up.¡± Drina reached into her bag, removing a small newspaper package. ¡°I made you a corn beef sandwich. Don¡¯t worry, I had gloves on.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have.¡±

    Drina shrugged. ¡°I was making some for Allie and the Barnes¡¯. You were on my way.¡±

    ¡°Still,¡± said Chen. He glanced back into his home. ¡°Actually, there¡¯s something I want to drop off to the Barnes. Mind the company?¡±

    ¡°Not at all. Haven¡¯t exactly had much adult conversation the last couple of weeks.¡±

    ¡°Just let me get cleaned up,¡± said Chen. ¡°I¡¯d invite you in, but the whole place kind of smells like rotten eggs right now.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    Drina couldn¡¯t help but watch Chen walk back inside. Something about the way his legs moved beneath his denim trousers¡­

    The pair walked through the deserted streets of Catalpa. All the water-fountains were cordoned off with tape. The town pool¡¯s gate was locked: now the exclusive domain of David Barthe. Drina was sure it was a mixed blessing for the boy. Occasionally people leaned out of their windows to say hello, hungry for any human interaction. The humidity was intense today, but you could smell rain in the air. The roads were lined with drying mud. Storm clouds circled patiently in the sky. Every once in a while, the sky thundered, as though chuckling at its own reticence.

    ¡°They¡¯ve moved some folks to the Flying Man¡¯s¡­ I think the word is base?¡± said Drina. ¡°You know, vulnerable people. That pregnant girl that arrived with me; Lana and her baby; Sarah¡­¡±

    ¡°Sensible,¡± said Chen. ¡°Measles is bloody awful if you¡¯re really young or really old. There was an outbreak back in Chinatown when I was eleven, I think. Took an uncle and a cousin.¡±

    ¡°Oh, Chen,¡± said Drina. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Chen shrugged. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there. I only heard about it in letters.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    The two walked in companionable silence for a bit.

    ¡°They had it on the ship I came on,¡± said Drina suddenly. ¡°It was¡­¡± She shook her head at the memory. ¡°I got lucky.¡±

    ¡°God,¡± said Chen. ¡°At least here we¡¯ve got space.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Drina. Her lip curled. ¡°Mind you, the Flying Man¡¯s home has air-conditioning.¡±

    ¡°Sometimes I wonder why Sarah doesn¡¯t just live there,¡± said Chen. ¡°It sounds very flash.¡±

    ¡°Be like living in her son¡¯s tomb, wouldn¡¯t it?¡± said Drina. ¡°Besides, I think the last fortnight has reminded me how important company is.¡±

    ¡°True.¡± Chen finally unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. ¡°Mhmm. This is really good silverside, Drina.¡±

    Drina blushed. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    They passed by Libertalia for a glass of wine. Not that they stepped inside the place. Not that ¡°glasses¡± were involved. Instead, Hettie Haldor reached her marble arm (smelling faintly of the disinfectant she¡¯d bathed in) out through a window and poured some red into paper cups. Allison had suggested the idea to the Haldors. In Florence they¡¯d been called buchette del vino: a way for the rich to avoid taxation and for the people to avoid sobriety during plagues. In Catalpa, as everywhere, people adapted.

    Drina sipped hers and smacked her lips. ¡°¡­Not quite right, is it?¡±

    ¡°You get what you¡¯re given,¡± Hettie called from within the pub.

    Chen nodded. ¡°It¡¯s better than nothing.¡±

    ¡°We shouldn¡¯t be allowing it at all.¡±

    Chen and Drina turned to find the Crimson Comet standing in front of them. He was in full costume¡ªwings out¡ªwith the addition of a dark red faceplate streaked with a gold comet. It gave the whole look an unfortunate raptorial quality.

    ¡°Thanks for the support, Mr. Rivers¡­¡± Hettie said.

    ¡°People don¡¯t need a reason to stand around outside right now,¡± Ralph insisted.

    ¡°If it helps,¡± said Drina, ¡°we¡¯re only stopping on our way to the tower.¡±

    Ralph raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°Delivering food to the Barnes¡¯ and my daughter.¡±

    Ralph rubbed his chin. ¡°¡­Fair enough I suppose.¡± He pointed sharply at the two of them. ¡°Don¡¯t linger, though.¡± Then he called into the window, ¡°And get me a beer if you¡¯re doing this!¡±

    ¡°Sure, your majesty.¡±

    Drina and Chen left him to his drink.

    ¡°Someone¡¯s on a power-kick,¡± muttered Chen.

    ¡°Be kind,¡± said Drina. ¡°Wally¡¯s stuck under the sea.¡±

    Sixty was no age to catch measles. Ralph was hardly any younger, but like everyone else who could call Eliza Winter a friend, he¡¯d been immunized long ago.

    ¡°Someone has to keep things under control,¡± Ralph had said.

    Close-Cut still insisted he wear the filter-mask he¡¯d made for him.

    They had to take the long way up to Freedom Point¡¯s entrance. The portal-eggs were for urgent use only right now. The elevator was rigged out of a suspended platform used for window cleaning. Drina gripped the handrails with white knuckles as the cables drew them into the air. ¡°¡­Not good with heights,¡± she said out the corner of her mouth, head turned upwards.

    Chen wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I gotcha.¡±

    Brandon Kurtz no longer stood in the front lobby. Instead, Mabel Henderson shoved a registry book at them. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    ¡°Name, date, time,¡± she said sternly.

    Drina signed in for her and Chen. She couldn¡¯t blame Mabel for being so serious. She¡¯d lost one northern town before.

    The Freedom Point infirmary was intended to house maybe a dozen patients. Now it held over three times that many people. Angela had been the town butcher. One of the town¡¯s busiest, most prominent women. And she hadn¡¯t even known she was infected. Drina and Chen could hear the chorus of coughs and wheezes before they saw the extra cots spilled out into the hallway in waves of triage. The worse the prognosis, the closer the patient was to the actual sickbay. Inside, Nurse Sandra bustled between beds; changing IV bags and bedpans; checking breathing and pulses; taking temperatures and laying moistened clothes over foreheads.

    The nurse lay a stethoscope over Brandon Kurtz¡¯ chest. His breath crackled in her ears. ¡°Fluid up in Mr. Kurtz¡¯ lungs.¡±

    At the centre of the room, Allison Kinsey nodded. ¡°Stand back.¡±

    Her eyes glowed milky green. Brandon jerked and retched in his bed. Sputum fountained out of his mouth, spiraling through the air into a medical waste container.

    Catalpa had no doctors. But Allison Kinsey had met a fair few.

    ¡°Allie,¡± said Drina. ¡°You really should eat something.¡±

    ¡°Later,¡± said Allison, gently turning over an unconscious patient.

    Drina saw the dark patches under her daughter¡¯s eyes. ¡°How much sleep are you getting?¡± Allison had insisted on relocating to the tower full time a week ago, over Drina¡¯s objections.

    ¡°I just slept three nights ago.¡±

    ¡°Three nights?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s different for me, Mum.¡±

    ¡°How different?¡± Drina wanted to ask.

    As patient zero, Angela Barnes was in one of the built in sickbay beds: the giant clam shells filled with wiggling tongues. Her face was dominated by an angry red rash. Her eyes were shut. Her husband and youngest son sat on either side of her, both masked. Nurse Sandra and Allison had warned them against touching her.

    Chen approached the bed and cleared his throat. Both Barnes glared at the man:

    ¡°Not now, AU,¡± said Arnold blearily.

    ¡°What the fuck are you doing here?¡± demanded Fred.

    ¡°Language,¡± muttered Arnold. Someone had to say it if his mother couldn¡¯t.

    ¡°Yeah, I know, not the person you want to see,¡± said Chen. He held out the two wrapped sandwiches. ¡°Here. Corn beef.¡±

    Fred scowled.

    ¡°Look, before you throw them in the bin, Drina made them, Not me.¡±

    After a moment, Fred grunted and snatched the sandwiches. ¡°Tell her me and the boy say thanks and clear off.¡±

    Chen sighed. ¡°There is something I wanted to give your wife, Mr. Barnes.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Chen removed the coin he¡¯d made from his pocket and handed it to Arnold. Engraved on the obverse was a long haired man with a thigh wound holding a pilgrim¡¯s staff. On the reverse, a dog offering up a piece of bread. Along the edges was written ¡°Saint Roch¡±<sup>2</a></sup>.

    ¡°Your mum¡¯s a good woman,¡± said Chen. ¡°She¡¯s been good to me. God knows I didn¡¯t do anything to deserve it.¡± He pointed at the coin. ¡°I don¡¯t go in for that kind of thing usually, but I know Mrs Barnes is a believer so¡­¡± He squinted his shoulder. ¡°Seemed like something she¡¯d like.¡±

    Arnold closed his hand around the coin. ¡°I think she would, Dad.¡±

    After a long moment, Fred Barnes nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Chen. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll be off then.¡± He looked right at Angela. ¡°Best wishes, Mrs Barnes.¡±

    As Chen turned, he heard the beginnings of tears. Arnold was embracing his weeping father.

    ¡°She¡¯s so strong, Arn¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, Dad.¡±

    Chen didn¡¯t dare say anything. Something about the way Arnold held his father told him this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d seen the man cry.

    ?

    That night, there was a town meeting. Nearly four hundred chairs spaced out at the foot of Freedom¡¯s point, their occupants nearly all masked. A surgical conference from a political cartoon. The air reeked of mosquito repellent. In front of the crowd was a hastily erected stage with six chairs: The Catalpa City Council. The council was a fairly amorphous entity at the best of times. People wandered in and out as their interest in local governance ebbed and waned. The outbreak had only caused more shifts in its makeup. At the moment, it consisted of:

    <ol>

    <li>Mistress Quickly, as the town¡¯s chief scientist. With Close-Cut holed up in Lyonesse, she was also pulling double duty repping the supervillain crowd.</li>

    <li>Paul Haldor, representing the town¡¯s baseline humans, filling in for Angela Barnes. </li>

    <li>The Crimson Comet, sheriff of Catalpa and standard bearer for the resident superheroes.</li>

    <li>Frances Robinson, sometimes called Night-Tide. A Darwinite superheroine, on the council because there was no way the supervillains were getting more seats on the council than honest to God heroes. </li>

    <li>Jon Griffiths, a man who appeared to be made of living red spaghetti with two bulbous ping-pong ball eyes, representing all those in Catalpa whose powers left them looking¡­ otherwise. </li>

    <li>And finally, Allison Kinsey. There was once a vague idea that she represented Catalpa¡¯s many unaccompanied children, but really, it just felt wrong to not have her around.   </li>

    </ol>

    ¡°¡­We¡¯re pretty sure we¡¯ve managed to break the chain of transmission,¡± said Allison Kinsey, her voice amplified by the button-microphone pinned to her costume¡¯s collar. She flashed a smile that only women manning make-up counters should use. ¡°Once we¡¯re past the incubation period, we can get back to building our city!¡±

    The girl clearly expected applause. Instead, she got a wave of whispers and murmurs.

    In the third row, Chen leaned over to Drina and whispered, ¡°She is way too young to be doing PR-talk¡­¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have to tell me.¡±

    ¡°Does anyone have any questions?¡± asked the Crimson Comet.

    A forest of raised hands.

    Eenie, menie, minee¡­

    The Comet pointed at a meaty, liver-spotted arm. ¡°Yes, Brenda?¡±

    Brenda McCullough cleared her throat. ¡°How come none of you big-brains can¡¯t just cure the measles?¡±

    Mistress Quickly of course fielded that one. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to say, but none of us super-scientists are dab hands at virology.¡±

    Brenda snorted. ¡°You grew a little girl! How can you not fix the measles! They¡¯ve got a vaccine in the States!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure you already knew this, Brenda,¡± said Maude, ¡°But there¡¯s a big difference between an inoculation and an antidote.¡± She folded her arms. ¡°As for Miri¡¯s project, most women can grow little girls, can¡¯t they?¡±

    A few scattered chuckles.

    ¡°And I¡¯m not too proud to admit I had help with that,¡± continued Maude. ¡°We¡¯re supers, guys, not gods.¡± She spotted a nut-brown hand waving from a middle row. ¡°And for those of us who are gods, I should remind people that divinity isn¡¯t all it¡¯s cracked up to be. Chariots of iron and all that.¡±

    ¡°Bunch of bull,¡± grumbled Brenda.

    ¡°Please, Brenda,¡± said Night-Tide. ¡°There are children here.¡±

    ¡°You bloody supes can do whatever miracles you like, but when it¡¯s something we need¡­¡±

    A man yelled from the back, ¡°It¡¯s a little convenient nobody in charge has gotten sick!¡±

    The council all exchanged looks.

    Maude smiled sourly. ¡°I¡¯ve caught four strains of measles on four different worlds. My immune system is way out of this planet¡¯s league.¡±

    ¡°I do not have any blood,¡± said Mr. Griffiths, his surprisingly clear, mild voice rustling his tentacles like wind through curtains.

    ¡°I¡¯m literally standing in for a councilwoman who got sick,¡± said Mr. Haldor.

    ¡°I¡¯m a vegetarian,¡± explained Night-Tide. ¡°Good woman though Mrs Barnes is, we don¡¯t do much business.¡±

    ¡°Never going to let us forget that,¡± said Maude under her breath, hand over her mic.

    ¡°Me and Miss Kinsey were made immune to a lot of ailments by a healer we both knew,¡± said the Comet.

    ¡°And why can¡¯t we get her in?¡±

    ¡°Therese is looking for her,¡± said Allison. ¡°Big country on a big planet.¡±

    ¡°What I want to know is how the measles got here,¡± said an old man.

    Maude sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve explained this. Mrs Barnes¡ª¡±

    ¡°But how did it get here?¡±

    ¡°Catalpa isn¡¯t exactly a closed community,¡± said Night-Tide.

    ¡°It¡¯s obvious, isn¡¯t it?¡± A man near the back rose from his seat and pointed towards the front. ¡°It was the bloody chink!¡±

    It took Chen a moment to realize he was talking about him. He twisted around in his chair. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    Ralph groaned. ¡°For Christ¡¯s sake, Jared¡­¡±

    ¡°Did anyone bother testing him when he got here?¡± another voice asked, loudly. ¡°God knows what he¡¯s carrying.¡±

    Allison, young as she was, tried to use logic, ¡°Chen¡¯s immune too. Just like me and Ralph.¡±

    ¡°His lot are dirty. They carry it with them.¡±

    ¡°For all we know the witch sent him here!¡±

    Chen clenched a fist. He wanted to scream the arseholes into the ground. But anger was a privilege not afforded to men who¡¯d done the things he¡¯d done. But then, it also wasn¡¯t afforded to men who looked like him.

    Drina shot to her feet. ¡°Shame on you all.¡±

    Chen put a hand on her arm. ¡°Drina, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡±

    Drina pulled away from him. ¡°It¡¯s not just about you, Chen.¡± She pointed at her daughter, then back at herself. ¡°Me? My daughter? The kid you all worship? Gypsy.¡±

    On stage, Allison swallowed. She¡¯d never heard her mother¡­ admit it like that before. The only reason she knew about it was the Physician, and the Physician had a weird sense of humour at the best of times.

    ¡°Are we dirty?¡±

    Stammering. ¡°I¡ªI meant supervillains¡ª¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mistress Quickly said flatly.

    Drina rolled her eyes. ¡°Pull the other one. Chen came here to help. He risked his life to save our kids, and you¡¯re all looking for an excuse to indulge your pigshit ignorance.¡±

    ¡°I can take it, Drina,¡± said Chen.

    ¡°You made mistakes Chen,¡± said Drina. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean you have to put up with dickheads the rest of your life.¡± She marched brazenly up to the stage, clambering onto it with determined awkwardness and taking her daughter by the hand. ¡°We¡¯re going home.¡±

    Allison blinked and shook her head. ¡°No I¡¯m not.¡±

    Drina started walking offstage, dragging Allison with her. ¡°I won¡¯t have you listening to this filth!¡±

    Ralph sighed. ¡°Allie, listen to your mother. We can manage¡ª¡±

    Allison pulled her hand effortlessly from her mother¡¯s grip. ¡°I need to be here!¡±

    God, when¡¯d she get so strong? ¡°You are ten years old!¡±

    Mother and daughter locked gazes for a moment, war passing between their eyes. Without breaking eye contact, Allison¡¯s feet left the ground.

    Drina staggered forward, trying to grab a foot. ¡°Allie! Allie!¡±

    Allison didn¡¯t answer. Drina¡¯s hands found only empty air. The girl shrunk as she rose higher, flitting around Freedom Point like a rainbow raven haunting London Tower.

    Drina let out an inarticulate noise of maternal fury. She became aware of the audience staring at her in silence. She glared back at them. ¡°You¡¯re all ruining her.¡±

    She stormed off into the night.

    ¡°If you haven¡¯t gotten the hint,¡± said Night-Tide. ¡°Meeting adjourned.¡±

    ?

    If Ralph Rivers was the sheriff, and Allison Kinsey the child-empress, Maude Simmons might¡¯ve said she was the high-priestess of Catalpa. It wasn¡¯t that much of a stretch. There was a distinct engineering mindset in the old polytheisms. Zeus and his cronies weren¡¯t interested in a ¡°personal relationship¡± with mankind or whatever it was Christ and his dad wanted. Old gods cared about your actions, not your feelings. Orthopaxy trumped orthodoxy any day. Trying to perform a sacrifice with unexpunged sins was no different from waltzing into a clean room covered in microbes. Other than that, if the priests recited the program correctly and input the right materials (flawless black heifers, unbruised fruit, suckling babes) the gods would oblige. You didn¡¯t have to understand why. Leave that to the philosophers. Or the theoretical physicists.

    The machine they called Dr. Beaks lay across a metal gurney, cloak removed, its naked, ruined mechanisms open to the air. Mistress Quickly was performing an autopsy with designs towards resurrection. So far, her findings weren¡¯t promising. Maude had never gone in for robots. She liked her privacy too much to invent a machine to destroy it. Still, it wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d taken one apart. But Dr. Beaks was something else. Even accounting for the structural damage, he seemed¡­ incomplete. Like a corpse missing its skeleton. He had no wires in him. No screws or weld marks. The pieces looked like they¡¯d been grown into shape like metal bonsai trees. She had no clue how they fit or stayed together. His manipulator arms were made of something like living¡ªdead¡ªmodeling clay. Protean and endlessly adaptable. Running electricity through them made them shift from scalpels to syringes to tweezers. Maude had learned quickly that his ¡°eyes¡± were purely cosmetic. She¡¯d yet to locate any discrete computation in Dr. Beaks. Her running theory was that that was handled by his entire molecular structure. Blancheflor swore up and down he wasn¡¯t remote controlled.

    Maude sighed. ¡°Goddamn it, Joseph.¡±

    ¡°Danny, take a note.¡±

    The lab answered with silence, accented by the quiet hum of machines.

    ¡°Bugger.¡±

    Doc Danny had the measles. Maude had gotten used to thinking of her assistant like her belt. Always there.

    The lab¡¯s door-alarm buzzed. Mistress Quickly glanced at a recycled television to find Mrs Kinsey shuffling her feet outside.

    ¡°Enter.¡±

    The doors slid open. Drina marched inside. ¡°When will that robot be fixed?¡±

    ¡°At this rate¡­ I have no idea.¡±

    Drina ran her hands down her face. ¡°¡­Then what¡¯s the point of you? What¡¯s the point of portals and fancy water fountains and self-building houses if my little girl has to play doctor with life and death on the line? On top of everything else!¡±

    Religion back in the day was results oriented. If the rain didn¡¯t fall or the crops didn¡¯t grow, people started asking the priests difficult questions. And people didn¡¯t change much. Maude Simmons walked over to the bench she¡¯d set her coffee pot on and poured herself a mug. She took a sip. It tasted like cigarette ash mixed with milk. Only appropriate. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Mrs Kinsey. I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t recreate the work of an alien god. I guess I¡¯m not trying hard enough to steal my dead friend¡¯s work.¡±

    ¡°¡­Sorry,¡± said Drina.

    Maude sighed. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Measles is making us all crabby bitches.¡± She took another mug from a cupboard. ¡°Want some coffee? It¡¯s bloody awful.¡±

    ¡°¡­Can you make it a beer?¡±

    The two women pulled up a chair and drank.

    ¡°It¡¯s still perverse,¡± said Drina. ¡°The way people worship her here. She¡¯s like a cross between Baby Jesus and a farm mule.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have to tell me twice,¡± said Maude. ¡°You have to remember, a lot of these people are literal asylum inmates.¡±

    ¡°They weren¡¯t thrown in there for being mad, though.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the thing about asylums,¡± said Maude. ¡°If you weren¡¯t mad when you went in, you¡¯ll get there eventually. Trust me, I know.¡±

    ¡°Going to tell me about that?¡±

    ¡°Check back in a year or five. Look, Drina. These people were desperate, hounded, and loathed. I escaped that crap a long time ago, but I know what it feels like. Your daughter saved them from that. Gave them somewhere they could be free.¡± Maude thought about it. ¡°Well, I did a lot of that, but Allison¡¯s a little girl who flies and glows sometimes, you can guess who draws more eyes.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t see them making the Queen do the washing up.¡±

    ¡°You assume we¡¯re making Allison do what she does,¡± countered Maude. ¡°Have you considered that maybe your daughter wants to help? That she is, in fact, a good girl?¡±

    ¡°Of course she¡¯s a good girl,¡± snapped Drina. ¡°But it¡¯s not about her being good, Maude. It¡¯s fear.  She has an entire town full of people looking to her for answers, and she¡¯s terrified she¡¯ll fail them. You people are asking her to hold up the sky for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± said Maude. ¡°The others? Absolutely. And it¡¯s not fair. What am I supposed to do about it?¡±

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know.¡±

    Both women drank.

    ¡°There is a way you can help, Drina.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be happy to.¡±

    ¡°Might want to wait till I tell you how before saying that. The council¡¯s talked it over, and we¡¯re putting new resident pick-ups on hold. We can¡¯t bring people into an epidemic. We¡¯re stretched thin as it is. We¡¯ve already prepared a message.¡±

    ¡°¡­You haven¡¯t told Allie, have you?¡±

    ¡°This wasn¡¯t a decision for her. A lot of people may have forgotten Allison is a child, but we haven¡¯t.¡± Maude took a deep breath. ¡°We want you to break the news to her. Me and Ralph, we¡¯re too much her friends and not enough grown-ups in her head.¡±

    Drina nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll do it?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Drina finished her beer and stood up. ¡°Best rip the plaster off now.¡±

    ¡°Want me to back you up?¡±

    ¡°No. I can handle my own daughter.¡± Drina glanced at the ruins of Dr. Beaks. ¡°You will keep trying, won¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Maude. ¡°Joe did good work. Be a shame to let it go to waste.¡±

    ¡°Godspeed, Maude.¡±

    Drina slipped her mask back on in the elevator up to the infirmary. ¡°You can do this, Drina,¡± she kept telling herself. ¡°She¡¯s your daughter.¡±

    The lights were dimmed on the infirmary floor. Patients slept in a thick soup of drugs. Drina could smell it seeping from their skin. That and urine mixed with antiseptics. Fred and Arnold lay asleep together on a cot beside Angela¡¯s bed. Allison was holding a plastic cup filled with cold water to an old man¡¯s lips.

    ¡°This okay, Mr. Gittelmen?¡± she asked softly.

    Mr. Gittelmen let out a keening wheeze. His long white beard contrasted disturbingly with his scarlet spotted face. ¡°You¡¯re a mitzvah, girl.¡±

    Without looking at her mother, Allison said, ¡°Hi, Mum.¡±

    Drina didn¡¯t answer for a moment. She was too distracted by Mr. Gittelmen¡¯s fingertips. They were black. Before she could say anything, Nurse Sandra grabbed her shoulder. ¡°Allie, could me and your mother have a word?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Allison answered, eyes still fixed on Mr. Gittelmen.

    Nurse Sandra led Drina out of the sickbay back to the elevator bank. ¡°You need to get that girl out of here. Now.¡±

    ¡°I thought she was helping you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a licensed nurse, Mrs Kinsey. I¡¯m not saying a doctor wouldn¡¯t be a help, if they had the right tools, but we don¡¯t. And Allison isn¡¯t a doctor.¡± She sighed. ¡°She sleeps in a chair for ten minutes at a time. Sometimes she cries. Jacob Gittelmen is eighty-two years old. He has pneumonia in both lungs. Far as I can tell, his kidneys have completely packed it in. There¡¯s necrosis in his extremities. He¡¯s going to die, Drina. I¡¯d give him hours. I don¡¯t care what she¡¯s seen or done, Allison isn¡¯t ready for that. She thinks she can keep him alive.¡±

    Drina found herself laughing.

    Sandra frowned. ¡°Did I say something funny?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± replied Drina. ¡°I just thought you were all mad.¡±

    ¡°Take your daughter home, Mrs Kinsey. Make her sleep. Properly sleep. Play¡­ I don¡¯t know, Monopoly or something with her. Just don¡¯t let her keep working.¡±

    The laughter died fast. ¡°Let me talk to her.¡±

    Drina approached her daughter like her footsteps might make her shatter. ¡°Allie, there¡¯s something Mistress Quickly wanted me to tell¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re cancelling the resident drive,¡± Allison cut in.

    ¡°¡­You know?¡±

    ¡°I saw you and Maude talking about it,¡± said Allison. ¡°In your head.¡±

    Drina suppressed a shudder. What did Allison see inside her? Inside everyone? ¡°I know it seems heartless, Allie, but the council only wants to keep everyone safe.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°Yeah. It makes sense.¡± She bit her lip. ¡°Is it bad I don¡¯t mind?¡± Her breathing quickened.

    Drina stepped forward and hugged her daughter. ¡°Of course not, honey.¡±

    Allison murmured into her mother¡¯s mid-section. ¡°I don¡¯t want more people to look after¡­¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t your job to look after grown ups.¡±

    As they embraced, lights on Mr. Gittelmen¡¯s sci-fi bed started blinking. Alarms beeped with soft, melodic urgency. Jacob groaned.

    Nurse Sandra rushed over, examining the optics that ran along the edge of the bed. ¡°We¡¯re over the hump now. Won¡¯t be long till Mr. Gittelmen¡¯s gone home.¡±

    Allison jerked weakly in her mother¡¯s arms. ¡°I can¡ª¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Drina said firmly. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°But his granddaughter! She¡¯s little¡­¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll look after her. We¡¯ll look after you all.¡± Drina looked at Nurse Sandra. ¡°Will you be alright here?¡±

    The nurse nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± She took Jacob¡¯s hand. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    Drina roused Arnold awake. He squinted up blearily at her and Allison. ¡°What is it?¡±

    A few seconds later, Drina appeared in a green flash on her house¡¯s veranda, carrying Allison as best she could. She awkwardly walked the door handle with one hand:

    Need one of those stupid spaceship doors¡­

    Once Drina got the door open, she staggered inside, making directly for the bedroom. She laid her daughter down on the bed. She was asleep, Thank Christ. As she watched, Allison¡¯s costume shaped itself into polychrome pyjamas. Drina couldn¡¯t help but smile at that.

    She was considering laying down next down to Allison when she heard a knock on the door:

    Drina huffed. ¡°What now?¡±

    Dutifully, she answered the door, finding Chen on her doorstep. He was holding a small, badly wrapped box in one hand, and a bottle of red wine in the other.

    ¡°Evening, Drina.¡± Chen tried to look past the woman¡¯s shoulders. ¡°I saw you carrying Allie inside. Something the matter?¡±

    Drina smiled tiredly. ¡°There is, but  Chen. What brings you here?¡±

    Chen held out the box. ¡°I wanted to give you this.¡±

    Drina took it into your hands. ¡°Thank you. Can I ask why?¡±

    ¡°For yesterday, at that bloody meeting. Standing up for me. God knows people are still looking sideways at you for proposing child labour laws.¡± He smiled waggishly. ¡°Wild pinko idea that is.¡±

    Drina giggled. She unwrapped the box. It was a slightly battered jewelry case. Inside was a silver necklace with a ruby pendant.

    ¡°Oh, Chen¡­¡± She looked at him. ¡°Why silver, though?¡±

    ¡°Oh, sorry, I¡ªjust feels weird giving people gold as a present, you know. It costs me nothing and¡ª¡±

    Drina smiled and raised a hand. ¡°It¡¯s lovely, Chen.¡±

    Chen let out a sigh of relief. ¡°Good.¡± He raised the bottle of wine. ¡°I got this in case you didn¡¯t think so. Hettie¡¯s still marginally fond of us for saving her kid, I guess.¡±

    Drina rubbed her chin and hummed. ¡°Tell you what, I¡¯ll take the wine, too. If you help me drink it.¡±

    They drank it in coffee mugs, till the sun rose over Freedom¡¯s Point. Allison didn¡¯t hear Jacob Gittelmen¡¯s song end.

 Chapter One Hundred and Ten: The Special Relationship

    The exhaustion told Angela she was still alive. It had been her companion her entire adult life. The pain and fever made her wonder briefly if she was in Hell. But no. Whatever mistakes she¡¯d made¡ªand she¡¯d made plenty¡ªGod kept His promises. Besides, her son was there.

    Arnold knelt by her bedside, hands held together with his eyes closed. ¡°Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you¡±¡ªhe shook his head¡ª¡°thee.¡±

    He was a good boy.

    Angela heard her husband wheeling over, back from one his rare, brief absences:

    ¡°Whatcha doing, boy?¡±

    ¡°Ah, praying¡­ yeah.¡±

    ¡°¡­Budge over. You¡¯re gonna have to show me the words. Haven¡¯t done this since I was six.¡±

    ¡°Okay. Hail Mary, full of grace¡­¡±

    Fred repeated after his son, ¡°Hail Mary, full of grace¡­¡±

    Angela wanted to laugh. For her husband, faith was like light to a cavefish. He was physically incapable of reverence. That should have worried her more, but how could God condemn a man like her Fred?

    ¡°Blessed art thou amongst women¡­¡±

    Angela knew he meant those words, though.

    Why did she love him? Was it because Fred was strong? He was, of course. The strongest man Angela knew. But she¡¯d cared for him when he¡¯d come home destroyed, body and soul. Because he was handsome? He was that, too, even after all these years. But the world had tried to take that from him¡ªaltered him¡ªand she hadn¡¯t cared. Arnold had been born from passion. If he had come home with no face, or burnt black and red, it wouldn¡¯t have mattered. Was it that Fred was kind? Because he was. That felt like the best answer to Angela. The most sensible. But sometimes, after the world had decided it was done with him, Fred hadn¡¯t been the easiest man to love. But that had never stopped Angela. She feared even if he were cruel or craven, she would still love him. Maybe, she simply loved Fred because he was there.

    No. That couldn¡¯t be it. She¡¯d loved him when he was gone, too.

    Perhaps there was no reason. Perhaps love just happened, damn your ¡°reasons.¡± Was that how it was for God? To have no choice but to love every man, woman and child¡ªevery living thing that ever was? The very thought terrified Angela.

    Time moved strangely for Angela. When she tried to pay attention to it, it froze. When she didn¡¯t, it drained away like water through a sieve. People came and went. She tried to pray for Jacob Gittelmen and his young granddaughter when he passed, but the words kept escaping her. She was sure God got the point. After that, Allison vanished from the infirmary. Good, Angela thought. The girl was suffocating on obligation. The fact her son came and went too was also a relief. The young should not suffer for the old.

    Arnold did visit her, though. Every day. He wasn¡¯t the only one. Sometimes, Mabel joined him. Sometimes, it was Allison. Then there was one visit where Arnold wasn¡¯t there at all.

    She¡¯d thought it was him, at first. The same light footsteps. The comforting weight on the bedsheets about her feet. The sound of hands fiddling with a scrap of paper.

    She only realized who it was when he spoke.

    ¡°Our Father who art in Heaven,¡± David muttered. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I say this wrong. I had to ask Sarah how to do it. I know this lady¡¯s an angry bat, but please, please don¡¯t let her die. She¡¯s Arnold¡¯s mum. He¡¯s good.¡±

    Angela forced her eyes open slightly. They were met with a blur of blue and brown. The boy was wearing his costume.

    ¡°He¡¯s better than me, and maybe that¡¯s why I deserved it when you took my mum away.¡± In an even more hushed, rushed tone, he added, ¡°Even though that¡¯s really dumb and mean of you.¡±

    ¡°But Arnold¡¯s better, and he loves her. He doesn¡¯t deserve for you to hurt him. So, please, keep her safe¡­ this is dumb.¡± He let out a long sigh. ¡°Amen, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Dave?¡±

    The weight left her bed.

    ¡°Shit- Hi, Arn.¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°Uh. Heard you were coming for a visit. Thought I¡¯d keep you company. Didn¡¯t want you being all pathetic.¡±

    ¡°¡­Were you praying?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± admitted David. ¡°Sarah said I should do it. I don¡¯t think it really works when we¡¯re both gods.¡±

    It should¡¯ve been a brag; a bit of boastful blasphemy. But David sounded perfectly matted-a-fact.

    ¡°Different kind of god,¡± said Arnold. ¡°You¡¯re big. He¡¯s¡­ everything.¡±

    Angela loved her son.

    ¡°Whatever,¡± David muttered. ¡°You doing okay?¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± said Arnold. ¡°I think. It¡¯s dad I¡¯m worried about.¡±

    ¡°You are?¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­ Think he¡¯ll¡­ Be okay, if she doesn¡¯t¡­ You know.¡±

    David snickered.

    ¡°Yeah. He¡¯ll be fine. Cuz she¡¯s gonna make it. And he knows it. You can tell it just by looking at him. He knows she¡¯s gonna make it through with every piece of him.¡±

    ¡°¡­ Thanks, Dave.¡±

    ¡°Heh. You¡¯re welcome. C¡¯mere.¡±

    A weight at the end of the bed again as David tugged his boyfriend over for a kiss.

    Angela didn¡¯t know what to think. Fred had done that for her. She¡¯d done the same for him. But it couldn¡¯t be the same thing. Sin warped people like rotting wood. Her son was a good boy. Even David wasn¡¯t¡ªhe wasn¡¯t evil. And she couldn¡¯t deny the Crimson Comet was a great man. The Bible spelled it out in plain English, but how could Angela be expected to ignore what her eyes and ears and bones told her?

    She didn¡¯t know. God, she was tired. But at least, for a moment, her boy was comforted. And for that, she was grateful.

    ?

    Rain hissed like generations of vipers as it hammered against the Children Hall¡¯s roof. It rained most days now in Catalpa. Drina Kinsey had picked a poor time of year to tell Allison to ¡°go out and play.¡± She and Mabel lay on the attic¡¯s wooden floor, the way they used to in the New Human Institute¡¯s barn. Mabel¡¯s conjured record player belted out Harry Belafonte¡¯s ¡°Jump in the Line¡± in a vain attempt to invoke sunnier days. The rain acted as complimentary static. Neither girl had the energy to dance. The only reason they bothered putting on music was that it was one of the few sensory pleasures Miri could indulge independently.

    ¡°Sometimes I have these dreams,¡± said Mabel. ¡°I wake up one morning and everyone in town¡¯s dead like in Circle¡¯s End. It¡¯s almost as hot as there, too.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s dumb,¡± Allison said. ¡°We haven¡¯t had any new cases in over a week. We¡¯ve just got to wait for everyone to get better.¡±

    ¡°I heard Mr. Gittelmen died.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison. ¡°He did.¡±

    ¡°Is anyone going to tell Hannah?¡± asked Mabel. ¡°She still thinks he¡¯s just sick.¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°The grown-ups will do it.¡±

    Miri floated between the two corporeal girls like they were playing ¡°light as a feather, stiff as a board¡± at a sleepover. ¡°Was I greedy?¡± she asked.

    ¡°What?¡± said Mabel.

    ¡°If I¡¯d just let the witch-lady take my body soon as she asked, Dr. Beaks could¡¯ve fixed everybody.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s okay to want things, Miri,¡± insisted Allison.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Miri. ¡°So, could you change the record now? Something with a girl-singer.¡±

    Allison rolled her eyes. ¡°We just put this one on.¡±

    Miri nodded.

    After a moment, she asked, ¡°Where do dead people go?¡±

    Allison waved her hands above her head. ¡°Fine, fine!¡±

    Miri smiled innocently. ¡°Thanks, Allie.¡±

    Grumbling, Allison got up and took Harry Belafonte off the turntable, replacing it with a Carpenters record. The moment the needle hit the vinyl, an angry klaxon screeched.

    Miri put her hands over her ears at the same time as Allison. ¡°I don¡¯t like this song!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not a song.¡±

    ¡°UNIDENTIFIED AIRCRAFT DETECTED IN CATALPAN AIRSPACE,¡± droned Mistress Quickly¡¯s mechanized voice.

    Xylophones.

    Allison rose up through the ceiling and into the rain. The gun placements Maude had installed on Freedom Point buzzed like a million wasps. White laser searchlights cut blue canyons through the grey shell of cloud. Allison became solid again:

    ¡°Costume on!¡±

    Allison burst into the sky, steam trailing off her suddenly colourful shoulders. She built up speed. The sheets of rain she flew through were warm as bathwater. If it weren¡¯t for the circumstances of her flight, Allison might¡¯ve been having fun. It¡¯d been months since anyone had tried dropping anything on Catalpa. Was this something to do with Europe? Had the Russians built themselves some more new nukes? Had World War Three finally arrived?The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    In seconds, she pierced the clouds, passing through the ungrounded fog into that place where the sun always shines. Slanted geysers of light erupted all around her. Just in case, Allison reached for Ralph Rivers¡¯ song, feeling her skin harden.

    She scanned the open sky. High above her, she spotted a tiny black speck¡ªa scratch on the film of the sky. From Allison¡¯s distance, it barely moved at all, but it was managing to weave its way through a flashing maze of lasers. She decided to investigate. The combination of her flight and the Comet¡¯s carried Allison into the upper reaches of sky, scarring the air red in her wake. The howl of the wind died in her ears. She felt the atmosphere thin against her skin. Azure blue began to fade to starry black, as though God was running out of paint. The world lay spread out beneath Allison¡¯s feet. Arnhem Land became a toe curled in the ocean. She could see the curve of the world.

    Instinctively, she stopped breathing. Ralph could never go this high in just his costume, unless he wanted to meet the ground again at terminal velocity. According to Maude, Allison only needed about ten percent of the oxygen most girls did to stay conscious. Her lungs and tissues stored it with startling efficiency. It was one of many accommodations her biology had made for flight; like how the moisture on her eyeballs neither froze nor evaporated as the temperature plummeted; her indifference to extreme G-forces; or the compass that had been lodged in her brain. That was something people forgot: most of the really good powers needed five or ten more little powers to be useful.

    It took Allison a moment to believe her eyes when the speck resolved. It was a genuine Buck Rogers rocket ship, cast in jet-black, propelled through the upper atmosphere by three blue-flaming jets. It looked like it belonged in miniature on a sci-fi writer¡¯s mantlepiece. If it flew over a suburb at the right hour, it could¡¯ve spawned a whole generation of UFO-watchers.  She could hear a song coming from inside, broadly human but with a strange metallic edge¡ª

    A laser cut through the rocket, severing its wings and engines in a scream of fire. The sound of wrenching metal was strangely muted. This high up, there was less air to carry it. The cone tumbled through the air. As Allison watched, a hatch blew, ejecting something out in the open air. She swooped towards it.

    It was a man¡ªor at least something shaped like a man¡ªstrapped into a pilot¡¯s seat. He was covered head to toe in what looked like crinkly baking foil. His face was concealed behind a dark visor, a plastic elephant¡¯s trunk trailing from his mouth to a pair of oxygen tanks strapped to his chest. He looked like he¡¯d put his backpack on backwards. His song was completely untroubled, if excited. Allison tried to look inside his thoughts, but it was like trying to make out someone¡¯s face through frosted glass.

    The pilot (or cargo) gave Allison two thumbs up. Tilting her head, she glanced at the nearest bundle of futures:

    She couldn¡¯t help but laugh.

    Allison left the man to his fall, instead flying towards the main body of his aircraft. At a glance, the engine section looked like it would land somewhere off the coast, but the cone¡¯s trajectory took it upsettingly close to Catalpa itself. As she threw her back against the metal hulk, pushing against it with her supernatural momentum, she saw a parachute explode open above the falling man. It was proudly emblazoned with a Union Jack.

    Far below¡ªdespite the rain, despite the measles, and very much despite the still blaring air-raid sirens¡ªa crowd was gathering in the streets.

    ¡°Do you think it¡¯s a spaceman?¡± Billy asked over the alarm.

    Mabel was looking through a pair of binoculars she¡¯d conjured, her scrapbook safely hidden in a waterproof ziplock bag. ¡°Depends,¡± she said, ¡°Is England outer-space?¡±

    The Catalpans parted as the man landed, his parachute falling atop him. A few people gasped, though many more laughed as they saw him clearly struggling to free himself from his seat beneath the red, blue and white fabric.

    The Crimson Comet stepped forward and ripped away the parachute. Its owner carefully got to his feet.

    ¡°State your intentions and don¡¯t make any sudden moves,¡± said the Comet. ¡°We don¡¯t want any trouble.¡±

    The pilot shed his flight suit like a cicada that¡¯d outgrown its skin. A bronzed man with slicked back black hair nines in a crisp three piece suit and cloak stepped out.

    Ralph squinted. ¡°¡­Jack Lyons?¡±

    The man looked at the Crimson Comet for a few seconds. Then he smiled. ¡°Comet? Is that you?¡±

    The two of them swung around at the sound of a hard, heavy thud. Allison Kinsey was floating behind them, the body of Jack Lyons¡¯ rocket lying sideways across the street below her, rain slowly eating away at the flames.

    ¡°We¡¯re keeping this,¡± she declared.

    ?

    ¡°Jack Lyons,¡± said Wally Grimsby, ¡°for real?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± replied Ralph. ¡°Jack Lyons.  Did a couple of missions with him back in the War. Hasn¡¯t aged a day¡­¡±

    Ralph was standing inside an old English phone box next to Libertalia Tavern. The actual phone had been ripped out and replaced with a small television. On the screen, Ralph¡¯s boyfriend was nursing a martini at Clarks, the premier drinking establishment of the Flying Man¡¯s undersea lair.  The old supervillain was lounging in a purple bathrobe monogrammed with a red and blue diamond.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me! My dad used to tell me stories about Jack Lyons. Very past-tense stories.¡± Wally laughed. ¡°There were kids books and everything!¡± He made a frame with his hands, moving it in front of his face as he listed, ¡°Jack Lyons and the Abominable Snowman! Jack Lyons and the Mad Mahdi<sup>1</a></sup>! Jack Lyons and the Haunted Diving Suit! Jack Lyons and the Zulus!¡±

    ¡°¡­That last one doesn¡¯t sound as fun.¡±

    ¡°It was a different time, Ralph,¡± said Wally. ¡°I honestly wasn¡¯t sure if he was real growing up.¡± He glanced up at the ceiling. ¡°Hey, Blancheflor, could you check if Jack Lyons was real?¡±

    ¡°Working,¡± answered the Flying Man¡¯s computerized assistant, followed by some confectured humming like an old librarian leafing through a reference book. It even had the sound of page turns.

    ¡°¡­Very much real it seems, Mr. Grimsby,¡± Blanceflor quickly reported. ¡°Born in Bombay 1860 to Reginald and Padma Lyons, Jack Lyons distinguished himself as a petty officer in the British Army, before being headhunted by the crown¡¯s nascent intelligence organs. From the 1880s to about 1902, he made a name for himself dealing with the supernatural and what we now call superhumans. After that, records become¡­ spotty.¡±

    ¡°That man does not look a hundred and six,¡± said Ralph.

    Wally shrugged. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a codename.¡±

    Ralph shook his head. ¡°Same bloke I knew in Europe, I¡¯d swear by it.¡±

    ¡°Occam¡¯s razor then,¡± said Wally. ¡°Lucky bastard¡¯s immortal. Not that uncommon in our crowd.¡±

    ¡°Then where¡¯s he been since the War?¡± asked Ralph.

    ¡°No idea,¡± replied Wally. ¡°Isn¡¯t the pressing question what he¡¯s doing in Catalpa?¡±

    ¡°Says he¡¯s here on behalf of the Crown. Gonna tell us more at the council meeting.¡±

    ¡°Send me the minutes,¡± said Wally. He smiled. ¡°I was wrong, though, that isn¡¯t the most pressing question.¡±

    ¡°What is it, then?¡±

    Wally leaned forwards. ¡°Is he handsome? Dashing, even?¡±

    Ralph flashed a crooked grin. ¡°Damn, Wally. I thought we had something here.¡±

    Wally laughed. ¡°Oh, shut up. You know I go for ugly men.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± Ralph heard the air pop behind him. ¡°There¡¯s my ride. Talk to you tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± said Wally. ¡°Oh! Tell David he better not miss Mrs Allworth¡¯s call if he knows what¡¯s good for him.¡±

    ¡°Will do,¡± said Ralph. He kissed his palm, raising it to the screen. ¡°Love ya.¡±

    Wally repeated the gesture. ¡°Love you too.¡±

    The screen shut off. Ralph sighed, turned around, and stepped through the egg portal in front of the video-booth. It took him to the Freedom Point canteen. A long folding bench had been set up for the city council. Allison waved at Ralph as the rest of his fellows murmured vague greetings.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you again, Crimson Comet,¡± said Jack Lyons. He was sitting patiently before the Catalpans on an old wooden chair, back straight, left leg folded over his right, a quiet smile playing across his lips.

    ¡°I wager I¡¯d say the same if your entrance hadn¡¯t been so peculiar,¡± said Ralph.

    ¡°I thought someone was trying to nuke us,¡± added Mistress Quickly. ¡°It was almost nostalgic.¡±

    ¡°I apologize for any alarm I may have caused your fair town,¡± said Jack Lyons.

    He spoke with perfect BBC pronunciation, the kind that didn¡¯t occur in nature. It didn¡¯t sit well with Allison. It was like Lawrence had found the fountain of youth and a tan.

    ¡°I had intended to simply take a passenger plane and wait for one of your resident drives, but when you announced the hiatus, the boffins set me up with a prototype¡­ well, I can hardly call it a plane, can I?¡±

    ¡°Awful lot of trouble just to visit a town in the middle of a pandemic,¡± opined Paul Haldor.

    ¡°I assure you, I only intrude at the behest of the Crown. The Emp¡ª¡± He stopped himself. ¡°The Commonwealth needs assistance only your town can provide.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re all ears,¡± said Allison.

    Lyons removed an audio-cassette from his breast pocket. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I should have asked this first¡ªdoes anyone have a tape-player?¡±

    One was found. The Lyons and the council clustered around the machine as it spoke in a sober, British voice:

    ¡°This is Sir Edward Blythe of the Ministry of Paranatural Activity. We seek the aid of Catalpa and its denizens in tracking down several British superhumans we believe to be lost in foreign territory. We believe this to be of the utmost importance to the security of both the United Kingdom and the wider Commonwealth. Her Majesty¡¯s Government is prepared to offer Catalpa political and material aid in exchange for her assistance and discretion. Our agent will provide coordinates for further discussion of this matter. Message ends.¡±

    Lyons opened his mouth and raised a finger. ¡°You might want to remove the¡ª¡±

    ¡°THIS MESSAGE WILL SELF DESTRUCT.¡±

    A sizzling pop. The tape-player spewed acrid black smoke, greeted by coughing and waving hands. Jack Lyons held his cape over his mouth and nose. ¡°I did tell Sir Blythe that I could destroy the tape myself¡­¡±

    ¡°So,¡± said Allison over the sound of Maude Simmons swearing about her tape player, ¡°the Queen¡¯s asking a bunch of outlaws for help?¡±

    ¡°Why not get the Yanks?¡± asked Night-Tide. ¡°Don¡¯t they have supers out the wazoo?¡±

    ¡°The wa¡ª¡± Jack Lyons shook his head. ¡°I myself asked the very same question¡±¡ªhe glanced about at the council¡ª¡°no offense meant. I was told allowing the Americans to hear about this might threaten something called the special relationship.¡±

    Maude laughed. ¡°Ha! You know what? I believe that.¡±

    ¡°Will you help us?¡±

    Lyons had been looking at the Crimson Comet when he asked that, but it was Allison who cleared her throat and answered:

    ¡°The council will talk about it. The Comet says you¡¯re cool, so we¡¯ll let you walk around for now.¡± Allison looked at Paul. ¡°Maybe Hettie could make him lunch or something?¡±

    ¡°Could do.¡±

    Jack Lyons flashed Allison a grin. ¡°That would be lovely, young miss.¡±

    Allison wrinkled her nose. The man thought she was funny. This could not be tolerated.

    Mistress Quickly arranged an egg-portal to Libertalia for Lyons. When it closed behind him, she said, ¡°He¡¯s definitely got some shit under his hat. That ship of his was nuclear powered, and the shielding is shit. He should be a baked potato made of cancer. Allie, you tried his song?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°It made my teeth rattle. Like trying to eat a lollipop off a power-drill.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s old as sin, too,¡± said Ralph. ¡°My granddad¡¯s action-hero.¡±

    Paul remarked, ¡°I didn¡¯t know we had a problem with supers here.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still weird,¡± said Maude. ¡°Doesn¡¯t Britain have a spare Sherlock Holmes or two? Why do they need us?¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± said Allison. ¡°We¡¯re great.¡±

    ¡°We could use the help,¡± Night-Tide said. ¡°Material and medical are very similar words. We still have people fighting this.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t there an easy answer?¡± Paul said. ¡°Allie, what happens if we help the Poms?¡±

    Allison closed her eyes. She pictured herself saying ¡°yes¡± to Jack Lyons. The future shattered and reformed into a thousand new mosaics. A few glittered.

    She smiled. ¡°We¡¯re going to England.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Eleven: The Phare

    The Houses of Parliament got Westminster. The Crown got Buckingham Palace. The Ministry of Paranormality got the Phare.

    Br¨°n Binn<sup>1</a></sup> was a green eye set in grey Atlantic waves. It was a bare, exposed place. Two people standing at either end of it could almost look each other in the eye. Its ancient veil of trees had been stripped for firewood and grazing land. Now, the only things that grew tall on the island were built by men. For centuries, Br¨°n Binn¡¯s chief export was light. Coal, then whale oil, then finally arc-lamps cut paths for ships through night and fog. It was a strange post. Though no man, woman, or child had ever passed away on the island, more ghosts nested at Br¨°n Binn than seabirds. Keepers and their families would spot strangers walking along the island¡¯s cliffs. Food and drink went missing. Chores and maintenance would seemingly perform themselves. Draught horses and sheep would sicken and die, their carcasses decaying with peculiar rapidity. Childless keepers would hear young laughter on the wind.

    The stories had come to a bloody end in 1902, when a keeper butchered his wife and children. He was waiting at the dock to make a full confession when the supply boat pulled in, claiming his family had been stolen and replaced by Sithchean. Fairies. Changelings. Whatever the keeper claimed, the bodies had certainly looked human: inside and out. The investigation that followed (conducted, rumour had it, by Jack Lyons himself) blamed the keeper¡¯s madness on the liquid mercury the lighthouse¡¯s lens assembly floated in. Escaping the gallows, the keeper was consigned to an asylum, but died not three weeks later. The mortician¡ªwhen plied with a few pints¡ªwould claim he¡¯d started rotting before he died.

    The lighthouse remained after that, if increasingly automated. Horror and tragedy didn¡¯t banish the night or close the roads of the sea. However, Br¨°n Binn also became home to the Phare. A beacon and watchpost for those Britons caught between the human and the fae. The uncanny turned to the service of Queen and Country.

    Sir Edward Blyth stood at the southern end of the island, coat pulled tight around himself. The wind was a pack of biting, howling wolves trampling across Br¨°n Binn. He was flanked on each side by four armed SAS, winged Excaliburs wreathed in flames on their tan berets. By definition, these men were the cream of the crop. However, to be posted to Br¨°n Binn¡ªespecially with what was happening in Berlin¡ªthey were also very slightly curdled. The bottom ten percent of the 99th percentile. Sir Edward wasn¡¯t too bothered by that. The best soldiers in the world would be unlikely to be much help against their guests.

    Sending Jack Lyons was a desperation move on Sir Edward¡¯s part. One that¡¯d cost him a lot of political capital and the government an expensive prototype. He¡¯d half hoped it¡¯d fail. If it didn¡¯t, he¡¯d likely still be paying interest on it till the day he retired.

    Then, the night before, an envelope had appeared in a flash of green light on Edward¡¯s desk. He¡¯d had one of the soldiers open it:

    ¡°Tomorrow, at the southern cliff face. Please prepare snacks.¡±

    Sir Edward looked out to sea, then at his watch. It was noon. That time of year, it might as well have been dusk. There was no sign of that flying saucer the Catalpans flew around in. He hoped the bloody convicts hadn¡¯t gotten their time-zones mixed up. He was startled by the unit¡¯s CO barking: ¡°At the ready, men!¡±

    A moonstone marble had appeared in the air in front of Sir Edward. The aging civil servant staggered backwards as it began to grow. The roiling grey sea and clouds off Br¨°n Binn were eclipsed by a clear, blue sky. A strange, silver tower topped with what looked like a spaceship from Venus loomed over fields of rusted buildings. The future, surrounded by a slum. The smell of fresh rain on dust flowed from the portal. Before Sir Edward could compose himself again, trumpets blared as ten knights in full plate appeared, marching out the portal in two lines and turning on their heels to face each other. A red carpet unfurled like a great tongue onto the scraggy grass, down which a medieval herald in a deep purple tunic walked to meet Sir Edward. The SAS troops aimed their rifles at the anachronistic figure, but his only reaction was to raise and unfurl a scroll. The herald cleared his throat.

    ¡°By the authority of the Free City of Catalpa,¡± he said in a parodic English accent. ¡°I present to you, good folk of the Phare, the Catalpan Embassy!¡±

    The trumpets sounded again, this time joined by drums.

    ¡°Presenting, Allison and Myriad Kinsey, chief songstress and guardian spirit of Catalpa, and their mother, the good lady Drina Kinsey.¡±

    A corpse-pale little girl with fiery red eyes, wrapped in tye-dye rainbows with a nine-pointed star emblazoned on her chest stepped into view. Another girl that could¡¯ve been her living sister in what looked like a pearlescent swimsuit flickered into being on her left. A few of the SAS flinched. There was something about living on a haunted island that made a man a mite twitchy about seeing ghosts. They were joined by an olive skinned woman in a grey winter coat. She took the red-eyed girl¡¯s right hand, and the three of them stepped through the portal, the young girls striding while the woman tried to keep up, waving and smiling timidly at the soldiers. If Sir Edward wasn¡¯t mistaken, the sister with the colour in her skin was actually walking a quarter of an inch above the carpet.

    ¡°Sir Edward, right?¡± asked the rainbow girl when they reached the man.

    He nodded. ¡°Yes¡­ Allison Kinsey?¡±

    She folded her arms confidently. ¡°Yep. Call me Symphony, if you like.¡±

    Sir Edward thought he¡¯d stick to ¡°Miss Kinsey¡± for now.

    The other girl smiled broadly. ¡°I¡¯m Miri!¡± she chirped, before looking at her sister. ¡°Does my name have to have ¡®Kinsey¡¯ in it? I¡¯ve never even met your¡ª¡±

    Allison raised a hand. ¡°We¡¯ll talk about it later. Promise.¡±

    The presumed Mrs Kinsey shook Sir Edward¡¯s hand. ¡°Thank you for having us,¡± she said, like this was a social visit. ¡°I hope we can help you.¡±

    ¡°As do we, Mrs Kinsey.¡± Sir Edward wondered what this woman could do. She had to have done something special, to produce such odd children. From the look she gave him at the word ¡®Mrs¡¯, he decided to switch to ¡®Ms¡¯.

    The herald spoke again, ¡°The court courier, Arnold Barnes, and his father, the honourable  Corporal First-Class Fredrick Barnes!¡±

    A stern, legless man in the dress uniform of Australian Army was pushed down the carpet by a boy in a black cloak riddled with fork lightning. The man tossed off a salute to the SAS troops, who responded in kind, if only through force of habit.

    ¡°Mabel Henderson, Mistress of Ceremonies, creatrix of men, giver of life, queen of¡ª¡±

    ¡°Give it a rest, Mabs,¡± Allison Kinsey called.

    ¡°Spoilsport,¡± said a slightly large girl with bushy auburn hair as she made her way down the carpet, blowing kisses like a movie star at a premiere. She was wearing a suit that could¡¯ve been sewn out of discarded copies of the Beano.

    ¡°The Crimson Comet and Close-Cut, sheriff and court tailor of Catalpa!¡±

    Two colourful old men walked through the portal side by side. Sir Edward of course recognized the Crimson Comet¡ªstormer of France and Berlin¡ªeven if his metal wings were new. He even recognized Close-Cut from his brief but eventful time on the UK supervillain scene. By name, of course. Close-Cut never wore the same costume twice. Today, he was wearing slacks and a suit-jacket patterned with the Union Jack, with a ruffled collar reminiscent of a lion¡¯s mane. Sir Edward could only wonder what had possessed the Crimson Comet of all people to throw in with these freaks.

    ¡°Mistress Quickly, court scientist and artificer!¡±

    Sir Edward held his breath as Mistress Quickly stalked down the carpet in her sleek black battlesuit, the lenses of her mask as large and cold as an insect¡¯s eyes. He dreaded thinking about what she could do with the Skylon prototype<sup>2</a></sup>.

    ¡°David Barthe, grandson and prince of all oceans, rivers, lakes, large puddles, and taps!¡±

    Water streamed down the carpet. It rose and coalesced into a grinning brown skinned boy¡ªclearly basking in the attention¡ªstill covered neck-to-ankles in a green-blue liquid membrane. Sir Edward did not know how lucky he was. Or how much convincing that had taken.

    ¡°And finally, brave adventurer William St. George, accompanied by the English emissary, Jack Lyons!¡±

    Jack Lyons emerged from the portal with his usual easy confidence, prompting a wave of salutes from the soldiers. Jack Lyons returned the gesture with one hand. In the other, he pulled along a cart laden with suitcases. At his side was what appeared to be a tiger shaped like a boy, in what looked like a cross between a superhero costume and a scout¡¯s uniform. The child (if that was the term) was vibrating with clear excitement. Jack Lyons slapped Sir Edward on the shoulder.

    ¡°Got to hand it to the Australians, they know how to make an entrance!¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± Sir Edward replied flatly.

    What had he done?

    ?

    There was some debate about who would attend the briefing. Apart from half the ¡°embassy¡± being literal children, Drina Kinsey and Fred Barnes were clearly civilians; even if the latter objected strongly to the description:

    ¡°I served for ten years, goddamnit!¡±

    Allison had put her foot down. If the Brits wanted their help, nobody was being left out of the loop. Sir Edward had relented, the humiliation tinting his thoughts a satisfying blue. Jack Lyons and the Catalpans had piled into a meeting room in the tower house that had replaced the old lighthouse keeper¡¯s cottage. It was a grey, dusty kind of space with a large blackboard dominating one wall. It could¡¯ve been a classroom in a boarding school for rich folk who thought Eton wasn¡¯t miserable enough for their kids. Arnold wasn¡¯t impressed. He bet Penderghast and all them American super-people had a way cooler secret base<sup>3</a></sup>. An SAS man manned a slide projector, much the way the year seven kids at Arnold and Allison¡¯s old school would at morning assembly. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Sir Edward wasn¡¯t particularly remarkable to look at. Not that telling him that would cause him any offence. His was a cultivated anonymity: a three-piece suit chosen for the precisely uninteresting shade of stormcloud grey, bespoke tailored to look respectable, but not flattering. A face kept habitually clean of stubble, but with an unobtrusive ministerial moustache. A set of spectacles just wide enough about the rim to conceal some measure of his brow.  A bowler hat sitting on a centre parting dyed to a muddy shade of brown. Grey hair would imply infirmity. Anything else might make him stand out. Sir Edward had designed himself to blend into the background, and thus, render the machinery of state invisible.

    ¡°This is Roundtable,¡± he said, waving a long white pointer at the projector screen, his thin shadow an intruder in a colorful crowd of thirteen grinning, laughing superheroes. The picture appeared to have been taken at some kind of high-class function. Drina and Mistress Quickly swore they could see the back of Princess Margaret¡¯s head. ¡°A team of superhumans who have dedicated themselves to the protection of Queen and Country.¡±

    Allison raised a hand.

    ¡°Yes, Miss Kinsey?¡±

    ¡°So, they¡¯re like Paranormal Response Squads the Americans have?¡± The girl examined her fingernails theatrically. ¡°Me and Miri beat up one in Perth last year. They weren¡¯t that tough.¡±

    Drina looked sternly at her daughter. ¡°That was you? What were you doing? Running around picking on Americans?¡±

    ¡°They were trying to kidnap a kid!¡± Allison protested.

    ¡°That was kind of a side-thingy,¡± Miri¡¯s voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere.

    ¡°Thanks, Miri,¡± Allison said dryly.

    Sir Edward sucked in a breath. ¡°To answer your question, no, Roundtable is no military unit. They are a fully independent organization of patriotic men and women. All the Crown did was introduce them to one another.¡±

    Close-Cut and the Crimson Comet exchanged a dubious look in their chairs.

    Mistress Quickly¡¯s machine filtered voice asked, ¡°And do you pay those men and women?¡±

    ¡°¡­They are remunerated,¡± admitted Sir Edward.

    A strange, synthetic chuckle.

    Sir Edward shook his head. ¡°We did not ask you here to discuss our relationship with Roundtable.¡±

    ¡°Well, get on with it,¡± said Allison. She tilted her head to her slightly. She could hear a song. Like jazz being played at the centre of the Earth. ¡°And I can hear that super standing in the hallway. Why¡¯s he got a dog? A sick dog?¡±

    ¡°Doggies don¡¯t like me much¡­¡± said Billy from the back of the room.

    ¡°Me neither,¡± said David, shrugging. ¡°Not a big loss. Dogs are just crap land-seals anyway.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be vulgar, David,¡± Drina said.

    Mabel laughed. ¡°How many dogs have you ever met?¡±

    ¡°Oh, and I bet you¡¯ve hung out with tons of seals,¡± David retorted.

    Sir Edward inwardly pondered whether a nuclear response wouldn¡¯t have been less fuss and bother. He cut in over the babble. ¡°Continuing.¡± He gestured at the soldier operating the projector. Its carousel clicked. Roundtable was replaced on the screen by a map of France. An arrow emerged from a point deep within the Brittany, helpfully labeled ¡°Paimpont.<sup>4</a></sup>¡± ¡°On January 20th, 1967, Roundtable accompanied an archeological expedition by Cambridge University to western France¡ª¡±

    ¡°Um,¡± said Arnold. ¡°Why did a bunch of dinosaur hunter guys need a bunch of superheroes to babysit them?¡±

    Sir Edward shut his eyes for a second, composing himself. ¡°The expedition wasn¡¯t searching for fossils, young Mr. Barnes¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± interrupted Allison. ¡°Those are paleontologists, not archeologists.¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes, indeed,¡± said Sir Edward. ¡°The expedition was building on recent evidence suggesting that the Matter of Britain¡ª¡±

    ¡°King Arthur and junk,¡± Alllison explained to her friends.

    ¡°¡­May have more historical basis than previously considered. ¡±

    Billy grinned, his shoulders bunching with excitement. King Arthur¡¯s real! Then a thoughtful frown crossed his face. He raised his arm. The gesture made Sir Edward want to weep. ¡°Yes, young man?¡±

    ¡°Why would you be looking for King Arthur stuff in France?¡±

    Sir Edward looked at Allison. ¡°I assume you would like to explain this to Mr. St George, Miss Kinsey?¡±

    Allison twisted around in her seat. ¡°Britain¡¯s borders¡ªyou know, the lines on the map¡ªused to be a lot different. Like, back when King Arthur was supposed to have lived, Scotland wasn¡¯t part of Britain, but a bit of France was.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Billy. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°Good.¡± She turned back to face Sir Edward. ¡°Still doesn¡¯t explain why you sent thirteen superheroes to dig up old crowns or whatever.¡±

    ¡°In these trying times, such discoveries would do much to bolster British morale. Thus, the Minister of State judged the expedition to be of national importance. It should also be noted that, aside from his magical expertise, Dr. Merlin is also an avid student of history.¡±

    ¡°The bloke in the picture with the purple waistcoat and the hat?¡± Allison asked.

    Sir Edward nodded. The girl pumped her first. ¡°Got it in one!

    ¡°Very good,¡± said Sir Edward, lips a thin line beneath his moustache. ¡°What¡¯s less good is that neither the archeologists or Roundtable have reported back in two weeks.¡±

    ¡°That does sound concerning,¡± commented Drina.

    ¡°Also, come on, don¡¯t lie, you wanted to find Excalibur,¡± said Allison. ¡°Don¡¯t think it¡¯d help you if World War Three happens, by the way. Even if it fires lasers or something.¡±

    ¡°We were open to any and all discoveries, Miss Kinsey,¡± said Sir Edward. ¡°And regardless of Excalibur or any such relic¡¯s¡­ martial capabilities, it would be of great help in reminding the British people of the history and tradition that binds us together.¡±

    Wally leaned over and whispered in Ralph¡¯s ear, ¡°And make the Republicans shut up¡­¡±

    The Crimson snickered, before grabbing his composure again. ¡°Have you contacted the French authorities?¡± he asked.

    It took Sir Edward a moment to answer. ¡°¡­That would be politically unwise.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Mabel.

    ¡°Did Napoleon come back to life while we weren¡¯t looking?¡± added Allison.

    ¡°The French don¡¯t know about the expedition,¡± said Sir Edward. ¡°Both the archeology team and Roundtable filtered into the country over the course of a month, under assumed names.¡±

    ¡°For the love of God, why?¡± asked Close-Cut, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°You weren¡¯t exactly plotting an invasion¡­  were ya?¡±

    ¡°The State Minister wished to avoid competing claims on any artifacts and human remains that may have been discovered.¡±

    Mistress Quickly let out another peal of mechanized laughter, slapping her spandex-wrapped knee. ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t¡­¡±

    ¡°I assume you want us to go find them?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°That we do,¡± said Sir Edward. ¡°Before we discuss the matter further, I think it prudent we discuss payment for your trouble.¡±

    ¡°I like the sound of that,¡± said Mr. Barnes, sitting beside his son.

    ¡°Understandable. I¡¯ve been told your town is suffering from a measles outbreak?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid so,¡± answered the Comet.

    ¡°Well, we have a team of doctors and nurses¡ª¡±

    Allison and Arnold both stifled giggles. Sir Edward ignored them. ¡°¡­And we¡¯re prepared to dispatch them to Catalpa at your earliest convenience. Tonight, even.¡±

    Close-Cut blinked. ¡°You don¡¯t expect us to find your people that fast, do you?¡±

    Sir Edward shook his head. ¡°Of course not. Disease does not work on a timetable. Think of it as advanced payment.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s mighty kind of you,¡± said the Comet. ¡°We do have some people in a precarious state of things.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± grunted Fred. ¡°Gotta say, I expected you Poms to yank us around a bit.¡±

    That statement soured Sir Edward a little. It made it harder to derive any satisfaction from his next move. ¡°It must be said, our doctors can¡¯t guarantee the recovery of any of your people. Measles is a terrible disease¡­¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°We¡¯re not fools.¡±

    ¡°We do, however, have someone who can guarantee it.¡± He gestured at the meeting room¡¯s door. The soldier got up from the projector and opened it. A very fit, darkly handsome young man with slicked black hair in what appeared to be a jet-black doctor¡¯s coat walked into the room. Everyone in the room recognized him from the Roundtable picture. He was leading a golden retriever on a lead. The beast looked like it was made of suffering. It was almost skeletal, but a grotesque lump protruded from its abdomen. Its fur reeked of shit and piss. The dog struggled to keep up with the man, its legs threatening to give way beneath it. It growled weakly at Billy as they passed him, his scent confusing the animal. The boy recoiled and whimpered. The dog made the same noise at David, but he just poked his tongue out at it. Mabel punched him in the shoulder.

    ¡°Poor thing,¡± Jack Lyons said under her breath as the dog and man reached Sir Edward¡¯s side. The golden retriever slowly, painfully lay down at their feet.

    ¡°This, ladies and gentlemen, is Christopher Elderwood, the newest member of Roundtable.¡±

    Christopher Elderwood smiled. ¡°When I¡¯m in this get-up they usually call me Dr. Death.¡±

    ¡°Cheery name¡­¡± said Mistress Quickly.

    ¡°Would you like to introduce our other guest?¡± Sir Edward asked Dr. Death.

    ¡°Would be happy to.¡± Dr. Death crouched down next to the dog and stroked his head. ¡°This is Sir Snuffles. He¡¯s six years old, belongs to the groundskeeper¡¯s daughter, and is a very good boy. He¡¯s also got a tumour the size of a cantaloupe growing next to his stomach. Frankly, it¡¯s monstrous that I haven¡¯t done this already¡­¡±

    Dr. Death stood back up. In one fluid motion, he pulled a pistol from his coat and shot Sir Snuffles in the head.

    Billy¡¯s scream managed to drown out the gunshot. The room shuddered. Old dust sprinkled onto the shouting Catalpans. The Crimson Comet shot up out of his seat, angry red energy crackling up his form. ¡°You rat bastard!¡±

    Close-Cut put a restraining arm around his lover¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll send the ceiling falling around our ears!¡±

    Drina had instinctively pulled her daughter into her side, right out of her chair. She glared at Dr. Death and Sir Edward, ignoring her daughter¡¯s very physical protests. ¡°How could you¡ªin front of children?¡±

    Sir Edward raised his hands. He was beginning to reconsider the dramatic approach. ¡°Now now, if you¡¯ll just wait a moment¡ª¡±

    Sir Edward¡ªindeed everyone in the room¡ªwas cut off by a wave of heat. It was like someone had lit a bonfire. Golden light filled the room. When it faded, the only sounds were Billy crying, and Sir Snuffles panting happily. He was back on his feet. New fat and muscle had been laid over his bones like concrete over steel girders. The tumour was gone.

    ¡°I¡¯m the world¡¯s only pacifist murderer,¡± said Dr. Death, clearly basking in the shock he¡¯d caused. ¡°Everything I kill comes back to life. In perfect health.¡± The super didn¡¯t fail to spot Mr. Barnes looking hungrily at him. ¡°When did that happen?¡± he asked, pointing at the man¡¯s leg stumps.

    ¡°Korea,¡± answered Fred.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Dr. Death, sounding genuinely contrite. ¡°Needs to be a mite fresher than that.¡±

    The bad news didn¡¯t make Fred Barnes miss a beat. ¡°But you can do measles, right? Even if they¡¯re in a bad way?¡±

    ¡°Easily.¡±

    ¡°¡­Send him to Catalpa,¡± Fred said breathlessly. ¡°Right now.¡±

    ¡°When your fellows have done their job,¡± said Sir Edward firmy.

    ¡°Piss off. You don¡¯t dangle this in front of our faces and pull it away.¡±

    ¡°We are already sending your town plenty of help.¡±

    ¡°A man has died!¡± roared Fred. ¡°My wife hasn¡¯t opened her eyes for days. You expect us to hunt for the Holy Grail or whatever bollocks while our people rot?¡±

    Jack Lyons stood up. ¡°Sir Edward, if I may be so bold, perhaps you could reconsider? The Catalpans have shown me nothing but courtesy since I arrived in their town.¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± agreed Fred, loudly. ¡°We could¡¯ve called him a POW and kept him!¡±

    Of course Lyons would play nice with them, Edward thought. Jack was the opposite of him. People like him existed to draw eyes. To make people proud. Sir Edward didn¡¯t have that luxury. Jack Lyons wouldn¡¯t have to deal with the consequences. ¡°Thank you for your input, Lyons. But there are practical considerations here. These people¡ªas complicated I¡¯m sure their circumstances are¡ªare outlaws. We need leverage.¡± Sir Edward¡¯s eyes darted between the two supervillains in the room. ¡°I¡¯m sure Close-Cut and Mistress Quickly understand.¡±

    ¡°Do I get a say?¡± asked Dr. Death.

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Bastards!¡± screamed Fred. ¡°Stingy old Pommy pricks! It¡¯s Gallipoli all over again.¡±

    ¡°Arnold,¡± said Drina. ¡°You might want to take your father out for some air.¡±

    Arnold nodded hastily.

    ¡°Don¡¯t talk about me like I¡¯m a bloody dog, woman¡ªwhat¡¯re you doing, boy?¡±

    Arnold pushed his father out of the meeting room. As deeply uncomfortable as it was, he didn¡¯t dare use his power on him. As Fred¡¯s ranting and raving faded, Ralph sighed. ¡°We accept your terms.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± said Sir Edward. ¡°I assume you can transport the doctors back to Catalpa.¡±

    ¡°Within the hour,¡± said Mistress Quickly.

    Sir Edward clapped. ¡°Right. We¡¯ll have papers and transport prepared for you within three days. Two of our embedded agents will meet you on arrival.¡± He pointed at Billy. ¡°You might wish to leave Mr. St. George here or at Catalpa.¡±

    ¡°Or,¡± said Mistress Quickly, ¡°I open a portal to Brittany tomorrow morning, and you give your embedded agents the month off?¡±

    ¡°¡­That works too, yes.¡±

    ¡°And we can take Billy,¡± added Allison. ¡°That¡¯s very important.¡±

    ¡°It is?¡± asked Billy, still drying the fur around his eyes.

    ¡°Course it is,¡± insisted Allison. She looked up at Sir Edward. ¡°We¡¯ll need files on all the Roundtable people you sent. Copies for me, Mistress Quickly¡­¡± She turned to address the Comet and Close-Cut. ¡°Can you two share?¡±

    The pair nodded.

    ¡°So yeah, gonna need those tonight.¡±

    Sir Edward agreed to hand over the classified data to the ten year old.

 Chapter One Hundred and Twelve: The Dragon of BrÃ²n Binn

    Arnold zapped the doctors and nurses to Catalpa immediately after the meeting. He had to demonstrate with some rocks to assure them he wouldn¡¯t disintegrate them. After that, an early dinner was prepared for the Catalpans. Perhaps wisely, Sir Edward did not join them. Jack Lyons did, though. Billy made sure to secure the chair next to him. As it turned out, Billy had read all his books:

    ¡°Did you really fight Zeus?¡± he asked breathlessly

    ¡°That¡¯s what I was told. I didn¡¯t probe too deeply. All I knew was, a man with lightning for spit and an impressive beard was causing a ruckus at the Seven Stars<sup>1</a></sup>, and Mr. Collins¡ªthat was Sir Edward¡¯s predecessor¡ªwanted me to see him off. Said his presence in the United Kingdom risked a diplomatic incident with his wife.¡±

    Billy tilted his head. ¡°Mrs Collins?¡±

    Jack laughed. ¡°No, lad. Hera, Zeus¡¯s wife. She has a temper.¡±

    ¡°Oh. I knew someone who was Apollo¡¯s son.¡± Billy drooped his head. ¡°He died.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d you do?¡±

    ¡°Well, we tussled for a while. Didn¡¯t get either of us far. I suppose it wouldn¡¯t, him being immortal. Eventually, we sat down for a few pints, and I arranged him a boat ride to Cyprus.¡±

    ¡°¡­So, you didn¡¯t use the Royal Exchange¡¯s weathervane to deflect his lightning back at him?¡±

    Jack Lyons chuckled and ruffled Billy¡¯s hair. Luckily for him, Billy was a rare child who didn¡¯t resent such a gesture. ¡°I¡¯m afraid the good people at Blackie & Son<sup>2</a></sup> sometimes took creative liberties, son.¡±

    ¡°Leave the poor man alone, Billy,¡± Ralph Rivers, now in plainclothes, said from across the long table. ¡°He¡¯s barely touched his dinner!¡±

    Indeed, Jack Lyon¡¯s beef wellington was nearly intact, bar a few polite bites taken from the corner.

    Jack smiled, a touch wanly. ¡°It¡¯s no trouble, Mr. Rivers. I do not need much.¡± He looked down fondly at Billy. ¡°And William here is delightful company.¡±

    Billy looked fit to burst.

    Mistress Quickly hadn¡¯t bothered changing out of her battle-suit. Her helmet sat next to her plate as she chatted with Dr. Death. ¡°So, how long have you been a super?¡±

    ¡°Since I was fourteen.¡±

    Mistress Quickly smiled knowingly. ¡°Let me guess¡­¡±

    She and Dr. Death pointed at each other, saying as one, ¡°There was a man!¡± The pair shared a laugh.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Dr. Death. ¡°My dog was sick. My father told me I had to put him down. Happened right as I pulled the trigger. Dads can be right bastards.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t I know it,¡± said Maude.

    They put Mabel and Allison in the same room that night. They also furnished Allison with files on Roundtable¡¯s missing roster. She had to admit, as manufactured as the team clearly was, its individual members appeared to be legit, some with superheroic careers stretching back over twenty years. They were like the Monkees: a fake band with real talent. She was currently lying on top of her bed, looking over the file of one Metropole:

    Real name unknown, answers to ¡°Quinn Backerloo.¡± Homeless until approximately the age of fourteen, Backerloo claims to have been birthed by the city of London itself. This claim is still under investigation.

    His black and white file photo depicted a lanky, barefoot young man with long, light hair wearing a two-piece suit that appeared to be made of transit maps.

    ¡°Heh.¡± Allison angled the file toward Mabel¡¯s bed. ¡°Reminds me of your costume.¡±

    Mabel set down her pencils and looked up from the file of Animal Kingdom¡ªa versatile shapeshifter with an unfortunate predilection for cheetah-print. She had taken to colouring in the file-photos after Allison was done with them. She squinted. ¡°Looks a bit like Jesus. If Jesus was a bum.¡± She returned to her scribbling. ¡°My suit¡¯s better.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡±

    Backerloo also claims to be able to ¡°speak¡± to cities and towns. Again, this claim is being investigated. What is beyond question is Bakerloo¡¯s ability to manipulate civic architecture.

    Allison dearly hoped she would get to try that. It sounded like LEGO¡¯s cool older cousin that smoked.

    Backerloo has expressed great discomfort in rural environs, and protested his inclusion in the expedition, calling it¡ªand we quote¡ª ¡°Bloody pointless.¡± However, it was the belief of Ministry scientists that his unique abilities might aid in the unearthing of buried man made structures¡­

    Poor git, Allison thought. People were mean sometimes. She tossed the file over to Mabel and picked another file off her nightstand. This one was for Dr. Merlin, the leader of the team:

    Alphonsus Summers credits his occult powers to a summer spent in the Otherworld as a page of the faerie king Oberon<sup>3</a></sup>, having been switched with a changeling when he was eight years old. He claims to have ingratiated himself to the monarch, and negotiated his own return to the world we know. This claim has yet to be verified¡­

    Dr. Merlin¡¯s photo was monochrome like all the others, but Allison could feel the purple radiating off his waistcoat.

    ¡°Still weird,¡± commented Mabel, ¡°sending all those superheroes to dig up dead kings.¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s happened before, kind of. You know Himmler?¡±

    ¡°Swedish bloke, right?¡±

    ¡°Nah, German. One of Hitler¡¯s mates. When our guys were beating up their guys in Italy, he sent their best SS goons in just to get a book by Tacitus about how cool Germans were.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s Tacitus?¡±

    ¡°Roman guy. Wrote about Germans the way Lawrence talked about us.¡±

    ¡°Eww!¡±

    ¡°Not like that. I don¡¯t think he ever even went to Germany<sup>4</a></sup>.¡± Allison threw Dr. Merlin¡¯s file like a frisbee. ¡°What colour do you think that guy¡¯s vest is?¡±

    Mabel examined the photo inside. ¡°Purple. Definitely purple.¡±

    ¡°Knew it.¡±

    Roundtable had their own flying strongman, of course. Or flying strongwoman, in this case. Gloriana (real name Clarice Foster) had the holy trinity of superhero abilities: flight, super-strength, and invulnerability, plus the power to summon weapons forged of golden light.  She was beautiful, but regally so, her tight, dark curls styled after the young Queen¡¯s own. She wore a white body glove with shining metal shoulder armour and greaves, doubtless more for aesthetics than protection. A foil unicorn¡¯s head was stamped on her chest. People like Gloriana were the holy grail of every government superhero program; not so much because of their strategic value as much as their symbolic worth. Everyone wanted to own a Flying Man.

    You could always eat her, Alberto said inside Allison. Complete your set. Miri¡¯s been lonely since we stopped talking. Allison felt the echo of a leering smile. Hell, I¡¯ve been lonely, too. Could use a girlfriend.

    Shut up.

    Allison tossed away Gloriana, replacing her file with one stamped ¡°STARRY KNIGHT.¡± The name made Allison smile. Starry Knight¡¯s file contained two photos. One was of a grizzled man with clearly greying temples in what Allison guessed was a flight suit. He did not look like the kind of man who called himself ¡°Starry Knight.¡± The other photo depicted the exact point where a diving suit became a spacesuit. The technological equivalent of those clever apes whose great-grandchildren would be people. The chrome plated helmet did indeed have a certain knightly cast to it, with its sloping design and narrow, black visor. Its swollen, Charles Atlas chest was fitted with a hand-wheel you¡¯d expect to find on a submarine hatch, and its body was studded with large rivets. A metallic cape flowed from its back.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    If Starry Knight¡¯s file was to be believed, the first human beings in space had been British<sup>5</a></sup>. The clinical language employed failed to conceal the writer¡¯s smugness about that. Anthony Peake had been a flying ace in the Great War, afterwards becoming an early member of the British Interplanetary Society<sup>6</a></sup>. Three years later¡ªafter a series of fortunate bequeathments, donations by curious industrialists, and the enlistment of at least one retired supervillain¡ªPeake¡¯s experience as a pilot got him nominated for captain of an audacious attempted moonshot. Peake and his three crewmates were loaded into the Astral Victoria¡ªBritain¡¯s first space vehicle¡ªand launched into the void by something called a ¡°gravity catapult¡± with hopes of making contact with the Gatehouse<sup>7</a></sup>.

    Four days later¡ªwhether due to human error, mechanical failure, or interference by the Gatekeeper themselves¡ªthe Astral Victoria plummeted from the sky into the Mediterranean Sea. Only Anthony Peake emerged alive¡ªalive and changed.

    Mr. Peake is extremely hesitant to remove his spacesuit in company. While we initially speculated a physiological root for this behaviour, Dr. Hamish Clanranald<sup>8</a></sup>instead credits survivor¡¯s guilt and possibly latent agoraphobia¡­

    Allison found herself overwhelmed with pity. She turned to the page detailing Starry Knight¡¯s powers:

    Anthony Peake describes his power as manipulating the geometry of spacetime. What this translates to in practise is the ability to warp both distance, and gravity¡­

    Something buzzed inside Allison¡¯s skull. She closed her eyes, turning to the storm of futures:

    Arnold, rising screaming into the sky¡­

    The Crimson Comet, struggling to take a single step¡­

    Trees twisting and stretching like tentacles from the soil¡­

    ¡°Hey Mabes,¡± said Allison. ¡°Chuck me a colour pencil?¡±

    ¡°Sure¡±

    Allison caught the purple pencil deftly, closing Starry Knight¡¯s file and circling his supernym before putting it to the side. Just then, Drina Kinsey opened the door. She was wearing a Br¨°n Binn supplied dressing gown, her hair damp from the shower. She clapped her hands. ¡°Right girls, time for bed.¡±

    They both protested:

    ¡°Come on,¡± whined Mabel. ¡°We¡¯re on holiday!¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not,¡± replied Drina. ¡°We¡¯re on a mission.¡± She still couldn¡¯t believe she could say that with a straight face.

    ¡°I¡¯ve still got files to read!¡± said Allison. ¡°They¡¯re important!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯ll be time for that in the morning,¡± insisted Drina. ¡°I know how fast you read.¡±

    The girls relented. Soon, the lights were off, and heads were against pillows.

    ¡­Hey, Miri.

    Yeah, sis?

    I¡¯m gonna go exploring. Mind the fort, will ya?

    Does this count as my turn? Because sleep is boring.

    Allison rolled her eyes in the dark.

    I¡¯ll give you two extra days next month if you sleep for me, okay?

    Very okay.

    With that, Allison stepped out of her body, joining the ranks of Br¨°n Binn¡¯s ghosts. She drifted out of the guest room through the hallways of the Phare. She passed through janitorial staff, sending shivers up their spine. Given they lived and worked on Br¨°n Binn, they were used to it. Allison couldn¡¯t help but check in/snoop on her fellow Catalpans. Fred and Arnold were already asleep in their room, the son having had to endure hours of his father¡¯s ranting and raving. None of it had been aimed at Arnold, but Allison knew from experience that it could be hard to remember that. As unattached boys and non-pyjama wearers, Billy and David were rooming together.

    ¡°Jack Lyons is the coolest,¡± Billy enthused.

    David had his pillow wrapped around his ears. ¡°You¡¯ve told me,¡± he muttered.

    ¡°You know he¡¯s half-caste? Like you and Tom!¡±

    ¡°Please don¡¯t call us that.¡±

    ¡°You ever read Jack Lyons and the Fairy Mound?¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t read any of them.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a good one! So, one of Queen Victoria¡¯s goddaughters starts acting strange¡ªahh!¡±

    David threw his pillow at Billy. Allison giggled.

    Ralph Rivers and Wally Grimsby were both reading in bed: the former The Sea Wolf by Jack London, the latter the latest edition of Vogue. Wally¡¯s silk pyjamas were nicer than what most men wore to church. If he and Ralph¡¯s beds had been an inch or two closer, they would¡¯ve looked like an old married couple.

    ¡°It¡¯s just not right,¡± Ralph grumbled, mostly to himself. ¡°Superheroes working for the government.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t you fight in the war?¡± Wally asked mildly.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t a permanent arrangement! And I was fighting for the free world, not some politicians.¡± The corner of Ralph¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Well, the free world and Finch.¡±

    Allison was stunned. Ralph had managed to bring up Finch without bawling.

    ¡°Point is, superheroes shouldn¡¯t be soldiers, or cops.¡±

    Wally smiled. ¡°Whatever you say, sheriff of Catalpa.¡±

    ¡°Oh, shut up.¡±

    ¡°I have got to take you to the British Museum after this,¡± insisted Wally. ¡°I bet I could still get us a table at Simpson¡¯s-in-the-Strand¡ª¡±

    ¡°I have been to London before, you know,¡± cut in Ralph. He smiled. ¡°I think the dockers still tell stories about Fran.¡±

    ¡°We could always find out,¡± said Wally.

    Finch and Fran in one conversation. Allison silently thanked Wally for all his good work and moved on.

    She didn¡¯t find Mistress Quickly in her room. Worried she¡¯d been dragged off to some interrogation room or quietly shipped to the Hague, Allison searched all over the Phare until she came to Dr. Death¡¯s room. His black doctor¡¯s jacket and Mistress Quickly¡¯s battle-suit lay together on the floor like mating shadows. Their owners lay in bed together under the covers, sharing a cigarette.

    ¡°That was great, Miss Simmons.¡± Dr. Death glanced at his lover for the night¡¯s abdomen. ¡°You¡¯re sure we¡¯re safe?¡±

    Maude laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Elderwood. My womb¡¯s sealed tighter than Fort Knox.¡±

    ¡°Good, good.¡±

    Mistress Quickly grinned wickedly. ¡°I actually work a lot like a queen bee. I store it all up until I need soldiers and workers.¡±

    Dr. Death blinked. ¡°You¡¯re kidding, right?¡±

    Allison¡¯s spectre grimaced. ¡°Ewww!¡±

    Maude winked at her.

    She fled through the ceiling as Maude cackled.

    Allison found herself in Sir Edward¡¯s study. The walls and bookshelves were lined with memorabilia from a long career in the civil service, the imperial pomp fading with age. Jack Lyons was having a meeting with the old spook.

    ¡°¡­They¡¯re strange, but basically decent, I think. They all seem to follow the word of the Kinsey child, but at least she has a good head on her shoulders. I do wish you¡¯d reconsider waiting to send Mr. Elderwood.¡±

    Sir Edward was standing behind his desk. ¡°I understand your concern for these people, Jack. It¡¯s laudable. But they are still criminals. Their¡­ town is built around stolen property. Property of the Commonwealth, in fact. Dr. Death is an important state asset. If we¡¯d only found him sooner, the King, God rest his soul, might still be with us. If things get hot in Berlin, he¡¯ll be more important than ever.¡±

    Jack Lyons smiled wryly. ¡°I guess we can¡¯t all be replaced.¡±

    Sir Edward¡¯s forever-neutral expression became a true frown. ¡°Please don¡¯t talk about yourself that way, Jack¡­ how are you doing?¡±

    Jack sighed. ¡°Going downhill, I¡¯m afraid. With apologies to Mrs Bithers, food now has little taste.¡± He forced a smile. ¡°Though that might just be my mother¡¯s son talking.¡±

    ¡°Mrs Bithers retired in 1957, Jack,¡± said Sir Edward gently. ¡°I believe she passed away a few years ago.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    A moment of silence.

    ¡°¡­When the Catalpans arrived, the music did nothing for me. You know how when you hear music, some tiny part of you tries to follow the tune? I could hear it fine, but it was all just¡­ noise. I¡¯m still functional. But I feel it coming.¡±

    Sir Edward gave a small nod. ¡°Hallucinations?¡±

    ¡°Nothing visual yet,¡± answered Jack. ¡°Sometimes I hear my Priscilla, but she¡¯s never hostile.¡±

    Allison wondered what was going on. Was Jack Lyons sick? Allison supposed he had every right to be. The bloke was over a hundred. His song didn¡¯t sound like it, though. His song didn¡¯t sound like much of anything at all, unless you were very into espionage and fighting. If she had to guess, she would¡¯ve called Jack Lyons a very out of date fifty, at best.

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Sir Edward¡¯s face softened slightly. ¡°If you like Jack, we could send you home tonight. There¡¯s a boat ready. Your replacement would be ready before the Catalpans wake. I doubt they would tell the difference.¡±

    Do they think we¡¯re blind? Allison asked herself. Or did all Englishmen really look and sound a bit like Lawrence?

    Whatever the answer, Jack Lyons shook his head. ¡°No. I¡¯m not ready to drag another man into this. I need to see it through.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± said Sir Edward.

    Allison was very confused. She spent an hour searching the Phare for an answer, but all she found were files and papers, which were hard to read when you didn¡¯t have hands. She flew out of the tower house. The lighthouse the Phare took its name from spun a blade of light across the night sky, wiping away stars with its glare. Allison glided over worker cottages and storage sheds, containing everything from confiscated super-weapons to gardening equipment. There was a small cemetery near the island¡¯s northern end. She was about to give up and head back to her body when she spotted a figure in white walking into what looked like a lone, concrete cupboard, barely large enough for a tall man. They closed the door behind them, and did not emerge. Curious, Allison swooped down right through the metal door. Carved stairs led down through a sloping tunnel of rock. Allison caught up to the figure she¡¯d followed, discovering him a man in a white hazmat suit. Soon, the pair came out into a large, limestone cabin, overlit by a ring of flood lights. Scientists and workers in white and grey bustled around consoles and equipment. In the centre was a cube made of metal mesh.

    Allison moved towards it, a phantom among dozens of white ghosts. She caught snatches of conversation:

    ¡°¡­Dragon is stable¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡­Entering active period¡ª¡±

    ¡°¡­Containment intact¡ª¡±

    When Allison drew closer to the cube, she recognized it for what it was: a Faraday cage. A structure designed to block radio waves. The electric field running through it stained the ether. It was not designed to block psychic powers. Allison stepped through the metal. She screamed silently when she saw what was inside. An enormous, wingless mosquito made of blown red glass scuttled about the floor, its legs tinkling musically with every step. It could¡¯ve been bad stop-motion. Its abdomen was swollen with bright yellow light and veiny with wires. Looking into it made Allison forget who she was. She was an old man looking out over a dark sea. She was a girl trying to find a bush big enough to hide behind. She was a little boy, being made fun of for his accent¡ª

    Allison tore herself away, shooting out of the cage, up through the cavern, back into the night. Specifically, she emerged into the island¡¯s cemetery. Jack Lyons was standing in front of a grave, arms over his knees. Allison moved towards him and read over his shoulder:

    JACK LYONS

    SON OF INDIA AND BRITTANIA BOTH, HERO OF THE EMPIRE

    1860¡ª1902

 Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen: A Cavourite Knight

    The North Sea storm imposed itself on the mediterranean winter just long enough to deposit Jack Lyons and the Catalpa supers in Broc¨¦liande Forest. The roaring waves and moaning wind fell to birdsong and a crisp breeze whispering through bare oaks and birches. Billy St. George shuffled his feet, enjoying the crunch of fallen leaves. ¡°This is nice,¡± he said.

    ¡°Says the boy with fur,¡± said Mabel, awkwardly trying to rub her hands together without dropping her picture binder. A pair of comic-panel gloves grew over them from her sleeves.

    David sighed happily and spread his arms, hints of frost in his costume. ¡°Ah, my homeland.¡±

    ¡°Your mum spoke Occitan, didn¡¯t she?¡± asked Allison, taking in their landing site. ¡°They¡¯re more southeast of here.¡±

    ¡°Same thing,¡± said David.

    The Crimson Comet looked up through the trees. The sky was showering down the kind of exhausted sunshine that only comes after a rainstorm. The sigh of the heavens. ¡°You know, back in the War, I don¡¯t think I ever noticed how beautiful this country is.¡±

    Close-Cut threw his arm around the superhero, twirling his Saint George¡¯s Cross umbrella in his free hand. ¡°That¡¯s probably because you were busy being shot at.¡±

    ¡°Wally,¡± Ralph said out the corner of his mouth, tilting his head towards Jack Lyons. ¡°Not in front of the hundred year old straight.¡±

    ¡°Can we please get on with it?¡± snapped Arnold. ¡°My mum is waiting for us!¡±

    Jack Lyons clapped. ¡°I must agree with young Mr. Barnes here. His mother isn¡¯t the only one.¡± He looked at Allison. ¡°Does our little oracle have anything to add before we set out?¡±

    Allison looked warily at the man. Who are you? ¡°So we all know the expedition was looking for King Arthur and Excalibur.¡±

    ¡°Should¡¯ve asked me,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°King Arthur died years back.¡±

    Jack Lyons arched an eyebrow. ¡°Isn¡¯t that something of an understatement, Mistress Quickly?¡±

    She shrugged. ¡°Depends. How long ago was World War 2?¡±

    Jack Lyons blinked, shaking his head slightly. ¡°Excuse me, ma¡¯am?¡±

    ¡°King Arthur returned in 1941. Surely a good candidate for ¡®Britain¡¯s Darkest Hour¡¯ don¡¯t you agree?¡±

    ¡°What happened to him?¡± asked Close-Cut.

    ¡°Blown up in the Cardiff Blitz. Turns out a king isn¡¯t much on his own.¡±

    ¡°Good lord,¡± said Jack Lyons. ¡°You didn¡¯t think to tell anyone?¡±

    ¡°When is a good time during a war to tell a country their legendary hero king lies dead under a pile of Welsh rubble?¡±

    Jack Lyons bowed his head. ¡°God save the King¡­¡±

    ¡°Could¡¯ve gotten ugly if He did,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°England¡¯s out of practise with civil wars. It would¡¯ve been a bad time for a succession crisis.¡±

    ¡°Look,¡± said Allison, ¡°we already knew the Poms were wasting their time.¡±

    Jack Lyons frowned. ¡°Now hang on a moment, young lady¡ª¡±

    Allison raised a finger. ¡°I think Starry Knight is why the expedition¡¯s missing.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°His file said he had¡­ problems,¡± answered Allison. ¡°Also, we fight him in six¡ªseven¡ªout of ten versions of today.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± said Mabel. ¡°Got that to look forward to.¡±

    ¡°Poor guy,¡± said Billy.

    ¡°We can take him,¡± added David.

    ¡°Also,¡± said Allison. ¡°If we walk that way for about four miles¡±¡ªshe pointed eastward¡ª¡°we¡¯re gonna see something horrible. I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s got something to do with this?¡±

    ¡°You guess?¡± said Close-Cut.

    Allison grit her teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t get context, guys.¡±

    Miri appeared beside her sister, giving everyone a small wave. ¡°Good morning!¡±

    ¡°Miri,¡± said Allison, ¡°your range is better than mine. Go scout for Starry Knight.¡±

    Miri nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    She vanished. As she did, Allison quickly shouted after her, ¡°Do it invisible!¡±

    Allison knew for a fact there was only a fifty-fifty chance she¡¯d listen. ¡°Right,¡± she said. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    The party made their way through the forest, Allison leading the way. They walked through fields of dead leaves and melting sleet; rough diamonds hidden in gold and amber. Billy had to be stopped from running after a doe he spotted. It started to rain a few times, but only enough to tickle the partys¡¯ skin. Close-Cut didn¡¯t even bother opening his umbrella. For a few metres, the trees off their right opened to reveal a large pond, winter-black with slicks of sunlight playing across its surface. Any other day, it would¡¯ve been a pleasant country ramble. Jack Lyons kept humming. They tried to avoid the many paths and roads that snaked through the forest. People called it a ¡°fairy wood¡± but Broc¨¦liande was hardly wilderness. Folks of all sorts had been going about their business in Paimpont since the Stone Age. The woods were dotted with cottages, manors, and even old industrial forges. If fairies had ever lived in Broc¨¦liande, they had probably moved out even before the abbey was built.

    As Allison walked, the horrible thing loomed larger in the swarming futures. Clouds of possibility converged together, swallowing other alternatives. She tried to look past it, to the glittering, golden future she was working towards. A crowd of thousands¡ªmillions¡ªcheering for Allison and her friends, Billy, for some reason, holding a gleaming sword above his head. Catalpa building higher and better. The sun, hiding behind the storm. That had to be worth some fights and grossness¡­

    ¡°¡°Bon sang<sup>1</a></sup>!¡±

    The supers swung around to find three sets of eyes staring at them¡ªone man and two women. Twenty-somethings. They were all dressed in winter hiking gear, collapsible trekking poles in hand. They looked terrified. Jack Lyons stepped forward and spread his arms, smiling benignly. ¡°Bonjour! Nous ne vous voulons aucun mal<sup>2</a></sup>.¡±

    The three screamed, dropping their walking sticks and fleeing into the trees.

    ¡°Well that feels like a bit of an overreaction,¡± said Mistress Quickly. She looked at Close-Cut. ¡°Maybe they saw your umbrella.¡±

    Close-Cut grunted. ¡°It¡¯d probably have helped if you weren¡¯t wearing a bug-eyed gas-mask, my dear.¡±

    Allison looked at Jack Lyons. ¡°I¡¯m guessing your bosses wouldn¡¯t want them telling the coppers we were here?¡±

    ¡°Well, no¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±

    Allison kicked off the ground, zooming after the hikers. She closed in on the man, wrapping her arms around his head. ¡°Don¡¯t squirm!¡± she shouted in French, sending Alberto¡¯s hooks into her prey. He quickly went limp. Allison had to lower him gently onto the leaf-littered forest floor. She called back to her fellows, ¡°Get the other two!¡±

    The Crimson Comet looked sadly at the two fleeing women. He sighed. ¡°Arnold, I really don¡¯t want to risk hitting the poor ladies.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Ralph.¡±

    The Crimson Comet appeared in a green flash directly in the women¡¯s path. They screamed anew, turning to run in the other direction only for the hulking superhero to pull them into a very glum bear hug. They thrashed and beat their fists against his invulnerable chest:

    ¡°Enfoir¨¦s! Bande de malades!<sup>3</a></sup>¡±

    ¡°Encul¨¦<sup>4</a></sup>! Esp¨¨ce de cingl¨¦s<sup>5</a></sup>!¡±

    Ralph grimaced. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry, ladies.¡± Luckily for him, Allison was soon over to send the women to sleep with a touch. They laid the three hikers side-by-side on the softest patch of forest within reach. David had wanted to draw some moustaches on them, but was overruled by way of a smack from Ralph.

    ¡°Will they be alright?¡± asked Jack Lyons.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison. ¡°They¡¯ll wake up in like, ten minutes. Won¡¯t remember us, either.¡±

    ¡°Find anything useful in their brains by any chance?¡± asked Mistress Quickly.

    ¡°Yes, actually. Nothing first hand, but people and the papers ¡®round here have been talking about a bunch of supervillains tearing up the place. Guess it isn¡¯t just Starry Knight.¡±

    Jack shook his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like Roundtable to me.¡±

    ¡°Have you ever met Roundtable, Mr. Lyons?¡± Allison asked sharply.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t had the pleasure,¡± admitted Jack Lyons. ¡°But I¡¯ve been told they¡¯re all good tommies.¡±

    Mistress Quickly laughed. ¡°British people causing a ruckus abroad, who¡¯s ever heard of such a thing?¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± said Mabel. ¡°I thought you guys all worked at the Phare.¡±

    Jack smiled. ¡°I come and go.¡±

    They moved on. After half an hour, Allison raised a hand at the edge of a clearing. Everyone stopped. ¡°The horrible thing¡¯s just ahead. Billy, you might want to stay here?¡±

    Billy looked at Jack Lyons, thankful he didn¡¯t notice. He wasn¡¯t going to look like a wimp in front of him. Billy puffed his chest. ¡°I can take it.¡±

    Allison sighed. ¡°Fine.¡±

    They walked into a campsite.  A young nation of flies buzzed about the stench; decay mixed with rain and new growth. Like compost. Rain pooled on the roofs of tents. Sodden books mouldered on workbenches. Equipment rusted like broken swords in the dirt, the archeological arms of corpses lying strewn in strange ruin. Some were missing their heads or had holes in their chests. Others looked like they¡¯d been torn apart by wild dogs. A few people had been reduced to puddles of crushed flesh and bone, as though someone had dropped a marble block on top of them.

    At the centre was a pit of crystals next to a flat slab of rock. Its lid, no doubt. A man stood at the edge of the pit. Flowers grew from around his eyes, leaving dried trails of blood and dew. Beetles crawled in and out of the grass that erupted out his mouth. His neat philosopher¡¯s beard had been colonized by moss. The only thing keeping him upright were the roots that had shot up through his body.

    All Jack Lyons had to say was, ¡°God rest their souls.¡±

    Allison was very glad her mother and Mr. Barnes had stayed back at Br¨°n Binn, even as glorified hostages. She examined the standing corpse. His waistcoat was tyrian purple. Dr. Merlin. She heard Billy vomiting on his shoes. He was crying, too.

    Told ya. ¡°Could someone take care of Billy?¡±

    Close-Cut put a hand on Billy¡¯s shoulder, gently leading him away from the scene. ¡°Come on, boy, it¡¯s alright.¡±

    Mistress Quickly scanned a few of the corpses, electronic text dancing in her visor optics. She had reduced Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Peroit, and Miss Marple to a few circuits in her helmet.  She pointed at a headless young woman. ¡°This poor girl looks like she was decapitated with one strong cut, but my spectographics can¡¯t detect any metal particles.¡±

    ¡°Gloriana,¡± said Allison. ¡°She makes swords and stuff out of light.¡±

    Mistress Quickly turned to face one of the mauled bodies. ¡°Teeth and claw marks are consistent with a wolf or wild dog, but the saliva in the wounds has human DNA.¡±

    ¡°Animal Kingdom. Turns into animals.¡±

    Mistress Quickly stepped over to one of the gory human pancakes. ¡°White male, mid-forties. If I¡¯m reading this right, he either took a brief trip to the bottom of the Marianas Trench, or a planet about five times the size of ours. Looks like you were right about Starry Knight, Allison.¡±

    ¡°You know,¡± said Close-Cut. ¡°I can believe one superhero going nuts and murdering some archeologists. Two, on the same team? Bit less likely, but maybe it was a Bonnie and Clyde thing. Three of them, though? Something¡¯s sus.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see any other superheroes lying around here,¡± commented Mabel. ¡°Could¡¯ve been more.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± said the Crimson Comet. ¡°But they also could¡¯ve been in plainclothes.¡± He thought back to the hikers. ¡°Come to think of it, maybe we should be.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t dress down for anyone, dear,¡± said Close-Cut.

    ¡°There¡¯s another thing,¡± said Allison. She tapped Dr. Merlin on the sleeve, immediately regretting it. It was like touching furry cheese. ¡°Nobody on Roundtable can do this.¡±

    ¡°I assume you¡¯re going to check the yesterdays?¡± asked Mistress Quickly.

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Allison. ¡°Miri!¡±

    Miri appeared again beside her sister. ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to look at the past. Mind the shop.¡±

    ¡°You know, sis, you¡¯re getting kinda bossy lately¡ª¡±

    ¡°Just do it.¡±

    Miri rolled her eyes. ¡°Fine.¡± Miri vanished. Allison¡¯s costume morphed into her sister¡¯s.

    Once she was sure Miri was firmly in the driver¡¯s seat, Allison stepped out of their shared body. It disappeared behind her, carried away by the flow of days. The sun and moon flickered above Allison¡¯s head like a dying candle. Raindrops flew up into the sky. The corpses rotted in reverse. Flies settled on their birthplaces to shed their legs and wings, before crawling back into their eggs to be collected by their mothers. Then Allison hit the massacre. Robots forged from cars and trucks tore people apart like shoddy dolls. Hail and wind scoured skin and flesh from bone. People were captured and devoured by gigantic globs of coloured, waxy goo. Allison tried to ignore the victim¡¯s faces. Their screams. The shadows of fear and suffering they left on the ether. Instead, she focused on counting their murderers:

    Ironclad¡­ Weathermonger¡­ P¨¡hoehoe¡­

    Dr. Merlin was begging at the feet of a broad, hairy man in tattered brown skins. His beard was black, riddled with leaves and twigs, his ears faintly pointed. He held a staff carved of light apple wood.

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± moaned Dr. Merlin. ¡°We¡¯re your people!¡±

    In an old tongue¡ªone that made Allison wonder who she¡¯d learned it from¡ªthe man spoke. ¡°Stand.¡±

    Apparently, Dr. Merlin understood the command. He rose on shaking feet. He only came to the man¡¯s chest.

    ¡°What do they call you?¡±

    ¡°Al¡ªAlphonsus Summers¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not all they call you, is it?¡±

    The wizard laughed hysterically. ¡°Dr. Merlin! They call me Dr. Merlin.¡±

    The man tapped his staff against Summers¡¯ chest. ¡°You are not Merlin.¡±

    Alphonsus screamed as the roots strangled his veins and broke his bones. The man looked right past him. At Allison. In perfect English, he said. ¡°Don¡¯t think I don¡¯t see you, Gypsy child.¡± The man raised a calloused hand¡ª

    Allison gasped as she was forced back into her body.

    Hey! Miri cried inside her. Little warning¡ª

    ¡°They¡¯re being controlled,¡± blurted Allison. ¡°All of them.¡±

    ¡°By whom?¡± asked Jack Lyons.

    ¡°I¡ªI think it¡¯s Merlin.¡±

    ¡°What,¡± said Close-Cut, pointing at Dr. Merlin¡¯s body, ¡°him?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°No. I mean the real Merlin.¡±

    ?

    Jack Lyons and the Catalpans spent the next fifteen minutes searching the campsite and the human remains. After that, Jack had Arnold teleport the corpses to Br¨°n Binn, eyes turned skyward the whole time. Lyons said it was for autopsy and eventual burial. Allison was sure those reasons were true. She was also sure it was so the French police didn¡¯t find anything. She doubted the archeologists and their staff had asked to be buried with their tents and equipment, but they sent those back, too. One thing they found was an itinerary of sites the team had planned on visiting. The flat stone that had ended up spelling their death was near the bottom. Below it were locales such as the Tombeau du G¨¦ant, a tumulus said to be the grave of a giant felled by the Knights of the Round Table; the Fontaine de Barenton to the west of the forest, whose waters were said to cure madness; and finally the Tombeau de Merlin. Or In English, the Tomb of Merlin.

    ¡°Surprised it¡¯s so low on the list,¡± said the Crimson Comet.

    ¡°Perhaps they thought it was a touch obvious,¡± commented Jack Lyons. ¡°If they were truly trying to find Merlin, that is.¡±

    ¡°Of course they bloody were,¡± said Allison. ¡°Why do you think they had a bunch of superheroes with them?¡±

    ¡°Language, little lady.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± snapped Allison. ¡°Never call anyone that. And the reason the tomb is so low is because it¡¯s too old to be Merlin¡¯s. It was built by like, cave-people.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± said Jack Lyons, ¡°learn something new every day.¡±

    What Allison wanted to learn that day was how much of this was news to Jack Lyons. Or why a dead man was less of a ghost than her own sister. ¡°We¡¯re going to the tomb,¡± she said.

    ¡°Why?¡± asked Close-Cut. ¡°You said it didn¡¯t have anything to do with Merlin.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t,¡± agreed Allison. ¡°But most of the futures where we catch Starry Knight involve us going there.¡±

    ¡°You still seem very fixated on Mr. Peake, Miss Kinsey,¡± said Jack.

    ¡°He¡¯s the only one I see us fighting today. I think Merlin took the others somewhere else and left him here.¡±

    Jack Lyons rubbed his chin. ¡°Interesting. Why do you think he did that?¡±

    Allison shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t know. Maybe he¡¯s guarding something. Maybe he¡¯s just annoying.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± said Jack. ¡°I suppose we¡¯ll find out.¡±

    The group set forth again.

    ¡°Billy,¡± Arnold said as they walked. ¡°I can zap you home if you want. It was pretty nasty back there.¡±

    Billy shoved his hands into his very practical pockets and looked down at his navy-blue shoes. ¡°Why are you only asking me?¡±

    ¡°You just looked upset, is all¡­¡±

    Billy looked Arnold in the eye. ¡°You didn¡¯t like looking at the dead people either. Are you going home?¡±

    ¡°I¡ªI need to be here. For my mum.¡±

    ¡°So I don¡¯t need to be here? I¡¯m just¡­ what? A stuffed tiger?¡±

    Arnold stammered. ¡°No. I mean¡ªyou¡¯re not¡­¡±

    ¡°Everyone treats you and Allie and everyone like you¡¯re grownups. Why do they treat me like a baby?¡±

    ¡°I mean, we are bigger than you!¡±

    ¡°A year! You¡¯re like, a year older than me!¡±

    ¡°More like eighteen months,¡± said Allison from the front.

    ¡°That¡¯s still not much! Miri¡¯s not even one! You don¡¯t treat her like this!¡±

    ¡°Miri doesn¡¯t have a body,¡± said Arnold. ¡°She can¡¯t bleed.¡±

    ¡°Allison can,¡± muttered Billy. ¡°You all can¡­¡±

    They managed to avoid running into any hikers or bewitched superheroes, soon reaching the tomb. It was likely a tomb<sup>6</a></sup> built long before the age of writing and kings. Then, like Troy before it, treasure hunters and what could loosely be called ¡°archeologists¡± decided it belonged to Merlin, and dynamited it. Now it was little more than a pair of rocks encircled by flagstones and a log fence. Tourists and neopagans in search of an authentic anchor for their new faith left gifts and notes for Merlin.

    Someone had also stuck a sword in one of the stones. It looked like an Iron Age relic that had ignored time itself. Its hilt was gold with two roaring chimeras for the guards. Its long blade glinted in the winter sun.

    ¡°My God,¡± whispered Jack Lyons. ¡°Excalibur¡­¡±

    ¡°Nah,¡± said Allison. ¡°King Arthur got that from the Lady in the Lake. This is the sword in the stone.¡±

    ¡°Does that one have a name?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Yep,¡± answered Allison. ¡°Caledfwlch. Or Caliburnus. Depends what language you¡¯re using<sup>7</a></sup>.¡±

    Billy stepped forward. A shift in futures made Allison throw her arm out in front of him. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it.¡±

    Billy looked at her. Quickly, Allison added, ¡°Nobody touch¡ª¡±

    The storm roiled. The golden probabilities Allison hunted receded. Many evaporated altogether.

    Why¡ª

    A roar echoed over the trees. A great silver meteor dropped from the sky, landing with shocking lightness between the Catalpans and the sword in the stone. Starry Knight rose from his crouch. His ancestral spacesuit was stained brown with dirt and dried gore. In an imperious, if slightly muffled voice, he said, ¡°Who dares approach Caledfwlch?¡±

    The supers exchanged looks. By some silent agreement, Jack Lyons stepped forward:

    ¡°Starry Knight¡ªMr. Peake¡ªI¡¯m Jack Lyons. Sir Edward sent me to check up on you and your pals. What¡¯s happened here?¡±

    Starry Knight laughed. ¡°I am no ¡®Starry Knight.¡¯ I am Cai<sup>8</a></sup>! Son of Cynyr Ceinfarfog, king of Dyfed<sup>9</a></sup>! Brother to the Pendragon himself¡ª¡±

    ¡°Foster brother,¡± Allison muttered under her breath.¡±

    ¡°¡­First Knight of the Round Table!¡±

    ¡°He at least looks the part, give or take a couple thousand years,¡± said Mistress Quickly.

    Jack Lyons nodded. ¡°Anthony, I can see you¡¯re not well.¡±

    Allison could confirm that, if not in the sense Jack Lyons meant. Starry Knight had two songs warring within his suit. One was played on a giant¡¯s organ, carved out of a mountain, echoing over forests of coral. The other was a piddling, human tune, martial and little else. It was like listening to a battle of the bands that had forgotten to take turns. Allison had little doubt which one was doing the talking

    ¡°None of us blame you for what happened at the campsite. We just want to get you some help.¡±

    ¡°I need no help from the likes of you.¡±

    Jack Lyons¡¯ face darkened. ¡°Please don¡¯t make us hurt you.¡±

    Another aristocratic laugh. ¡°Hurt me? You think I fear a crowd of mummers, jesters and children?¡±

    ¡°You should,¡± said Allison.

    Arnold raised his hand first¡ªa mistake.  At the same time, Sir Cai raised his own heavy-gloved fist. The air between them stretched and warped. The lightning that lashed from Arnold¡¯s fingers fell far short of the astro-knight. It was meant to cross ten feet, not ten miles. Sir Cai chuckled. A grey beam from his palm struck Arnold in the chest. For a moment, nothing happened. Arnold patted himself up and down. Finding nothing amiss, he jeered at the knight, ¡°A nothing beam? What kind of superpower is that?¡±

    Behind Starry Knight¡¯s helmet, Sir Cai smiled. Arnold jerked as silver wires spider-webbed from his body, striking rocks, trees, and even Mabel, binding them all together into an earthly constellation before fading away. Mabel staggered into Arnold¡¯s side, almost knocking him over. A pebble flicked up into the side of his head. ¡°Ow!¡±

    The trees Arnold was hooked to started to shake. Allison could hear their roots strain in the soil. She yelled at Ralph, ¡°Get him in the air!¡±

    The Crimson Comet leapt at Arnold and pulled him into his arms, absconding into the sky. A few seconds later, a dozen trees and a cloud of rock and dirt wrenched themselves out of the ground and raced after them. Mother Nature¡¯s own V-2 rockets.

    Mabel screamed as she was pulled into the air after Arnold. She shut up quickly. It was like trying to swallow a leaf-blower business end first.  Mabel sometimes envied Miri and Allison¡¯s flight. This was proving a great vaccine for jealousy. The beginnings of rain battered against her. She and a small, angry forest chased a shooting star over Broc¨¦liande.

    To Mabel¡¯s credit, she didn¡¯t drop her binder; it was practically a body part. Allison came flying to her side. Some of Billy¡¯s mercury smoke bloomed in her hands, evaporating to reveal a branching metal chain with a thick spike on one end, and two manacles on the other.

    ¡°The heck is that for?¡± Mabel tried to shout over the wind. She could barely hear herself. Allison fell back slightly, slipping the mannacle around Mabel¡¯s ankles and closing them with a long pin.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing?¡±

    ¡°Grounding you!¡± Allison pulled Mabel downward by the chain, her unnatural momentum warring with Arnold¡¯s swollen, discriminating gravity well. Twigs and branches scraped and snagged at Mabel as they descended through the forest canopy. When her feet were only an inch off the ground, Allison used ?ywie¡¯s old tricks to flood her muscles with adrenaline, forcing the spike-end of the chain deep into a tree trunk.

    Mabel floated at a slanted angle, chain taut, picture-binder held tight against her chest. She frowned deeply. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have put me facing the right way?¡±

    Allison flew back towards the Tomb, calling back, ¡°Make us some monsters, will ya?¡±

    Close-Cut was taking on Sir Cai hand-to-hand, the dynamic circuitry of his suit multiplying his strength ten fold, eating blows from the possessed superhero and turning it into might. He whacked his umbrella against Starry Knight¡¯s helmet, electricity crackling across his helmet with every blow. Sir Cai managed to land a hit in Close-Cut¡¯s chest. The bottom fell out of his stomach as he floated up into the trees.

    ¡°Goddamnit!¡± he shouted, trying to push himself down by flapping his arms as Sir Cai pointed and laughed. A laser-blast  hit the knight¡¯s shoulder. He screamed as molten metal and fabric fused to his skin, swinging around to find Mistress Quickly aiming her multi-gun at him. She fired again. This time, the bolts of light were caught in a gravitational lens, warping their spectra to uselessness. Sir Cai roared, two points of cold light burning behind his helmet visor.

    The air around Mistress Quickly shimmered. Her shoulders grew heavy as her suit glowed with the strain of spreading gravity¡¯s impact on her across the multiverse. Maude rolled to the side just in time to see the grass where she¡¯d been standing flatten, twigs snapping as rocks were ground into powder, as though the air had become a millstone. She spotted David. The boy had turned himself into an ice sculpture.

    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you can suck the blood out of his brain for a second?¡±

    ¡°Nope,¡± David hummed in his glass harp voice. ¡°Can¡¯t touch anything inside his stupid spacesuit.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± said Mistress Quickly. She reminded herself to try and replicate the effect, assuming they beat this idiot.

    Sir Cai was only a little disappointed by the black lady¡¯s escape. Sure, it was satisfying to watch people¡­ collapse under his invisible weights, but this new body still had such wonderful magic. He wondered if this was what Myrddin and his fellow blasphemers felt like. No wonder they risked damnation¡ª

    Sir Cai¡¯s revelry was cut short by a punch to his side by a ruddy-skinned cyclops. Before he could regain his bearings, a time-lost crusader slammed a mace into his back, forcing him to the ground. Sir Cai looked up at the monster and knight, with his strange helmet and vivid blue cloak.

    ¡°Surrender?¡± asked the crusader in a Pep¨¦ Le Pew accent.

    Sir Cai was awash with nostalgia. It was like questing with his brother again. He answered this unexpected kindness by charging at the figures. He soon found they¡ªand the other beasts and monsters that soon joined them¡ªignored the magic of his host. He had no sword, only his fists. That was alright. It was like being a boy again.

    Near the fence, Billy invisibly watched the mad superhero fight Mabel¡¯s minions. ¡°Sir Cai¡± was laughing. He was having fun. And he wasn¡¯t helping. He was a super. A new human, even if that was now a bad thing to say. Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be strong? Brave? His friends were. What could he do? Starry Knight was sick, or possessed, or something. He couldn¡¯t just turn him into something shiny. His roar could hurt everyone. He was useless. Dumb. A baby.

    He still had to try. Billy looked at the sword in the stone. It was some kind of magic. Merlin put it there. How couldn¡¯t it be?

    Sir Cai had a giant ant in a chokehold<sup>10</a></sup> when something hard and fast struck him in the visor. His world cracked around a metallic yellow pit. The glass didn¡¯t shatter completely. It was designed to remain airtight on the surface of the Moon.

    Jack Lyons stood in front of Starry Knight, his pistol still smoking. ¡°Be gentle, Mr. Barthe,¡± he said. ¡°I still think a good man is inside there.¡±

    But then, it wasn¡¯t designed to be shot, either.

    Mist seeped through the fissures in Starry Knight¡¯s visor. It coalesced into water, forcing its way up Anthony Peake¡¯s nose and down his throat. Sir Cai¡¯s broken world melted. He staggered and sputtered, grabbing the stone without a sword in it and blindly hurling it. He managed to hit Jack Lyons, sending him hurtling into a tree. It snapped in half behind him¡ª

    A strange sound. Iron sliding smoothly out of rock. Caledfwlch was hovering shakily in front of what was left of the Tombeau de Merlin, blade raised skyward.

    The water inside Starry Knight¡¯s helmet went still. At the same time, Sir Cai fell to his knees. ¡°My God¡­¡±

    Billy appeared beneath the sword. ¡°Um, is this supposed to happen? Did I break it?¡±

    ¡°A new Pendragon¡­ a new king¡­¡±

    Billy vanished in a swirl of autumn leaves. So did the sword.

    The water in Starry Knight¡¯s ears shrieked. ¡°Billy!¡±

    The Crimson Comet swooped above the scene. A streak of green lightning forked down and hit Starry Knight square in the helmet. It vanished, water spilling out and revealing a middle aged, scarn man with grey temples. Allison burst screaming out of the trees and wrapped her arms around Peake¡¯s head. Sir Cai gasped, ¡°We shall have a king again¡­¡±

    Allison hissed in his ear. ¡°Sleep.¡±

    Sir Kai slumped forward. Allison didn¡¯t bother catching him. The sound of many trees falling on the woods did not go unheard. Close-Cut yelped as he fell to the ground. Allison straightened and dropped to her feet. She was smiling. The golden probabilities had brightened again.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t too hard,¡± she said. She looked about at the other supers. ¡°Everyone okay? Where¡¯s Billy?¡± She cupped her hands around her mouth. ¡°Billy! You can stop being invisible now! It¡¯s over.¡±

    David reformed into flesh and blood beside her. ¡°H¡ªhe¡¯s gone, Allie.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Close-Cut dusted himself off gravely. ¡°He pulled the sword from the stone. It¡­ took him away.¡±

    ¡°Oh. Oh, God¡­¡± Allison bit her lip. ¡°I told him not to touch it¡­¡±

    Mabel emerged into the circle. Her costume had already regenerated from her trip through the skies and trees. Her nose, however, was bleeding. ¡°Did we win?¡± she asked. ¡°Where¡¯s Arnold? And Billy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure Arnold Barnes is still safe with the Crimson Comet,¡± said Jack Lyons. ¡°However, I¡¯m afraid William has been taken, and we don¡¯t know where.¡±

    Allison¡¯s patience ran out. Billy was missing. Billy. God¡¯s favourite. There was no room in her universe for any more mystery. ¡°Lyons,¡± she said. ¡°Can you just tell us what your deal is?¡±

    Jack Lyon¡¯s face twitched uncharacteristically. ¡°My deal?¡±

    ¡°You died in 1902. Your gravestone said so. What are you doing here?

    Everyone looked at him.

    ¡°Questions have been raised,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°And we¡¯re in no mood for secrets.¡±

    ¡°Unless you eat suckling babes or something, I¡¯d just cough it up,¡± said Close-Cut. ¡°We¡¯ve probably seen odder.¡±

    Jack Lyons sighed. The Crimson Comet descended into the circle, Arnold still in his arms, much to the boy¡¯s clear embarrassment.

    ¡°Crikey,¡± said Ralph, ¡°hope they aren¡¯t all that tough.¡±

    ¡°Ralph,¡± said Jack. ¡°Do you remember France? You and me, I mean.¡±

    Ralph frowned. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, ¡°You were brave.¡±

    Jack Lyons looked right at the superhero. ¡°I¡¯m not the Jack Lyons you met in the war, Mr. Rivers. And he was not the first.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen: The Tiger of Albion

    On a peninsula they called an island, Myrddin Wyllt sat in front of a cave. The seer had visited the place many times. Spent hours squatting in its dark mouth waiting for the tide to come in, a seed daring to be swallowed. For when the cave drank the sea, the future washed over him. Not today, though. Right now, Myrddin needed the winter-weary sun. A pile of books lay in the sand next to him. They were strange to the grain. They were written in a script Myrddin had until now glimpsed only in visions. Their paper was white as pearl, yet painfully thin and flimsy. His fingers kept tearing the page corners. He could tell the text within wasn¡¯t the work of human hands. A monk could spend a year on the thinnest volume and not produce such miniscule, immaculately consistent marks, with less than an ant¡¯s width between each letter. And some of these books were more than a thousand pages long. Myrddin knew this for a fact. They put numbers on them. Had men forgotten how to count?

    Myrddin did not like much of what he read. The world he¡¯d slept through was a swamp of pain and violence. Wars that would once have consumed hundreds or thousands now boasted deaths in numbers Myrddin had never needed to know. Human craft now surpassed even his greatest magics. Now men could end the world by accident. Worse still, some would do it on purpose. Who should be able to boast that power but God? One god, though men today were afraid to use the word, had tried to take away that power. Tried to save every man, woman and child in this world.

    They¡¯d killed him for that.

    Right now, Myrddin was reading about himself, albeit under the name the Romans had given him. When he was young, he would have been thrilled to hear men sing of him. Every bard wished for that. To be transfigured from singer to song. Now it was a cruel joke. It wasn¡¯t even the slander. Calling him a cambion, the fruit of diabolical outrage. People had been whispering that behind his back for years. Fools who could only think what their priests told them. The kind who couldn¡¯t name what came between day and night. It was what had happened after Nimu? put him in the earth.

    Myrddin watched the dusty silver waves crash onto the shore. He remembered the morning they¡¯d carried a naked babe to his feet, warm and alive in those cold waters, his red shock of hair a flame they could not extinguish. He remembered raising the child to the sky and weeping. ¡°Here is an heir for Uther!¡± Tennyson had him shout.

    The poet was wrong. Uther¡ªUthyr¡ªcouldn¡¯t have been further from Myrddin¡¯s mind. All that mattered was that he had a prince. A prince who would bring peace to the land. Myrddin wasn¡¯t surprised that people called him a devil. Easier to believe his power and madness¡ªand Myrddin had gone mad¡ªwas born from the pit, not mere human violence. From watching his lord and his brother be slaughtered in front of him. Myrddin¡¯s allies and beneficiaries claimed his visions came from God. That He had given Myrddin leave to practise his magic. Myrddin couldn¡¯t believe that. Not unless God lived in the shadows of trees. In silence so deep, Myrddin could hear his tears hit the ground.

    All his efforts. All his sins and miracles. They had not lasted a single lifetime.

    Myrddin felt something rushing towards him across the sea¡ª

    A boy with a mask like a bandit stood in the surf. His skin was concealed by short, black-striped orange fur, a cat¡¯s tail waving behind him. He was holding a sword shakily above his head. Caledfwlch. Myrddin slowly got to his feet, dropping the Idylls of the King. His mouth fell agape. In the same moment, Caledfwlch slipped out of the boy¡¯s clawed hands into the water.

    ¡°Sorry, sorry!¡± cried Billy St. George. He looked about the beach. ¡°Um, excuse me, sir, am I still in France?¡±

    Myrddin ran into the water, embracing the strange child.

    Billy patted the man¡¯s side awkwardly. ¡°Ah, hi.¡±

    Once more, the world had delivered Myrddin a prince. Once more, he wept.

    ¡°Are you okay mister?¡±

    ?

    The gaol on Br¨°n Binn wasn¡¯t meant for long-term confinement. It was a simple brick building with five cells, each with an old-fashioned iron barred door. Any member of Roundtable could¡¯ve torn it apart all on their lonesome. Metropole could even politely ask the cell doors to open themselves. It was a drunk tank, a place for hot tempers to cool. If the Ministry of Paranormality needed to properly imprison a superhuman, they had another island for that, a bleak place between the Outer Hebridees and¡­ somewhere else. Today, though, escape was impossible. At least, if Allison Kinsey said it was.

    Sir Cai sat brooding on the cell bench. They hadn¡¯t given him back the helmet. He liked the helmet. Sir Cai itched without it on, like there were archers aiming for his head. A weakness inherited from the flesh he wore. He¡¯d spent a few minutes experimenting with the strange water-powered latrine, until he heard the red-eyed girl laughing at him. He had tried to stop for the sake of his dignity, but it became a compulsion as urgent as breath. His actions weren¡¯t his own. Sir Cai could not even beg for release. He was only able to pull himself away when the witch-child tilted her head and wrinkled her nose, as though a ghost had whispered a bad joke in his ear.

    ¡°Come on,¡± said Allison. ¡°Just tell us what you were doing in the forest.¡±

    The girl looked like Nimu?¡¯s spawn. Bloodless as a fish. Bending men with only a touch and her voice. Sir Cai wanted to see the girl¡¯s bones break from the weight of the air on her shoulders. He wanted to bury her in the rubble of this building. But his new magic lay still inside him, as though an iron horseshoe had been hung around his neck. Glaring back at the girl and her black-clad companion was all the spite Sir Cai could muster.

    Allison rolled her eyes. Alberto was going to gloat for days. ¡°Spit it out.¡±

    ¡°I was left to guard the sword,¡± Sir Cai blurted, unable to stop himself.

    ¡°And why did Merlin stick his magic sword in a French rock?¡± asked Mistress Quickly. ¡°Seems like a waste of good metal.¡±

    Sir Cai grit his teeth. ¡°His name¡ªisn¡¯t¡­¡± He screwed his eyes shut, tremoring, before the answer fled his lips. ¡°¡­It was our land before the whore put Myrddin in the earth. He didn¡¯t realize that had changed until he drove Caledfwlch into the stone. Said he didn¡¯t have time to pull it back out¡­¡±

    Sir Cai flinched at Mistress Quickly¡¯s laughter. It was the mirth of wasps. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve been there, mate.¡±

    ¡°And they just left you. All by yourself.¡±

    Sir Cai stood tall. ¡°Only I was worthy.¡±

    ¡°Did they tell you where they were going?¡±

    Sir Cai frowned. ¡°Great Britain, of course.¡±

    Allison huffed. ¡°Did they tell you where in Great Britain?¡±

    ¡°¡­I did not need to know.¡±

    ¡°Course not.¡± Allison squinted at Starry Knight¡¯s mind, bricked up behind the edifice of Sir Cai. Anthony Peake was trapped in a ship that shouldn¡¯t have existed for nearly fifty years, beyond the reach of one world and falling short of another. The stale, four day old air stank of sweat and fear. Warning claxons blended with screams. Over and over, they fell to Earth. A memory prison built of despair and self-recrimination. Merlin hadn¡¯t lacked for building materials.

    ¡°You know,¡± said Allison, ¡°I¡¯m not surprised Myriddin left you to guard the sword.¡±

    Sir Cai smiled. ¡°I see my reputation has not withered with the ages.¡±

    Allison shrugged her shoulders. ¡°You mean people still remember you¡¯re a prat? Yeah, they do.¡±

    Anthony Peake¡¯s lips and eyebrows twitched as Sir Cai searched his host¡¯s vocabulary. His face went red when he realized what the girl called him. ¡°Mind your tongue, you pale little slattern!¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, everyone knows you were a dickhead.¡± Allison glanced up at Mistress Quickly. ¡°Mistress, do you remember what Robert Graves called our guest?¡±

    ¡°Afraid I don¡¯t, Allie.¡± It was the truth, but Maude tried to make it sound ironic.

    Allison smiled acidly at Sir Cai. ¡°A buffoon. The chief of cooks.¡±

    Sir Cai¡¯s hand flew to a sword that wasn¡¯t there. ¡°I¡¯ll have his head!¡±

    ¡°Remember when Percival broke your shoulder? Because you slapped a lady!¡±

    ¡°She had it coming!¡±

    Allison tutted.

    ¡°No wonder your dad liked Arthur more.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a lie!¡±

    That was one use for precognition: knowing what insults would land.

    ¡°Is it?¡± asked Allison. ¡°While you¡¯re answering questions, why¡¯d ya kill Loholt? Your own nephew<sup><a title="A piece of genuine slander found only in Perlesvaus, an Old French Arthurian romance from the 13th century.¡± href=¡±#fn1¡å id=¡±ref1¡å>1</sup>¡­¡±

    Sir Cai stammered. The red rage in his cheeks became white hot. An old wound opened inside him. He remembered his brother¡¯s son fading away, after what they did to him Din Guarie<sup>2</a></sup>. How Arthur and Gwenhwyfar had wept¡­

    ¡°As I live and breathe, girl my sword shall be your bridegroom.¡±

    Mistress Quickly grimaced behind her mask, but Allison just giggled. ¡°I bet Arthur only let you in the club because he felt sorry for you. You bent the knee to your own squire.¡±

    Sir Cai roared. ¡°I am a prince of Dyfed!¡±

    Allison folded her arms and raised her chin. ¡°You¡¯re a Welsh warlord nobody even remembers, gone a thousand years.¡±

    Jack Lyons stood guard outside the gaol block, shaking his head at what he heard. This wasn¡¯t interrogation. Just childish cruelty. He heaved a sigh. It wouldn¡¯t be working so well if her words weren¡¯t true. Sir Cai probably deserved every word. He wished he could let his mind slide off it, like the children cavorting in the air above him: one spectral, the other icy mist.

    They were playing tag. While their friend tore her way through a dead man¡¯s psyche. While their friend was God knows where, probably in the company of a murderous wizard. No wonder the Catalpans hadn¡¯t seen him as strange. He was the least of it.

    ¡°When did this all get so normal for you?¡± he asked, more to himself than to them.

    Miri stopped mid-air.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡± she asked. ¡°This is normal.¡±

    Jack chuckled.

    ¡°No, little miss. It really isn¡¯t.¡±

    David dropped out the air, bare flesh again, and shrugged. ¡°Says you.¡±

    ¡°Says reality, precedent,¡± Jack countered. ¡°Behind me, a little girl is interrogating a man from a fairy-story for the Crown. I¡¯m a dead man recreated by alien technology again and again in a lighthouse basement, and even to me, this is too much. When did you get so numb to it all?¡±

    The children looked at each other.

    ¡°I mean,¡± Miri said, ¡°An alien made me too. It¡¯s not that weird.¡±

    ¡°All of this got pretty normal after some arsehole shot my mum,¡± David added. ¡°Hard to top that. Besides, who wants to be normal? You¡¯re like, immortal. Even more immortal than me!¡±

    Jack shook his head. ¡°No, Mr. Venter. I¡¯m not immortal. I get to die as many times as Queen and Country ask of me. And if someone wrecked the contraption under our feet, Jack Lyons would be gone forever in less than five weeks, even this animate cadaver that stands before you.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a Frankenstein?¡± asked David. ¡°Neat.¡±

    ¡°You mean the monster?¡± Jack corrected<sup>3</a></sup>. ¡°No.¡± Never use metaphorical language with children. Especially ones who forgot to dress. ¡°I¡¯m more like one of Miss Henderson¡¯s creations. Simply one that can only be sent away by time.¡±

    There was a quiet, then Miri spoke.

    ¡°Um,¡± she asked. ¡°What does dying feel like? I think I died once. I kinda wanna be sure.¡±

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. ¡°The first time¡ªwhen the real Jack Lyons died¡ªwas like being turned inside out and set on fire.. Machinery commiting my cells and atoms to memory with basilisk eyes.¡±

    David frowned. ¡°People used to call my dad that. Dumb name.¡±

    ¡°My apologies. Never mean to offend. Dying is not a standardized experience. In France¡ªafter my scrape with Mr. Rivers, of course¡ªJerry dropped a bomb on me. Didn¡¯t feel a thing. One second there was a whistle in my ears, the next someone was handing me a towel and some trousers in the cavern. I believe they were sending me to Suez.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s it like when you just¡­ don¡¯t die long enough?¡± asked Miri.

    Jack sighed. ¡°I grow numb, Miss Kinsey. I¡¯m told for most dying people, touch goes last. For me it¡¯s the first. Sometimes I think it¡¯s purgatory washing over me. My echoes only last only a month or two long. Most of them are spent in airplanes and offices. How can they merit paradise or damnation?¡± Jack Lyons shook himself. He was getting poetic. Never a good sign. He looked sharply at the fae children. ¡°I must ask, how can you two play while your friend is missing?¡± He pointed at David. ¡°And where did your costume go?¡±

    ¡°Got bored of it,¡± David answered, running into Miri¡¯s own reply:

    ¡°You heard Allie,¡± she said, again, perplexed. ¡°Billy¡¯s fine. His futures are still pretty much okay.¡±

    David kept talking, ¡°And I don¡¯t get cold anyway. Well, I do, but it¡¯s fun.¡±

    Jack Lyons almost envied the boy. Not so much the shamelessness¡ªJack was proud of his tailoring¡ªbut these days, differences in temperature weren¡¯t even interesting to him anymore. As relevant to his well being as his elevation above sea-level. He remembered being seven years old, heading to boarding school in Scotland for the first time. He¡¯d felt like his bones would shatter from the cold. He missed that.

    ¡°Way I see it,¡± said David. ¡°You¡¯re lucky. You got off the human train, and now you can take bullets to the chest¡ª¡±

    Miri thrust her arm through David¡¯s head. Jack winced at the sight.

    ¡°You¡¯re it!¡± she yelled, plunging through the scrubby ground.

    David swore gleefully. ¡°Bitch! I¡¯mma getcha for that!¡±

    The boy collapsed into water, his remains soaking into the cold soil like it was the height of summer.

    Maybe that was his problem, thought Jack Lyons. He was a man with a monster¡¯s life. These children resembled only themselves. Perhaps that was a blessing.

    Allison and Mistress Quickly exited the gaol. Allison had a peeved satisfaction, like someone who¡¯d swatted a spider but now had to clean it up.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t sound like you had much luck in there,¡± commented Jack.

    ¡°Nope,¡± Mistress Quickly replied with mechanical flatness.

    ¡°Was hoping he¡¯d lose control if we got him really mad,¡± said Allison. ¡°But he¡¯s wedged inside Mr. Peake pretty tight.¡± She looked up at Jack. ¡°You ever had to open a drawer, but it¡¯s so full of junk it gets caught?¡±

    ¡°Afraid I haven¡¯t had the pleasure, but I think I understand the principle.¡±

    ¡°Let me guess,¡± said Mistress Quickly. ¡°The kitchen was the domain of the servants?¡±

    ¡°¡­Yes,¡± admitted Jack Lyons.

    Allison continued, ¡°And you¡¯re afraid if you pull too hard you¡¯ll break something and your dad will smack you¡­¡±  She trailed off, eyes snapping to Maude. ¡°Couple of nights ago, could you see me in your bedroom?¡±

    Jack Lyons glanced sideways at Mistress Quickly. She tried not to meet his eyes. ¡°¡­Yes. Yes I could.¡± She tapped the lenses of her mask. ¡°Contacts.¡±

    ¡°Can you see ghosts?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually.¡± Maude titled her gloved hand. ¡°Ghosts kind of live on the border of science and magic. Bit like jaffa cakes.¡± She looked between Allison and Jack Lyons. ¡°I mean, are they cakes, or biscuits? Does it matter?¡±

    ¡°I believe the answer¡¯s in the name,¡± opined Lyons.

    ¡°They¡¯re biscuits,¡± said Allison. She would¡¯ve argued the case further, but there were more pressing matters. ¡°Can you catch ghosts, Maude?¡±

    Mistress Quickly rubbed her chin and clicked her tongue. It sounded like a soda-tab being pulled. ¡°I had been looking into making Miri a timeout corner¡­¡±

    ?

    ¡°And then what happened?¡±

    Billy shrunk slightly in his chair. The thing nobody told you about round tables was how easily everyone¡¯s eyes fell on one person. It made Billy ticklish. All these heroes¡ªthese real knights¡ªstaring at him, waiting for him to speak like he was Jack Lyons. Or King Arthur. Billy swallowed. ¡°We made the prison disappear with everyone in it. Then we built our town around it.¡±

    The knights let out a great cheer. Some were still in their new superhero gear, a bit grubby after two weeks of continuous use. Others had tried to adapt modern fashion, to limited success. Sir Gawaine, clad in the flesh of the Welsh hero Rock Cannon, had covered himself with belts; around his waist, his shoulders, and across his chest. He slapped Myrddin on the shoulder. ¡°Now why didn¡¯t you ever pull that trick for us?¡±

    Merlin¡ªMyrddin, Billy didn¡¯t want to be rude¡ªwasn¡¯t what the boy had expected. Billy had always pictured the legendary wizard as a spindly, white-bearded old man in a blue robe and pointy hat. Sometimes the robe or hat (or both) was bedazzled with stars. But Myrrdin¡­ well, he was old, Billy supposed, but only as much as Mr. Rivers. His beard was short and black, with only the smallest flecks of grey. Solidly built, too. He could have been mistaken for a knight himself. Unlike them, though, he was dressed quite acceptably for his place and time in a brown tweed suit. If Billy had been more exposed to the world¡¯s stereotypes, he might¡¯ve said he looked like a secondary school maths teacher. Myrddin sipped his wine evenly. ¡°Clearly our young king¡¯s powers are beyond even mine.¡±

    Billy felt himself blush beneath his fur. They kept calling him that. King. Far as he knew, neither his mother nor father were any kind of royalty, even if they were rich. The sword must be broken. ¡°It wasn¡¯t really my powers,¡± he insisted. ¡°Mau¡ªMistress Quickly was the one who disappeared the prison. A lot of people made it happen.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I didn¡¯t do much¡­¡±

    Disbelieving laughter.

    ¡°Do not sell yourself short, William,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°By the sounds of it, this Mistress Quickly wouldn¡¯t have been able to smuggle in her tools if it weren¡¯t for your bravery. No, you did not liberate the fortress alone, but no king rules without a retinue. Arthur didn¡¯t. Your modesty and generosity with credit due speaks well of you.¡±

    ¡°Uh, thanks,¡± said Billy.

    A few seats down from Billy, Sir Bedwyr raised Ironclad¡¯s hand. With Sir Cai and Starry Knight absent from the table, Sir Bedwyr and the form he¡¯d stolen most looked the part of a true knight, clad in armour seemingly shaped from old British automobiles. ¡°If you¡¯d pardon the request, your highness, could you show us your alchemy again.¡±

    Billy had gathered that meant his matter-mist. He nodded. Billy didn¡¯t think saying no would be smart. These people were baddies¡ªeven if they had the same names as brave knights¡ªand Billy supposed he was their prisoner, even if they thought he was the king of¡­ something. Besides, saying no would be rude. ¡°Sure.¡± He spread his arms and wriggled his fingers. A ribbon of shiny fog weaved between Billy¡¯s hands. He squinted, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. Red, blue and green plumes of flame whistled out from the mist, flaring rhythmically to ¡°Click Go the Shears.¡±

    The knights applauded. Sir Bedwyr had his hands under his chin in awe. ¡°I spent years trying to transmute the elements. Our king does it on a whim¡­¡±

    Billy found himself smiling. In a city of wonders, it was easy to forget you were special. He shook himself. Bad people, Billy reminded himself. He¡¯d seen what they¡¯d done to those people in Broc¨¦liande. Billy looked straight at Myrddin, trying to channel some of Tom Long¡¯s steel into his gaze. ¡°Mr¡­ Myrddin, why did you kill all those people? In the forest I mean. Dr. Merlin had freed you, and you killed him.¡±

    A hush fell over the table. A few of the knights hung their heads.

    ¡°Your highness,¡± said Myrddin, ¡°Dr. Merlin and his compatriots did not wake me out of kindness. They wanted to use me. Make me into a weapon in a swollen, far away war, waged not for the good of the Britons, but that of their rulers. I would not be made a tool of selfish men. I¡¯m sure you can understand, if what you¡¯ve told me of this Lawrence is true.¡±

    Billy guessed he did¡­ sort of. He knew Lawrence¡¯s plans made Allison and David mad. Billy knew it should¡¯ve made him mad. But the idea of married days had never scared him. Babies were cute. There were a bunch of girls at the Institute he liked hugging and playing with. The prospect was too far away to even be real, like old age or the year 2000.

    ¡°I will admit that I perhaps¡­ acted hastily,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°But rest assured, your highness, I and my knights have not shed any innocent blood since then, either here or in the forest.¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡± asked Billy. ¡°Starry¡ªSir Cai seemed¡­ mean.¡±

    ¡°Do not trouble yourself. I ordered Sir Cai not to harm any civilian he came across. One of the conditions of his new life¡ªfor all your knights, William¡ªis that they cannot disobey my commands.¡±

    Some of the knights muttered assent.

    ¡°He tried to kill Arnold,¡± Billy said.

    ¡°He attacked first. I couldn¡¯t leave a knight unable to defend himself.¡±

    A thought occurred to Billy. ¡°Wait, if I¡¯m the king, shouldn¡¯t they be listening to me?¡±

    ¡°Our king has a good point,¡± said Galahad. He had been sleeved into the form of Gloriana¡ªa lady super of considerable strength. Her white body glove had gone grey with grime. Galahad held himself incredibly stiffly, Billy thought. He (she?) looked like David when made to wear¡­ most things. ¡°We swore our oaths to Arthur, not you.¡±

    Myrrdin nodded. ¡°An oversight, yes. When I put your souls into their new forms, I didn¡¯t know if anyone living was still worthy to pull Caledfwlch free.¡± He looked earnestly at Billy. ¡°But do not worry, your highness, I am sworn to your service, and through me, your knights.¡±

    Lanslod<sup>4</a></sup>¡ªlodged in the body of Weathermonger¡ªslapped Billy on the shoulder, almost knocking him out of his chair. ¡°Your highness, you haven¡¯t touched your wine!¡±

    Billy regarded the dark red glass next to his dinner dubiously. ¡°I¡¯m a kid. I¡¯m not s¡¯posed to drink wine.¡±

    The knights all laughed, bar Galahad. ¡°Wine is a vice,¡± he said. ¡°Our king is wise to avoid its influence.¡±

    Lanslod laughed. ¡°Do loosen up, daughter.¡± He leaned to his other neighbour. ¡°My, this new tongue has such funny phrases.¡±

    Galahad suppressed a grimace. ¡°I am not your daughter.¡± Under his breath, he added, ¡°And you¡¯re still loose enough for the both of us¡­¡±

    ¡°What do you drink then?¡± Lanslod asked Billy. ¡°When your tongue bores of water?¡±

    ¡°Orange juice?¡± offered Billy. ¡°Coke?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve tried that,¡± said Bedwyr. ¡°The bubbles sting the tongue.¡±

    Billy struggled to imagine a knight being hurt by coke.

    ¡°Come on, your highness,¡± said Lanslod. ¡°A little wine has never hurt a growing boy.¡±

    Billy glanced around the table. Everyone was looking at him expectantly. Even Myrddin was cooly observing him. Billy gulped. Didn¡¯t want to look like a wimp in front of the evil fake knights. He snatched up the glass of wine and threw it down his throat. It tasted like cough medicine. Burny cough medicine. Billy sputtered, pink spit splattering against his dinner plate. The knights cheered and laughed. It didn¡¯t strike Billy as cruel, though. More like how Betty would laugh when he messed something up. Like he was telling a brilliant joke. Billy noticed he was smiling again, and again, he tried to banish it. This wasn¡¯t real. They were like Lawrence, pretending to like him¡ª

    Except Lawrence had never been good at pretending he liked Billy. He¡¯d seen how the old man refused to look directly at him. He knew he¡¯d wanted Miss ?ywie to change him. Make him look normal. That idea had scared Billy way more than married days.

    Myrddin raised a hand. The mirth subsided. ¡°I shall leave you good knights to your revels,¡± he said. ¡°Your highness, if we could talk in private?¡±

    Billy nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    The pair left the knights to sing and drink at the King Arthur¡¯s Castle Hotel<sup>5</a></sup>¡¯s replica roundtable. It was actually more accurate than most such recreations: it was made of wood. Centuries of treasure-hunters had been searching in vain. Of course, King Arthur¡¯s roundtable had never rested anywhere near Tintagel. The Pendragon in fact hadn¡¯t spent much time in the area at all: only his conception and a few days after his birth. But pilgrimage sites and tourist-traps had been built with less reason. The hotel was fortunately in custodianship for the winter. As they made their way through the halls of the hotel, Billy wondered if he should be trying to escape. It seemed like what Allison, or David, or especially Tom would be doing. Stupid idea, Billy decided. Allison could fly. David could slither through water-pipes or swim through the ocean. Tom could just walk right through the walls. Billy didn¡¯t even know really where he was, aside from probably England<sup>6</a></sup>. And he couldn¡¯t well ask for directions, looking the way he did. Best sit tight and wait for the others to save him.

    The thought of that made him angry with himself.

    Billy sat on the four-poster bed in the hotel¡¯s most expensive suite. Myrddin had occupied it until he arrived, but he was eager to hand it over to his liege. At the moment, he was gazing out the room¡¯s window, into the night.

    ¡°Mr. Myrddin,¡± said Billy. ¡°What do you want me for?¡±

    Myrddin was silent for a moment. ¡°William, do you know why I put the first Pendragon on the throne?¡±

    ¡°You mean Arthur? Because he was the rightful king.¡±

    ¡°But why was he the right king?¡±

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know? He seemed like a good bloke.¡±

    ¡°He was,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°But he needed to be strong, too. To unite the Britons. To protect them from the deprecations of invaders and the petty tyrants within our borders; and sometimes, to protect the people from themselves. From their own pride and ambition. These islands once ruled more of the world than Rome at her height.¡± Myrddin shook his head. ¡°So much cruelty. And for what? So they could moan over past glory while their country rots around them.¡±

    Billy suspected Myrddin was talking about Grown-Up Stuff. He could just make out the corners of what the wizard was saying. ¡°Um, sir, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve heard, but England still has a king¡±¡ªBilly shook his head¡ª¡°Queen, now. It changed last year.¡±

    Myrddin grit his teeth and tried to ignore the part about England. Far too late to do anything about that. ¡°I am aware of the House of Windsor, William. Layabouts. Had to change their name so people wouldn¡¯t notice they were German. Is it true that each year, their current chieftess reads out a speech written by her ministers and pretends they¡¯re her words<sup>7</a></sup>? Her ideas? She is a figurehead. A puppet worked by very small men.¡±

    ¡°Maybe?¡±

    Myrddin strode over to Billy, kneeling so he was eye-level with the boy. ¡°There¡¯s a war coming, William. One that will engulf this country and the rest of the world. It will drown these islands in fire. Sour the sea and soil. Poison the people¡¯s very bones. More folk live in the British Isles now than any other time. I can save them all, but it will mean¡­ a change in the way they live. In the country itself. They¡¯ll need a leader to guide them through it. A ruler; kind, strong, and wise I know you¡¯re kind, Billy. It drips from your words. You¡¯re strong, too. And I can help you be wise.¡±

    Billy gulped. ¡°But I¡¯m just a kid.¡±

    Merlin thought he was strong. Merlin. Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be smart?

    ¡°Your friend Allison, she¡¯s not much older than you. And she¡¯s protecting her own corner of the world.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ like what Allison¡¯s doing?¡± Billy asked.

    ¡°She is trying to build a better place. It is admirable. I only wish all the peoples of the world had someone like you or her to guide them. It is providence you two met. You have seen how one so small can bear the burden of power.¡±

    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t want to leave them.¡±

    ¡°We all must make sacrifices. I¡¯m sure Allison has.¡±

    Allison had. But she also had one thing Billy didn¡¯t. ¡°Myrddin, you know stuff, right?¡±

    ¡°Many things. Never enough.¡±

    ¡°Could I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Of course, William. I am your servant.¡±

    ¡°Betty. The lady who took care of me. I¡¯ve been waiting for her to come to Catalpa for ages. Can you¡ªcan you see if she still wants me?¡±

    Myrddin closed his eyes. ¡°I will try, my king.¡± Omens put on mystery plays behind the wizard¡¯s eyelids. He sighed. ¡°I see a woman with a pink-skinned child in her arms. She is¡­ content.¡±

    Billy sat there on the bed. He blinked. His breathing lost its rhythm as he started to sob. Myrddin put his arms around the child. Sometimes, Myrddin wondered, if things had turned out differently, could he have been kind?

 Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen: The Matter of Catalpa

    Two SAS men roughly dragged the possessed Starry Knight out of the gaol. Next time the pair shared a pint with their colleagues, they¡¯d brag about manhandling a mad superhero. For now they moved like they were escorting an angry bull made of glass. Allison Kinsey had forced Sir Cai to remove his host¡¯s prototype spacesuit and don grey prison fatigues. The brown boy had taunted Sir Cai wearing the helmet. He didn¡¯t put up much of a fight. Briefly forgetting Allison¡¯s hold on his nervous system, Sir Cai was gripped with envy for the soldiers¡¯ weapons. His new body¡¯s memories told him what they were, what they could do. Suddenly, years of slaying giants with sharp points of steel felt like far too much effort.

    Sir Edward, Jack Lyons, Dr. Death and the Catalpans were standing in the middle of the island. A pentagram of vine-thick power cables had been laid out on the grass and coated with salt. Each point was marked by a different contraption. A sparking box with crucifixes bolted to it. An electric boiler that reeked of frankincense and sage. A Japanese saisenbako wrapped with rice-chaff rope and plastered with paper seals embroidered with circuitry. In the middle, a silver half-sphere with a small dome rested on a bed of rock-salt, a thick cap floating magnetically above it. Sir Cai didn¡¯t recognize half the devices, but he¡¯d spent enough time in Myrddin Wyllt¡¯s company to recognize magic when he saw it. He frowned. ¡°You think you can exorcise me?¡±

    ¡°Something like that,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°I am no demon!¡± cried Sir Cai. ¡°I am here on the authority of God!¡±

    ¡°Sure you are,¡± said Allison flatly. ¡°You can let go of him now,¡± she told the soldiers.

    They obeyed. Without being told, Sir Cai walked towards the pentagram. He couldn¡¯t get used to how the evil little girl compelled him. It wasn¡¯t like strings tugged on his bones. His body simply aligned with her wishes. His will was as breath against rock. He wondered if this was how Anthony Peake felt. There was a moment of tension when Sir Cai had to step over the salted cables¡ªlike walking against a stiff wind¡ªbut he pushed through it. Dr. Death looked at Mistress Quickly. ¡°We ready to start, Miss?¡±

    Mistress Quickly nodded, not looking up from the repurposed television remote she was holding. ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Dr. Death stepped into the pentagram. Mistress Quickly tapped a few buttons. The power cables hummed to life around him and the knight. ¡°Sir Cai, I take it?¡± he asked the prisoner.

    ¡°That I am,¡± Sir Cai answered sourly.

    Dr. Death flashed him a grin. ¡°And here I thought you were called Starry Knight.¡±

    ¡°He was not worthy of his flesh¡¯s might. What do they call you?¡±

    ¡°Dr. Death.¡±

    Sir Cai laughed. ¡°You aren¡¯t  the first young knight to try on a sobriquet too big for you, boy. Was ¡®dragon-slayer¡¯ and ¡®ogre-gutter¡¯ taken?¡±

    Dr. Death whipped his pistol out from his black coat and fired a round into the air, before aiming it again between Anthony Peake¡¯s eyes. ¡°I consider it aspirational.¡±

    Sir Cai flinched with everyone else, but was quickly smirking crookedly at the gun-barrel. ¡°You think I¡¯m a savage, don¡¯t you?¡± He tapped Starry Knight¡¯s temples. ¡°I know that there is no magic in your hand. Just powder and blacksmithery.  And I know you people are too soft to strike down your brother.¡±

    Dr. Death cocked his head. ¡°Oh, right,¡± he said. ¡°We hadn¡¯t met before this, had we?¡±

    Dr. Death squeezed the trigger. Blood sprayed out the back of Anthony Peak¡¯s head. As the body fell, something grey and sharp flowed out of its mouth; a whirling cloud of blades that snapped and shrieked at Dr. Death. The good superhero staggered backwards. He had seen death (of a sort) many, many times, but this was still a surprise. Who knew ghosts were made of metal?

    Mistress Quickly stabbed a button on the remote. The half-sphere glowed. The spirit was dragged down towards it like flecks of rust to magnetic ore. Sir Cai¡¯s essence let out a cry and lunged for Dr. Death, worming into his chest. The Crimson Comet moved to intervene, but Mistress Quickly put an arm out in front of him. ¡°He can handle this.¡±

    Dr. Death gasped, his body jerking and twitching like there was an angry cat lodged in his stomach. His face roiled, lips gurning. ¡°¡­Oh no you don¡¯t, buster!¡±

    Dr. Death brought his pistol under his chin and fired. Sir Cai¡¯s essence once more screamed out into the air, carried by a spout of brain and bone. It circled in the air, desperately searching for a new harbour as the half-sphere again dragged it down. Within seconds, it merged completely with the metal. The cap fell down over the dome with a clang. The electric whir died down.

    At the same moment, a wave of light and heat exploded from Anthony Peake¡¯s body. The superhero shot upright like a child from a nightmare.  ¡°I¡ªwhat¡­¡± The superhero glanced up at the open grey sky, then down at himself. ¡°Where¡¯s my suit? What have you done with my¡ª¡± His eyes widened when he spotted Dr. Death¡¯s corpse. ¡°Oh, God¡­¡±

    Life returned to Dr. Death explosively. He yawned and stretched as the light faded. ¡°Glad that worked.¡±

    Peake shook his head. ¡°What the hell is going on¡ª¡± A tide of secondhand memory broke over Starry Knight. Laughter in his throat as flesh and bone cracked and burst. People who he¡¯d helped set up tents and shared cups of tea with. ¡°I¡ªno I¡ªwhat did I¡­¡±

    Anthony Peake broke into confused, horrified tears. Ralph Rivers sighed and shook his head sympathetically. He sat down beside Starry Knight and patted him on the back. ¡°I know, mate. It¡¯s not your fault.¡±

    Peake handled for the moment, Mistress Quickly checked her Carnacki battery, thumping it firmly with a closed fist. ¡°If any of you¡¯ve ever wanted to know how much the human soul weighs, I¡¯d say about thirty grams? Still not lugging this thing around, though.¡±

    Sir Edwards¡¯ professional frown fluctuated like an EEG. ¡°So, Miss Kinsey, what now?¡±

    Allison watched Starry Knight weep. ¡°I¡¯ll need a map of King Arthur stuff in Great Britain. And hot chocolate.¡±

    ?

    Billy, Myrddin, and Sir Bedwyr stood atop a waterfall on the River Trevillet, cradled by curved stone walls crusted with frost and moss. The moon was hiding behind heavy winter clouds. The water below almost glowed with darkness. It was so cold, Billy¡¯s costume had grown long sleeves and trousers. Myrddin had made them stand all in the river. Billy¡¯s ankles were numb. He didn¡¯t dare complain.

    ¡°But Myrddin,¡± said Bedwyr, ¡°I threw the sword away at Camlann, miles away!¡± He looked down over the lip of the waterfall. He could only tell there was a drop by the churning noise, but sound could tell you a lot. ¡°I doubt the river here is deep enough for a child, let alone¡ª¡±

    Merlin raised his hand. ¡°I assure you, good knight, that does not matter.¡±

    Billy rotated his wrist, feeling the weight of Caledfwlch in his hand. ¡°Excuse me, Mr. Myrddin?¡±

    ¡°Yes, my liege?¡±

    ¡°Why do I need a new sword? I just got this one. Isn¡¯t it wasteful?¡±

    ¡°A prudent question,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°Caledfwlch is but a tool to read men¡¯s hearts¡±¡ªthe wizard recalled some Plato¡ª¡°to sort gold from brass and iron. Otherwise, it is merely the memory of a sword King Gwenddolau once wielded.¡±

    ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± asked Billy.

    Myrddin sighed. Perhaps his first king was lucky to be forgotten. He for one didn¡¯t enjoy reading about himself. ¡°A small king, your highness. A good man, but part of the problem. As I was saying, Caledfwlch is as fine a sword as any smithed by mortals. I doubt Excalibur was smithed by anyone. Certainly not by any mortal. You will need it for the work ahead of us.¡±

    Billy nodded, though the super in him wondered how much of a difference one sword could make. Maybe it shot lasers. Myrddin banged his staff against the river bed. ¡°Come on, Nimu?. I need the sword.¡±

    The plunge-pool at the bottom of the waterfall glowed arsenic green as it came to a boil. A pillar of foam rose up through the darkness. A pair of slender, fungus white arms surfaced from the crest, followed by a head of long, muddy green hair. The woman¡¯s eyes were bright red with black slitted pupils, like a frog¡¯s. Her fingers were webbed. Her breasts were bare, her waist trailing off into the water. Billy wondered if she had legs. Mostly, though, he tried not to stare. Were Allison and Miri going to look like that one day?

    The woman smiled, revealing rows of pike-sharp teeth. It looked like a smile, at least. Maybe she was just showing off. Sir Bedwyr fell into a kneel, eyes cast downward. In a low, gurgling voice, she said, ¡°I see you¡¯re up again, Myrddin.¡± She regarded Billy with bemused interest. ¡°And you¡¯ve found yourself a new saviour I take it? A handsomely curious specimen. I hope you haven¡¯t poached a child of my kind.¡±

    Billy looked down at the dark, green accented water. Somehow, he always imagined the Lady of the Lake being less¡­ David¡¯s granddad.

    ¡°William is no fairy,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°Though he is a wonder.¡±

    Billy still couldn¡¯t believe Merlin was impressed by him.

    ¡°I thought not,¡± said Nimu?. ¡°He has fur and he¡¯s dressed. Nice costume, by the way.¡±

    ¡°Th-thanks,¡± said Billy.

    Nimu? looked at Sir Bedwyr. ¡°Rise, knight. Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re still ashamed.¡±

    Sir Bedwyr got to his feet, but didn¡¯t meet Nimu?¡¯s eyes. ¡°I should¡¯ve returned the sword at once. I lied to my king!¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°And then you did what he asked. Come, man, it¡¯s been over a thousand years.¡±

    ¡°For you it has, my lady,¡± retorted Sir Bedwyr. ¡°For me, it¡¯s been less than a month.¡±

    Nimu? frowned thoughtfully. ¡°Hmm. I recall Sir Bedwyr entering a hermitage after Camlann.¡± She looked at Myrddin. ¡°Tell me, Myrddin. Did you truly call up this knight¡¯s spirit, or is he merely a memory?¡±

    Beldwyr didn¡¯t say anything to that. Myrddin grit his teeth. ¡°You¡¯re asking me questions? Why did you do it, Nimu?? Put me in the earth when Britain needed me? When Arthur needed me?¡±

    Nimu? smiled again, this time not showing her teeth. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have turned out the way you thought, my love. Your vision might be deeper than most men, but that¡¯s not saying much. And you always did think with your horn.¡±

    Billy knew from the stories that Merlin and the Lady of the Lake were boyfriend and girlfriend. They never did a good job of explaining why she trapped him, but apparently, neither did she. Now, he was just surprised they were ever together like that. But then, David¡¯s granddad had a baby with someone. Billy suddenly wanted to ask Grandfather Ocean if he was married. Myrddin put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°This boy is worthy. Will you grant us Excalibur?¡±

    ¡°I suppose the same trick won¡¯t work on you twice,¡± said Nimu?. She leaned forward to examine Billy. ¡°Why do you want to be king, child?¡±

    Billy stammered. ¡°I¡ªI just want to help people.¡±

    Nimu? sniffed. She smelled no lie from the child. The fairy shook her head. ¡°Where do you find these boys, Myrddin?¡±

    ¡°Fate delivers?¡±

    Nimu? had no eyebrows. If she had, she might¡¯ve arched one. ¡°And you still blame me for how it all turned out. Very well.¡± She raised her hand. A silver sword handle materialized in her hand like frost in the air meeting to become ice. Its guards were fish fins, with a diamond clear as water set into the hilt. Nimu? plunged the handle into the water supporting her, pulling out a glassy, transparent blade. Nimu? twisted the sword, displaying the phrases engraved in gold on each side, not in English, but Billy could still read them: ¡°Take me up,¡± and ¡°Cast me away.¡±  Nimu? handed the sword to Billy. ¡°Does it feel right in your hand, child?¡±

    Billy flexed the sword. It was like air laced with silver¡ªjust heavy enough he knew it was there when he closed his eyes. ¡°¡­It does.¡±

    ¡°Do you retain the scabbard, my lady?¡± asked Beldwyr. ¡°My king might have lived on if he hadn¡¯t¡ª¡±

    ¡°Of course I do,¡± answered Nimu?. She pulled a sapphire blue scabbard from the water, tossing it to Myrddin.

    ¡°Is the scabbard important?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Vital,¡± said Myrddin. The wizard removed a small dagger from a coat pocket. ¡°Behold.¡± He ran the tip of the blade along his open palm. It cut through the skin like velvet, but no blood escaped the wound. ¡°So long as the scabbard is on your person, William, you shall not bleed.¡± He handed the scabbard to Billy. The moment it left his hands, his hand started bleeding.

    Billy tried to hand it back to Myrddin. ¡°You can hold it till your hand¡¯s better, sir.¡±

    Myrddin shook his head. ¡°No, my king. It is yours now.¡±

    ¡°Good luck, child,¡± said Nimu?. ¡°We shall all need it.¡±

    Billy looked up at Myrddin. ¡°I¡¯m ready to help. But is what¡¯s coming really so¡­ big?¡±

    ¡°I could show you, though it would not be an easy sight.¡±

    ¡°My friend Tom says it¡¯s always good to know what you¡¯re dealing with. He¡¯s smart.¡±

    Myrddin sighed. ¡°As you command, my king.¡± He put his hands on the sides of Billy¡¯s head. ¡°Quisquis vera petit duraeque oracula mortis fortis adit. Da nomina rebus, da loca, da vocem, qua mecum fata loquantur<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    Great birds flew across the seas. Metal-phoenixes that would not rise again as they crashed to earth. Forests burned. Skyscrapers were stripped to skeletons as the humans they harboured evaporated. Eyeballs melted in their sockets. Flesh stripped from bone. And that was just the first minutes. First there was no summer, as the ash of millions and billions of dead fled into the sky, reaching in vain for Heaven. Then the sun¡¯s rays, sharpened by thin air, turned the skin they struck into open, weeping wounds. Wombs soured, babies emerged from their mothers without bones or brains, or as tangled balls of flesh and limbs. Plagues dead for decades and centuries rose again.  Billions withered into living skeletons as they tore the bark from trees. Those who stubbornly clung to life prostrated themselves before a dark angel¡­

    Billy didn¡¯t even notice when he stumbled over the waterfall. Myrddin and Bedwyr almost followed trying to catch him.

    ¡°William!¡± cried the wizard.

    Nimu? caught Billy, holding the boy in the clammy warmth of her arms. ¡°You could¡¯ve chosen a better spot to share, Myrddin.¡±

    Myrddin heaved with relief. ¡°Are you alright, my king?¡±

    Billy looked hard at the wizard. ¡°Whatever we need to do, I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    ?

    It wasn¡¯t hard for Allison to figure out where Merlin and the knights were. She just thought very hard about going to various Arthurian sites until the wizard put his hand over her third eye. It was a bit like hiding something from Superman in a lead box. The mere attempt at concealment gave him away. Tintagel was only her fourth attempt. Allison didn¡¯t find that amazingly encouraging, though. She knew Merlin would be expecting them. Now the Catalpans, Jack Lyons, Br¨°n Binn¡¯s detachment of SAS, and a few very bewildered local policemen were besieging King Arthur¡¯s Castle Hotel. It was strange, Allison thought, having the army and police on side for once.

    Allison stood behind the police cordon, sirens painting the hotel¡¯s brown Neo-Norman face red and blue like an indecisive artist, watching the windows for movement. She tensed at every shadow that flitted across the bright glass.  Going in guns and powers blazing was out of the question. They probably had the custodians hostage. More importantly, they had Billy. Jack Lyons periodically tried to coax them out via megaphone:

    ¡°Please bring the child and the civilians to the front door. We only want to see they¡¯re unharmed¡­¡±

    Starving the knights out didn¡¯t feel like a winning strategy to Allison. They had Merlin. He could probably grow a fruit-tree in the middle of the dining room or something. But they had other options¡­

    Drina appeared behind her daughter, rubbing her shoulders. There¡¯d been no convincing her and Mr. Barnes to stay back on the island. Not with Billy kidnapped. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, love. I¡¯m sure he¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°I know he is,¡± said Allison. ¡°Billy¡¯s still in pretty much all the futures.¡± Somehow, grown-up platitudes didn¡¯t sound any less hollow when you knew they were true.

    Drina let go of Allison and staggered backwards, crying out in alarm as Tom Long¡¯s outline rose from the ground in front of them. Once his feet were safely out of the ground, the outline filled with colour. Not much, though. Allison had Close-Cut outfit Tom with his own super-suit: a jet black body glove with a splash of white over his right arm and shoulder and an empty circle on his chest. Tom had grumbled, but Allison said it was good PR. ¡°Sorry Mrs Kinsey,¡± he said. His expression was even graver than usual. No surprise; he was alone.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Billy?¡± Allison asked. ¡°Is he in the hotel? Did they see you?¡±

    ¡°No, he¡¯s in there,¡± replied Tom. His mouth twitched with consternation. He rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°I tried to get him out, but he didn¡¯t let me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± said Allison.

    ¡°He said he wanted to stay! That he was helping Merlin or whatever his other name is ¡®save England¡¯.¡± Tom shook his head. ¡°He wanted to make me one of his knights!¡±

    ¡°What¡¯d you say?¡± asked Allison.

    ¡°That he was nuts, what else? Jesus, I know Billy¡¯s¡­ Billy, but he¡¯s usually not that off with the fairies.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, Tom,¡± said Drina. ¡°But couldn¡¯t you have, well, dragged Billy out?¡±

    ¡°He said he would scream,¡± muttered Tom.

    ¡°He said he would scream,¡± repeated Drina, a touch flatly.

    ¡°Billy said he¡¯d scream, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Ah, fair,¡± said Drina. Hoping to reclaim some sense of authority, she added, ¡°We better go tell everyone.¡±

    As they made their way to the police work tent, Allison said to Tom, ¡°You really should pick a superhero name to go with the costume. Helps leave a good impression on the normals.¡±

    ¡°Sure thing, Miss Lawrence.¡±

    Quick as a snake, Allison pinched Tom on the neck. Hard. He winced. ¡°Okay, maybe I deserved that.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t seem drugged?¡± asked Mistress Quickly. ¡°Or bewitched or whatever?¡±

    Tom shook his head. ¡°Nah. Scared, maybe. Tired, definitely.¡± He quirked a shoulder. ¡°I mean,  that makes sense. It¡¯s way past his bedtime.¡±

    ¡°This is no time for jokes,¡± said the Crimson Comet.

    ¡°I¡¯m not joking,¡± retorted Tom.

    Miri appeared above everyone. She looked just about ready to personally tear open the hotel. Somehow. ¡°You said he looked scared. Are they hurting him?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t think so, Ghost-Girl,¡± said Tom. ¡°Didn¡¯t look like that kind of scared. Trust me, Miri. I¡¯ve seen enough little kids get beat to tell. It was more like¡­¡± He looked at his fellow Institute children. ¡°Remember when Bran and Sheilah<sup>2</a></sup> stood up to Lawrence? It was a bit like that. You know. Determined.¡±

    ¡°Children are easily led,¡± remarked Jack Lyons. ¡°Idealistic by nature. It¡¯s not hard to believe our foe has a silver tongue.¡± Every child in the tent glared at Lyons. He smiled apologetically. ¡°Present company excluded, of course.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s our next move?¡± asked Close-Cut.

    ¡°Our next move is to get Billy out of there!¡± insisted Miri, loudly. ¡°We didn¡¯t leave everyone with the witch lady when they said they wanted to stay! And why do magic people keep picking on us?¡±

    ¡°Good question¡­¡± muttered Mabel.

    The chief constable barged into the tent, declaring in a thick, Cornish accent ¡°Some folks are coming out of the building!¡±

    Merlin had changed considerably since Allison¡¯s glimpse of him. Or, given how far she¡¯d had to dig into the past for it, it might have been more accurate to say her information was woefully out of date. He strode out of the hotel¡¯s front doors in a crisp suit. The only real tell that he was a wizard was his staff. A troupe of hotel staff staggered out behind him. Whatever Tom had said about Billy, these people were clearly enchanted, swaying on their feet and glancing around like there were birds flying around their heads.

    ¡°We¡¯re taking reservations for the spring¡­¡± drawled a maid.

    ¡°I do not need these people,¡± declared Myrddin. ¡°They are free.¡±

    The staff started lurching towards the cordon.

    ¡°I assume the Gypsy child wants to speak with me?¡±

    Allison hooked her leg over the police tape, but her mother put a firm hand on her shoulder. ¡°Excuse me?¡±

    ¡°Mum! He¡¯s asking for me!¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s an improvement,¡± said Drina. ¡°Now he¡¯s asking.¡±

    ¡°Would the lady feel better if I accompanied Allison?¡± asked Jack Lyons.

    ¡°If you accompanied us, yes,¡± replied Drina.

    ¡°A fair compromise.¡± Jack looked at Allison. ¡°Your mother is a brave woman, Miss Kinsey.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Allison tried not to think about how bringing her mum turned out the last hostage situation, only for a groundskeeper to bump into her.

    ¡°Damn rabbits¡­¡±

    The two Kinseys and Jack Lyons approached Merlin. Allison was very to the point. ¡°Give us back Billy.¡±

    ¡°William St. George is my king. I would not dare hold him against his wishes.¡±

    Allison and her mother exchanged looks. Jack Lyons cleared his throat. ¡°That may be, but there is the matter of the¡­ unfortunate business in France. You killed nine British citizens. You are most definitely holding eleven more in bondage.¡±

    Myrddin counted in his head. ¡°Then Sir Cai is no longer among those who breathe. It is as the fates have told me.¡±

    ¡°Sort of,¡± said Allison. She called behind her, ¡°Comet!¡±

    Ralph Rivers awkwardly ducked under the police tape, carrying Mistress Quickly¡¯s Carnacki battery over.

    ¡°This is the holding cell for the entity you call ¡®Sir Cai.¡¯ Its inventor was¡­ reticent to describe the conditions within,¡± said Jack Lyons, ¡°but I¡¯m led to understand they¡¯re quite unpleasant. We have the means to extract the rest of your knights into such devices, unless you consent to send them on their way back to their appropriate netherworlds.  In light of your¡­ reputed services to Great Britain, the Crown is willing to extend clemency towards you in exchange for further aid.¡°

    Myrddin grunted. ¡°Those people wanted me to kill millions more in the name of your ¡®Crown.¡¯ Now you demand the same.¡± He glared at the Canarcki battery. ¡°You can keep him. Let Cai be your butcher.¡±

    ¡°Please, sir,¡± said Drina. ¡°Billy is very dear to us. We just want to know he¡¯s alright.¡±

    ¡°I am, Mrs Kinsey.¡±

    Billy poked his head out shly between the hotel doors. The blue of his costume had turned tyrian purple. His cape had thickened into fur. Instead of a domino mask, he wore a gold coronet studded with sapphires. He stepped out into the night and gave a small wave. A blue scabbard hung off his belt. ¡°Hi everyone!¡± He pointed at his head. ¡°Do you like my crown? I made it myself!¡±

    Far back, Tom Long pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Oh, God.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen: The Forest of London

    Every mature city is an argument between commerce and tradition¡ªwith the needs of the people caught in the middle. Few things demonstrate this better than the protected views of London. For decades, many sightlines in the city had been preserved by law, like a large, rambling family trying to keep its small and slight members from getting lost in the Christmas photo. Buildings would be built contorted or with odd dimensions in a game of architectural Twister. Thus, people at Alexandra Palace, Primrose Hill, and Westminster Pier could all see what Myrddin Wilt had done to St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral.

    The church¡¯s white cladding was buried beneath green ivy and wild flowers: bluebells, pink foxglove, and marigold. A strange compromise between Christianity and nature worship. Striking, but far from unique in the new London. Four days earlier, the entire Greater Metropolitan Area had been engulfed by resurgent nature. The roads and alleys were choked by trees like fat clogged arteries; rivers of green broken by the paint jobs of stranded cars. For the first time in centuries, the Thames flowed through forest.

    From orbit, London was an island of spring in a swirling sea of grey clouds. Winter had been banished months early by Weathermonger. Overall, the city had sustained surprisingly little damage. The trees had not torn through the concrete and asphalt, but risen as smoothly as mangroves through water. Roots had made every effort to avoid power lines and especially water-pipes. Walls at risk of crumbling under the added weight had instead found themselves propped up beneath the soil. Myrddin hadn¡¯t wished harm on any Briton. Only to fortify London from intruders and internal revolt as he prepared to transition the country into the next world. Despite his consideration, millions cowered in their homes.

    The wizard was hard at work in St. Paul¡¯s churchyard. Out of convenience and respect for the dead buried there, Myrddin had kept the plot of land clear of new trees. Above him, over a dozen great stones waltzed slowly through the air. Galahad (still seething over his new feminine anatomy) had flown all over Britain fetching them. Stonehenge, Castlerigg, the Ring of Brodgar¡ªthey had all been pilfered. Myrddin felt a touch of guilt dismantling such ancient works, but it was necessary. He made smooth, careful gestures, subtly altering the speed and trajectory of the stones with each twitch of his fingers. A resonance hummed in the back of Myrddin¡¯s head, like a song sung in another room. Right now it was discordant, but each adjustment Myrddin made to the stones brought it closer to harmony. It reminded him of learning to play the lyre as a boy. Once he found the tune, they all would¡­ go.

    A bell chimed in one of the cathedral¡¯s towers. Great Paul or Tom or someone. Myrddin sighed. It was time for the daily audiences. William would need his counsel. His strength. With a flick of his wrist, Myrddin froze the rocks in mid-air and turned back towards the cathedral. Though the so-called Queen and her ministers had fled shamefully early, Myrddin had rejected both Buckingham Palace and Westminster for the seat of William¡¯s court. He may only have been on nodding terms with God, but better His house than either of those monuments to human venality. In truth, London had struck Myrddin with horror. In his day, Londinium had been a hollow shell, the still-warm grave of Roman Britain. The new city could¡¯ve been built by giants, but giants inordinately fond of glass. Megalithic yet fragile. The towns Myrddin had seen in the Otherworld felt more human. In truth, half the reason he¡¯d brought back the trees was to blunt the horror of the place. That and assure himself he could still work wonders. One wanted to feel confident before trying what he was planning.

    Billy sat on a throne usually reserved for the Bishop of London in the eastern apse of the cathedral, where the high altar had stood before he¡¯d taken up residence.  Green, leaf dappled shadows filtered in through the high windows. Galahad¡ªhis designated bodyguard¡ªstood at Billy¡¯s side, trying not to squirm in his alien flesh. In front of them, one of Sir Bedwyr/Ironclad¡¯s robots (made out of a Sunbeam Alpine) had forced a masked man in a blue suit and green Tyrolean into a crouch. At their side, a teenage boy in a bomber jacket and a shaved head beat a police truncheon against his open palm. One of William¡¯s ¡°New Knights,¡± recruited from London¡¯s dissatisfied youth. There were always angry young men looking for a leader. They were just usually led by someone older than themselves.

    ¡°What was this man¡¯s crime?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Crime?¡± said the prone man disbelievingly. ¡°I¡¯m a goddamn superhero!¡± He looked up at Galahad. ¡°Gloriana, what the hell are you doing¡ª¡±

    The New Knight struck the prisoner across the face. ¡°Speak when you¡¯re spoken to!¡±

    The superhero glared acid at the young man.

    ¡°Hey!¡± cried Billy, his voice sending ripples through the air. ¡°We don¡¯t do that!¡±

    ¡°He jumped us in Kensington! Broke my brother¡¯s arm and leg!¡±

    He sounded angry, but Billy could hear something else in the new knight¡¯s voice. A kind of excitement. Billy knew it felt good to be angry sometimes. Like you had permission to be just as bad back. Did big people feel like that, too?

    ¡°We need to teach him¡ª¡±

    ¡°Your king has set a standard,¡± said Myrddin as he stalked down the choir. ¡°If you wish to call yourself a knight, follow it.¡±

    The superhero let out a laugh. It made his rising bruises smart, but it couldn¡¯t be helped. ¡°Knight?¡± He smirked up at the new knight. ¡°Has your dad even taught you how to shave yet?¡±

    The new knight made to hit the man again, but his arm stiffened when he felt Billy¡¯s glare on him.

    ¡°Whatever this knight¡¯s conduct,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°Such insurrection cannot be tolerated. Especially not now.¡± He looked up at Billy. ¡°What is your judgement, King?¡±

    Billy swallowed dryly. He hated this part. He didn¡¯t know why Myrddin made him decide. ¡°Um¡­¡± He looked plaintively at the superhero. ¡°You could join us,¡± he said. ¡°Help make things nicer.¡±

    ¡°Piss off, kid.¡±

    The new knight hit him again. Galahad snarled. ¡°Mind your tongue, witchling!¡±

    ¡°Says the mad flying woman!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can expect any cooperation, my liege,¡± said Myrddin mildly.

    ¡°The Gatehouse,¡± Billy blurted. ¡°Send him to the Gatehouse.¡±

    ¡°Send me where?¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Myrddin was of course familiar with the Gatehouse. Even in his day, the green mote had stained the moon¡¯s silvered face. He¡¯d always assumed it was some fairy city, though William had said it was in fact the work of men from behind the sky, whatever difference that made. He pointed his staff at the superhero. ¡°Carmina possunt caelo deducere lunam, vel  luna id corpus suspendo<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    The superhero thrashed in the robot¡¯s grip as his flesh and clothing grew translucent, falling away to reveal a single point of light that floated up into the apse¡¯s domed ceiling, passing through St. Paul¡¯s painted forehead. Billy hoped the moon people were nice to him. That unpleasant duty discharged, he turned his attention to the new knight. ¡°You,¡± he said sharply, ¡°you¡¯re on garden duty for a week.¡±

    ¡°But that¡¯s peasant¡¯s work!¡±

    ¡°Suit you just fine then,¡± Galahad muttered below his breath.

    ¡°It¡¯s important,¡± Billy said firmly. ¡°Everyone has to eat.¡± He tried to think of what Allison would say. Probably too mean. Tom? Too many swear words. Split the difference. ¡°You¡¯re clearly not ready to be on the streets, anway.¡±

    The new knight squirmed like a boy in his Sunday best. Then the rage exploded out of him. ¡°Bullshit! Some little shit isn¡¯t making me¡ª¡±

    ¡°You said this one¡¯s scared of heights?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Yes, your highness,¡± replied Myrddin.

    ¡°Put him somewhere high.¡± Billy added, ¡°With a ladder.¡±

    The knight went pale, ¡°Wait¡ª¡±

    He vanished.

    Billy slumped in his throne. That was mean. It felt good. That made it worse. ¡°Myrddin, could we take a break?¡±

    ¡°Many more of your subjects wish to speak to you, William.¡±

    ¡°I need to talk to you. Alone.¡±

    ¡°Of course, my king.¡±

    They spoke in the confession booth, because it was there. Billy sometimes ate his lunch there. It was like a little office you could move. Sometimes, he prayed; to whom, he wasn¡¯t quite sure. ¡°I don¡¯t like the New Knights. They¡¯re mean. A bunch of them keep picking on coloured people! Some of them are stealing!¡±

    ¡°That is unfortunate,¡± Myrddin said from behind the confession screen. ¡°But we need their muscle. Even I and your knights cannot subdue a city this size on our own.¡±

    ¡°But knights are supposed to be good!¡± Billy cried. ¡°Noble!¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Myrddin sighed. ¡°William, do you know what ¡®noble¡¯ means?¡±

    ¡°Good and kind and brave and stuff,¡± Billy answered confidently.

    ¡°Maybe it means that now, to you,¡± replied Myrddin. ¡°But first, it meant the quality of the nobility. Of rulers. A knight is a ruler, William, if a smaller one than the king. A step between the crown and the peasantry. Are all rulers good and kind, William?¡±

    Billy winced. He was no student of history, but he was not totally ignorant. ¡°No¡­¡±

    ¡°You have a point about knights being brave. A knight is also a warrior. They earn their privilege through force of arms. But are all warriors good and kind, William? Did our own Sir Cai seem so to you? In the stories they wrote about us, did we never make mistakes?¡±

    Billy didn¡¯t answer the question. He didn¡¯t have to. ¡°¡­We should be better than this.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right of course. In the Britain to come, we will not brook those who prey on their own. The New Knights will be¡­ dealt with.¡±

    Billy knew a euphemism when he heard one. ¡°That¡¯s not better! We can¡¯t just¡­ toss people away like that. Like they¡¯re¡­ like they¡¯re¡­¡± He shook his hands as he tried to find the comparison. ¡°Tissues!¡±

    Myrddin clenched a fist. He was a patient man. He had to be. William was a good boy¡ªalmost too good for the role fate had cast him in. But sometimes he asked so much of him¡­ ¡°What is it you want me to do, Billy?¡±

    ¡°Just¡­ just be good.¡± Billy stood up. His bones felt old. ¡°Come on. People want to see me.¡±

    Some, as is eternal, wanted food. Billy made sure they got it. Others wanted to track down loved ones lost in the chaos of the past week. Billy told Myrddin to do what he could for them, even if it delayed the great work. Somehow, the more the wizard protested on that account, the firmer Billy became. A few people just wanted to complain about hay fever. Others were there to report their neighbours to the new authorities, eyes full of spite and hunger. Billy assured them he would look into the allegations. When he had time.

    During a lull between audiences, Billy noticed Galahad trying to find a footing where he didn¡¯t feel the weight of Gloriana¡¯s chest. He felt sorry for the knight, which was still confusing. As amazing as knowing and talking to the Knights of the Round Table was, they were still hogging  other people¡¯s bodies. Myrddin said that would be sorted after the transition. He said that about a lot of things. Still, Galahad was here now. Why not give him something else to think about? ¡°Hey.¡±

    It took Galahad a moment to realise his king was addressing him. ¡°Yes, my liege?¡±

    ¡°Uh, could I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Do not hesitate, my king.¡±

    ¡°So, ah, you know Gloriana?¡±

    Galahad scowled. It was an ugly expression on Gloriana¡¯s face. ¡°The flesh I¡¯m trapped in, yes?¡±

    Billy frowned. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t talk about her that way. She¡¯s the only reason you¡¯re here.¡±

    A scoff. ¡°She did not volunteer, King.¡±

    Billy squirmed on his throne. Did they have to keep reminding him? ¡°Can you¡­ hear her?¡±

    ¡°No. I know what she knows, I remember what she remembers¡ªwhen I wish¡ªbut she does not speak to me. Good thing, too.¡± Galahad jerked like he was trying to throw a net off his stolen shoulders. ¡°Her body torments me enough without her voice in my ear.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Billy. ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that with me and Miri.¡±

    ¡°Miri being¡­¡±

    ¡°Allie¡¯s sister. She doesn¡¯t have a body, so sometimes she borrows mine.¡±

    Galahad snarled, ¡°She dares invade your person! I¡¯ll put her to the sword! I¡¯ll¡ª¡±

    Billy wasn¡¯t sure how Galahad thought he¡¯d do that, but he still threw his hands up. ¡°No, no! I let her do it.¡± He slumped in the throne, remembering sharing himself with Miri. It felt like a living dream. A good dream; the kind you had on the edge of waking, when you could just remember there was something else on the other side. Their thoughts and impulses wrapped around each other like entwined lighting. Like if a hug was a conversation. It was hard for Billy to call it possession. Miri never did anything he didn¡¯t want to do. They were just¡­ together. He sighed. He was getting homesick.

    ¡°Your highness,¡± said Galahad. ¡°Could I ask you something?¡±

    Billy shook himself. ¡°Ah, sure.¡±

    ¡°¡­How do you stand it?¡±

    Billy tilted his head. ¡°Stand what?¡±

    ¡°Being so¡­¡± Galahad took a deep breath. ¡°Warped. What foul witch or magician did this to you?¡±

    Billy blinked. ¡°Oh. Nobody, I think. I was born this way.¡±

    ¡°Sweet Mother of God¡­ how are you still sane?¡±

    Billy shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not so bad. The fur keeps me warm, the claws are good for opening cans.¡± His tail twitched. ¡°And I¡¯m really good at balancing. Is being a lady all that bad? Most of the ones I know seem okay with it.

    Gahalad looked down at Gloriana¡¯s figure and shuddered. ¡°I¡¯ve not dwelt in this form for a month and¡ªit¡¯s like having raw chicken nailed to my chest! Bits of me have been carved away! I now longer fit my shadow!¡± He looked pleadingly up at Billy. ¡°Are you telling me you¡¯ve never felt trapped in that shape?¡±

    Billy knew what the knight wanted to hear. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Sometimes.¡±

    It was only half-true. Billy had felt trapped loads of times. In his house. By people who wanted to change him, yet wanted nothing to nothing to do with him. But not in his own skin. David was right about one thing, even if he was wrong about costumes: fur was cool. Still, nobody wanted to be alone, even in misery.

    Galahad nodded. ¡°You handle it with pure grace, your highness.¡±

    ¡°Thanks,¡± said Billy, not looking at the knight. He wondered why Myrddin forced Galahad to stay in that body. Did the wizard not know any ladies? ¡°I¡¯m ready to get back to work, Myrddin.¡±

    ¡°As you wish, your highness.¡±

    The next audience was another supplicant, a little old lady with a face like cracked, pore-blocked leather. She was forcing a smile. ¡°Young¡­ King, I¡¯m here for my grandson. He¡¯s about your age I think¡ª¡±

    ¡°Be concise, good lady,¡± Myrddin insisted.

    The woman¡¯s smile faltered. Billy saw her swallow. ¡°So sorry. It¡¯s just, he needs this medicine¡ªinsulin I think it¡¯s called¡ªand my daughter¡¯s had to ration it for him with the roads blocked.¡± A dry chuckle, cousin to a sob. ¡°Blitz spirit and all. But he¡¯s getting a bit under the weather¡­¡±

    Billy took a deep breath. ¡°Go home and bring me what you have left.¡±

    ¡°But your highness-¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll use it to make more, I promise.¡±

    Billy had lied. He wasn¡¯t ready. But he was going to try.

    ?

    ¡°We need a doctor,¡± insisted Billy. ¡°I can make all the medicines the people need, but I need someone who knows how to use them.¡±

    Billy had gathered Myrddin and those knights who weren¡¯t on patrol in the cathedral¡¯s triforium¡ªa hidden gallery hosting cupboards full of liturgical documents, Viking gravestones from the land¡¯s pagan past, and masonry salvaged from the church¡¯s previous lives. ¡°Galahad, try and find me someone who knows about medicine and stuff.¡±

    ¡°But sire,¡± said Galahad, ¡°Sir Bedwyr is already skilled in the healing arts.¡±

    Sir Bedwyr held the tiny insulin bottle up between his fingers, inspecting it. ¡°This substance truly cures that boy¡¯s ills?¡± he asked. ¡°What form of panacea is it, then?¡±

    Billy looked apologetically at Bedwyr. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Bedwyr, I know you¡¯re really smart, but we need someone more¡­ up to date.¡±

    Bedwyr tilted his head. ¡°I understand. If you wish¡±

    ¡°Excuse me, sire,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°Must I be present? You appear to be handling this admirably, and I have more important matters¡ª¡±

    Billy pointed sternly at the wizard, his claw glinting. ¡°People getting sick is important, Myrddin. Is the world going to end today?¡±

    ¡°¡­Doubtful, sire.¡±

    ¡°Then you can stay here and help.¡±

    Myrddin grit his teeth. ¡°Very well. Though I must remind you, William, ¡®today¡¯ will be ¡®tomorrow¡¯ soon enough.¡±

    ¡°What garb do the modern medics wear, highness?¡± asked Galahad.

    ¡°White gowns,¡± said Billy.

    ¡°You might want to be more specific, son,¡± called a chipper voice from below. Billy and the knights rushed to the banister to find Jack Lyons standing alone in the middle of the nave. He was smiling mildly, waving. ¡°You don¡¯t want Sir Galahad snatching some poor inpatient from St. Thomas.¡± The man¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°They have enough problems as it is.¡±

    ¡°Jack Lyons!¡± Billy realized he was smiling. He hardened his face. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    Jack Lyons raised his hands. ¡°I¡¯m here to talk.¡± He glanced up at the church¡¯s high windows, cataracts of green shadow that stained his suit. ¡°I think we can agree this isn¡¯t where we want to be.¡±

    ¡°I can send him away again, your highness,¡± Myrddin said under his breath. ¡°He is but a man, if a man made of crystal instead of meat.¡±

    ¡°Crystal, you say?¡± said Lanslod, smacking his leather gloved hands together, producing blue sparks. ¡°You can grind that into powder if you try hard enough¡­¡±

    Billy threw up a hand. ¡°I want to talk. Kings do that.¡±

    For a while now, Billy had been trying without much success to come up with his own means of superpowered conveyance. Propelling himself into the air by roaring downwards hadn¡¯t worked. He had tried to create some kind of disc to fly on like Mr. Liu did, but though Billy could make atoms and molecules do what he liked, they still listened to gravity. So, Billy had to make do with Galahad carrying him down into the nave, hands under his armpits. It mangled to niggle even his easy-going dignity. Myrddin fluttered down as a flock of bright blue barn swallows. Billy wondered why he could keep his clothes and David needed a special alien costume. Maybe he was fibbing.

    ¡°Mr. Wyltt¡ª¡±

    ¡°That is not a surname, Lyons.¡±

    ¡°Ah. My apologies. Myrddin¡ªif I may call you that¡ªI understand what you¡¯re going through. Both our Britains slipped away in our sleep. But trying to impose them on the here and now will only cause suffering¡ª¡±

    ¡°I recreate nothing, Jack Lyons. I am no slave to nostalgia. The Britain I offer was not the Britain of my childhood. The architects of my youth failed. They have failed again¡ª¡±

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± said Billy. ¡°Why are you talking to Myrddin? You came to talk to me.¡±

    Myrddin and Jack Lyons both went silent.

    ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m very sorry.¡± Jack Lyons got down on one knee so he was at eye level with Billy. ¡°Son, don¡¯t you think this is all a bit much? These trees alone are causing a lot of trouble.¡±

    Behind Billy, Galahad shouted, ¡°You speak to our king as a mere child!¡±

    Billy glanced over his shoulder at the knight. ¡°I¡¯m nine.¡± He turned back to Jack. ¡°Yeah. I think we could lose the trees.¡±

    ¡°Sire,¡± said Myrddin. ¡°The forest keeps us safe from interlopers.¡±

    ¡°But it keeps the people from getting what they need,¡± countered Billy. ¡°Besides. There¡¯s an interloper right here.¡±

    ¡°Do you really think they will let us complete the great work?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve been thinking¡­ do we have to move England and everything to keep it safe? I mean, Mistress Quickly can make force fields. I bet you two could whip up something really neat together, maybe for the whole world!¡±

    Jack looked up at Myrddin. ¡°The boy doesn¡¯t make a half-bad king, does he? Perhaps it was wrong of us to wake you up, just to ask you to kill. But surely you still want to protect our land?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m doing,¡± said Myrddin firmly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s the right way to do it, but,¡± said Billy. He closed his eyes and nodded vigorously. ¡°It isn¡¯t. We should put those stones back. Get rid of the trees.¡± He shrugged. ¡°I guess we can keep them where it¡¯s nicer.¡±

    Myrddin shook his head. ¡°You stupid boy¡­¡±

    Galahad and the knights still watching from the balustrades gasped. Billy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Pardon.¡±

    Myrddin shouted, ¡°Don¡¯t you think I tried this? The gentle change? Planting the seeds of the new within the old? It¡¯s a salt plain, Billy! Nothing can grow from it!¡± He took Billy by the shoulders and shook him. ¡°Think, boy¡ª¡±

    Whatever happened, Myrddin would have regretted those words. Laying a hand on his king. He had nothing but respect for William¡¯s earnest heart. He certainly would never have hurt him. But the microcamera in Jack Lyons¡¯ bolo tie couldn¡¯t see that. And Billy St. George was very, very loved.

    As in Camlann, so in London¡­

    Galahad forced Myrddin and Billy apart. ¡°Control yourself, sorcerer!¡±

    There was a rushing sound. Pressure equalizing. The voice of the crowd outside the church picked up like waves in a storm. ¡°What¡¯s happening?¡± asked Billy.

    Jack Lyons shook his head. ¡°Hasty¡­¡±

    Myrddin pointed at him, breathing heavily. ¡°Seize him.¡±

    Jack Lyons went quietly as Galahad dragged him after Billy and Myrddin. The four stepped out of the church doors. The gathered tide of Londoners were pointing up at an egg of grey, foreign sky. It was hatching, releasing a flock of colourfully clad figures.

    Despite himself, Jack Lyons smiled. ¡°People of London, look up!¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen: Camlann

    A brave knight battled a dragon over London Town. London Town was rooting for the dragon.

    Yet, it was not the breed of dragon the knight and most of the folk below were familiar with. Its body was thirty metres of muscle sheathed in navy blue terracotta scales, its leonine head fringed by a seaweed green mane. It twisted and twirled through the air like a ribbon caught in an updraft, snapping its catfish whiskered jaws at the flying Sir Galahad.

    The knight slashed at the beast with a sword forged of dawn light, plunging the blade under the dragon¡¯s scales and prying them off like old wall tiles. The orange blood that spurted from the screeching dragon turned to amber in the open air.

    Galahad grunted with frustration. He¡¯d been fighting dragons for a solid fifteen minutes. The moment each monster fell dead from the sky, another took its place. Some had rainbow feathers and no limbs, others multiple canine heads. One had a turtle shell and projectile spines hidden amongst long green fur. This dragon didn¡¯t didn¡¯t even spit fire, but its arrival had broken Weathermonger¡¯s spell of spring.

    It was throwing Galahad off.

    Far below the aerial arena in Paternoster Square, Mabel Henderson crouched behind a window in one of the red brick buildings that were the walls of Canon Alley, picture-binder leaning open against the glass. Much of Mabel¡¯s power was tied up with the Qing Dynasty dragon fighting Gloriana, but she still had enough to give the skinheads in the tree-choked alley some trouble. She watched with satisfaction through gaps in the canopy as Myrddin¡¯s New Knights clashed with their namesakes. Given that one side had plate armour and the other had leather jackets and denim jeans, the outcome was fairly predictable¡ª

    ¡°Ah!¡±

    Mabel yelped as two huge, furry arms yanked her into the air. A bull gorilla bellowed into her ears. Mabel screwed her eyes shut¡ª

    A gas propelled harpoon skewered the gorilla in the leg. It dropped Mabel as it stumbled painfully and fell onto its back. Blood soaked into the office carpet. A black bearded man in a dark oilskin looked down at the wheezing animal. ¡°Aye, at last, the great¡­ brown¡­ gorilla.¡±

    Mabel stood up, dusting herself off and wishing she¡¯d been able to think of a more appropriate ally to summon. Wasn¡¯t even enough room for a biplane. She supposed it didn¡¯t make much of a difference to the knight.  The gorilla shrunk, its fur shedding to reveal a shivering, naked young man with skunk-stripe hair. Apparently Animal Kingdom worked on David rules rather than Tom ones, which did at least spare Mabel from beholding his costume. Unfortunately for the knight using him as a costume, the harpoon was not dislodged by the transformation.

    ¡°Which one are you?¡± asked Mabel.

    The possessed superhero gasped, ¡°Gingalain y¡ªyou vile little w¡ª¡± He changed his mind. ¡°

    ¡°¡ªBitch.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of you.¡±

    Sir Gingalain flashed Mabel an ugly, bitter smile. ¡°This witchling shall never walk again¡­ thanks to you.¡±

    ¡°Sure he will,¡± said Mabel. ¡°Once we shoot you in the head.¡±

    Gingalain whimpered. Mabel turned back to the window and cracked her knuckles. ¡°You know what this fight needs? Goblins¡­¡±

    ?

    Gawain ran through the forest surrounding St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral, laying down a black trench behind him like a line on a treasure map. Every few yards, he willed it to ignite, sending chunks of concrete and trees exploding into the air. His honour cringed at running from a fight like this, but better that disgrace than¡ª

    The dark lady descended like a black angel riding a great silver leaf through the forest¡¯s green roof, cutting Gawain off in his tracks. Even covered head to toe as she was, the strange, indecent clinginess of her garment left no illusion as to her sex. She raised her gun, strange, even to Rock Cannon¡¯s memories. In a horrific, hornet swarm voice, she said, ¡°I¡¯ll take surrender or an actual fight, just no more running about, please.¡±

    Gawain fell to Rock Cannon¡¯s knees. ¡°Please, dark lady! I cannot raise arms against a woman!¡±

    Mistress Quickly tilted her helmeted head. She turned the click-wheel on her multi-gun to ¡°All-Over Hayfever.¡± Had to consider the bloke he was wearing. ¡°Sweet of you. Condescending, but sweet.¡±

    She fired. Gawain rolled out of the way with less than a centimetre to spare. He threw his palms down against the paved forest floor, shooting out two black lines either side of him. A wall of dust and rubble erupted between him and Mistress Quickly. The super-scientist swore.

    Gawain kept running, passing hapless, bewildered New Knights and changing direction everytime he spotted one of the strange, invading knights.

    In his time, Gawain had been one of the finest warriors in Britain. Now, he was little more than a squire, wielding strange weapons too big for his hands. He was too panicked to notice the green darkness that crowded him on all sides glinting like an alien nightscape. Something bright and only semi-solid slammed into Gawain¡¯s feet, tripping up the knight. Before he even hit the ground, the same substance bound his hands together behind his back. He felt his feet being pulled back to meet his wrists. Gawain craned his neck painfully. He¡¯d been hogtied by gold, like some overwrought warning against the sin of avarice.

    As Gawain struggled, a figure glided out of the darkness in front of him, riding a winged golden platform. His armour was gold, too, over a layer of a blindingly white fabric. If Gawain wasn¡¯t seeing things, the man had a Catayan<sup>1</a></sup> cast to his features, but when he spoke, he sounded more like King William than anyone else:

    ¡°Gawain, right?¡± said Chen Liu. ¡°I heard you tangled with a green knight once.¡± He smiled sharply. ¡°What about a gold knight?¡±

    ?

    From the Golden Gallery atop the dome of St. Paul¡¯s, the wizard Myrddin looked out over the forest of London, his king, his knight, and his prisoner at his side. He could see trees falling or being launched into the air like waves or water spouts at sea. Every minute, more ¡°superheroes¡± emerged from the rent in the sky. He had eleven knights and a few dozen young fools. William had told him his home had more than a hundred wonder-workers.

    ¡°It¡¯s over, Myrddin,¡± said Jack Lyons, hands bound in a knot of ivy. ¡°Surrender now, for the sake of the people, if no one else.¡±

    ¡°Throw him over, Bedwyr¡± said Myrddin.

    Billy looked aghast at the knight. ¡°Don¡¯t¡ª¡±

    Sir Bedwyr threw Jack Lyons over the gallery. He didn¡¯t even cry out as he slipped over the dome out of sight.

    Billy¡¯s mouth hung open for a sec.

    ¡°¡­You killed him.¡±

    Myrddin scoffed. ¡°I did not. That ¡®man¡¯ is made of diamonds. Probably scrambling up the stairs as we speak.¡±

    ¡°I apologize, my king,¡± said Bedwyr. ¡°I could not disobey an order from Myrddin¡¯s mouth.¡±

    Billy clenched his clawed fist, nearly drawing blood from his own palms.  He glared up at Myrddin. ¡°You promised I was the boss. That you wouldn¡¯t make them do something I didn¡¯t want them to do.¡±

    ¡°It was necessary¡ª¡±

    ¡°No it wasn¡¯t! You were just annoyed! So you hurt someone!¡±

    Myrddin ignored the boy, turning to Bedwyr. ¡°I will use what time we have left to complete the ritual, if I can. Good Bedwyr, if you please, awaken the diversion in the docks. Buy me time.¡±

    Bedwyr nodded. ¡°Yes, Myrddin.¡±

    Billy hammered his fists against Myrddin¡¯s side. ¡°We¡¯re not doing that!¡±

    Myrddin pushed Billy off of him, gently but firmly. ¡°It must be done, William. You can hang me on the other side, for all it matters.¡±

    Billy sniffed, tears welling. ¡°You¡¯re just like Lawrence.¡±

    Billy vanished. Myrddin could just make out the child¡¯s hurried footsteps in the gallery dust. He knew enough of William¡¯s past for his words to sting, but Myrddin¡¯s soul was well calloused. He noticed Bedwyr looking at him.

    ¡°He¡¯ll thank me one day. Now, to our tasks.¡±

    Myrddin descended as a flock of birds down into the church graveyard, where his stolen stones still hung in the air. He raised his staff. ¡°Hoc vide, ut dormiunt pessuli pessumi,

    nec mea gratia commovent se ocius!<sup>2</a></sup>¡±

    Metal locks of all shapes and sizes swarmed around Myrddin and the stones like a cloud of midges, coming together to form a shifting, churning dome. By the flickering light filtering through the gaps, Myrddin got back to work.

    ?

    On Fleet Street, David had his back against the doors of the Daily Telegraph Building. Their glass panels were cracked and frosted with a week¡¯s worth of moss. Five New Knights formed a wall in front of him, toting clubs and knives, their pockmarked faces contorted into sneers. The leader (mostly by virtue of a January birthday and long legs) spat at David¡¯s bare feet. ¡°Surrender, coco-puff?¡±

    David grinned. The spit flew from the doorstep into the leader¡¯s eye. He stumbled backwards into his comrades, right as the blood in his right arm jerked sideways, tearing muscle from bone and sending his knife into his neighbour¡¯s cheek. Screams of pain and shock mingled as one as the other three New Knights lunged for David. They collided with the newspaper doors. David reformed out of mist where they¡¯d been standing a second before. He stuck his tongue out at them, jeering, ¡°Can¡¯t catch me, can¡¯t catch me!¡± and taking off into the trees.

    ¡°Get the nigger!¡± David heard the lead teen scream, no doubt clutching his ruined arm. It made him giggle. For years, Lawrence had told David people would hate him for being a super. Now they were going after him because he was brown. Humans were dumb. It wasn¡¯t a very fair chase. The New Knights had to weave around the trees. David just turned misty every few seconds. And they were running above a web of water-pipes¡­

    A geyser erupted under one of the running New Knights right between his legs, lifting the cringing teen up through the canopy.

    ¡°Harry!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t look back, man!¡±

    David laughed. This was the most fun he¡¯d had in clothes for weeks. He came to a stop in a clearing formed around the Temple Bar monument, looking up at the spiked metal dragon that stood atop the dirty concrete column, its forepaws wrapped around the shield of St. George. David wasn¡¯t sure if the bloke who made it had meant to make it look like the dragon won, but it looked cool. It was a shame Mabel couldn¡¯t do sculptures. He turned on his heels in time to catch the last two New Knights crashing through the trees. David smiled brightly. ¡°Surrender pale¡­ bald¡­ dumb guys?¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    One of the New Knights pounded his fist into his palm. ¡°Fat chance, monster.¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Twin watery serpents burst out from the asphalt either side of the New Knight, bowling him over as they forced themselves into his mouth and nostrils. The young man flopped and thrashed like a beached fish, drowning in the middle of the road.

    David looked at the other New Knight. ¡°Gonna ask one more time: surrender?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please, for the love of God, stop!¡±

    The serpents died. The fallen New Knight went limp. His back arched, a fountain of bile-tainted water spewing out of his mouth with a ragged wretch. He breathed like his lungs were full of thorns. Good, David thought. Sarah said he wouldn¡¯t get dessert for a week if he killed anyone. Still, had to make sure they didn¡¯t go back on their surrender. The New Knights screamed as their hands were forced together, their veins bulging like ropes. Blood leaked, then gushed through their skin, slithering down their arms to form rings around their wrists and freezing solid. Both teens fainted. David clapped his hands together. Job well done¡ª

    David¡¯s feet slipped out from under him. A sphere of ozone tinted air lifted him into the air. David turned into water, sloshed about, then evaporated. No good. The bubble was watertight. When he returned to flesh, there was someone standing under him: a woman in an orange leotard with a four-leaf clover stamped over her chest. Her hair was even dyed green. David recognized her.  Cessair¡ªRoundtable¡¯s token Northern Irish member<sup>3</a></sup>. He had no idea which knight was inside her, and did not care in the slightest. Cessair smiled. In a very un-Irish accent, she said, ¡°Gotcha, water-demon.¡±

    David hammered his fists against the force-field, swearing silently. Then he grinned.

    ¡°What are you smiling at?¡±

    A white streak struck Cessair in the side, knocking her out of sight like a slide in a view-finder. Brit stumbled to a stop, glowing softly with a dazed grin on her face. At the same time, the bubble around David popped, sending the boy falling onto his rump. ¡°Could¡¯ve given me some warning,¡± he said, rubbing his new sore spot.

    ¡°Not giving any warning was kinda the whole idea.¡±

    Close-Cut had furnished Brit with her own super-suit, a body-glove swirling with dark purples and blues around two black globes set against a red sun on her chest. Even David had to admit it looked good. ¡°Still, nice one.¡± He glanced in the direction Cessair had flown. ¡°She gonna be alright?¡±

    ¡°Probably,¡± said Brit, shrugging. ¡°If her legs don¡¯t work or something, Dr. Death can fix it.¡±

    David winced. Allison¡¯s voice was echoing in his skull:

    David! Spitfire¡¯s on the move. Get over here before we¡¯ve got another Great Fire of London!

    ¡°Allie needs me¡­¡± David scrunched his face and pointed westwards. ¡°That way¡­ mind giving me a lift?¡±

    Brit smiled and slapped David on his shoulder. ¡°Sure, ya weirdo.¡±

    David wrapped his arms around Brit¡¯s shoulder and his legs around her torso. She bore the weight easily. David pointed forwards grandly. ¡°Off, my noble steed!¡±

    ¡°Pushing it.¡±

    Brit took off in a run, gaining speed and luminosity as her body collided with the air, draining it of heat and momentum. Her footprints were patches of ice. She leapt, breaching the canopy like a tiny aeronautic dolphin. She and David sailed over the tree-tops, catching sight of an orange canyon of fire in the distance, eroding the green around it like water through soft clay. Brit gulped. ¡°That¡¯s what Miri¡¯s birthday party¡¯s going to look like, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ?

    Piccadilly Circus was screaming. The whole of London was at least grumbling, but Piccadilly was completely hysterical. Allison couldn¡¯t blame the junction. She¡¯d be grumpy too if part of her was melting. Spitfire was possibly Roundtable¡¯s most powerful member, maybe the strongest super living in Western Europe. For brief sprints, he could burn in excess of six thousand kelvin. Much of the time, he didn¡¯t even need to get close to you to win. Convection handled it for him. At the same time, he usually avoided the spotlight. That was the thing about fire powers. Burnt out buildings and barbecued flesh didn¡¯t make for great PR. The US hadn¡¯t put Hiroshima on a recruiting poster. In a city of trees, Myrddin had been smart enough to keep whoever he had shoved in the superhero on a leash.

    Then the Catalpans had attacked.

    Allison lay on her stomach on the roof of the Criterion Theatre, arms spread either side of her, fingers stirring the concrete like bowls of water. Behind her, Metropole leaned smoking against an air-conditioning unit. Esclabor the Saracen had been surprisingly cooperative when Allison ran into him in the woods:

    ¡°Look, Arthur was a great friend of mine, but Britain is another man¡¯s country.¡± The lost king had glanced about and whispered with his hand to his mouth, ¡°Also, I can still take or leave that ¡®Christ¡¯ fellow.¡±

    And so, the exiled pagan lord had offered his services as Allison¡¯s jukebox.

    Piccadilly¡¯s tree cover had been reduced to a lake of ash and burning coals. The junction¡¯s signs had gone dark for the first time since 1949. Red Coca-Cola signs had been scorched black. Cigarette advertisements had gone up in flames. Lightbulbs had exploded, raining skin-shredding hail over the road and sidewalks. With Metropole¡¯s power, Allison had forced the buildings at each exit to slide together like the Clashing Rocks, turning Piccadilly into an architectural bullring. The roundabout had turned into a vortex of concrete and asphalt, slowly but surely pulling in Spitfire.

    The superhero¡¯s asbestos costume had been vapourized half an hour ago, leaving only a man with the skin of the sun, ink spots swirling over blindingly white flesh. Allison saw him scream with rage. She couldn¡¯t make out his voice, but the bonfire roar of superheated air served well enough.

    Rubbish bins hurled refuse at Spitfire that splattered into messes of melted metal and plastic against the side of his head. Lampposts stretched like tentacles to wrap around his limbs, holding on as long as possible before subsiding into the  molten slag around Spitfire¡¯s feet. Every ten seconds or so, a bright red mass struck and bounced off Spitfire like a giant, superheated pinball:

    My hair¡¯s starting to singe, Allie, thought the Crimson Comet, loudly.

    If David would stop taking his sweet time¡­ Allison thought back.

    I¡¯m coming, I¡¯m coming!

    Brit and David landed on the roof of the London Pavillion. They ran to the railings and looked out over the destruction. Brit whistled.

    We need a lot of water quick, Allison broadcasted.

    David looked up at the thick winter clouds. ¡°Hey, Brit, think you could throw me up there?¡±

    ¡°Decided to end it all, water-boy?¡±

    David grinned. ¡°C¡¯mon, it¡¯ll be cool.¡±

    Brit thrust her arm out over the railing. The heat rising up from the circus made her glow like the northstar. Soon, David couldn¡¯t even make out her face. She got to her knees and laid out her hands. ¡°Okay, ready.¡±

    David stepped with unnecessary gentleness onto Brit¡¯s open palms. Then she threw him straight up. David shot into the sky like a tiny, watery rocket:

    ¡°Wheeeeee!¡±

    David disappeared into the clouds, the wound he left closing under him. Brit had just enough time to tilt her head.

    The clouds fell over Piccadilly Circus. All at once. Less rain than a misplaced tidal wave. What windows had survived the inferno were shattered. A tide of steam hissed up from the flooded junction. Spitfire stood naked and extinguished in ankle deep water. Allison jumped to her feet.

    Get him!

    The Crimson Comet leapt down from the green dome of the County Fire Office, landing a king-hit on Spitfire and spinning him around to continue the beat down. Allison watched from her rooftop, swaying from side to side. Push him left¡ªno, my left! Back a bit¡ªperfect!

    A hole opened in the road under Spitfire, swallowing the super whole and shutting again without a trace. Sir Sagramore landed on his feet in perfect darkness. His legs should¡¯ve been shattered by the fall, but this strange new flesh was made of sterner stuff than that. The knight stretched out his arms, finding no walls. He couldn¡¯t yet summon back the inner fire to banish the shadows. A thought quickened his breathing. Was this death? Had his last strange journey come to an end? Was this the pit?

    A noise. Musical, but like nothing Sagramore had ever heard, not even on the island of everlasting spring. A trumpet, perhaps? One worthy only of Gabriel himself. His hopes rose. Perhaps this was death, but it need not be the end for him. Another sound joined the trumpet, like a cavalry charge pounding the ground with hooves of steel. Great gates opening, perhaps? As though in answer, two glorious spheres of white light broke through the darkness. Sagramore laughed, his fear leaving him. He¡¯d made it. All his triumphs, all his mistakes, they didn¡¯t matter now¡ª

    Wait. Two lights? Odd number. Oughtn¡¯t it be three?

    The lights were almost upon him. They burned away the darkness, revealing curved brick walls. Spitfire¡¯s knowledge stirred within Sagramore. The train whistle blew again. ¡°Oh, fu¡ª¡±

    Allison winced as she felt Spitfire slip under the wheels. She raised her arm to her mouth, speaking into her communicator watch. ¡°Blanceflor, we need Tom under Piccadilly Station, stat.¡±

    ?

    Tom Long rose transparently through the Piccadilly roundabout, dragging an unconscious Spitfire up behind him. They both filled with colour. Spitfire¡¯s skin was almost a solid, purple bruise. Tom glanced at the super, his eyes flashing white. ¡°Ah, this fella¡¯s bleeding pretty bad inside. Might want to ship him over to Dr. Death.¡±

    Allison raised her communicator watch. ¡°Blancheflor, tell Dr. Death we¡¯re sending Spitfire to the exorcism ring.¡±

    ¡°Doing so, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Allison nodded at Arnold. The cloaked boy pointed a finger at Spitfire, sending him away with a flicker of lightning.

    ¡°What now?¡± asked David.

    ¡°We¡¯ve knocked most of the proper dangerous supers out of the game,¡± said the Crimson Comet. ¡°Or drinking in a pub.¡± He looked up. Gloriana was currently fighting an Arabic roc. ¡°Looks like Mabel¡¯s got things under control on her end, good girl.¡±

    ¡°We need to get Billy back,¡± said Tom firmly. ¡°Take me, I¡¯ll talk some sense into him.¡±

    ¡°No offense,¡± said Allison, ¡°But that didn¡¯t work wonders at Tintagel.¡±

    Tom grunted. ¡°Then take Arn, too. Worst comes to worst, he teleports Billy home. Would probably mess up Merlin¡¯s magic stuff, too.¡±

    Arnold nodded. ¡°Sounds like a plan.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison. ¡°David, you and Brit keep up fire control. Don¡¯t want a gas-main blowing up.¡±

    David saluted jauntily.

    ¡°Ralph¡­ keep Esclabor drunk. Don¡¯t want him changing his mind on us.¡±

    The Crimson Comet sighed. ¡°Sure.¡± It was a trying assignment. Folks from Esclabor¡¯s time and place were much less strict about matters of the heart, and there were few things more uncomfortable than being hit on by a possessed man.

    ¡°Blancheflor, open us a portal to St. Paul¡¯s.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Blancheflor¡¯s tinny voice replied. ¡°Just sorting out an exit with Spaceman Jones<sup>4</a></sup>¡ªoh, there¡¯s something you might want to see.¡±

    An egg portal opened onto the steps of St. Paul¡¯s. Allison stepped through first. ¡°Holy crap!¡±

    Jack Lyons lay in ruins in front of the church doors. His legs were shattered, literally shattered. The ragged stumps resembled cracked open geodes, revealing a shinny mess of crystals. The right side of his face had caved in. Still, he flashed the children a grin. ¡°Hello, Miss Kinsey.¡±

    Allison tried not to recoil.

    Jack¡¯s one good eye flicked over to Tom. ¡°Thomas Long, correct?¡±

    ¡°Ah, yeah.¡± Tom waved weakly. ¡°Good to meet ya.¡±

    Jack chuckled. ¡°If only the circumstances were better.¡±

    ¡°What the hell happened to you?¡± asked Arnold.

    Jack tilted his chin upward. ¡°Myrddin and I had a disagreement in the Golden Gallery. It seems my¡­ structure was more far gone than I suspected.¡± He rocked towards the door. ¡°Young William is inside. I assume you¡¯re here to tend to him?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Good. The boy¡¯s having a rough time of it.¡±

    ¡°Is¡ªis there anything we can do for you?¡± asked Arnold.

    Jack closed his eyes. ¡°Actually, there is. I think this time around is done for me. I could do with a rest.¡±

    Arnold¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You want us to¡ª¡±

    Jack raised a shaky hand. ¡°I think we all know what I¡¯m asking, Mr. Barnes. If you could send me somewhere hot. The sun, or even just the Earth¡¯s core. I think that would be a full stop for me.¡±

    Arnold looked at Allison and Tom. The latter was avoiding his gaze, the former shrugged painfully. He looked back down at Jack Lyons. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Quite sure. Don¡¯t think of it the way I know you are, Mr. Barnes. I died a long time ago. This is just a brief intermission. I¡¯ll be back when Britain needs me again.¡±

    Arnold nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    He took aim, his lightning building to a crackle about his hands, and hesitated. After a moment, he closed his eyes.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, Arn,¡± said Allison. ¡°He needs this. It¡¯s not Lawr¡ª¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s paid his dues, Allie,¡± Tom said shortly, stepping forwards and putting a hand on Allison¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Do it yourself. Lava.¡±

    Allison nodded. ¡°Right.¡±

    Jack Lyons gave Arnold an apologetic smile as he melted.

    ?

    Allison regarded her hand as the lava glow faded. She felt¡­ odd. Not guilty or ashamed, but¡­ strange. It wasn¡¯t like the soldier bloke at the Institute. ¡°Does that count?¡± she asked aloud. ¡°As, you know, killing him?¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± said Tom. ¡°Like you said. He needed it.¡±

    Tom went transparent and stepped through the Great West Door. Arnold and Allison shared a brief look before pushing the doors open.

    It didn¡¯t take long for them to find Billy. He was curled up crying in front of his erstwhile throne, under the eyes of Saint Paul himself.

    ¡°Oi! Billy!¡± Tom ran down the aisle and past the choir to sit down beside Billy, drawing him into his arms. ¡°Come on, it can¡¯t be that bad¡­¡±

    ¡°Since when did Tom hug?¡± asked Arnold.

    ¡°Everyone hugs Billy,¡± replied Allison.

    ¡°I messed up,¡± sobbed Billy. ¡°Myrddin won¡¯t listen to me. He was never gonna listen to me.¡± He pressed his face against Tom¡¯s chest. ¡°I¡¯m an idiot. No wonder Betty doesn¡¯t want me¡­¡±

    Tom blinked. ¡°Wait, what? You saw Betty?¡±

    ¡°Myrddin told¡ª¡± Billy¡¯s voice trailed off. ¡°¡­Me.¡±

    ¡°Billy, if there¡¯s one thing I¡¯ve learned, it¡¯s that you never take old white fellas on their word. Especially when they¡¯re poms.¡± Tom called out to Arnold and Allison. ¡°Arn, zap us to Billy¡¯s nanny. Right now!¡±

    ¡°What? We¡¯re kind of busy¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Billy. C¡¯mon, Arn, I got you out of the last thing, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll try.¡±

    Tom lifted Billy to his feet. ¡°C¡¯mon. We¡¯re gonna see your mum. Your real mum.¡±

    ¡°You really think she wants to see me?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯d be an idiot not to.¡±

    Allison ran to their side. ¡°Blancheflor, keep a lock on me and Tom. Don¡¯t know where we¡¯ll be ending up.¡±

    Again, it took Arnold a few goes to get a spark. It always did when the destination was so uncertain. When he was given a question, rather than a location. But soon, he found Billy¡¯s answer.

 Chapter One Hundred and Nineteen: The Riddle of Myrddin

    On a bright midsummer noon, the prince of the sea visited the Tower of London, to play hide and seek with the ravens.

    David crept along the stone arches of St. John¡¯s Chapel, trying to stifle a giggle. When he reached one of the thick, rectangular pillars, he wrapped his arms around the stone and shimmied around to the other side. He could have simply misted or flowed around the obstacle as water, but sometimes, it felt good to simply use his body, his mother and father¡¯s legacy to him. He dropped down onto the next stretch of arch, flinching at a loud, raspy caw behind him. He swung around to find a raven staring at him. Its body swirled like the contents of an inkwell in an earthquake. Its outline was faintly blurry, but its eyes were smouldering red coals.

    David grinned. ¡°You are so cute.¡± He wondered if Stratogale or Ophelia could¡¯ve talked to the thing.

    The raven let out another caw and flew at David. He leapt to the side, clear off the arch, turning to mist in midair. The raven cocked its head towards him, too late to avoid smashing into the pillar. Its shadowy body splattered against the brickwork, dripping down the stone like melted liquorice.

    David hung as water vapour in the centre of the chapel for a moment, so spread out he was nearly invisible, waiting for the penny to drop.

    A raucous choir of bird calls, about as in time with each other as a crowd of drunk Christmas carolers. Dozens¡ªhundreds¡ªof shadow-fleshed ravens streamed out from the dark corners of the chapel. They swirled about the chamber like a river of pitch winding through the air, their feathers and bodies flowing into each other, barely remaining distinct. Probably trying to figure out where he¡¯d gone, David thought. There was something about this guy¡¯s powers that was ducking just below the window of memory. David probably should¡¯ve read the Roundtable files more closely, but he wasn¡¯t much for non-fiction these days. Plus, paper and water didn¡¯t mix well. He noticed the stream of ravens seemed to be curving around the upper and lower windows at the front of the chapel.

    Oh, yeah.

    David pulled his mass together, compressing into a sphere of ice. Then he shattered, becoming an array of crystals. A smashed chandelier in free fall. The ice captured and scattered the light streaming through the windows in a seizure of sunbeams. When they struck the ravens, they set them alight. Fire spread through their ranks. Soon the river of pitch was a red and orange aurora. In seconds, all that was left of the unkindness was ash.

    David dropped in a crouch into the chapel aisle, flesh and blood wrapped in alien fibre again. He crowed, ¡°Olly olly oxen free!¡±

    The sound of splintering wood like the crackle of flame. An axe dug and clawed through the chapel door, until it tore from its hinges and fell with a thud onto the stone tiles. A powerful wall of muscle, clad in a forest green tunic and a black executioner¡¯s hood replaced it. He carried an axe of crystalized darkness, like glacial ice in the dead of night. Nevermore. David had been playing hide and seek with the man for half an hour. The possessed superhero wasn¡¯t very good at it, though. He hadn¡¯t even counted first.

    David smiled. ¡°You know, the door was unlocked.¡±

    Nevermore screamed and rushed at the water-sprite, swinging his axe in front of him. David ducked and weaved around him. Mostly the axe bit into empty air, or the wood of the antique church pews. Once, though¡­

    ¡°What¡¯s the matter, can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    David¡¯s taunts were cut off by a choking gasp. Nevermore¡¯s axe had collided with his side, digging into his ribs. Blood mixed with the shadow like blood and tar.

    Behind his hood, Nevermore¡¯s eyes widened. Behind them, the knight Sir Galeschin the golden haired¡ªnephew of the Pendragon himself¡ªblanched. He¡¯d never killed a child before. He¡¯d assumed this creature was a demon, merely wearing the skin of a boy, but the look on his face. The way his mouth snapped open and shut, like a puppet managed by shaky hands¡­

    ¡°I¡ªI¡­¡±

    Galeschin sighed and averted his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, lad.¡±

    David smiled. He melted away, even his blood on the axe turning spring-clear. The water slid across the floor like a creeping carpet of mold. David reformed in front of the chapel¡¯s altar, bent with laughter. ¡°The look on your face¡­¡±

    Nevermore bellowed with rage. He let go of his shadow-axe, letting it evaporate. He instead thrust his palms forward. A pillar of shadow roared at David, engulfing him and forming into a black sarcophagus around his body, leaving only his head clear. David yelped. He couldn¡¯t feel anything below his neck. He could¡¯ve been one of the heads that once decorated Traitor¡¯s Gate.

    Shit.

    Nevermore laughed. ¡°Hah! Got you, you smug little prick¡ªaaah!¡±

    Luckily for the sea-prince, he was not alone. The chapel door hit Nevermore square in the back. He fell flat on his face, the darkness around David evaporating in the same moment.

    The star-girl stood in the ruined doorways, clapping imaginary dust from her hands. ¡°Twice in one day. You¡¯re getting sloppy.¡±

    David smirked. ¡°I would¡¯ve gotten out.¡±

    ¡°Sure you would¡¯ve.¡±

    Nevermore groaned. ¡°I can¡¯t feel my legs¡­¡±

    David kicked the superhero in the side. ¡°See how you like it!¡±

    Brit was rubbing her chin. ¡°He could be lying, you know. Or be able to heal or something. We should tie him up.¡±

    ¡°Or¡­¡±

    Soon, Nevermore was encased from the neck down in a block of ice, formed from water siphoned from the Tower of London¡¯s restroom sinks and toilets. Especially the toilets.

    ¡°There,¡± said David, admiring his handiwork. ¡°That should hold him.¡±

    Sir Galeschin tried to spit at David and Brit. The glob of sputum stopped and reversed halfway, flying into the knight¡¯s stolen mouth. He sputtered, the children laughing.

    ¡°So, we¡¯ve put out all the fires¡­¡± said Brit.

    ¡°And we just caught another knight,¡± continued David.

    ¡°Break?¡±

    ¡°Break.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ll both rot in hell¡­¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± said David. ¡°One thing first.¡± He turned his back to Nevermore. ¡°Costume off.¡±

    Nevermore just rolled his eyes at the mooning. The children ran off giggling. They rambled through the Tower of London; jumping on the four poster bed in the recreation of Edward the First¡¯s bedchambers above Traitor¡¯s Gate; sword-fighting in oversized metal helmets in the royal armoury; and teasing the real ravens in the aviary. Eventually, they discovered the Jewel House and the treasures within.

    Brit balanced the Imperial State Crown on her head. It kept slipping down over her eyes. David blew a silver trumpet behind her. She turned to find her friend adorned in every ring and necklace he could find. He could¡¯ve been one of Edgar Rice Burroughs¡¯ Martians, freshly hatched from his mammalian egg. ¡°Am I not resplendent?¡±

    ¡°So, clothes are alright, but shinies are cool?¡±

    ¡°Yep.¡±

    Brit picked up the Sovereign¡¯s Sceptre (with dove) from where she¡¯d set it down, twirling it in her hand. ¡°Think they¡¯d notice if we took home some souvenirs? I mean, we are saving their whole country.¡±

    David shrugged. ¡°Definitely keeping this,¡± he said, holding up an ornate golden spoon. ¡°Did you know gold doesn¡¯t rust?¡±

    A rumble shook the jewel house¡¯s walls. The children shared a glance and made their way out onto the Tower¡¯s tree choked grounds. When Brit and David had arrived, they¡¯d spotted the HMS Scorpion docked down river. They hadn¡¯t paid it much notice. Just a big old boat. Now, a metal giant was rising from the water on great hydraulic legs. Its body bristled with guns. A radio tower protruded from its back like a crest. Its new, angular head let out a roar.

    David and Brit watched it on an ice disk above the canopy. ¡°Fo-Fum and Andrea are still sick, aren¡¯t they?¡± asked David.

    ¡°Yep,¡± replied Brit. ¡°More for us then.¡±

    The children high-fived.

    ?

    The green glare melted away into blue and white chessboard floor tiles and burnt orange formica surfaces. ¡°Where are we?¡± asked Tom.

    Billy looked about the small room. ¡°A kitchen, I think.¡± He pointed at a lime green fridge. ¡°See?¡±

    ¡°I know that,¡± said Tom. ¡°But where?¡±

    Allison raised her arm and pointed towards the kitchen door. ¡°North¡¯s that way.¡±

    ¡°...Okay, I didn¡¯t know that, but c¡¯mon!¡± Tom looked about the kitchen. The decor didn¡¯t scream posh to him, but there were appliances on the countertops he didn¡¯t have names for. He examined the refrigerator. Its door was plastered with evidence of humanity: including a calendar open to that month¡ªapparently best represented by a breaching humpback whale¡ªbut marked for a date about a week back. That sent a ghost of panic shooting up Tom¡¯s spine. Had Arnold sent them back in time?

    ...Or did whoever lived here just forget? Tom felt very silly, though who could blame him after the stunt Merlin pulled at the hotel?

    Allison was doing her own exploration. The benchtops were covered in pots and pans, all filled with freshwater. Power outage? She skipped over to the kitchen window and pulled open the corn-cob curtains.

    Trees. A wall of trees like iron bars, staining the sunlight green. ¡°Okay, what¡¯re the chances?¡±

    ¡°Are Arn¡¯s powers on the fritz?¡± Tom pulled a piece of paper from the fridge, pinned between a ladybug magnet and a polaroid photo. ¡°Next week someone¡¯s going to see Fiddler on the Roof at Her Majesty¡¯s Theatre. Now, I guess that could be the Queen of Sheba¡¯s theatre, but that sounds pretty London to me.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯re in the wrong place,¡± said Billy, voice small.

    ¡°Why not?¡± asked Allison.

    Billy pointed past Tom at the fridge. The older boy turned to look. With the ticket gone, you could see the subject of the photo behind it: Billy, flashing his friendly vampire grin over a birthday cake with six candles.

    ¡°Oh,¡± said Tom. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Hurried footsteps, rapidly drawing closer. Allison closed her eyes briefly. ¡°Ah, guys, try to look not-scary.¡±

    The kitchen door flew open. A young lady with disheveled, unwashed dark hair barged in wielding a tennis racket. ¡°Get the hell out¡ª¡±

    Betty Sullivan trailed off. The racket fell with a rattle to the floor. She and Billy stared at each other for nearly ten seconds. Their songs peaked almost painfully in Allison¡¯s ears. Their minds were constellations of supernovas. There was something else, too. It had neither sound nor colour, but Allison saw its torn, ragged edges; saw its sundered halves cautiously unfurl from Betty and Billy, reaching out disbelievingly before frantically weaving back together.

    Allison knew it wasn¡¯t a power thing. She just remembered.

    Billy and Betty almost bowled each over. She pulled the boy up into her arms, pressing his face against her shoulder. ¡°Oh, Billy¡­¡±

    Allison waved weakly. ¡°Ah, hi Miss Sullivan.¡±

    Betty didn¡¯t even register the other children. She finally set Billy down on his feet. She didn¡¯t have much of a choice. He¡¯d gotten so big. Had it really been nearly two years? How? She felt like someone had gone and clipped cells from a film she was watching. Her favourite film¡­ ¡°Billy, why¡­ how are you here? I thought you were in that little town the supers made?¡±

    ¡°Catalpa,¡± cut in Allison, ever brand conscious.

    ¡°Yes, thank you.¡± Betty suddenly remembered who she was speaking to. ¡°Oh, hello Allison. Good to see you again, I¡¯m sorry about¡±¡ªhow to sum up over a year of horror stories?¡ª¡°everything.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, Miss Sullivan,¡± said Allison.

    Betty looked at Tom. ¡°...You¡¯re not Maelstrom, are you?¡±

    Tom resisted rolling his eyes. ¡°Nah, ma¡¯am. Tom Long. Maelstrom goes by David these days.¡± Tom suppressed a smile. This lady only knew David when he¡¯d been Mealy. Tom really wanted to see that reunion. ¡°Billy¡¯s told me about you. A lot. It¡¯s frankly embarrassing how much he brings you up.¡±

    Betty smiled. ¡°Aww.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Okay, asking again, what are you kids doing here?¡±

    Billy rubbed his foot fretfully against the floor. ¡°Um, I¡¯m sort of the¡­ king.¡±

    Betty tilted her head. ¡°Wait, that was you?¡± She tutted and shook her head. ¡°Oh, Billy, honey¡­¡±

    Billy threw his arms tight around Betty¡¯s waist. His claws nearly tore at her blouse. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m sorry¡ª¡±

    Betty opened her mouth to ask some follow up questions. They rushed to the tip of her tongue like deck passengers on a ship, threatening to overturn the whole boat. She held them back for the moment, rubbing Billy¡¯s back. ¡°Sshhh, shush. It¡¯s alright. We all do silly things sometimes.¡±

    Billy kept clinging. ¡°...Why did you move to London?¡±

    Betty sighed. ¡°Your folks offered me a job here. I couldn¡¯t really say no. My resume isn¡¯t exactly long.¡± It was time to be honest. ¡°I think they didn¡¯t want me spreading gossip. It hurt, Billy, it really did. But I thought you¡¯d be happy with Mr. Lawrence. Fool me¡­¡±

    ¡°No, I get it,¡± said Billy. Nothing his parents did could surprise him anymore. He looked around. ¡°Where¡¯s your baby?¡±

    Betty blinked. ¡°My baby?¡± She laughed. ¡°I don¡¯t have a baby.¡± In truth, Betty¡¯s love life hadn¡¯t gotten much more eventful since moving to London. Her last date had gotten a plate thrown his way when he mistook a picture of Billy for monster flick memorabilia.

    ¡°But Myrddin said¡­¡± Billy stepped away from Betty. He stared down at his shoes, breathing heavily. Matter mist sheathed balled fists. ¡°Allison, we¡¯re gonna get Myrddin. Now.¡±

    Betty reached a hand out. ¡°Billy?¡±

    ¡°He lied.¡±

    Tom nodded approvingly. Rage was like salt. Too much would kill you. Without it, the soul collapsed.

    ?

    Two giants battled in the Thames, the water licking at heels of metal and ice. They weren¡¯t making much headway.

    The HMS Scorpion had transformed into a sturdy iron knight, seventy metres tall by twenty five wide. On one arm, it boasted all the cannons that had once graced its gun deck. In the other, it carried the two halves of its former hull, warped and repositioned now to form a greatshield, almost as tall as it was. Its AA guns had moved to its shoulders and formed a belt around its waist. A bipedal, crystalline crocodile scratched at the knight¡¯s pig-iron chest with short, powerful arms, covered with spines and spikes of ice.

    On one of the Thames¡¯ concrete walls, David stood roaring and raving his arms as unselfconsciously as any boy alone in his room.

    David had watched Godzilla at the children¡¯s hall some months previously. The film had given him ideas. Not good ideas, but ideas. The Scorpion raised a knee to the monster¡¯s face, and with a crack that rang out through half of London, shattered half its jaw against a bulwark knee. David cackled, his puppet rearing back dramatically as if hurt, before the Scorpion raised its tall shield like a spade and buried it straight through his monster¡¯s torso, slicing it roughly in half.

    ¡°... Rude.¡±

    As the first beast fell, another rose slowly to take its place, this one a giant ape. The scorpion turned, undaunted, and raised its gun arm.

    From his distant perch, David frowned.

    How to fight it, though?

    ¡°It¡¯s too tough for water to do that much. Maybe¡ª¡±

    A plume of water rose up around the robot and froze solid. It shattered as the ship moved. The Scorpion didn¡¯t even seem to notice.

    ¡°I want a turn,¡± said Brit, sitting by David¡¯s side.

    David froze in his revelry. ¡°You sure?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s kinda big.¡±

    ¡°Sure. Just lemme take a swim first. Boil the water for me.¡±

    At that, Brit slid herself down off the bank, and into the Thames.

    With a grin, David did as he was told. All about Brit¡¯s shadow, the water bubbled. Then it froze. David boiled it again. It froze again. With each iteration, Brit glowed a little brighter under the water

    The Scorpion had just beheaded its third rival: A giant tarantula dancing over the water like the arachnid saviour, when Brit made her move. A laser streak of pure, white light exploding from the water. She moved so fast that the air clapped with a sonic boom. The concrete bank from which she had kicked off exploded. She slammed into the Scorpion¡¯s belly like a tiny, cackling missile.

    Metal tore.

    A couple city blocks north, an egg portal opened in the graveyard of St. Paul¡¯s Cathedral. It deposited Allison, Billy, Tom, a somewhat stunned Betty, and a freshly retrieved Dr. Death in front of the dome of locks Myrddin had placed over himself.

    ¡°Good aim, Blancheflor,¡± said Allison.

    ¡°Thank you, Miss Kinsey,¡± buzzed her watch.

    Dr. Death glanced dubiously towards the crashes coming from the Thames. ¡°This is why I¡¯m not a frontline super.¡±

    ¡°Is this¡­ normal for you now?¡± Betty asked Billy. Billy had tried to leave her at Br¨°n Binn, but she wouldn¡¯t leave him alone. Allison could relate.

    Billy shrugged. ¡°Sorta? Not every day. More like¡­ every third Wednesday?¡±

    Tom cracked his knuckles. ¡°Right. Mad Laurie¡¯s great-great-grandpa''s in there, yeah?¡± Tom turned see-through and stepped confidently towards the churning mess of chains and locks.

    Allison put a hand out. ¡°You can¡¯t¡ª¡±

    A loud pring sent Tom staggered backwards. He returned to solidity. ¡°It¡¯s like touching a fan!¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said Allison flatly.

    ¡°Maybe if I go under¡ª¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then what are we¡ª¡±

    Dozens of locks came together to form a wall sized face. It stirred second hand memories of the Palazzo Braschi in Allison. In Myrddin¡¯s voice, it gravely intoned, ¡°Only those who answer my riddle may pass.¡±

    Not much in the way of verse, Allison noted. Myrddin must¡¯ve been in a rush. Tom frowned. ¡°If he can make a magical thing that can block off me, why make it so you can open it with a riddle?¡±

    ¡°Basic magical law,¡± said Allison. ¡°Choose between a bunch of weaknesses that make sense, or just one that doesn¡¯t.¡±

    Billy knew better than to argue with the fairy-tale Mussolini face. ¡°We¡¯re ready!¡±

    ¡°When did falling stars grant no one¡¯s wish?¡±

    ¡°... I don¡¯t get it,¡± Billy muttered.

    ¡°Okay,¡± said Tom. ¡°Maybe not the worst idea.¡±

    ?

    In the river, Brit was playing mosquito on the Scorpion, clambering up and down the giant like a spider-monkey punching craters in its hull. The Scorpion had stopped paying any attention to David¡¯s icy beasts, focusing totally and utterly on swatting the girl. The machine guns on its waist were pointed upwards, trying to turn their bullets into antibodies, willing to risk a few dents in its hull to get rid of Brit. They just fed her energy. Or even more often, hit the spits of ice that rose to shield her. It made Brit smile. David could still be such a sweetie. She waved to him. He waved back, not noticing Gloriana landing silently behind him. Brit blinked. ¡°David! Look out!¡±

    Galahad twisted David around and picked him up by the neck. He growled. ¡°Wanton demon! I know what you are.¡± He glanced up and down at David¡¯s bare skin. ¡°You wear flesh that isn¡¯t yours!¡± Flesh you don¡¯t deserve!¡±

    David rolled his eyes, clawing at Gloriana¡¯s unbreakable grip and trying to pull at the possessed superheroine¡¯s blood¡ªif it was him or her, he was picking her¡ªbut it didn¡¯t listen. It was very unfair. He tried to shift to vapour, but his flesh was slow to listen. Too much of him was wrapped up in the Thames. He couldn¡¯t just leave Brit¡ª

    Brit landed on top of Gloriana''s head, screaming and pulling at her brown curls. Galahad dropped David on his rear.

    ¡°Three¡ª¡± Brit grunted. ¡°¡ªTimes!¡±

    ¡°Ain¡¯t arguing¡ªshit!¡±

    David turned to ice in time for the Scorpion¡¯s bullets to shatter his body and knock Brit off of Galahad. The knight panted as thick liquid light gushed from holes in Gloriana¡¯s chest. He could feel the bullets melting inside of him as the wounds closed. He grimaced at the strange blood. ¡°What is this woman?¡±

    ¡°A badarse,¡± said Brit, picking herself up. ¡°She has lava for blood.¡±

    ¡°Witches! Witches, the lot of you!¡± He jabbed a finger at Brit like it was a dagger. ¡°You made me one of you! A monster!¡±

    The ice that was David melted and evaporated, forming into a spectre of the boy beside Brit. The children nodded as one. ¡°Damn right, we are,¡± said Brit.

    ?

    Back at the graveyard, Allison and company were trying to puzzle out the wizard¡¯s riddle:

    ¡°When you tell someone what you wished for?¡± suggested Betty gamely.

    ¡°No,¡± said the giant face.

    ¡°Never,¡± suggested Tom. ¡°Because wishing on stars doesn¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Sourpuss,¡± Billy said out of the corner of his mouth.

    ¡°You are a ¡®puss¡¯!¡± Tom snapped back.

    ¡°I think you¡¯re on the wrong track,¡± said Dr. Death. ¡°He said ¡®When did falling stars grant no one their wish?¡¯ Past tense. I reckon he¡¯s talking about some specific occasion, not¡±¡ªhe waved a hand¡ª¡°the state of the world.¡±

    Tom looked at Allison. ¡°Can¡¯t you just check the future for the answer?¡±

    Allison glared back at the older boy. ¡°Gee, okay, I¡¯ll just check every combination of words until I find the right one. Billy¡¯s little, he¡¯ll probably still be alive by the time I¡¯ve¡­¡± Allison¡¯s words started to trail off. ¡°...Found it.¡±

    Tom snapped his fingers in Allison¡¯s face. ¡°You alright there, Allie?¡±

    Allison shook her head. ¡°Have any of you ever heard the thing about a million monkeys at a million typewriters banging out Shakespeare plays?¡±

    ¡°Vaguely?¡± said Betty.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you want them to write new plays?¡± asked Billy.

    ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s meant to be infinite monkeys,¡± added Dr. Death.

    Allison shrugged. ¡°Monkeys are dumb, Shakespeare is hard. What about seven million Londoners and one riddle?¡±

    ¡°...We¡¯re talking about Londoners, right?¡± asked Dr. Death.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have time to ask everyone in London,¡± said Billy diplomatically, only for his eyes to widen at Allison. ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°You think you can handle that many people?¡± asked Tom. ¡°All that once? All Alberto ever had to deal with was thirty people, max, and he went through a bottle of wine a day. And that¡¯s when he was sober.¡±

    Betty remembered how sweet Alberto Moretti had been to her the day they took Billy away. ¡°What happened to Mr. Moretti?¡±

    ¡°Turned out he was a bastard,¡± said Tom. ¡°Old Laurie¡¯s chief brainwasher. Probably used his tricks on you.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Betty wasn¡¯t sure if that made her feel better or worse. Less of a fool, maybe. Even more powerless, definitely.

    ¡°And then Allison ate him and took his powers,¡± explained Billy helpfully.

    ¡°What¡ª¡±

    Billy threw his hands up appeasingly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, it was by accident.¡±

    ¡°Point is,¡± cut in Allison, ¡°I can¡­ ask everyone in London. And they can answer. Seven million people. Someone¡¯s gotta figure it out. Even just by accident.¡±

    Betty was only an expert on Billy¡¯s powers, but she¡¯d been to enough concerts and royal shows or even just out on the streets to know what even a mere few hundred voices could be like. And that was outside her head. ¡°Are you sure, Allison?¡±

    ¡°Gotta try.¡±

    ¡°Look at it this way,¡± said Dr. Death. ¡°If you fry your brains, I can just blow them out¡ª¡±

    Betty slapped Dr. Death across his face. He rubbed his cheek. ¡°This is why I don¡¯t hang around civilians¡­¡±

    ¡°Right.¡± Allison sat down cross-legged. She didn¡¯t want to risk falling over in her trance. Be very embarrassing. She looked up at Billy and Tom and the two grown ups. ¡°Keep an eye on me, okay? I¡¯m gonna be¡­ distracted.¡±

    Tom, Betty, and Dr. Death voiced their reassurances. Billy drew Excalibur from its scabbard. ¡°You have my word.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡±

    Allison took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Within her, Alberto¡¯s voice was shrill:

    Seven million people! Christ¡¯s sake! Our brains will leak out of our bloody ears¡ª

    Allison felt Miri smother Alberto¡¯s protests. By humming. She was a good sister.

    It took Allison a few moments to visualise what she had to do. She pushed her mind out from her body in all directions, first swallowing her companions, making them annexes of her own consciousness. She could hear all four of them. The detente between curiosity and dread inside Dr Death. Tom¡¯s angry fretfulness. Billy¡¯s terrified optimism and still stinging betrayal. Betty¡¯s sheer confusion. Joy ran under and through everything else inside her and Billy, though. It made Allison smile. She hoped it didn¡¯t look weird. Myrddin¡¯s dome was a psychic void, which was no surprise, though Allison had held out hope she could simply extract the answer from his mind. Would have been easier.

    Allison made herself vast¡ªa spider unspooling into its own web. Her presence drowned the wood and steel forest of London in an invisible flood. London¡¯s people became minnows in her ocean, as aware of her as real fish were of air. They swam and wormed through Allison. Was this what an ant-hill felt like? Anger, confusion, fear, and every other emotion a person could feel burned bright and hot inside Allison, their colours melting white together. It felt like swallowing a whole galaxy. And they weren¡¯t even thinking at her yet¡­

    If Allison had truly been speaking, she would have cleared her throat:

    People of London. Me and my friends¡ªthe people of Catalpa¡ªare here to give your city back to you, but we need your help. A cruel wizard has given us a riddle to solve: when did falling stars grant no one their wish?

    The length of a synapse firing. Then, in voices soft and loud, sharp and dull, the city roared.

 Chapter One Hundred and Twenty: The Fisher Wizard

    Noise. Noise that was also light. The night sky, if every star was as close as the sun. That¡¯s what London was to Allison. Hundreds of thousands¡ªmillions¡ªof voices screamed within her. Most were confused. Others were afraid they were going mad. Given what they¡¯d lived through the last week, it was hard to fault their logic. Then there were the legions convinced this was a trap by Merlin and his turncoat superheroes, screaming abuse and threats at Allison from both their minds and their lungs. The barest sliver of herself still paying attention to the physical world could¡¯ve sworn she truly heard them, drifting and slithering through the trees around St. Paul¡¯s like demons on the wind. Allison didn¡¯t try to assuage any of them. It¡¯d be like trying to be an ombudsman for her gut flora. She simply kept broadcasting Myrddin¡¯s riddle, over and over:

    When did falling stars grant no one¡¯s wish?

    She was a lighthouse in a roiling psychic sea. Eventually, London¡¯s citizens, more than Allison could hope to count¡ªa cloud of glowing plankton carried on the tides of unthinking matter¡ªbegan to answer her message. Much of it was babble. More than a hundred thousand people repeated Betty¡¯s answer of ¡°When you tell someone what your wish was,¡± in nearly as many variations. Legions of children (and a surprising number of grown ups) recollected wishes gone unanswered or seemingly actively repudiated by the cold stars. Love. Wealth. Ponies and pet dragons. The city had become a vast, fractal brain, each cell and neuron a complete mind working independently of the rest. Woefully inefficient, but powerful.

    Allison was not inefficient. She sat cross legged before Myrddin¡¯s shelter of locks. She opened and shut her mouth over and over, letting each answer die in her throat as they failed to banish ¡°No¡± from her myriad futures. She¡¯d set Alberto and Miri help process to deluge the torrent of answers. Better three fingers in the dyke than one. Still, the living fibres of Allison¡¯s costume gorged on her sweat. The tips of her fingers and toes were cold and numb, but the real, feverish heat radiating off her could be felt from feet away.

    Billy stepped forward pulling along Betty in his hand. ¡°Allie¡ª¡±

    Tom put his arm out. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t distract her right now. Pretty sure we¡¯re standing in the middle of something big.¡±

    Tom was wise.

    The answers kept flowing; from the rich, the poor, the young and the very old; and everything outside and inbetween. A blasphemous young man in Chelsea offered the Nativity as a possibility. Conversely, a conservative vicar in Kensington suggested horoscopes. A poet at Middlesex simply said, ¡°When you wish to put the stars back<sup>1</a></sup>.¡±

    For whatever reason, the musings of a mother of four in a Poplar flat rose above the din inside Allison:

    ¡°I remember once, in the war, we got caught outside. My mum and dad, they must¡¯ve thought we were dead, but I was so little. I think a searchlight or something must¡¯ve glanced off the bomb.¡± The distant echo of a shudder. ¡°Like a falling star¡ª¡±

    Allison gasped like a fish pulled up into the dry. The future shifted as she fell on her back. Her body tensed and shook. All across London, the air itself seemed to exhale, its people alone  inside their heads again.

    Tom, Billy and the grown ups flocked around Allison. Her blood was lead in her veins, but Betty and Dr. Death lifted her up between them like she was a dry husk. ¡°Christ, girl,¡± said Dr. Death. ¡°You¡¯re half-cooked.¡±

    ¡°Did you find the answer?¡± asked Tom.

    Allison didn¡¯t have the energy to open her mouth. The answer passed from her to Tom like a dying dove.

    ¡°Ah.¡± Tom glowered up the face in the dome. ¡°The Blitz. Don¡¯t know if the Brits were wishing for anything, but the Nazis were. Didn¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°¡­Which Blitz?¡±

    Tom shouted. ¡°London! Either of them! Nobody¡¯s ever talking about Cardiff!¡±

    The face sighed. ¡°Well, I tried.¡±

    The dome collapsed, the locks exploding into rusty dust before fading into nothingness. A flock of great stones froze in the air, boulders riding steady, invisible geyers of force. Myrddin twisted around to face the interlopers, arms still raised in occultic exertion. ¡°My king¡ª¡±

    Billy pointed at Betty, his eyes fixed coldly on Myrddin. ¡°You lied.¡±

    Myrddin regarded the young woman supporting Allison Kinsey¡¯s pallid form. He¡¯d seen her face before, in a future he¡¯d sought to discard. The lady tilted her head. ¡°I still loved Billy, sir. Why would you ever tell a child they weren¡¯t loved?¡±

    Myrddin averted his eyes. ¡°I¡ªI couldn¡¯t let him be distracted¡ª¡±

    The roar hit Myrddin like a giant¡¯s fist. He flew backwards, landing hard on a ledger stone. Pain gnawed at the wizard¡¯s back, as though the tombstone were devouring him. Before Myrddin could draw a breath, Billy was on top of him. His claws slashed and dug into Myrddin¡¯s face.

    ¡°You thought I was dumb! Weak!¡±

    Myrddin grabbed the boy¡¯s arm. ¡°No¡ªBilly, I never¡ª¡°

    Billy broke free with almost pantherine strength, wrapping his claws around Myrddin¡¯s neck. ¡°Shut up! You don¡¯t get to use me! I¡¯m mine! Nobody¡¯s going to treat me like I¡¯m not mine anymore!¡±

    Betty ran over and pulled Billy to his feet by his shoulders. ¡°That¡¯s enough, honey.¡±

    Billy breathed heavily, nodding slowly. That was enough being David for him.

    Betty looked down at Myrddin. He wheezed, ¡°You are a good woman. A good mother¡ª¡±

    She kicked him in the side.

    Billy gathered himself. ¡°Betty, there¡¯s something I need to do now.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything, sweetheart.¡±

    Billy looked at Myrddin¡¯s stolen stones, still frozen mid-dance. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Mum. It won¡¯t be hard.¡±

    Billy strode towards the stones and spread his arms. Myrddin managed to sit up. ¡°Wait!¡± The shout wracked his chest, but Myrddin kept on. ¡°My king, please!¡±

    Transformation bloomed in Billy¡¯s hands. Silver storm clouds swallowed the stones. Billy found his lips trying to twitch into a smile. He could feel the atoms dancing. He thought about David again. Sometimes he confused Billy. Sometimes Billy even felt sorry for him.

    Sometimes, Billy understood him completely.

    The stones plummeted from the cloud like oversized hail. They¡¯d become cold, inert iron; stone that did not sing. Myrddin gasped as he felt his spellwork evaporate, as insubstantial as dew under the noon sun. Horror anthesized his pain and drove him to his feet. He stared at the stones. They were dead to him. William¡ªMyrddin¡¯s king¡ªhad stranded them all in this doomed world. Sense abandoned Myrddin. Rage rose in his throat as chants in Old Welsh, Latin; even English, that young Saxon bastard. A spell was born in his hands, red and grey with snapping jaws and¡ª

    Myrddin had enchanted himself against all sorts of things: fire, clubs, swords; even the eyes of fate.

    Guns, though? Those were new.

    Betty gasped as the bullet whizzed deftly into Myrddin¡¯s skull. Dr. Death¡¯s outstretched pistol sighed smoke. Billy looked away with screwed shut eyes as his brief mentor fell to the grass, blood oozing from a bindi sized hole in his forehead. Not forever, not forever, not forever, he kept repeating silently.

    The forest of London went first. All around St. Paul¡¯s, the trees dissolved into vivid yellow particles, so light they rose on the air itself. Billy thought it was gold dust at first, until the tickle in his nostrils told him it was pollen.

    Then, not far away but much higher up, Gloriana¡ªthe woman with gold in her veins¡ªblinked. She was floating above the Thames. Specifically, she was floating high above what appeared to be a bipedal battleship, shaking a brown naked boy child by the ankle. A little girl in what looked like a dancer¡¯s leotard was clinging to her left leg, trying to bite and scratch at her shin. The boy glared upside down at her. ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± he asked sourly. ¡°Arm getting tired?¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°¡­Why is my chest sore?¡±

    Fifty feet under them, the Scorpion glanced about itself, its many lights blinking confusingly. In St. John¡¯s Chapel, the hero Nevermore awoke to melting ice and terrifying numbness. And in the York Minster<sup>2</a></sup>, Esclabor the Saracen took one last puff of his cigar. ¡°I¡¯m glad it¡¯s over.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that, mate?¡± asked the Crimson Comet from the bar stool beside him.

    Metropole shook his head, like a man waking up. He narrowed his eyes at the other superhero. ¡°Ah, who are you?¡± His long face went pale. ¡°And what the fuck¡¯s happened to Piccadilly?¡±

    Ralph Rivers sighed. ¡°You might want another drink.¡±

    ?

    Darkness. Even more complete than in the Caledonian Forest. But still, it whispered.

    Myrddin opened his eyes and sucked in a hungry breath. Dried blood clung to his face like vampiric warpaint, baked by the heat of his resurrection. Betty Sullivan was holding Billy on her lap in front of Myrddin, toying with Billy¡¯s blond, human hair. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Myrddin,¡± said Billy. ¡°I couldn¡¯t just take the whole world away from them.¡± He looked down. ¡°My¡­ first parents did that to me. Then Lawrence tried to do it to me and my friends. He thought he was helping us, too.¡±

    Myrddin didn¡¯t respond. The graveyard¡ªall of London¡ªwas covered in fine, bumblebee yellow powder. The remnants of his forest. He rubbed his fingers in the pollen.

    ¡°Myrddin,¡± said Billy, ¡°are you alright.¡±

    The city could breathe again. It tutted in Myrddin¡¯s ears, finally able to patiently explain what it needed to tell him. Myrddin nodded at its silent counsel. He¡¯d been wrong to try and smother this place with his past. It didn¡¯t matter that the Romans had built the city. British hands and lives had made it what it was today, and it¡¯d been here much longer than Myrddin. It knew as much as the trees and the rivers.

    It told him why Nimu? had put him in the earth.

    Myrddin rose to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Billy.¡±

    Billy raised an eyebrow. ¡°Is that the kind of sorry you say before you¡¯re mean?¡±

    Myrddin chuckled sadly. ¡°No. I fear I reversed the order on that. But the error was not only mine. Those war-mongering fools. They woke me too early.¡±

    Betty and Billy rose warily. ¡°What are you saying?¡± asked Betty.

    ¡°Whatever happens out there in the world, there will be a day when every Britain is threatened.¡±

    ¡°Every Britain?¡± asked Billy. ¡°Like, Scotland, Wales, Northern¡ª¡±

    Myrddin raised a hand. ¡°It¡¯s alright, William. You don¡¯t need to understand.¡±

    Billy yelped. Myrddin¡¯s feet were sinking into the grass as though they were cinematic quicksand. ¡°Myrddin, what are you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be a king, Billy. Be a man. It¡¯s always better to be a man.¡±

    Allison Kinsey was leaning fully against Dr. Death, struggling to keep her eyes shut. She could swear she saw Myrddin disappearing beneath the ground. As sleep claimed her, a voice not belonging to Alberto or her sister whispered inside her:

    I shall return, girl, at the end of everything. At True November.

    ?

    There was a roar in Allison¡¯s ears. It didn¡¯t hurt her ears or jar her at all. She felt used to it, as though she¡¯d fallen asleep next to a waterfall. She was being held, too, like a much younger girl. The strong arms that held Allison jogged her lightly.

    ¡°Come on, Allie,¡± she heard Ralph Rivers say.

    Allison opened her eyes. The Crimson Comet was carrying her. They were standing with the other Catalpans between a chest high barrier of ice and the Thames. Beyond it, thousands and thousands of Londoners were yelling and screaming.

    No, they were cheering.

    Close-Cut was at the Comet¡¯s side, an arm about¡­ halfway across his broad shoulders. David and Brit were blowing kisses to the crowd, someone having somehow convinced the former to put his costume back on. Arnold was shooting lime lightning into the air like fireworks. Allison spotted Mabel in the sky, riding a pegasus flanked by a few of Catlapa¡¯s fliers. On the ground, Billy was holding Betty¡¯s hand. Tom proudly held up Billy¡¯s other hand, bathing Excalibur in light. Billy smiled bashfully.

    Allison rolled her eyes. Everyone else was looking cool in front of the whole world, and she was being carried like a baby.

    Ralph turned to Wally. Eh, what the hell.

    He pulled Wally into a deep kiss. If anyone watching objected, their alarm blended seamlessly with the rest of the noise.

    Allison cringed. And now the grown ups were kissing, too.

    Then it struck her. Billy holding the sword. Thousands of humans cheering.

    They¡¯d did it.

    Billy gently pulled his sword hand from Tom¡¯s and turned to the Thames. He threw Excalibur over the water. It spun through the air, sunlight flashing off the engravings on its blade:

    Take me up¡ªCast me away¡ªTake me up¡ªCast me away¡ª

    A pale arm caught Arthur¡¯s blade.

    ?

    The alien catheters and IVs withdrew like sated worms from Angela Barnes.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to use that bloody gun are ya?¡± Fred Barnes asked, voice too soft for his words. The last ten days had been rough on the man: trapped alone on Br¨°n Binn, his son missing for over a week, his wife languishing in his imagination. When the Catalpans had finally made it home, Mrs Barne¡¯s fingertips had gone black.

    Dr. Death shook his head. ¡°No, Mr. Barnes.¡± He pulled a needle full of something clear from his jacket. ¡°For the sake of our ears, we¡¯ll go for something quieter¡­¡±

    What felt like half of Catalpa watched with bated breath as Dr. Death slid the needle into Angela¡¯s sweat-slick arm. On the one hand, he found the vein quickly and cleanly. On the other, he didn¡¯t bother making sure the needle was free of air. What would be the point?

    Angela Barnes barely felt herself slip away.

    She stood in a snowy back garden in her leather work apron. The cold felt strange. She felt the dearth of heat in the air, but she did not shiver or feel the urge to shove her hands in her pockets. The chill had become a strange cousin to warmth, with its own virtues. She turned to find an old man sitting beneath a mound of blankets and winter clothing, his face all but hidden by his wooly cap and scarf. What skin Angela could make out was paper white. His dark irises were framed by scarlet cobwebs. Angela knew in her blood and bones how the cold would be hitting him.

    Stubborn old goat, she found herself thinking.

    The old man spoke, his words heavy with effort, ¡°The new boy¡¯s an idiot.¡±

    Angela knew he wasn¡¯t speaking to her. Behind her, a young man with blond curly hair was working diligently on a wood and wire chicken coop. Strong and handsome, his powerful shoulders were stiff in a way Angela knew well. The bearing of a man refusing to cry. ¡°Carl Vince? I went to school with him.¡±

    ¡°Yep,¡± said the old man. ¡°Don¡¯t know how he finished school and you didn¡¯t. Boy couldn¡¯t add one and one together¡­¡±

    Silence hung between the two men.

    ¡°You know,¡± said the young fella. ¡°I could just build you a new chicken coop. I¡¯ve got some ideas¡ª¡±

    The old man raised a hand, it shook. ¡°None of your funny tricks, boy. If you¡¯re gonna do it, do it properly.¡±

    ¡°¡­Sorry, Dad.¡±

    A frightening, rattling sigh. ¡°It ain¡¯t like that, son. It¡¯s just¡­ me and your ma have to keep it going when you¡¯re not around.¡±

    The man¡¯s son nodded, a little too hard. ¡°I get it.¡±

    Angela looked between the two men and shook her head sadly. ¡°Near-death (or post-death, as the case may be) experiences often share many similarities. Commonly reported elements include bright, white light, a sense of peace or other positive emotions, or the proverbial ¡°life flashing before your eyes.¡± Between 1966 and 67, however, an anomalous trend emerged. Many individuals who came close to death during this period instead reported witnessing a conversation between a man and his son, or other, more surreal, scenes from the life of a young superhuman boy.¡± href=¡±#fn3¡å id=¡±ref3¡å>3

    Angela gasped awake. Almost before she could suck back in the air, her husband and sons embraced her:

    ¡°Mummy!¡± Arnold cried.

    ¡°Thank God, Ange,¡± her husband murmured tearfully against her neck. ¡°Thank God¡­¡±

    In less than a minute, Dr. Death was gliding through Freedom Point¡¯s infirmary, administering his healing poisons. The sick returned to life and health in explosions of heat and gold. One trypanophobic patient asked for the bullet instead of the needle

    Allison and her mother watched the deadly business of medicine. ¡°Are you going to tell me everything I did was dangerous and I should¡¯ve let the grown ups handle everything?¡± Allison asked mildly.

    Drina Kinsey shrugged. ¡°Seems like things worked out about as well as we could ask.¡± She smiled down at her daughter. ¡°I¡¯m proud of you, Allie, really.¡±

    Allison took her mother¡¯s hand and squeezed.

    Angela Barnes wasn¡¯t one for lying in bed all day. After a few minutes, she managed to wrest herself from her family¡¯s embrace and get back on her feet. There¡¯d be all the time in the world for them soon. She had business to attend to. Arnold trailed after her like a baby duck, but that was perfectly alright.

    She found David lurking near the infirmary¡¯s door. ¡°Hey, Mrs Barnes. Glad you¡¯re better.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, David,¡± said Angela, trying to keep her composure in her hospital gown and bare feet. For once, David was more appropriately dressed than her. ¡°I wanted to say, before my¡­ spell, the things I said¡­¡± She looked down at her son at her side. ¡°They were wrong. Beastly, in fact. I apologize.

    David nodded. ¡°Ah, thanks.¡±

    ¡°I was thinking, some night, once everything¡¯s calmed down, would you like to join us for dinner? If Mrs Allworth doesn¡¯t mind, of course.¡±

    David looked at Arnold. The other boy looked fit to explode. David smiled. ¡°Sure thing, Mrs Barnes.¡±

    ¡°I expect clothes. Real ones.¡±

    ¡°¡­Fine.¡±

    A cry of surprise drew the three¡¯s eyes to the middle of the sickbay. Therese Fletcher¡ªthe Mirror Queen with her hood down¡ªwas waving about the arm of a woman in orange. ¡°I bloody found her! Finally!¡±

    The few people who recognized her prize went quiet, but it became catching quickly.

    ¡°¡­Good job, Therese,¡± said Allison, eyes fixed on the newcomer. ¡°But we already found someone to fix everyone.¡±

    ¡°What,¡± Therese said flatly.

    Dr. Death, about to finish off the last patient, waved. ¡°Hi. Dr. Death. These guys saved London for my bosses.¡±

    Therese took a deep, aggrieved breath. ¡°You¡¯re telling me, that I spent weeks looking for this lady¡±¡ªshe pointed sharply at the woman in the orange hood¡ª¡°While you people went on a great big adventure? And you didn¡¯t call me? I spent days traipsing around Poland! I had to go beat up Timothy bloody Valour in the end!¡± Therese threw her hands up. ¡°Fine, whatever. Quarantine over.¡± She started striding towards the infirmary¡¯s exit. ¡°I¡¯m going to get a drink.¡± She stopped mid-stalk and looked at Close-Cut. ¡°You, you¡¯re making me a new costume.¡±

    ¡°As if you had to ask, ma¡¯am.¡±

    David ignored Therese¡¯s tantrum, and instead focused on the lady in orange. He stepped forwards, peering under her hood. She took an anxious half step back, a stuttered word on her lips. She was ignored. David wrapped his arms around her middle, head buried against her shoulder. ¡°I missed you, Auntie.¡±

    A deep tremor of relief shook Eliza Winter. She let herself hold David. ¡°I missed you too.¡±

 Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One: Dispatches From Tomorrow

    <Nova Australian University Press, in partnership with the Catalpa Heritage Board, is proud to present the centennial edition of Dispatches from Tomorrow: Eighteen Months in the Super-City of Catalpa, by renowned journalist and superhuman correspondent Jessica Switt. The 1970 monograph was one of the earliest popular accounts of the burgeoning superhuman subculture of the mid-20th century, and the first intimate exposure many baseline humans had to the fledgling community of Catalpa. This new printing (coming Fall 2070 in paperback, hardcover, digital, and new neural-pollen formats) comes with annotations from leading superhuman, 20th century, and Catalpa historians. With the full permission and cooperation of Jessica Switt¡¯s estate, we have also been able to include her original draft notes. Excerpts below.>

    February 28th, 1967:

    To my knowledge, Catalpa is the first city on this planet to have anything close to a superhuman majority. It is perhaps sadly fitting for its first funeral to be for an ordinary man.

    I am sorry to admit neither myself nor Mr. French<sup>1</a></sup> ever got to know Jacob Gittleman. In a city full of wonders, it is easy to forget there is no such thing as a boring human being<sup>2</a></sup>. I¡¯m told by those who knew him well that Jacob was a New Australian¡ªthough long before that term became fashionable¡ªa Jewish escapee from interminable Russian pogroms<sup>3</a></sup>. Some things, unfortunately, never change.  Most such refugees ended up in the USA or Britain, though I am sure our country is better for having had Mr. Gittleman in it. He married, raised a family, ran a shop, and bought a house; the Australian dream<sup>4</a></sup>.

    His family was so assimilated into the fabric of the nation that, when his son found out his daughter could jog twelve miles an hour<sup>5</a></sup>, he and his wife immediately called the DDHA. The elder Gittleman, though, had a long memory, and took Naomi far, far away. It seems strange, that such a child would need the help of an old man to escape mere mortals, but only if you don¡¯t know children.

    Now Jacob Gittleman has returned to dust, a dead Jew in a town with no rabbi; not even any other Jewish adults. A problem to be sure. Luckily, Catalpa boasts a fine religious scholar¡ªeven if she is only ten years old.

    Ideally, a Jewish funeral is held as soon as possible, but the measles have kept everyone indoors and isolated for weeks. Embalming is forbidden, not that the town has any morticians. Perhaps Miss Kinsey could do the job, but who would ask such a thing of her? No matter. Catalpa has crypts of ice and alien steel.

    It¡¯s hot today, but it¡¯s always hot this far north. If anything, the weather¡¯s improving. It hasn¡¯t rained for two whole days. The air is thinning again.  Most of Catalpa has gathered in the grasslands beyond town, whether out of respect for the deceased or cabin fever. Few mourners are in black, for few Catalpans brought formal wear when they left for this strange new world. There are exceptions. Someone, Mrs Barnes perhaps, has provided Naomi with a white dress. The founding children¡¯s polymorphic costumes have all forsaken their usual bright colours. David Barthe¡¯s costume in particular¡ªwhich I¡¯m told he didn¡¯t even have to be bribed to wear¡ªputs me in mind of the sea on a starry, cloudless night. Wallace Grimsby¡¯s suit is a tailored void that eats sunlight. Its perfect blackness feels as showy as a peacock¡¯s tail feathers, but I have no doubt that for Close Cut, dressing down would be the ultimate disrespect.

    A plot has been dug without mechanical or supernatural aid, at Allison Kinsey¡¯s insistence. Mr. Gittelmen was the one irrecoverable causality of the epidemic. I fear his death is a weight on Miss Kinsey¡¯s conscience.

    Four strong men carry the coffin: all superheroes, all in costume. There was some argument about that. There¡¯s never been enough super-people in one place for people to decide if costumed pall-bearers are gaudy or uplifting. I for one wouldn¡¯t say no to being carried to my grave by actual superheroes, and Naomi agreed with me:

    ¡°I think Granddad would like that.¡±

    And that was the end of that discussion.

    The box is plain pine. If this was a Gentile funeral, I¡¯d put that down to poverty, but I¡¯m told that¡¯s traditional for Jewish coffins. An aron, they call them. A man is shut inside¡ªbody unburdened by chemicals or preservatives¡ªand not seen again by anyone except God. A pragmatic burial for a pragmatic people.

    As proxy rabbi, Miss Kinsey begins the service with a brief eulogy. Like many eulogies given by caring strangers, it is nonspecific and broad, though heavy with what I believe is genuine sorrow. She thanks Nurse Sandy for tending to Mr. Gittelman in his last moments, I suspect for her own sake as much as the man¡¯s. She promises Naomi that she will be looked after, as though she isn¡¯t a child herself. There¡¯s guilt in that promise, I think. Allison has only recently left the orphan¡¯s clique, and now she welcomes another girl into it.

    The other mourners voice their agreement in hushed voices. Naomi places her face in her hands, either to hide new tears or shield herself from the weight of all this attention. Either way, I can¡¯t say I blame her.

    A few people speak for Mr. Gittleman. Not too many¡ªJacob was a quiet, retiring type, and I suspect still conflicted about the crime committed in his granddaughter¡¯s name. This funeral is as much for her sake as it is her grandfather¡¯s, and I think even for the town as a whole. It is how they remind themselves they¡¯re still civilized, out here on the edge of the world. Still, those who do speak, mean it. Nurse Sandy speaks of his good humour in the infirmary, when he was still able to speak. Chen Liu talks about their common profession as jewellers, while also alluding with grim wryness to their shared otherness among us white folk. At the end, Naomi works up the courage to speak:

    ¡°I think¡ªGranddad was the nicest man in the world. And very brave.¡±

    She need say nothing more.

    Miss Kinsey leads the crowd in a Jewish hymn. She sings like a cantor¡¯s daughter. Maude Simmons follows without difficulty. The rest of us¡­ try our best, or remain respectfully silent.

    Later, I asked<sup>6</a></sup> Mrs Barnes¡ªtown standard bearer for Catholicism¡ªif she felt strange singing Jewish songs:

    ¡°They¡¯re still for the Father, ma¡¯am.¡±

    As I listen to the old Hebrew words, I find my mind wandering to the Jewish right of return. I wonder, if a Jewish superhuman felt the need to leave their homeland, where would they go? Israel or Catalpa? Which is stronger? Faith, or power?

    We each drop a handful of dirt atop the coffin, and the service concludes. A portal is opened to the wake in Freedom¡¯s Point. I am not surprised Naomi does not linger. I do, though, watching the gravediggers finish filling in the plot. I think about the man who, in a way, started this city: Herbert Lawrence. Was this how he imagined the end of the human species? Respectfully interred by our successors?

    From what I¡¯ve seen, the people who buried Jacob Gittelmen don¡¯t seem all that changed.

    Later, a fence was built around the grave, with space for more. Pragmatic.

    March 9th, 1967

    ¡°Turkey sandwich for Mrs Abebe!¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s in the back, Billy.¡±

    The boy beside me scowls, and, with an air of petulance, states:

    ¡°I¡¯m wearing the costume.¡±

    ¡°Right. Right. He¡¯s in the back, Growltiger.¡±

    Billy smiles. In this town, on a good day, he is known as Growltiger. Everyone does their part in Catalpa: even the children. It sounds practically Dikensian, but the children themselves don¡¯t seem to mind. Growltiger runs a sandwich route, delivering lunch to the hardworking people of Catalpa.

    I follow Billy into the greenhouse. The scents of  oranges, apples, pomegranates and more spice the humidity. Lumusi Abebe is stroking a pepper plant:

    ¡°Come on, honey, do not sulk,¡± she says, her words honeyed and gentle. Her English is excellent for a native Ghanan<sup>7</a></sup>. Since Allison Kinsey widened the recruitment drives, Catalpa has gotten very international.

    Back very straight, Billy presents his newspaper wrapped package like it¡¯s vital military intel. ¡°Turkey on white, lettuce and cheese,¡± he rattles off.

    Mrs Abebe raises an eyebrow. ¡°I told them brown.¡±

    Billy¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°Oh. I can take it back¡ª¡±

    Mrs Abebe waves off the suggestion. ¡°Do not worry about it, child. Just not used to the white stuff, that¡¯s all.¡± She smiles. ¡°Thank you, Growltiger.¡±

    Billy seems to grow half an inch at the use of his supernym, though his expression quickly sobers. He nods gravely. ¡°I¡¯ll tell Miss Sybil, though. You work hard.¡±

    I glance around the indoor jungle. ¡°I¡¯m shocked you feel the need to order out.¡±

    A sighing laugh. ¡°Trust me, Miss Switt, fruit can get very boring.¡±

    Billy scarpers off to hand lunch over to the lesser horticulturalists. Lumusi watches with bemusement. ¡°That boy better find someone kind, or he will be eaten alive.¡±

    Next we stop by a construction site. The influx of new residents has demanded much expansion, some of which is being overseen by Barry Robson. Sometimes, they call him Fo-Fum<sup>8</a></sup>.

    ¡°Parole officer here to bring me my BLT?¡± the big man asks.

    ¡°Yep!¡± Billy smiles waggishly. ¡°Long as you haven¡¯t robbed any banks today.¡±

    ¡°With Comet doing heavy lifting work right across the street? I¡¯d be mad, lad.¡±

    ¡°Oh. He¡¯s over that way? Cool. He was up next.¡±

    ¡°I take it you have a history with Barry?¡± I ask as we leave.

    ¡°Yeah. Me and some friends beat him and his friends up for being bad¡­ Miss Switt?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s a parole officer?¡±

    As we near the end of the route, I ask Billy why he feels this is the best use of his time. Sandwich toting does feel like an odd calling for a living philosopher¡¯s stone.

    ¡°You could make raw materials for the tradies or scientists.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I do that too. Just thought I could help more.¡±

    Billy is a ridiculously good boy.

    We come to a stop at Billy¡¯s house. The metal walls are painted to resemble white plaster. The patio is made of wood from no living tree.

    ¡°Miss Switt, could I ask you something?¡±

    ¡°Sure thing.¡±

    ¡°When you put all this in your book, do you mind saying my name is ¡®Billy Sullivan¡¯? Not St. George?¡±

    I nod. ¡°Hand to God.¡±

    I watch Billy embrace his mother on their doorstep. Mr. and Mrs St. George, you missed out. He asks that you do not contact him<sup>9</a></sup>.

    May 16th, 1967

    There have been many child rulers throughout history. Elagabalus<sup>10</a></sup> of Rome, Tutankhamun<sup>11</a></sup> of Egypt, Puyi<sup>12</a></sup> of China, and now¡ªwhether people admit it or not¡ª Allison Kinsey of Catalpa. For everyone¡¯s sake, I hope the fates are kinder to her than her spiritual predecessors<sup>13</a></sup>. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Today I am shadowing Miss Kinsey. She wakes up at 5am, and not half an hour later is outside my lodgings (a high-tech former prison cell) ready to drag me kicking and screaming into the morning. Normally, I would credit this early-rising spirit to dedication and work ethic. In this case, I think it¡¯s safer to say it¡¯s because she¡¯s ten years old.

    Still, Allison Kinsey is the only ten year old I have met who wakes up with bags under her eyes.

    After everyone else in town has had their breakfast, Allison takes her morning meeting with the city¡¯s worthies. The main subject of the day is city expansion. The town¡¯s population is on the brink of tripling, with new residents hailing from Melbourne to Moscow. Catalpa must bloom. As I sometimes do between research and helping Mr. Lewis, I take the minutes:

    BARNES: We need more street lights. A lot of heavy goods workers are returning home after sunset, and there¡¯s been a few near misses.

    (I should know. Just three days before, I was nearly trampled by a chariot drawn by enormous goats.)

    KINSEY: Okay, so if we get a couple miles of PVC piping and copper wire, we can wire up the outskirts to the tower. Then as the city expands, we can¡ª

    SIMMONS: Billy can¡¯t handle PVC yet. Says it makes his teeth feel fuzzy. Lots of copper, too. Not much left of it to scavenge from the tower.

    (Allison runs her hands down her face.)

    KINSEY: Right. Maybe if we use iron¡ª

    GRIMSBY: I can handle it, girl.

    (Allison regards the old fellow the way my niece does an unopened Christmas present.)

    GRIMSBY: Get Billy to whip me up some aluminium, I can cobble together something to fabricate some street lights. If Ralph is willing to lend a hand on material hunting, I should be able to fit them with photovoltaics.

    RIVERS: In English?

    (Close-Cut smiles indulgently.)

    GRIMSBY: They turn sunlight into electricity, dear.

    RIVERS: You lot and your loony gadgets.

    KINSEY: It¡¯ll take Billy a while to make that much aluminum. We don¡¯t want him going nuts and turning the cove into a bubble bath again.

    (David Barthe was deeply torn about that.)

    SIMMONS: Would anyone mind if I popped off to the Kuiper belt for a rock? I can bring it back here for mining.

    (I suspect Mistress Quickly wanted some time alone.)

    KINSEY: How long will that take? We need the saucer for pick-ups.

    SIMMONS: To get to the belt and back? Maybe a fortnight.

    GRIMSBY: Another six days to set up the automation.

    (Allison claps her hands)

    KINSEY: Right, go do that.

    Once that¡¯s done, Allison makes her rounds. Mrs Abebe at the greenhouses says Eliza Winter wishes to set up something called an ¡°appkin plantation.¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Allison tells her. ¡°But we¡¯ll need to set up a pen for them. They bite<sup>14</a></sup>.¡±

    Therese Fletcher is assembling stock for a town library from all over the globe. She assures me she¡¯s paying for them, though where she gets the money eludes me. Allison and Louise ¡°Brit¡± Michelson put down a brewing race-riot between newly arrived Japanese and Korean residents. Fred Barnes of all people speaks both languages passably.

    Allison rarely feels the need to linger long. There¡¯s always more to do. At about half past one, she stops for lunch with her mother.

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you go play with David?¡± she suggests. ¡°He says you haven¡¯t been to his beach lately.¡±

    Allison shakes her head. ¡°We¡¯re both busy.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think David¡¯s ever busy, darling. Sometimes he¡¯s just¡­ useful. You promise you¡¯ll take a day off tomorrow?¡±

    Allison huffs. ¡°Fine.¡±

    After this interlude, Allison holds court in the former warden¡¯s office at Freedom Tower, ready to serve her subjects:

    ¡°I need thirty pounds of uranium,¡± entreats Miss-Demeanour. ¡°I promise it¡¯s not for a bomb this time.¡±

    ¡°I caught my son smoking,¡± says Hettie Haldor, marble arms folded. ¡°Kids in this town are getting wanton,¡± she tells the child-queen.

    ¡°So, me, David, and Mr. Grimsby are up to a new Watercolours thing with the other hall kids,¡± says Mabel Henderson, her living fibre suit a mess of angry war-comic panels. She points next to her. ¡°And he turns up to auditions twenty minutes late.¡±

    David Barthe sighs dramatically, dripping wet onto the shag carpet ¡°I had a date with Brit! I brought a ¡®sorry¡¯ shark!¡±

    ¡°What am I going to do with a big dead fish, David?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t dead yet! And lots of things! Set decoration! Catering!¡±

    ¡°Ewww¡­¡±

    Allison Kinsey takes it all with quiet patience. It looks very similar to boredom.

    It¡¯s eight o¡¯clock before Allison¡¯s mother deems her work done for the day, calling her home via a Barnes sent note. I¡¯d say she¡¯s got more done today than most office workers do in a week.  As I walk her home, I hope she takes Mrs Kinsey¡¯s advice tomorrow.

    ¡°Miss Switt?¡± Allison asks tiredly.

    ¡°Yes, Allison?¡±

    ¡°Would you like to come have dinner with us tomorrow?¡±

    I¡¯m surprised. Allison barely appeared to remember I was there most of the day. I am flattered, though. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    May 17th, 1967

    I feel my invitation to the Kinseys¡¯ table had ulterior motives. Allison and Chen Liu sit opposite each other. Allison stares at the man with what I think is¡­ suspicion? Mr. Liu, meanwhile, is tucking into Mrs Kinsey¡¯s shepherd¡¯s pie with some enthusiasm. More than the food deserves, if I am honest. The man can¡¯t be faulted for his tactics. Drina, for her part, is glaring between myself and Allison as if wishing we¡¯d catch fire.

    After the first twenty minutes of this, I set down my fork.

    ¡°Is this a bad time?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Allison says brightly, just as her mother says ¡°Yes.¡±

    I nod, and keep my quiet. It¡¯s one of the first things you learn as a reporter: silence asks the best questions. Mr. Liu breaks first:

    ¡°No offence intended, Ms. Switt. Drina invited me here to get to know her daughter.¡± Very quickly, he adds, ¡°And Miri. Not for an interview.¡±

    Miri beams at the acknowledgement. It seems the terms of her relationship to Mrs Kinsey have yet to be negotiated. She¡¯s wearing Brit¡¯s body to dinner. Says that Mrs Barnes was serving something she didn¡¯t like down at the Children¡¯s Hall.

    I raise my empty hands. ¡±Do you see a notepad? I didn¡¯t even know you were going to be here, Mr. Liu.¡±

    Allison has her arms folded. ¡°Why do I need to get to know you? We know each other plenty. You attacked me and my friends.

    Chen shrugs. ¡°Me and your mother. We¡¯re¡­ spending a lot of time together.¡±

    Allison cuts to the point. ¡°You¡¯re not my dad, AU.¡±

    That¡¯s the first lesson of Catalpa. I tell it to all who come here. This town is built on a thousand broken hearts. Everyone has a story. Oftentimes, it can be gleaned just by who¡¯s not at the table with us.

    ¡°Allie!¡± Mrs Kinsey snaps. ¡°You know Chen doesn¡¯t like that name.¡±

    I can¡¯t blame him. Makes him sound like a currency abbreviation. Perhaps when the new money is rolled in?

    Chen sighs. ¡°Allie, I¡¯m not trying to be anything you don¡¯t want me to be.¡±

    ¡°Yes you are! You¡¯re coming over all the time, eating our food.¡± Allison points at her mother. ¡°Mum¡¯s married. To my dad.¡± She sputters. When she speaks coherently again, I think she¡¯s attempting to channel Mrs Barnes. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ sinful!¡±

    Silence. I am genuinely glad I brought only my memory. A pencil against paper would¡¯ve been loud as gunfire.

    Miri is the first to break. ¡°¡­Can he be my dad, though?¡± she asks her sister. ¡°He¡¯s nice.¡±

    Blood rushes to Chen¡¯s face. This is the only time I have ever seen Allison glare at her sister. ¡°No.¡±

    Miri shrills, ¡°Why not? I haven¡¯t even met your dad! Chen¡¯s nice!¡±

    Drina sets her fork down beside her plate.

    ¡°Allie. Look at me.¡±

    She speaks in that tone that forces children to obey. I¡¯ve tried it a hundred times¡ªusually covering primary school puff pieces¡ªbut never figured out how to make it work.

    ¡°Drina,¡± says Chen. ¡°It¡¯s fine, really¡­¡±

    Drina raises her hand. ¡°Chen, this has nothing to do with you. Allie.¡±

    Allison looks at her.

    ¡°Your father isn¡¯t coming, Allie,¡± says Drina. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t come with me, and I don¡¯t intend to wait for him.¡±

    The quiet that follows is broken only when Allison stands from the table, and asks to be excused. Miri follows, a hug brewing between Louise¡¯s arms, bless her heart. From upstairs, those who remain can hear her sobbing.

    I pick up my wine glass.

    ¡°Times are tough all round,¡± I say, staring into the red liquid.

    ¡°She¡¯ll get there,¡± says Drina, her fists clenched on the tabletop. ¡°She just needs time. Please excuse yourself, Ms. Switt.¡±

    Frankly, the command is a relief. I¡¯m a journalist, not a voyeur. I head into the night, and go to Libertalia to drown out what I just saw<sup>15</a></sup>.

    June 13th, 1967

    Eliza Winter does not live in Catalpa. She says she has obligations some miles east, to the powerless of this world. Still, distance means little in this town, so she is frequently dragged through wrinkles in space-time to mend misadventures. Today though, she¡¯s visiting her nephew.

    David Barthe runs laughing over the water. Every comparison I can think of is both blasphemous and inaccurate. David is no one¡¯s saviour. He exists all for his own sake. He¡¯s naked, but it¡¯s easy to forget that. His brown<sup>16</a></sup> skin seems to radiate warmth. His wet black hair lies seal-slick against his scalp. I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ve ever seen it dry. The boy is the perfect blend of European and African, a living refutation of homogeneity. All around him, fish are flung from the ocean into a floating globe of water the size of a whale¡¯s head. It could be an alien planet, streaked with drifting archipelagos of silver fish.

    ¡°Eliza, are you looking?¡±

    I and Miss Winter are on a drift of ice, sitting atop a beach towel. With her orange cloak swapped out for an equally orange one piece swimsuit, Miss Winter does not look thirty-five years old. Lucky woman. Eliza smiles with proud languor behind her sunglasses:

    ¡°Yes, David, I¡¯m watching.¡±

    David sucks his lip in delight, and proceeds to cartwheel around the globe, more fish flying, flopping and gasping into the water. This is David¡¯s great contribution to Catalpa: fishing. It¡¯s hard to see it as a job, though, the way he does it. We should all be so lucky to find work indistinguishable from play.

    Eliza turns to me. ¡°He never used to smile like that. It¡¯s beautiful.¡± The words sound painful for her. She looks back at David, wistfully. ¡°I wonder what his father would think¡­¡±

    ¡°Surely he¡¯d be pleased?¡±

    Miss Winter nods vigorously. ¡°I know he would be. Nothing else mattered to him. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much of Hugo is left in David. Was that all he got from his father? The parts that hurt?¡± She shakes her head. ¡°Silly, greedy thought. Children aren¡¯t made to be mirrors. But  Hugo would be happy that David reflects him so little. It¡¯s¡­ strange.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me.¡±

    David is standing before us, arms folded, an arch, princely frown on his face.

    ¡°I have plenty of Dad in me.¡±

    Eliza stammers. ¡°Of course you do, David¡ª¡±

    David shakes his head. ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie, Auntie, even if you¡¯re wrong.¡±

    I feel an interview coming on. ¡°Would you like to share, David?¡±

    David smiles. ¡°We both liked movies! And I¡¯m really good at maths!¡± He stands very straight and recites, ¡°One, one, two, three, five, eight¡­¡±

    Eliza conceals a chuckle behind her hand. ¡°The Fibonacci sequence.¡±

    David nods happily, hopping onto the ice-raft and settling beside Miss Winter. He leans into her, eyes closed. ¡°I¡¯m not angry, Auntie. It can be hard to tell. Daddy was human. I¡¯m not.¡±

    Eliza frowns. ¡°Oh, David, don¡¯t talk like that.¡±

    David looks up quizzically. ¡°But it¡¯s true!¡±

    ¡°Laurie said a lot of silly things about us.¡±

    David shakes his head. ¡°Not like Laurie said. We¡¯re not the same. You¡¯re a human, Arnold¡¯s a human. Allison¡¯s¡­ still kind of  human, a little, but I think she¡¯ll stop once we¡¯re bigger.¡±

    Do I detect a note of hope in the boy¡¯s voice?

    David puffs out his chest. ¡°Me, I¡¯m not even a super. I¡¯m water. All of it.¡±

    ¡°Like Neptune?¡± I ask. ¡°Are you calling yourself a god, Mr. Barthe?¡±

    It¡¯s not an unreasonable idea. More than one superhero has claimed to be a byblow of the Olympians. I could believe David bleeds gold.

    David jumps to his feet and wriggles proudly. ¡°Bigger.¡±

    ¡°How so? To me, you seem the model of a healthy, superhuman ten year old. I hope that doesn¡¯t offend, it¡¯s still a wonderful thing to be.¡±

    David regards me thoughtfully, head cocking back and forth. He places two fingers under his chin. ¡°¡­I could show you.¡±

    My pen cuts a bleeding black gash across my notepad as I stagger to my feet. Every cell in me says ¡°Yes!¡± well before my mouth does.

    ¡°David,¡± Eliza says sternly. ¡°Don¡¯t go playing tricks on Miss Switt.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± David protests. ¡°She wants to understand.¡±

    I throw a glance back at Eliza. ¡°I¡¯m a big girl, Miss Winter. I can handle myself.¡±

    I walk to the edge of the ice as Miss Winter watches warily. David takes me by the hand. I feel the warmth of it beneath his thin glove of water droplets. At his prompting, I step out onto the sea. For a moment, it bears my weight like a concrete sidewalk.

    Then, it swallows us.

    He takes me down. I¡¯m not sure calling him ¡°David¡± is entirely appropriate here. His body falls away as a cavern of spun ice forms around me. Its inner surfaces are riddled with whorls and spirals; a child¡¯s drawings on a kitchen wall. We descend deeper and deeper over fields of coral and long, waving seaweed. I find myself wondering how much air is in this thing. Might David forget we who breathe?

    The diving bell reaches the seafloor. A man¡¯s shadow stands behind the green blue ice. Its owner steps through as if the walls aren¡¯t even there. A man who could be David¡¯s cousin, or perhaps his uncle.

    He is a god. I say this without hyperbole. It is evident in every part of him, though it¡¯s not the body. No crass emulation of statues in old galleries. His skin is moonlight, not dead marble. Indeed, this man is slender, his features fine. His musculature defined, true, but faint. No. It¡¯s in his bearing. The careless arrogance in eyes that glow with a far deeper, more ancient light than the boy who brought me here.

    He has David¡¯s curls, and David¡¯s beauty. There, the similarity ends.

    ¡°You want to understand us,¡± he says in a voice that contains no words beyond the quiet power of the surf. ¡°You will fail.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d still like to try.¡±

    David tears himself free from the ice. ¡°Hey Grandpa.¡± He squints his fog green eyes. ¡°You look¡­ alive today.¡±

    ¡°This human is brave,¡± the man says. He smiles. His teeth are plated with abalone.

    ¡°¡­Did you brush your teeth?¡± David asks. ¡°Where¡¯s the algae?¡±

    ¡°She can ask her questions, my child. As many as she pleases.¡±

    The god of oceans<sup>17</a></sup> proves to be very engaging conversation. But that¡¯s an interview I¡¯ll be keeping to myself<sup>18</a></sup>.

    July 17th, 1967

    On Monday, July 17th, 1967, a East Berlin border guard was shot attempting to pursue a fugitive fleeing into the western half of that fractured city. The Warsaw Pact claimed the man was a spy for NATO. NATO claimed he was simply a refugee. Even today I can¡¯t say what the truth is. What I do know is the German Democratic Republic blockaded West Berlin, with full Soviet backing. The Americans sent in their planes, and the the Soviets provided their allies with anti-aircraft guns, ¡°to guard against imperialist bombings.¡± The Americans called it a blatant act of intimidation. Vietnam was emptied of troops for Germany. On the 28th, the Fulda Gap bled Soviet tanks.

    I wasn¡¯t there when World War 3 began, but I saw it¡¯s end.

 An Embarassingly Late Hiatus Note

    Hello everyone, you might''ve noticed the lack of updates in the last... three months or so. I actually posted about this on the story''s website, but only just realized I hadn''t posted the message here:

    "The New Humans will be going on a hiatus of new material for a while. The chapters you have seen so far have been first drafts, and we¡¯ve reached a point where the final sections would rely on material that is already planned to be changed. We¡¯re currently working on revising and editing the earlier material to reflect our evolving vision for the story. Progress is going well, and the new material will be available in some format reasonably soon.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Best wishes, as always, thank you for reading."

    ¨CHenry and William.

    As of late, we are still in the process of editing book one, which is going well, and we have already made and are planning many interesting changes.

 Progress Update (13/05/2022)

    Hello again, Good Readers. I just wanted to let you guys know that at the beginning of the week, we handed over the manuscript for The Cold Peace over to an outside editor, who is presently looking over it. Me and Wrave will soon be starting work on the second volume. I apologise if the process is feeling a bit protracted, but we were stalled for about a month and a half when my computer failed, and I had to replace the whole thing, which was a bit of a financial and technical ordeal. That''s sorted now, so I expect the next volumes will proceed more smoothly.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Best regards, Henry.