theurges

"What are you doing right now?"

"Tracing my finger along the... Bones of a new idea."

"Please don't get abstract on me, St. John. I need to know how fast you can get here, not how much pot you smoked today."

"Sorry, I was thinking pictures. I'm here. I can get your heartrate from your cell phone now, even when it's in your pocket. Buzz showed me how."

"Listen, I'm in the city and I can't get ahold of Nadine. I need you to come help me with an induction."

"Oh yeah? How long have you been here?"

"Sisterhood furlough. I just got in today, I have a week. I was planning on hitting the spa but I want to take care of this first."

"What are we looking at, Apache?"

"Gypsy."

"Gypsy, sorry. What's the situation?"

"The usual. Teenage girl, sudden expansion, sitting at a bus stop when it happened. She's choking on it."

"Can you lock her down?"

"I'm doing what I can, but I need somebody to do the low-level before I can move her."

"Where's Jane?"

"I'm on my own today."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Can I...?"

"Send Michael, by all means. I haven't talked to her in a week."

Nadine and Michael pulled up in a car ten minutes later.

"Sorry we're so late."

"I thought it would be a half hour!"

"It would have been, but Andrew's monkeying with the streetlights again. Hi, by the way."

Gypsy pulled her oldest friend into her arms. She looked amazing.

"I'm sorry I haven't called. We were in Arizona, and before that you know..."

"It's been almost a year, Gypsy. You couldn't drop a postcard?"

"Oh my God, remember those postcards I used to send you?"

"I still have every one."

Nadine was proud; her back was strong. She was wearing sunglasses. She'd lost some weight. Gypsy was proud to see she wasn't wearing those Claire suits, like she assumed. She was wearing just a simple sun dress, and some sandals. She looked like herself, but more. She took off her sunglasses and inspected Gypsy carefully.

"Are you eating?"

"Yes. Yes, mom, I'm eating."

"When was the last time you called Palatine?"

Gypsy giggled, and Michael stepped into her arms.

They got the girl into the car, Nadine looping up a strain here and a bulge there to make her easier to manage.

"She's really strong," Nadine said, huffing with effort, while Michael and Gypsy lifted her into the backseat. Buzz nodded, at the wheel. He winked at Gypsy, and the three women piled into the back.

All the way back, Buzz talked about this and that. Andrew was working on a deal to monetize his connection scenarios, something they didn't really understand all about, but he was excited because it would be the first publicly traded company for people like them.

"After Croatia," he said, and left it with that, but Gypsy nodded. Nadine shook her head.

"What's it like in Arizona?" she asked. "People have been appalling."

"It's just hard to accept that things have changed," Gypsy said breezily, and Nadine nodded.

"I wish Claire were here, she'd love to see you."

That evening, Nadine was exhausted. The girl had been too broken for her to do much good, so she'd left her with Andrew and Michael and called it a day. Her mother was in town, staying in Gypsy's old room -- Gypsy was staying with Michael -- and all she could think about the whole way home was slipping off her shoes and having a drink. Lord knew what her mother would have done with the place.

When she walked in, the furniture had been rearranged and her mother was attempting to put together a floor lamp in the living room.

"I think I might be electrocuted, and will probably perish as a result, but I'm glad you're here to see it. This room needs light."

Nadine agreed.

After a half-hour of conversation, she was still keyed up from the day, so without warning she retrieved her bathing suit and something for Marion from the bedroom, and started packing a big tote bag full of picnic foods.

"Get your towel, mom. The sun's going down."

Marion complained all the way out the door. But when they were on the sand, watching the sun go down over the sea, she quieted down. And when it was dark, she took her mother by the hand, and they rushed forward together, toward the ocean.

The next morning, salt clinging to her skin, she showered and dressed for work. She was on call, but for the new girl, and had already planned a date for that evening, with Jeremy. She'd expected Marion to complain, talk about how she was only in town for a little while, but she just giggled and said she'd already made plans with Grace and Michael.

"We're giving Apache a makeover!" she shouted triumphantly, and Nadine reminded her that her name was Gypsy now, and Marion rolled her eyes, and chuckled to herself.

And when she arrived at the clinic, she said hello to the desk girl, and waved to Buzz and Andrew in the staff room, and grabbed some coffee, and headed up to the third floor.

"You can stop it," she told the girl, who stopped twisting in the sheets at her voice.

"I can help you, but you have to do it on your own." 

THE END

Michael was wearing a crown. Sometimes he was a man, sometimes a woman. Sometimes they danced. Other times, her nails raked across his chest, or her face. He kept holding on. She felt caught, horrible, claustrophobic. "Fucking let me go, you dyke!" she yelled, barely conscious. "No," Michael said, and only held her tighter. She became fire, and a tree. They were doves, fluttering madly in a column of light. They were tigers, clawing at each other on hind legs. They were fucking. They were fighting. He wouldn't let go. She slammed one fist into Michael's breasts, and grabbed at his cock with the other. He moved about her, infinitely flexible, evading her harsher attacks like smoke. "I have somewhere to be," she said, distracted. She was leaving a night club, two sheets in, unsteady on her heels. He was wearing a tuxedo and that crown, holding out a rose. She was on her knees in an alleyway, and Michael stood in the rain, holding out her hands. Apache took them, and he clamped the bracelets on faster than she could see. Their blue-black obsidian light was sickly in the circle. They moved like water, like hideous biology, curling around her wrists like an unwelcome lover and a parasite and a teacher and a punishment, licking at her hands, drawing tighter as they met in the center, drawing her hands together. Like handcuffs. Michael stood above her, looking down. Michael stood below her, looking up. She was larger than the world; she was invisibly small. And Michael stood there, arms held out, ready to catch her. Apache shook her head: Not that way. She became fire, and curled around him. The snakes clattered to the floor like chains.

Nadine shrugged off Jane and Claire, standing in the torrents. Fire rained on her; the wind licked at her burning lips.

"Michael, you can leave the circle."

"But this is what I do, here. I hold her."

"She gets it. We all get it. She's stopped changing shape. This isn't about you."

Apache nodded, huffing like a prizefighter, hands on her knees. She puked in the circle, and it burned like her skin.

"Apache Tear, can you hear me?"

Apache nodded again, still looking at the floor, bent.

"Tell me where you're at."

Buzz started forward, but Grace pulled him back, with a finger to her lips.

"I can't even remember my name, Blue. I'm fucked."

"No, you're okay."

"Blue, you have to..."

"-- Nope. You were right when you said Michael can't do this part. Grandmother can't do it either. I certainly can't do it."

"I'm losing control of my... Shit, my stuff. My body. I don't know..."

"Pick them back up."

"What? That's some S&M bullshit, I'm not into..."

"Just trust me? You don't have to put them on."

Apache nodded, barely conscious, and bent to pick up the snakes.

"What do you see, Patch?"

"I thought it was my totem. I thought I was a snake. Like I could just change into my next thing and leave everything behind."

"And?"

"And they're handcuffs. It's not that easy."

"Would you stick around to save Michael?"

"Don’t."

"Would you stick around to save me?"

"'Course," Apache said, losing her footing.

"But would you die to save me?"

"That's what I'm doing, Blue."

"I don't mean that. I mean, would you die, like, Elphie dead? Morally ethically spiritually physically positively absolutely undeniably?"

"That would be a start."

"Would you die like that for Michael? If you'd never met Grandmother, would you be willing to do that for one of us?"

"Yeah. Even Ruthie. But so what, I know what you're going to say..."

"-- Then don't make me say it."

Apache breathed, nearly falling.

"Look," Nadine said, pushing her luck. "Things are bad. I respect that. They've been bad for a long time. But they've also been good for precisely that amount of time. And infinity is automatically bigger than everything that's got you freaking out right now, which means things are going to get great again, and you're going to miss it. What if I told you that you didn't kill Sylvia Gostock?"

"Can you prove that?"

"That's not the question. I'm asking what it would change."

"Not really anything."

"What if I told you that you positively, absolutely killed her? What would that change?"

"Not really anything."

"Look, Apache Tear. Look at what you made."

A moth took flight around the room, light as a feather. It dusted Grace with its wings, and looped a slow delightful arc around the room before landing on Michael where he'd fallen. Apache stood, to get a better look, and it zoomed above her head, making her laugh, before circling around again and taking light on her outstretched hand.

She could crush it, she thought. Just crush it in her hands, easy as anything. It was small, almost made of paper. But it was lovely, and it was hers. She bent to kiss it, perched on her hand, and it shivered deliciously, but didn't move. It was hers. It always had been.

Michael was on his knees, burning red. The light around her suddenly blazed white, and the whole room seemed to lift into the air. She brought him up, off his knees, and smiled generously at him even as the light faded. He was nearly too far gone to care. Nadine, knowing that look as well as her own hands, or feet, or legs or breasts, sat back in the wheelchair, sweat across her brow. Grandmother blew her a kiss, and vanished.

They said goodbye to the towers, first Ruthie and then -- after a shove from Agnes -- Nadine, and then with regret Buzz. And Andrew closed the circle, as Jeremiah stepped regretfully away. Claire went to him, the second the circle had closed, and gave him a hug of her own. Andrew refused to look at either of them. The heaviness left, and the pressure lifted; the sounds were gone and the smell of electricity, and they were people again.

The White Sisterhood went for cakes and coffee, which caused Buzz to go into some kind of feminist tailspin until Claire patted his shoulder and shook her head. "This is what we do," she said, and shook her head. "They. This is what they do." The rest of them Chart-Danced awkwardly, and Nadine didn't have the heart to remind them that they had no patients.

Everybody trailed out of the room. First the Sisters, to earth the energy and get their gear packed for Croatia. Then, one by one, the Halcyon staff, with tired smiles and claps on the back, as though it were just another day in the life.

Jeremiah stayed behind, to make sure Nadine was put in a proper bed, in a proper room, on a proper floor, and her medical needs were taken care of before everybody passed out. It was sweet; she could barely care.

And so it was that when Jeremiah Tarquin kissed her softly on the lips, Nadine Blumenthal was nearly asleep.

She thought it was a dream for almost a year; it embarrassed her when she remembered it, which was often. More often than she'd like.

And when she finally told him, he blushed to the roots of his perfect hair.

Alone in the conference room, Apache held her hands up over her head, dancing the hula where nobody could see her. The blue snakes came alive in her hands, like lightning. Like fire.

There were blue sparks, all along Apache Tear's hands. She held them like lightning, high above her head. Not too hard and not too soft.

One snake bent and softly licked her wrist. She smiled as its sister burnt in turn.

"I call on Uriel -- thanks, Nadine -- I call on Uriel, Guardian of the North. I stand in the North and invoke the Powers of Earth, stabilizer and nurturer, White Buffalo Woman, Grandmother Spider. She rakes the ground and shakes the earth, she is solid as the mountains and quick as the water and the wind and the fire."

Jeremiah stared at Ruthie, intrigued. She'd been so quiet, so small, before now. Now he could see why Jane Crow chose her to hold the Tower: she was like a pillar of stone whose roots dove down below the crust beneath them. Even with the obnoxious pseudo-Native Wiccan deal, she was clearly in her element. So to speak.

At first he'd overlooked her -- Jane Crow was exotic, and Hannah was straight sexy -- but now she seemed like an axis of the world. He cast his eyes around the group, and noticed Michael noticing her as well, as if for the first time. This was somebody who'd been through the shit and come through it.

"Apache, I didn't like you when we were growing up because I thought you weren't serious. I was, and am, grateful for your help that time. I'm returning the favor. But I can't see that you're any more serious now than you were back then. Maybe I just don't get you. Like Buzz said, you live in the South. Winter Horse always said the other quarter is your blind spot, so maybe that's why we never got along. You're too much fire and I'm too much earth."

Apache nodded, splaying her hands apart in a movement of placation. Nadine could understand: it was so obvious it was almost past mentioning.

"But there's a thing that I can give you that nobody else can: I've been through this. I've made the choice you're making. And I can make sure you make an informed choice. I can offer you checkbooks and tax breaks and landscapes and laundry. I can offer you the most delicious food, and babies' diapers. I can give you money and success, and heartbreak and failure. I can give you everything that chases you down."

Apache dragged her brain back to the conversation, and turned near-comatose Michael around in the circle so she could look closer at Ruthie. She'd grown into a woman.

"You used to gather us around in the Sweat and teach us this stuff. You'd tell us how to put on makeup, and tell us myths and stories about men and women and the magic they'd make. You didn't know anything. You were reading from Danielle Steele and Babysitter's Club. Some of us knew, some of us didn't. I knew, but I kept quiet. You were pretending. And you've pretended yourself right into a trailer park."

Apache scoffed, looking around herself as though that would save her.

"This is all an act. You come to these people like a fucking addict and think that just because they love you, you've become a grownup. I own ten condos. It's how we pay for the Sisterhood."

"What is the Sisterhood, anyway?" Apache asked.

"We're like the Sweat. But on steroids. You guys at Halcyon wait around for people to come to you. We've got the best psychics looking for trouble spots. There are seven Halcyon centers in the entire world. Do you know how many Sisters there are?"

"Ruth," Jane said. Not harshly, but firm. "The subject. Stick to it."

"You taught me the world. You taught me to be afraid of it, and to love it. You taught me how to dress, how to talk, how to live. All the things you and Nadine forgot, you taught me. And I don't know why it took, for me. But I want to return the favor."

"You sound like a bitch," said Apache.

"I... Know. I know that, I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be a bitch. But my thing, one of my abilities, is looking at the clock over your head. And it's ticking down, Apache Tear. And that pisses me off. Because I've lost a lot, trying to save the world. My family is the women in this room. I wouldn't give that up for anything. But when I was little, I used to imagine my wedding. Did you ever do that?"

Apache's speech was halting when she replied. "When I was going to sleep, sometimes." She blushed, looking at Michael. "Sometimes still. Whatever a good day is. Sometimes it's being interviewed on Ellen."

"I won't have a wedding. I gave that up. I burned off a part of myself because I knew I could make a difference. And I'm standing here looking at you -- going through something I went through, and making the weak choice -- and I know, I can feel, that before you even started this shit you were more powerful than any of us. More than Nadine, even. And you're giving that up? That spits on me. You spit on me."

"I'm not spitting. I'm tired."

"We are all tired, Apache Tear. I'm tired. You've nearly killed Nadine and Andrew..."

"-- And Gostock probably, and a host of other people. Maybe Winter Horse."

"That's supposition. The person whose life you're responsible for is Apache Tear. You can save that life. You give up nothing."

"So they keep telling me. Nobody will tell me the catch."

"Here's the fucking catch, trailer trash: You have to eat, you have to shit, you have to get your period. You might get pregnant and have a baby. You have to pay your bills on time. You have to care for your credit rating like a fucking blind wallaby."

"What?"

"I don't know. We went to the zoo. I have wallabies on my mind. Fuck that. Don't drag me off-track. I'm talking about this," Ruth said, stomping one small foot. "This is all around you. You deserve it. You don't even know the deal. What people have given up. What people are going through. Because you're so busy feeling sorry for yourself."

Life flooded Apache. Her cheeks reddened, and she drew herself up to her full height.

"Listen, bitch. I have never felt sorry for myself. You don't know me."

"I know you've let yourself rot. You were the brightest among us. The last fifteen years have been a fucking litany of how much easier it would be if Apache were here, what if Apache just showed up and saved us from this fucking jam. We don't need you, but it's hard to hate you when we know you're just in some fucking trailer park letting it go to waste. At the least you could have worked here, at the Clinic, but no: not Apache. Too unique. Too burdened by a lifetime of pain."

Apache opened her mouth once, twice, and shut it again with a slapping sound both times. There was nothing to say. Ruthie was on a tear.

"I bring you numbers, and money. Good wine, rich food. I bring you the sky falling down with pleasure. I bring you your body, and all the wonders of the world. And all the terrors and inconveniences and annoyances, too. I drop those at your door. What makes you so special, that you don't have to worry about a mortgage? If you said it was because you were an artist it would make me sick, but you can't even manage that. You live above the world, skating over it."

"We're losing her," Buzz said, shuddering.

"Seriously. Ruth, can you possibly...?"

Ruthie shook her head at Claire and Jane Crow, separately, and sent an apologetic smile Buzz's way.

"I can talk to you like this because I know you. You made me. You took me out of heaven, or hell, or whatever it was, and you put me right back in the world. You know what you did. You fixed it. And it's not easy, and it's not nice, but it's life. Life, do you understand? I've met what they're turning you into. You think you're going to be like Grandmother? You're not. You'll be a clockwork thing, not alive and not dead. Just one thing, all the time. You'll be the Angel of Rape, or Revenge, or Adultery, or fuckin' Hedgehogs, and that's all you will be. You don't get a choice. They don't tell you that part. They just wind you up and let you go."

Apache shook her head.

"Grandmother said I would just nudge things..."

"-- Yeah. The Angel of Nudging. Of Inconvenience or Resentment or Bitterness or Dropped Cell Phone Calls. Or if you're really lucky, you can take over for the big boys: Mercy, or Justice."

Apache had no response to that.

"So Grandmother's really just..."

"No, she's awesome. There are plenty of people and spirits and whatever who would excel at that stuff. I'm just saying it would be the easy way out. For you. You excel at being alive. At being Apache Tear. You would lose that. And I would fucking hate you for it."

(Nadine nodded; it was too close for complete comfort to a frequent rant of Apache's: "I'm sure there are excellent bank tellers and apartment locators and infantrymen and kindergarten teachers and priests, I'm just saying most people who do that are choosing the easy way out. I've met very few people who were honestly put on this earth to do those things." She'd always found it offensive, but now she was picturing Apache as all of those, one by one, and realizing Ruth was right.)

"Don't get confused. If you do this, you do this, and Apache Tear -- the woman we're all here to save, the woman we all love, even if we hate your ass -- is gone. You're going to lose your genitalia, did She tell you that part?"

"No, she did not."

Michael laughed at that, still swooning.

"So what you're saying is, you hate me so much you'd die to keep me around?"

"No. What I'm saying is, and maybe I should have started with this, is that everybody else -- even Nadine, in her rambling way -- is here to give you something. Weapons or armor or stories or pictures. But I'm here to take something away."

"And that's what?"

"Hate."

"What?"

"You climb inside it, like a cave. You love it when people hate you, it's why you ask for it."

"So I want everybody to love me -- which makes me an asshole -- and at the same time I want everybody to hate me? Which also makes me an asshole?"

"Yes."

"What a worthless piece of moth I've turned out to be. You're losing me, Ruth."

"I take that away. I remove it from the equation. Nobody hates you. You've become invisible enough that the only people left, love you. Nobody in this room hates you. Nobody outside this room hates you. You have no enemies. You are surrounded by love. You have nowhere to hide. I love you."

Apache looked at Michael, who grinned.

"It's kind of a trick, Apache."

"Well, I won't stand for it. I can feel my body breaking. I can feel it peeling away. I can just stand here and let it take me."

Michael shook his head.

"Actually, you can't. You’ve got three circles around you. Andrew lit them himself. You don't have anywhere to go. You have to look at this."

"No. I don't. Fuck all of you. Got that? Fuck. All of you. I want out of this playground."

"Michael," said Claire, and he nodded at her.

"They've given you everything we can. It's your deal now. But you're not leaving."

Apache's eyes went wild, searching from face to face.

Michael was strong again. Her arms held Apache suddenly very tight indeed.

"They've got us there, Granddaughter." The old woman was standing in the doorway.

Something died, and something was born. Apache began to change shape.

It hurt. She didn't mind.

I've known you for half my life. It feels like my whole life, most of the time. I don't really know who I was before I met you. I guess that's just that age, for most of us. The people we know didn't really seem to figure themselves out until they were the age we are now. Or sometime in their twenties. So if I'd met you in my twenties then that's when it would have started. My life.

Well, not everybody. Just us. Like this place... I was always jealous of the people who seemed to know exactly what they wanted, and how to get it, when we were still floundering. I tried to keep up and I guess I felt like a fraud, I...

Sorry. I know I talk about myself a lot but it doesn't feel like it because it's just me saying I understand. So it seems like I'm talking about myself but really I'm just saying, "I already know myself, I'm trying to make you feel better by telling you we're the same." Or similar. Or just... Less alone. Both of us. By talking about myself.

Sorry. I was supposed to do the whole thing, the magic stuff, and I plumb forgot. Gabriel, Angel of the West. He was the one that stood in the doorway to Eden and wouldn't let them come back in. All I ever wanted was to let you back in. Let us both back in. All I wanted was to just go backward, somehow, so we could both be... Normal. Safe. Clean.

That word, now. Clean. I think that word shouldn't exist. Or at least we shouldn't apply it to people. Do you remember the poetry at the Sweat? Bethany loved teaching that stuff. Taking words apart and putting them back together. I loved Blake, and you hated him. Mumbo-jumbo and claptrap. And I agree about that, sort of, but that's not why I liked him. You always made fun of me for loving magic and fantasy and science fiction and stuff, but that's not why I liked him. I liked him because he talked about innocence and experience like they were just two...

Things. Places on a map. And we get further and further away from one, and closer and closer to the other. And we think that's bad, because we imagine that it was better when we were innocent, or that we were never innocent so things must have been better back there. But I don't know about that. Your hands get dirty, you wash them clean. It doesn't take anything away. It just adds. That's what Buzz means when he talks about causality, I think.

Sorry. Um, you used to drive around with a six-pack in your lap. I thought it was so cool. I also thought it was horrible. I thought most of the things you did were both. I loved them, and I hated them. You scared me so often. But I wanted it, too. You always seemed so much older than me. We were afraid of different things, but the things I was afraid of seemed so much bigger that you seemed braver, and I wanted it. And I couldn't do any of the things I wanted to do, secretly wanted to do, because it would damage your opinion of me. Or your image, your image of me. I needed you to think I was good. You needed that too.

I always thought that you were making me a stronger person, a better person. I don't think that anymore. I think we just kept each other alive. But I don't think that's bad anymore, either. If somebody had said that to me six months ago I would have been so grossed out. Now I think it's good. I think it is good to love somebody. Even if that's all you have.

You liked the trailer park more than I did. So that made me like the trailer park more, because I was trying to be more like you. But I know you would have liked it better if I'd refused to ever live there with you, because it would have pulled you up. You pulled me up all the time, and I never felt like I was doing the same thing. I couldn't help you, because you wouldn't let me. I think now that it just meant I was helping after all.

I couldn't stand to have a friend like me. I would have thought she was the most boring, hateful person in the universe. And I guess I always looked down on you for that. You're so beautiful and flamboyant, you could be friends with anybody in the world, and you chose me. It just seemed lazy. On my good days it seemed lazy. On my bad days I thought it was just to make you look good. If you walk into a place with a girl who's fatter than you and uglier than you, it automatically makes you look pretty. Before the hospital I used to tell the girls that: Always keep your ugly friends close. That was before I met you. I always thought you would have liked that girl more. She was hard and popular and mean and strong and funny, and by the time you met me I was so messed up I wasn't any of those things anymore. And I didn't have to be, because there was you.

The day we met, I felt like a girl. I mean, I felt like you were a boy. Your eyes picked me out of the crowd, and it was so flattering. It was like falling in love. I couldn't believe you, I couldn't believe in you, but then here you came. Like you were determined to be my friend no matter what. It took me so long to even trust that. Way longer than you probably think. We'd been friends for years before I believed you. And sometimes I wonder if that's why you kept things hidden. Secrets from me, the whole time, probably because you could tell I wasn't buying it. You probably thought it said something bad about you, but that's impossible, because all I think about is myself.

Sorry. Obviously. Obviously all I think about is myself. Apologizing even, constantly, just for existing, because I need everybody to like me all the time. To overlook my obvious faults and my not-so-obvious ones. And meanwhile you're just... I know it's not easy for you, making friends. I know the look in your eye when you decide to conquer somebody and make them love you. That's another thing I stole.

It wasn't him that cheated on me. It was you. I heard that you were talking to him, while I was asleep. (I can't wait to tell you about that!) I think that's probably good. I am peaceful or whatever about the fact that you and that bastard Roland have a thing, a relationship however slim, that doesn't have to do with me. A whole story. And normally, because Marion Blumenthal for all her faults is a decent feminist and raised me well in some ways, I would never go there: the person you should be mad at is the man, not the Other Woman, because he's the one cheating. Anything else is just bitches fighting, and that's another way they keep us down.

But in this case, Roland was the other woman. And you knew that. Which means that you both wanted to destroy me, in some way. Because I fucked up again. Because I was taking over your lives, or I wasn't living up to your expectations and I was warping the world around you. Don't bother disagreeing with me, because I want to keep this short: I can see inside your heart. Your heart is inside my little house. So I also know the whole story, stem to stern, fire and water, and when I say that I forgive you I can mean it. I can see my part in it without blaming myself. We were all adults. Three adults. Sort of.

Sorry. I guess what I'm trying to say is that it took a lot of things, a lot of causality, to get us here. And the part of the story that I'm responsible for is very grateful to be here. If it weren't for those effing bracelets and the whole thing, your trip to Halcyon even, I wouldn't have met Grandmother. Whom, and you clearly disagree, is on my side. And yours. I wouldn't have met Grace or Ruby, or Buzz and Airplane Kid, or Claire and Jeremiah, or any of it. I wouldn't have seen the women Jane Crow and Ruthie grew up to be. And I would still be in Bartleby Creek Trailer Home & Parking Lot, with or without you, working at Target, under a bushel.

But really, without you I wouldn't be alive at all. You taught me about the world, the good bits and the bad bits. You taught me about danger, and how to protect myself. And I knew where it was coming from, which made me even more grateful.

But I want to return the favor, and that means pointing out that you're in considerable danger. I'm about one centimeter from death right now, so I know what it looks like and I know what it smells like and I know how we're both picking at the threads in Grace's twinset sweater right now, just being this close to death.

You think death is going to make you clean, but it's not. There's still going to be a body and I'm still going to have to bury it. And the thought of that makes me so angry I can't fucking stand it. I'm like pre-angry at you, which makes it very difficult. Because I love you right now, today, more than I ever have in my entire life.

So here's what I can give you, I guess.

Before, when I said you were a butterfly, I looked a little closer and it turns out I was wrong. Your aura or whatever, back when I could see it, back before you started turning into pieces of God, wasn't a butterfly: it was a moth. Butterflies are for those girls, the pretty ones, the ones we hated. The ones that never had a problem in their lives, and just moved from one state to another. Embryo larva pupa imago. They turn them into effing tattoos. That's not how we work. Moths don't get the credit but they should. They're just as beautiful, but nobody notices. That's you. You're so busy being hot you forgot how pretty you are.

I can't produce it for you right now because you're glowing like the sun -- frankly, I think I'm going blind right now anyway -- but it's true. Which leads back to the thing.

I can give you the loveliest, most delicate moth. It flies at the fire and returns to the earth. It gets burned, and it learns. I can give you my love, and the love of everyone here. Even if neither of us remember it, they love you. More than me. I love you more than me.

Stop waving your hands and let me say this. You have to at least let us get through this ceremony or whatever before you make your decision, and that means letting me speak. That's the thing I've always hated most about you: the interrupting. You always say, "But I won't remember!" And I always think, "Millions of grownups are able to remember what they were going to say, every single day, and still demonstrate basic etiquette. So what makes you so special?"

I know what makes you special. And it's not me. And it's not Michael, and it's not what happened when you were a kid or when your parents died or when you nearly died or whatever other awful stuff you're too scared to tell me about. What makes you special is a secret that Grandmother whispered into your ear the first second of your life, when you were new. And it still does.

Your hope is that there's a room in your house that's clean, and untouched by all the horrors of this world. And what I wanted to tell you is that you have it wrong. At most, you have a room that could use cleaning up. And the whole rest of your house is spotless: you just forgot to live there.

Did you ever have that dream? For me, it's a big to-do and they hang curtains out of the castle windows, to find out which rooms are hidden. Probably for you it's simpler, or nastier, but it's the same thing. You're living in the smallest, scariest room in your house, guarding a cupboard with secrets inside. And I almost died finding this out, but: Just open the door. Just look inside. Tell somebody your secrets, just to prove you're brave enough. And if you can't tell somebody else, tell yourself. Own it. You've spent your whole life thinking your body, your story, your little house isn't your property. That's the harshest, ugliest lie of all. The only person that ever owned your body is you, and the ground you stand on, and the fire in your heart.

Okay, okay. One more thing, sorry. I get carried away because I love you so much. One more story, and one more thing to give you, and then you're all Ruthie's.

Farmer guy finds this snake. It's cold, like it's snowing, it's about to get really cold for the winter. So the choice is, get inside where it's warm, or deal with this snake. Bring it inside. It's nearly dead when he picks it up, barely moving. He takes it inside, and lays it down by the fire. Every day he brings it grasshoppers and stuff, and finally the snake wakes up, and she goes, "It was so cold out there, and so warm here by your hearth! Thanks!"

And the farmer says, "The rules are, you can't bite me, because we're friends." And the snake agrees and goes, "Maybe we're friends, maybe not. But you're not putting me back out in the snow, are you?" Of course not. Of course he's not going to. They're friends. All through the winter.

And that day comes, that spring day, when the flowers bloom and the sun is totally self-assured, and the farmer heads over to the snake to take her outside. And the snake, she loves the farmer so much. Not because of what he did for her, or what he fed her, or for saving her. She honestly just thinks he's great. They love each other.

But the farmer's clomping over on his giant feet, and there's a snake brain part inside the snake that gets nervous, and the rattle starts up. The snake's going, "Don't come any closer!" And the dumb farmer's like, "What are you doing? We're totally buddies! It's all sunshiny, come look!" Not getting it. And the snake tells him to get out of the way, and he doesn't do it. He thinks there's no danger at all.

And he reaches down for the snake with his big dumb hand, and the snake's just about crosseyed with wishing -- "This time I won't bite, this time I won't bite" -- but they're both wrong. She bites him anyway. Sinks those fangs in deep. And the farmer, he's losing consciousness, and he reaches his hand out like this as he's dropping, like, "Why?" And the snake, embarrassed but not a prohibitive amount, is like, "Um, pretty sure you knew what I was when you brought me into your house."

And you're looking at me with this horrified look on your face, because after all this time you still think you're the snake. And it breaks my heart, because I love you so much, but I know that's what you're thinking.

And what I'm trying to say is that you're not the snake and you never were. You're the farmer. We all are.

The snake is love.

Andrew wavered on his feet. Apache had hit with something there at the end, some kind of wave, that hit both him and Michael square in the knees. Jeremiah rushed forward, putting his arms around Andrew's chest so that he didn't let go of Buzz and Grace and break the circle. Nadine could feel the energy, dancing across their fingertips: From Buzz, through Claire and to Nadine. The thought of the circle being broken made her want to cry.

Andrew's face was screwed up like a child as he tried to get his footing, pressed back against Jeremiah with his eyes shut tight, repulsed by his touch and frustrated by his need to be held upright.

"Shh, shh," said Buzz, and Jeremiah sighed, resting his face against the back of Andrew's neck, ashamed.

"That was a long time ago, Andrew. I... Just let me help you."

The tears running down Andrew's face were hot, embarrassed. Buzz blushed, but held onto Andrew's hand tightly, almost crying along with him.

"Buzz, get this fuck off me."

Buzz shook his head.

"This is what he's doing. This is his part in this. Just let him help. I know it's hard..."

"We've all got things to apologize for, Andrew. Let this be mine."

"I said you would never touch me again and I..."

"I'm not touching you. I'm holding you up. I'm sorry. God, Andy, if you only..."

"Boys." Claire's voice was harsh. "This is not the time. This is why Ben left. We don't have time for this shit. Andrew, suck it up. You're at work."

He nodded, the tears on his cheeks drying as he stared at the carpet.

Apache's face sought out Nadine's face and she mouthed a wide-eyed What. The. Fuck.

Sex cult, Nadine mouthed back, shrugging weakly, and they both giggled.

Andrew's back finally relaxed against Jeremiah's body, and he tightened his hold, his olive arms tightened around Andrew's chest, crossing. Andrew looked to Buzz for comfort, and he nodded: firm, but sad. He looked older, more mature, than she'd seen him in a long time. She was too tired to reach out and find more, but given the look on her face she knew Grace would be able to give her some information later.

"Michael. Great snake of the hearth. I stand in the South. I call to you. I invoke the Fire."

Apache's eyes, glassy, were drawn back to Nadine's face at that. Nadine wondered if she'd encountered Snake, or something like her, during her time with Grandmother. Apache patted Michael's hair; he was leaning into her neck, sweating, and had jerked awake when Buzz called to his namesake.

"Apache, I can give you..." He laughed, deep in his throat, and she rolled her eyes. "I can give you dreams. The future. The possibility of life. Of any number of lives. I can give you lightning, crossing from heaven down to earth. I give you the breath of life. I give you sparks, and flames, and fleeting images of heaven."

Nadine was amazed.

"I bring you a story, about a girl who burned in the fire until there was nothing left. I bring you a story, of the girl who was born from the ashes. I bring you a story of the girl who grew wings. I bring you joy and the sparks between bodies. I give you the story of a girl who went down into the labyrinth..."

"-- I know that story, that's not how it..."

"-- I bring you the story of a girl who went down into the labyrinth against her will. And when she came back, she was darker. There were scars on her body and on her soul. And she thought she had to spend her life there, in the dungeon, in the fire. She thought she deserved a week without danger, but a year without sun. I bring you the truth of that story: She was wrong. She brought the fire with her. She brings the sun. To all of us."

"I don't know what you're trying to do here..."

This time it was Michael's turn to shush his lover. She struggled in his arms. Buzz looked at Claire, who nodded sharply.

"I give you a body made for love. Never anger, never pain. Never shame. That's someone else's taint. Some other soul carries that sin. You are clean. I give you a body that could never have been taken away. I bring you the knowledge of your own perfect body. I bring you an unblemished soul, and the possibility of joy. I give you the option of fucking. I give you permission to burn."

"I didn't ask for it."

"You already have it. You've spent your life embarrassed for someone else's mistake."

Apache grew uncomfortable. The light pressing down on them added heat to its gravity, and the chittering sound of a thousand insects. The room within their circles went red.

Buzz's voice only grew louder.

"I bring you the story of a girl, standing at the edge of a lake, ready to dive. I bring you the story of a girl, standing at the edge of a cliff, while the wind washes her clean. I bring you a story, of a girl who nearly died for wanting. I bring you the story of a girl who held the fire in her hands, and was not burned. I bring you the story of beauty, and a burning in the throat."

"What beauty? What are you talking about?"

"Yours. Your beauty. Your love. Your dreams. A whole world, yours. I can give you a reminder that the future is unwritten, and the strength to write upon the page. I can give you the fire to carry you over the darkest places. I can give form to your passion, I can help you hold the fire. You have always lived in the South, where I am now. In the fire. You danced in it. Let me show you how to make it dance in its turn. Let me help you take hold of it, and shape the world according to your will."

"I already have that, apparently."

"No, you don't. You have fear and hate and shame, but you have no will. The world responds to your most hidden thoughts and dreams, the secrets you can't tell yourself. That's the opposite of will. I can show you will. You shape the world, every second of the day. I can teach you how to choose."

"Grandmother offered me the same thing. I'm dying now, because of it."

"You make pact with witches and gods. I can show you how to steal that fire."

"I don't think Grandmother would like that very much."

"I will tell you a secret: The gods like nothing better. They wait on their mountaintops and in their sacred places, waiting for us to be brave enough to live our lives. They weep when we don't."

"You're all about antiquity, right? What about hubris?"

"That word means nothing," Andrew said, having recovered. He leaned easily against Jeremiah Tarquin now, as though he'd never freaked out about it. Nadine wondered if she'd somehow pushed a button there. She was still getting used to her new house.

"That word means thinking that we're gods. All-powerful. Eternal. I don't have that problem. Do you?"

"Not yet. But I'm working on it," Apache laughed, but Nadine could tell she was trying to understand him. She was so dreadfully afraid. Nadine was proud of her.

"Hubris as a term has been so bastardized it doesn't mean anything anymore. We use that word when we're afraid of reaching too far, or trying too hard. When we're afraid of failing. So then we can look back and say it was a sin of pride."

"I don't have that."

"Then how can you risk hubris? Find a better word."

"It's too hot in here for semantics."

"Then cut it out. Listen to what he's saying."

"I'm trying."

"Apache, we've talked about it before, and I know you agreed with me."

Apache hunched her shoulders, confused again. It was so hot there were waves occluding Nadine's vision. She hadn't thought about the physical effects when she came up with this brilliant plan. She could feel herself fading.

"We already know everything there is. We pretend that we don't."

"That's a cool idea, I like it, but I don't see..."

"What Buzz is offering you -- what he will refuse to shut up about, now that it's come up -- is the possibility of knowing that stuff. Remember how you felt, reaching out into Halcyon and helping all the people? What if your life could be like that?"

"Um, it will be."

"That's why you chose death, so you could have that? That's not life. That's just... Lonely."

"I am already lonely." Her voice was rising, and with it the temperature. Buzz's sweat glistened, as he reached out to Andrew and placed one heavy hand upon his arm.

"Apache, I can't hold the South Tower much longer."

"Then by all means let's move this along. I'm still not convinced."

"Okay, but let me say one more thing."

Even Grace rolled her eyes this time.

"I used to drive down the freeway, and some guy would cut me off, or be talking on his cell phone and fuck something up, and I'd sit there and think about how this jerkoff would probably be doing this for miles, and eventually he -- and other dicks like him -- would accumulate all their little stops and starts and general dick moves, and before you know it there would be a traffic jam. Or a pileup."

"Sure," Apache shrugged.

"But it goes both ways. Because if you flip that guy the finger, or punish him in some way, speed up and slow down in front of him or whatever, then his day is going to get worse. Maybe on top of some problem he's having anyway that you don't know about. And then he gets to work, and he's mean to somebody on the phone, and they're mean back, so now he's in a bad mood and he's a jerk to the next five people on the phone. And those five people are now having worse days, so one of them is a bitch to a waitress..."

"Please don't use that word," said Jane, and he grinned.

"So one of them is rude to a waitress, and one of them is rude at the bank, and one of them feels entitled to cut in line at the movie theatre, which ruins five more people's experience at the movie because the guy's being a dick..."

"This is the most boring story of all time."

"Well, but think about it. Those little rudenesses become war eventually. Or murder, or violence. Somebody goes home frustrated and takes it out on their kid, and that kid is stuck with it."

"People suck? That's your point? Well, let me join that nasty, brutish, short little existence! That sounds way better than living in the sky."

"Your power means you don't have to be a part of it. Well, being a person means you don't have to be a part of it. I'm still working on that. But your ability... You can jump levels. That's what your power means. You can reach back and chill those 128 people out by making patient zero's life better. Don't you understand that?"

"This is my first day in the selflessness game, so I'm a little rusty..."

"I'm not talking about selflessness, I'm talking about the opposite. I'm talking about giving yourself a smoother ride by being kind to everybody else. What did Nadine call it? 'A house as big as the world.' You can live there too. You could keep the patients from ever coming in our doors, just by thinking about it in your spare time. Do you know what I would give for that? Any of us?"

"You're saying..."

"I'm saying I can give you a choice. You see a million futures laying before you, every second of every day. I've watched you, in the last year, be paralyzed by them. I'm telling you that you could just choose the better ones, for everybody. You can be a superhero right here on earth. You don't have to die to do that. You don't have to take yourself out of it, to enjoy that. You deserve to enjoy it."

"Compelling," she said snottily, but Nadine could tell she was considering his point.

"All you have to do is allow yourself to know all the things you're afraid to know. To understand the dreams and fears that brought you here. To be conscious of the thousand tiny shitty things you do every day -- that all of us do -- and be strong enough to avoid them."

"You mean like recycling? Saving the world?"

"I'm not interested in saving the world, I'm into changing it. You'd have to ask somebody else about that. I'm into the future, half there all the time, and that's what I'm offering you. I just know that your relationship with time and causality is beautiful, like something Andrew would think up. And, coincidentally, it happens to belong to somebody I really respect in her own right. Become an angel or a demigod or whatever you're doing, and that power still exists, but you become less interesting. We don't get to hang out anymore. It's not your power I'm asking you for: it's you. I want you to stay. I can help you deal."

Apache looked up, and to the side. Michael's arms, as he stood against her, her were in constant movement. His head, buried in her neck, only nodded. Nadine thought he wouldn't last too long, and cleared her throat. Jane and Claire smiled, and gestured her on.

 Claire arrived with the snakes, and everybody shuffled into their places. The light was pressing down so hard it felt like gravity. It felt like being facedown on the concrete, but up instead of down.

"I feel like I'm standing on my head," Andrew said, and Nadine nodded. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

The seven White Sisters were standing in a circle around the Halcyon workers: Nadine, with Jane and Claire holding her hands, and Apache Tear in front of her. On the other side was Andrew, with Bethany and Grace. Nadine nodded at Jane Crow, who'd given everybody their positions easily on sight. This was really more of her thing anyway.

"First we need to call the quarters, so this space doesn't get any unnecessary attention and we don't lose anything while we're working. Dr. Tarquin, you need to run support with my girls, so I'm going to ask Ruthie to take North. Is that okay?"

Ruth nodded and stood in the north corner. Thought that meant Earth, if Nadine remembered correctly. She and Apache had always made fun of Winter Horse's Wiccan stuff, but she'd take anything she could get at this point. Plus, it was nice to feel like she was there with them.

"Hannah, Vera and Agnes, you're on the perimeter with Jeremiah. Watch us."

The four of them stalked to the corners of the room. The woman called Agnes, a middle-aged Korean lady in a red caftan, stood behind Nadine and Jane; she could feel her back there, as solid as a wall. Jeremiah went to the opposite corner, behind Andrew and Grace.

"Andrew, you're East. Dr. Aldrin, you'll take South." Air, and Fire. Still good, still making sense. It was coming back to her. That probably meant Gracie would be West, Water. But then why was Jane looking at her?

"Nadine, you have to do Water. This stuff is all around you, and you're the only one strong enough to take it."

"I'm falling down here, Jane."

"I know. I'll be here, between you and Ruth."

"But can't Grace..."

"Dr. Connelly will be supporting St. John and Aldrin. I wrote all this down on a napkin, I don't remember where I put it. We have to make the circle as tight as can be, which means we all have to do it."

Apache opened her mouth to protest, but Jane shot her a look neither of them had ever seen on her face, in the old days, and she shut it again.

"Bethany and Claire, you'll take the other two corners."

Andrew took hold of Bethany and Grace's hands, and smiled easily; Claire put her hand into Nadine's and trembled at its weakness. Buzz winked wildly at them both, and Claire jerked his hand in a vise grip, nervous. Nadine could tell she hated this stuff almost as much as Apache did.

"Okay, everybody's in line? The inner circle, and the guys outside. Jeremiah, the girls are used to this but I should probably say it: you need to keep your eyes peeled. It's not just me and Nadine and Ruth that will need you -- you have to be able to get around the room at second's notice if one of the towers starts to give."

Jeremiah nodded, knowingly, and Michael cleared his throat.

"Aren't you forgetting somebody?"

Jane blushed. "Dr. Palatine. The, um, the best for last. You're going in the middle of the circle."

Apache groaned, shrugging her head down into her neck, but Nadine could see that he was pleased.

"In here? With me? While I... Whatever happens, I don't want him getting hurt. In fact, why don't you just leave, Michael."

She looked at the floor.

"Not a chance?" He stepped through their hands and into the circle, taking her shoulders gently in his hands. He didn't try to touch her face or make her look at him, just stood there with his hands on her arms, breathing softly and looking at her face, memorizing every angle.

"Let's call this our first date. Jane, what do I do?"

"Just hold her."

Apache began to cry, embarrassed and frustrated, but Nadine knew she would go along with it. They'd already wasted so much time, and they were sweating already: to turn them down now would be too much embarrassment.

"Patch, I don't even think this is going to take too long, honestly. We'll get out of this and go back to normal and we'll sleep for a week. I'll even take a drag off your cigarette, if you'll let me."

Apache smiled, that goofy smile that was all teeth. She hated that smile, she always had, and she tamed it whenever possible. That meant that when you saw it, it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

"It's true," Claire said. "We're all due for some vacation time after this. Especially considering we don't have any patients anymore, thanks to Dr. Tear."

"Apache, Claire."

Claire grinned to herself and Nadine wondered again if that were her version of a joke. Grace squealed, across the circle from them, clutching at Andrew's arm.

"Oh! Let's all go somewhere together!"

Buzz snorted, and she slapped at his arm.

"Like where, Gracie?"

"Like an island, or something. The beach. Nadine could really use some color. And we could get to know you guys," she said, gesturing around the room at the White Sisterhood. Jane Crow shook her head. Nadine couldn't get over her short hair.

"We were actually on our way to something when Tarquin called us. I don't think we'll be able to go on any trips for a month or two."

Claire cocked her head with professional curiosity, and Jane shook her head apologetically.

"It's not top secret or anything, but honestly I'm not sure what it is. This occult group in the Balkans is sort of losing it, some kind of fifth column deal with a local spirit..."

"--In the Balkans, you said?"

"Yeah. I think it's a Halcyon-related facility, actually. A bunch of refugees from the Shh..."

"Šumska Hajduk," Claire said easily. "In Osijek."

Buzz reached out to take her hand; she was shaking.

"I'm sure Ben can handle whatever it is. He would have emailed or called if he needed help."

Claire shook her head, staring at the wall.

"No, he really wouldn't. But anyway, none of this is crucial at the moment. Jane, when we're done here I'd like to discuss this with you in further detail, if that's all right."

Jane nodded, obviously concerned, but Claire waved it off with a smile and a light laugh.

"Grace, what do you think about a vacation in Croatia?"

"I'm so sure," Grace smiled, and shook her head. "Polish guys are cute, though. Maybe a whole Eastern Bloc tour. I never get to wear my really good winter wool."

Andrew shivered elaborately and opened his mouth to complain, but Michael finally looked up at them with a stern, firm set to his mouth.

"We could keep talking about it all night, or we could stop procrastinating. Claire, I know Dr. Almondine is important to you -- he is important to all of us, in some way or another -- but if we don't take care of this situation we're all probably going to die. Apache is going nuclear. So I'd appreciate it if we could all put our big-girl panties on and deal with the task at hand. This is exactly why all our staff meetings are a fucking year long."

"Point taken," Grace said, obviously offended, "But I think we're all adults here and we need to be in our best form for this. If that involves a little office banter beforehand, I don't really feel like we need to be chastised for it. Look at the Sisterhood, they're not bothered at all. And we did just find out that a beloved colleague is being menaced by some kind of Croatian yeti, or something. Try to be a bit more compassionate."

"I'm just asking for a little focus."

"No, you're just asking us to take this more personally than usual, because it's your girlfriend..."

"-- Not his girlfriend..."

"Shut up, Apache. I'm doing something here." Grace cleared her throat, and Jane's ladies laughed, amazed. "Michael, as I was saying, you're asking us to take it seriously, but what you mean is take it personally, like you are. But it's not about you. It's about Apache. And we all love Apache. So stop taking possession of this, and stop trying to prove you care more about her than we do, or we really all will die. It can't be about you."

"But I wasn't..."

"You certainly were. And now all that earthing Claire was doing with the vacation talk -- which took a lot out of her, considering the Ben thing -- has gone to waste, and we're all keyed up again. Stop being selfish."

Apache reached out, and drew him to her, planting a kiss on his lips. He didn't know it, but it was their second kiss. It was the first for him, and he lived every moment of it. Nadine could see his tensed-up back slowly relax under her hands, as he gave in to her kiss, and the smack when they separated was as satisfying as a ripped-off Band-Aid. After twenty years she never thought she'd see Apache look that self-satisfied. She sighed to herself, pleased beyond the telling of it to see the look in her friend's eyes.

The breath of her sigh blew back Claire's hair, and she smiled despite herself, looking at Nadine with surprise.

"Nadine, what did they do to you in there?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're transmitting like an empath. We're picking up all kinds of stuff."

Claire looked at Andrew, who turned an eye to Nadine.

"Nadine, your little house..."

Nadine smiled proudly, and they all looked closer.

"It's everywhere now. I don't know how to explain it. I just... It's the same in here as it is out there, now."

"You're not..." Andrew sputtered, and she laughed.

"I'm not headblind. It's like the opposite. I can feel everybody, it just doesn't hurt anymore. I could probably do an airport, the way I feel right now. My house is like... Everybody. Big as the world."

Apache shook her head.

"Isn't that what sent you to the boobyhatch the first time?"

"Yeah, right? But it's like... There's nothing to be afraid of. I was so bothered by everybody's nasty little fears and thoughts, and mine, so it made me feel bad for them, but now it's just like... I have to love them, either way. Maybe especially when they're afraid. I can just watch them go past."

"So you don't care anymore?"

Grace shook her head. Buzz nodded at her, grinning.

"I know what she means. It's bigger than that."

"We don't have a word for that," said Claire, "But I think it'll come in handy. Nadine, can you give me a hand here?"

She followed the train of Claire's thought, and sent a calming wave through the room. Everyone relaxed, even Michael. Jane Crow nodded at Andrew, and they began to call the Quarters.

"Raphael," Andrew said, halting, "I invoke the spirits of the Air." He reached out with a hand and the floor lit up: a circle around Michael and Apache, and a greater circle around them, and outside the corners, a greater circle still. The room within the circle grew darker; he was lit with a golden light.

"Apache, I can give you history. And ghosts. I give you the story of your life. You are its author. You, and no one else. I give you the beauty of its architecture and the light upon its floor. I give you memory, full-born, unending. And the strength to bear it."

He looked at her, waiting for a response, and she shrugged, confused. She looked to Michael, who seemed just as confused as she was. Finally she spoke.

"Well, that's bullshit. I'm not... I don't have beautiful architecture. I have a rotten bag of shit. Without Nadine I'd have died a long time ago."

"Your story doesn't end," he said, in his strange new voice.

"It's ending now."

"Nadine, you stand in one corner of a vast library, looking at one book, and thinking it contains you. Your story ends, again and again. You turn the page."

"It's just that simple, huh? Don't give me that crap. You have no idea."

"I think I do. I think you don't know enough about me to have any idea what my stories contain."

"I'm all out of sympathy today. But I could probably kill you by accident if I looked at you wrong."

"I give you an infinite number of pages, to write the next chapter on."

"I thought I had that anyway."

"All you have to do is take it."

"I give you four walls, and a ceiling open to the sky."

"Meh. When books get wet they start to stink, and it invariably rains on me. Twice as likely if I'm wearing mascara."

Andrew giggled. Claire shot him a look and he straightened up.

"Apache Tear, I give you the gift of thought. Cold and rational and heartless. Everything you are afraid to be."

"That's not true, I..."

"You are a Survivor Type."

"Yeah. That's what we're doing here. Ending that."

"Apache, you already know everything that's going to happen. You're so afraid of it that you blind yourself to it. And what happens?"

"Horrible things. Unforgivable things."

"That girl died. You're just cleaning up her mess. Start here. Take responsibility. We can help you learn to control your gift, if you stay with us. You could save millions."

"I'm a loose cannon, St. John. That's not going to happen."

"That's your choice."

"No, that's a fact."

"No, it's a choice. It's easier for you to say you have no control over your actions than to take responsibility for them. I am offering that to you. I can give you the support to work through your fear, and find the cold equations. To map out the dark territories and the light, and find a path through the forest. That's what I can do for you. It's what I do."

"You vastly overestimate my ability to suddenly stop being a fuckup."

"We are all fuckups, Apache. Nobody suddenly stops being anything."

"Unless they're brave enough to jump."

Apache smiled at the staffers as they shook themselves awake. Claire was the first to speak.

"Apache? What happened? You look all..."

"You look amazing," Michael said.

She grinned at him, looked down at herself. She couldn't see a difference. At her shrug, Andrew laughed.

"Apache, look at yourself."

She nodded, and dipped into that other vision. She'd been avoiding it so long.

Seen from outside, she was a wonder. Her face was prettier than she'd ever thought possible -- "Hot isn't cute, and cute isn't beautiful," she'd always told the girls of the Sweat -- and she shone like the sun. She was nearly embarrassed; it felt naked.

"You look like champagne," Michael said, and blushed at himself immediately. Buzz grinned. Apache turned to Grandmother, but she was gone again.

"I just wanted to thank you guys before I left. Everything's going to be okay..."

Andrew gasped, eyes up and to the side, and stared at her again.

"Apache, what did you do?"

"I fixed some things around the place, that's all. Least I could do."

Claire fixed him with an eye, and he nodded, gulping.

"They're all... She fixed everybody. Or not fixed, but... There's nothing else for us to do with them. They're going to be okay."

"The whole place?" Jeremiah asked, giving her the thumbs up.

"Everybody but Nadine, but I think she's on her way back. It's probably best for me to leave before she wakes up," Apache said, edging toward the door, and Michael stood.

"But where? What are you talking about?"

"I'm done, Michael. I killed Sylvia Gostock. I can't be trusted."

"Apache Tear, that's what we do here. Come on."

She shook her head. "I need to go where I can't hurt anybody."

Claire shook her head definitively. "We're not losing you again. Now let's stop this craziness and go check on Nadine. I'm sure she's got some stories to..."

"-- Claire, you're not listening to me. It's time."

"It's past midnight, Apache. No time to make decisions."

"No time like the present, lady. I've got a date."

"With who?"

Michael asked it automatically, but in the quiver of his lip she could tell he already knew.

Nadine woke up starving, ravenous. Everything hurt. There was a figure leaning over her bed, and for a moment she nearly struck out. But as her eyes learned to focus again, she saw eyes shining, and a bright smile. The shape became a face, and the face became Jane Crow.

She was older, less luminous. Maybe she'd never been as pretty as they thought. She had a deep loveliness, perhaps born of age: lines at the edges of her eyes, her once-huge black hair cropped short and framing her face. She wore tiny, delicate silver earrings like spiderwebs, and a long white dress.

"Jane?"

Jane nodded, taking her hand. "It's been so long... Blue, you look the same. The exact same!"

"You're still beautiful," Nadine said, still woozy. She tried to sit up and saw stars, so she lay back again.

"They were all around. Little scraps of darkness, like bats, with tiny teeth. And I just opened the door to them. They flooded all around. The house was gone, Snake was gone, my wolf..." She teared up, afraid of the memory. "It was like being in the middle of a storm. It hurt, Jane. My God, it hurt so much. They tore me apart. I could feel myself, bleeding. It was like ice. I held them tighter, tighter. I couldn't even remember what I was doing. Who I was. All I knew was that I had to hold them."

"And?"

"I did. And then it was light. And I had no body at all. I was only light. And they were light, too." She laughed. "All that time, and they were just light. Why was I so afraid?"

Jane nodded. "It has its uses. I wouldn't worry about it."

"And there was this... Song. A sound, like..." She closed her eyes, trying to remember. "It was like pipes, or a harp or a..." She clenched her fists. "It was like..."

Jane hushed her, putting one cool hand against her cheek.

"We forget. That's how it works. You can't stay there."

"It was all white. Jane, I don't want to forget that. It was..."

"It was perfect. I know."

"There wasn't anything wrong with me. Anywhere, anyplace. All the way back and all the way forward, I was beautiful. I was bathed in light. She held me in her arms, and it was... Every part of me was good."

"Hold onto it as long as you can, Nadine. But now, you need food."

"I feel like I could just lie here, forever. It's beautiful."

"No, it's starvation. That has nothing to do with what happened to you. That's your body shutting down. Get up."

"Jane, where's Apache? Is she okay?"

It felt like something splitting apart. The light that surrounded her was getting too bright. She'd known this would happen. What had Grandmother said? "Like a cracked vase with the world inside." That was how she felt now.

"I've wasted too much time already. It hurts too much. I'm seeing too much. And if I don't do it now, I never will. And then I'll have to live with what I've done, and I can't do that. Not anymore."

"Apache, we can fix that. We can work this out." Jeremiah sounded panicked.

She pointed at the painting over Andrew's head, hoping to convince them the way she thought Grandmother might have been convinced. "Her halcyon days were only pain. She would have died. She should have died."

Andrew nodded. "Some say she did. That she hung herself with her golden thread, or leapt from the cliffside in her loneliness. Or that it came later, when Perseus showed her the Gorgon's head."

"Madness and suicide. No thank you."

Michael struck the table with his open hand. "Or Dionysus found her, on that island, and made her a goddess. He put her crown into the sky. And when Perseus killed her a second time, he went down into hell to find her again."

"More mazes," Apache smiled, and touched his cheek. "You shouldn't have to come to hell to find me. Not when I can do this, instead."

She closed her eyes. The room became so bright that nobody could see. And just before she jumped, just before she let it shatter, she heard a familiar voice.

"Apache Tear, you cut that shit out this second."

Nadine stood in the doorway, supported by Jane Crow, with a half-eaten apple in her hand. With her hospital gown and her paper shoes, hair in a frizzy sweaty halo, she looked like a lunatic. Apache wept to see her.

"What the eff are you up to now?"

"I killed Sylvia Gostock. So you wouldn't wake up. I can't be this person."

"You're Apache Tear. The rest is negotiable."

"No. Look at what I did, to you. Look at what I made."

Nadine shook her head and rolled her eyes, standing up straighter. She reached out with her mind, and plucked the shadows away from the corners of the room, where Apache's brightness had chased them. She held them in her hands.

"I could never see your aura, after those damn bracelets. When I tried, here, I just got a headache. You want to see what you made? This is what you are."

Nadine opened her hands. A butterfly wavered softly into the air.

"Ariadne is Cretan, you cretin. It means utterly pure."

Apache laughed hatefully; her light dimmed.

"More proof that my mother had a real sense of irony."

Nadine shivered with rage. "I have been through hell. I touched something I won't ever touch again. I saw the world, Apache. Your place in it."

"Grandmother. She was different with you."

"No, she wasn't. She gave me a choice. The same choice you have now. I left that behind for you. I could have stayed. They told me I could stay."

Apache laughed, tears buried deep in her throat.

"It's too late, Nadine. I already... I'm going, one way or the other."

Nadine looked closer. It was true. She fell to her knees, suddenly exhausted, and began to retch. Nothing came up.

Jane leapt to catch her, barking orders at the doctors. Claire and Jeremiah sprung to attention, even as Andrew began sketching out schematics in their heads. Apache shook her head sadly.

"They can't deal with us both, Blue. Don't put yourself through this. We shouldn't bring the place down around their ears, just because they had the misfortune to want us."

"You'll keep saying that forever, now. It doesn’t mean it's true. I'm allowed to love you. It doesn't make me stupid, loving you. I know you think that, down at the bottom, but it's not true. Loving you makes me strong, and smart."

"But it does nothing for me, Nadine. I would have killed you."

"No, honey. That would not have happened."

"I killed Sylvia."

"Do you even know that? Did you even effing confirm that, before you did this to yourself?"

"I'm beautiful, Nadine. I feel strong. I can do something good."

"Taking yourself out of the world is not good. It's selfish and stupid."

"It's too late. Please don't end things like this. Don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, I'm scared to death. This is not how it should end."

"Things, Nadine. They happen. Grandmother taught us that. I can see it in your eyes. You said you saw the world. That gives you peace."

"I refuse. I am going to fight this one."

"Who the hell are you going to fight, Nadine? Look at me! I'm breaking apart like stars."

"Stars. Like back there..."

Nadine's eyes briefly closed, as they hooked up the saline right there in the doorway. She could barely speak. Her lips were too dry. They cracked with her speech.

"Walpurgisnacht."

"Gesundheit," Buzz said, deadly serious as he shoved the apple back into Nadine's hand. Jane Crow looked at him, angry, but he shrugged. There were tears in his eyes.

Nadine rested a moment, as the fires built in her friend.

"...Jane? Jane Crow."

Jane knelt by her side, taking one limp hand in hers.

"Jane, you brought your people?"

"They're downstairs, earthing some of the runoff."

"Remember Walpurgisnacht?"

"Nadine, fucking stop it! You cannot save me from this one. I did this. Let me do it."

Apache stamped her foot, and the room shuddered.

Claire and Grace looked at each other, worried, and a silent thought passed between them: that if it got bad enough, they'd take her out. Both of them, if necessary. They were the only ones strong enough to do it.

"We're both more powerful than you," Apache said, without even noticing she'd read their thoughts.

"Not like that," Grace said sadly.

"The other kind of strong," Claire said, apology deep in her voice.

Jeremiah and Andrew were on their feet in an instant, standing between the women. Buzz spun a web of light around the room, to protect them. Michael sat, mute, in the middle of the storm, staring from one to the other. Nadine rolled her eyes.

"Guys, I've got like five minutes before I crash. Don't throw your weight around like that. Jane, go get your girls. Jeremiah, you can take over for them. Andrew, build a circle. I know you've got wires and stuff in the architecture, so warm 'em up. Claire and Grace, stand the heck down. That is uncalled for. I am going to fix this."

Apache raged, shining ever brighter, but a part of her heart remained. She nodded and shrugged. "If you think it'll work, I can try. But you only get one shot, Nadine. And it'll probably kill us all."

"I'm fine with that."

Claire coughed politely, and Nadine smiled at her, weakness shaking her body in the chair.

"It won't, Claire. I can do this. I can do it now."

Nadine's gifts poured against her rage, and she softened. Her fists were still clenched.

"Okay, go get those bracelets. The snakes. I know you've got them around here somewhere, and we might need them."

Apache shuddered. "I don't ever want to be in the same room with them again."

"I know, honey. Don't be scared."

The White Sisterhood stood in a circle around them: Jane to Nadine's left and Winter Horse's old lover Bethany to her right. She was feeling somewhat stronger, but she still couldn't stand. Claire assured her that her body would get stronger quickly, and she'd nodded gratefully, but she didn't really care anymore.

"I don't think we should call ourselves doctors anymore," she said, waiting for the others. Claire cocked her head, bemused.

"Not even the ones who are doctors. It's too confusing. For us, and for them."

Grace smiled at her, thankful for the break in tension. "What should we call us?"

"I was reading about old, old healing. They called all kinds of things surgeons, back before. The town dentist could set your bones. The lines were wigglier, bendier. I think we should use an old word."

"Surgeons," Apache mused.

"And older than that, a wonderful word: chirurgeon. Somebody who did whatever. Healers, before residency and specialization."

"The Urges," Claire laughed.

"From ergon," said Andrew, coming into the room. "To work."

Michael was caught too, in Nadine's excitement and curiosity: "Theurgy, as opposed to theology. God's Work, instead of His Word."

Andrew shook his head: "What are you guys talking about?"

Claire laughed, despite herself. "Nadine is redesigning the org chart. She's decided we can't be called doctors anymore."

"It's dishonest," Nadine said. "I mean, imprecise."

"Friendly Urge St. John, at your service," he said, trying it out. "Demiurge, too. A skilled worker. Or in Gnosticism, somebody who pretends to be God."

"Sounds like a doctor to me," laughed Apache.

Jane squeezed Nadine's hand, reminding her they had some urging of their own to do. She cleared her throat and looked around, as the staffers took their place among the Sisterhood. All told, there were thirteen of them, not counting Apache. She recognized Ruthie herself among the Sisters, and gave her a half-assed wink.

"So, a long time ago something happened. We still don't know what it was. This was back at the Sweat. A friend of ours, younger than us, something happened to her. She got ahold of something, or it got ahold of her, and she couldn't get it out of there. We couldn't wake up Winter Horse, or Bethany..." Bethany dropped her head, in shame, but Nadine squeezed her hand with all her strength. "We couldn't wake up Bethany, but we did it. There were thirteen of us, thirteen little girls. Some of them are here tonight. We're older now. I think we're better looking. Apache brought us water to drink, and Jane made a fire, and we were so afraid!"

Ruth cleared her throat, still a little afraid to speak, just like when she was little.

"It was terrible, but it's not a bad memory now. I have never felt so loved. It's the reason I joined the Sisterhood..." She trailed off, and her Sisters smiled at her tenderly. Everyone looked at Nadine again, so she breathed deep. Ruthie grinned toothily at her, and she laughed. It was like a reunion.

"So here's what we're going to do. You know what an exorcism is? This is like the opposite of that."

"Remember what I have, she said. Remember my options. Consider the alternatives."

The snake rattled more insistently. "The sun's not coming up, Nadine. This is the final exam. Either you leave this place alive, or not. A girl needs a room of her own. This is yours, or nothing."

"So you're saying I'll die if I..."

"Hell, you might die anyway. But shouldn't you at least be brave enough to..."

"See, this is what I can't stand. You effers are always saying I'm weak because I prefer to look on the sunny side of things. Like I must be soft in the head because I try to be kind."

"This isn't about the sunny side. This isn't about kindness."

"It's always about kindness."

"Not in here, girl. You're losing time. Look, in here, there's nobody to be kind to."

"There's you, and there's the wolf..." The wolf raised its head mournfully and put its paws back over its eyes. "And there's those... Vampire kids out there, or whatever they are."

"We don't actually exist, Nadine. I am a talking snake. That's your aura in the form of a silly-ass timber wolf. Those vampire kids are pieces of you. There's nobody here to be kind to. Except you. You, and this house. Where you are dying."

"What if I... What if I let them in, and I become mean? What if I'm like my mother, and I know I'm right, and that means I can tell everybody what to think and say and how to act, and then everybody's scared of me? Or what if it makes me Apache, and I go around screwing people's husbands? There are plenty of reasons not to kiss vampire kids. Those are merely two!"

Nadine looked at the painting on the floor, where it had fallen in its shards. "That's Ariadne. That guy is finding her on the beach, where she fell asleep after she was abandoned."

Grandmother chuckled. "I know the story."

"I'm sure you do, old woman. She sent her lover into the labyrinth to kill her brother. He was ugly, with horns; the child of a bull and a queen. He howled and moaned and lowed through the night. She hated him."

"She loved him, Granddaughter."

"She did both. And finally she'd had enough, and she wanted her father's reign to end. So she sent her lover into the maze, with a golden thread."

"It was red wool."

"...With a golden thread, and a sword, and her kiss on his lips. Into the dark, where the wild things are. And he found her brother there, and she listened as her lover murdered him, and she knew she was in love."

"You are really something, my dear."

"They set sail the next day, for her new home. And they touched down on an island, and partied. She got pregnant. She woke up alone."

"On the shore, with the kingfishers for company."

"With the kingfishers and her grief. The halcyon days were only pain, for her, alone with her loneliness. And she knew she deserved it, for trusting me."

"Granddaughter, you forget justice."

"Right. She cursed him, on his voyage, and he failed to put up the great sail that signaled victory. So his father the king jumped from a cliff, thinking his only son dead."

"But she was still alone."

"Grandmother, why do people jump off cliffs constantly in these stories? I honestly want to know."

"Because that's what it feels like, child. Eventually it gets easier, but it never gets less scary. You could live a hundred years and still fight the same battles, in different ways."

"That is a very imperfect system."

"You rest, you rot. The system keeps you moving."

"Like a shark."

"Like a spider. The wind tears her web, she doesn't lay down and die. She starts to build again."

"Like a snake... Grandmother, does it hurt when they leave their skins behind?"

"You'll know soon enough."

The snake looked at the tired wolf, and back at Nadine. "You wanted to learn to play the guitar when you were fifteen."

"Because of Jane Crow, and because I knew Apache was tone deaf."

The snake almost smiled, nodding again. "But you gave it up. Why?"

"Because I didn't want my fingers to get all calloused and rough."

"Because..."

"Because it would make me look like a gravedigger. I'd have hands like that."

"And?"

"And because Apache told me if I ever tried to give a... a handjob... The guy would die of lacerations. Or abrasions, I forget. And he would never call back. Boys don't make passes at girls who... something-something-asses."

"And why did she tell you that?"

"So I wouldn't learn to play the guitar. Obviously."

"And the gravedigger thing?"

"That would be Marion Blumenthal, also obviously."

"So where did your desire to play the guitar go?"

"I got into other stuff, I don't..."

"And now when you think about music, you feel a little stupider, don't you?"

"Hug a vampire kid, make beautiful music."

"You really have an eye for synopsis."

"But those hard, horny, rough hands. When we'd sit at dinner and Jane Crow would tap her fingers on the tabletop, it made me want to vomit."

"But it didn't make Jane Crow want to vomit."

"Snake, I didn't think Jane Crow went to the bathroom."

"I assure you she did."

"...Why are we talking about this?"

"You're afraid of who you'll be, if you take possession of a witch's house. You're afraid to change, because it feels like dying. Which it is. Which is why I'm here, incidentally."

"Fine. I accept your terms. Pucker up."

Grandmother smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her, but she held up a finger with a smile, and Grandmother shook her head, sitting back. She walked to Michael, his brow furrowed, lips like a woman, and tipped his head up to hers. As the clocks struck midnight, nobody moved. She kissed the hell out of him, and stepped back. The clocks went silent. She shrugged.

Grandmother kissed her softly, on the lips. Something died. Something caught fire. Apache became something new.

"You know what I want."

The old woman nodded. A tear dropped to the floor.

"And you know I have the power to do it."

"Granddaughter, I have no power over you. I never did."

"Tell me the downside."

"You already know the downside. You know everything I know, now. You know what it looks like, from out here: how we can see everything, and love it all, and hold it in our hands... Anything I say will just seem like a platitude, and you wouldn't respect me anymore."

"True."

"All I can tell you is that you have the chance to be a force, in the world."

"But not a force for good."

"Just a force. Isn't that what you wanted? To be above all that?"

"I can't go on living in the world on those terms. I can't just do without Nadine."

"In the blink of an eye, Nadine will die. Her children will die. Her children's children. That's the world you live in, now. Don't be silly."

"I would go back if I could."

"Anybody would. It's easier."

Apache laughed angrily, but she nodded.

"I never thought of you as lazy, Granddaughter."

"Who the fuck are you talking to?"

"You've been running an awfully long time, dear. You're crossing a finish line, and all you want to do is rest. I'm sorry."

"Well, what about that? Can I think about it awhile?"

"You're still in your body. We don't have a lot of time. That kiss started a clock ticking."

"Grandmother, there's so much I want."

"I know."

"I wanted to do so many things, but I never could. Why can't I do them now?"

"Granddaughter, nobody ever stopped you."

"But you're stopping me now?"

"That'll teach you to bargain with witches. You're not human anymore. Soon you'll have no body at all."

"Would he have loved me?"

"He already does, Granddaughter."

"Would I have loved him?"

Grandmother began to weep in earnest, tears of diamond, and sand, and warm rain. But she wouldn't answer, even with her shoulders shaking.

The old clock radio in the corner began to buzz, and she jumped. It sent the snake rattling again, but she didn't worry about it. As though she'd always known, she pulled out the radio antenna and pushed it into the hole at the top. It didn't fit well; it fit well enough.

"Nadine? Nadine, can you hear me?"

"Patch, my God. What are you up to now? I'm in the middle of something."

"I know. It's midnight. What they're saying, whatever they tell you to do..."

"It's terrible here."

"I know, but that's just what it looks like."

"I don't want to do what they're asking me to do."

"It's midnight. Just do it, okay? We'll figure it out later."

"...Okay. Are you all right?"

"I will be. Nadine?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"No, I mean, I'm sorry. I wish I'd been better. I wish I'd been stronger. I wish I could have been what you deserved."

"Honey, you are. Exactly what I deserve, apparently. Certainly you're what I need."

"Just... I tried, okay? Know that I tried."

"Apache, you're scaring me."

"I'm not trying to scare you. I love you."

"I love you too! Wait for me!"

"...It's time. I... I'll try better next time, I promise."

"I love you, Apache Tear."

"Oh, Nadine. I love you too. Don't be afraid."

"You neither."

"I'm not. Don't be sad," Apache Tear said, and then the radio went dead.

Apache looked around herself, and began to put things right.

It was improbable, for example, that Grace's painting, in its shattered glass, would reverse its action, knit itself together, slide up the wall and back into place; a wink, and a twist of the wrist, and it did just that.

It was improbable that Roland should wake from his pain into a darkened room, scented with roses, and smile to himself, and snuggle back down to real sleep. His first in ages.

It was improbable that Laurie and Harry would awake, and stand up gawkily together, their skin healed and soft and smooth again.

It was improbable that Paper Airplane Kid would get up off the floor, and spend his first night in a bed, under sheets as cool as a mother's touch.

It only took a moment, for her wonders to spread throughout the Clinic; it took only a breath to calm the place, nudge everyone toward joy, set things right again. She grinned to herself, and finally looked at the astonished old woman.

"I feel like a spoonful of sugar right now!"

The old woman clapped, and Apache came close to her again.

Nadine stared at the radio, and then the snake. It uncoiled softly across the floor, wrapping around her legs, nipping at her hands where they hung. First her left, then her right.

When she was little, the story went, her mother was left-handed. They'd tied her arm behind her back, so that she'd be like everybody else. And from then on, her mother was right-handed. She thought it was a curiosity, but Nadine found it terrifying.

"...And how did you carry me?" the snake asked.

"Softly," she replied, kindly. It was getting hard to think. "Not too hard, not too soft."

"Exactly. Are you ready?"

"Are you going to bite me?"

"I already did," the snake said guiltily, and Nadine looked down at her hand. It was true. She was bleeding onto the floor. Whiteness at the edge of vision.

"That's okay," she said softly, and the snake nuzzled at her feet.

The children beat against the door, voices rising into screams, shrieks, a choir of suffering. Feeling woozy, she stumbled to the door.

At her passage, the wolf raised its head in worry. He was nearly dead. She patted him softly, and his tail knocked against the floor briefly. She felt terrible; she'd had no idea he was getting so sick.

"We'll be home soon," she said.

She didn't know if he could hear her, above the din. The shadows were piled against the windows, now. A plague. Their voices were deafening. The snake's rattle shook the house. Strange lights caressed the walls, as though a million cars were passing silently outside. Upstairs, the wind howled.

"Not too hard, not too soft," Nadine breathed softly to herself, and opened the door with her arms thrown wide.

Apache stared.

"Grandmother? You..."

"They can't see me. Things are stopped. So we can talk."

It was true. Even Jeremiah was halted, with one hand in the air.

"What is the White Sisterhood?"

"They are mine."

"Like me?"

Grandmother laughed.

"No. More like Tarquin, there."

"They're not scared of you."

"Not like you are, no."

"Why not?"

"Because they have nothing to be afraid of."

Apache's stomach turned over.

"And I do?"

"Not really."

"What's really going on here? Did I kill that woman? Could she have saved Nadine? Is Jeremiah a good guy, or a bad guy? What are you?"

"What's really going on here is that you're being given a choice."

"Could that woman have saved Nadine?"

The old woman pulled out a cigarette and lit it, nodding.

"Did I kill her, Grandmother?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Not really. Next question."

"Is Jeremiah Tarquin a good guy? Not really. Is he a bad guy? Not at all. And me? I'm nothing special. But that's not really what you're asking."

"It's not?"

"No, you want to know if you are a good guy or a bad guy."

Nadine sat at the fireside, breaking up one of the beautiful wooden chairs and feeding it to the fire. The snake stirred, fixing her with one eye.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"It's gotten dark, Snake. Real dark."

The snake rolled in its basket, luxuriously.

"You're afraid. Why?"

"There's... Things. Mean things, out there."

"Why not invite them in?"

"Because it's bad shit in the forest? And we're in a fairytale? I mean..."

"I think it would be better if you let them in."

"I think that you are not in a position to judge me right now," she said through gritted teeth, raising the fire higher. It was burning her face, but she kept going, even when the tears started. The snake sounded as though she were about to cry.

"...Nobody is, Nadine."

"So what am I? A good witch, or a bad witch? Did I kill that lady?"

"I wish you'd stop worrying about that."

"Um, what?"

"That's a question for another time. Right now you need to make a choice."

"I can't do that if I don't have all the information."

"Ah." Grandmother squatted on the conference room floor, like a vision. Like a hallucination. Her scent filled the room.

"Well, you already have the information. That's the sad part. You already know what you need to know. And we don't have much time here. The moon keeps moving."

"Okay, what's the choice? And will it hurt Nadine, or the staff here?"

"It won't hurt anyone you know."

"That sounds like a terrible idea."

"Oh, it is."

They were beating in the shadows, against the doors and windows and walls. The house shook. A ghostly wind came down the chimney, stifling her flames instantly. All that work, for nothing. The tears came back, in earnest.

"Nadine. Let us in. Please."

"Please go away. This is Grandmother's house. You're not welcome."

"We can come in whenever we want. Just call to us first."

"I'm sorry, but I just can't see how that is a good thing. If you're going to come in anyway..."

"Call to us, in the dark. Come and play. The shadows are cool, and the moon is bright."

"What are you?"

"Nasty thoughts. Scary dreams. Angry fantasies."

"Sounds fun!"

"Everything you ever hated yourself for. Everything you ever wanted and could not take. Every time you felt ugly, or worthless, or betrayed. Every petty slight or harsh comment. Every time you spied on someone with your gift, every time you delighted in someone else's pain, we were there. We were born. We are in your attic, in your basement. Up the stairs, around every corner. We sweat in the dark."

Nadine looked around herself in the dark, head juddering.

"No, you're not."

"You blind yourself to us. We are everywhere. Call to us. Let us in."

"If you are what you say you are, then I'm not about to cavort with you."

"You make us dark. You put us in cupboards and forgotten dusty hallways, and we grow strong. You make us ugly, and we grow. We will eat you."

"No, you won't."

She began to arrange the broken pieces of the chair around herself, in a fairy circle.

"Nadine, this is worthless. Your fear is unfounded. Call us to you. Let us surround you."

"I have spent my life avoiding this crap. I am a good person. I won't have truck with... Spirits, or whatever. You can stay in the dark. You can go to hell for all I care."

"We are there. We shiver, Nadine. We are cold, in the dark. Let us come to you, and hold us tight. Let us breathe again."

"Absolutely not."

"So you're saying I would be, what, like an assassin?"

"Not exactly. You would nudge things. Sometimes to merciful ends, sometimes toward justice. Haven't you ever wanted to punish the villains of this world? All it takes is a wish."

"I've had enough of justice."

"No such thing, Granddaughter."

"Jeremiah said you weren't bad. He said you hold us in the palm of your hand."

"That was kind."

"Is it true?"

The old woman shrugged, with a glittering smile.

"I don't think a good guy would give me these options."

"I'm not a good guy."

"You're a bad guy, then."

"I am mercy, and I am judgment. I am the last trumpet and a baby's first laughter. I am pain and I am ecstasy. Words don't really..."

"I get that. But how can I believe that you're, like, benevolent, when you're..."

"Apache Tear, we are running out of time." She slapped the ground, hard enough to send shocks through the building. A painting -- one of Grace's, Apache thought -- slipped to the floor, glass shattering.

"Is this floor benevolent? Or that desk? The lights above our heads: Good or evil?"

"They're just... Stuff. I don't understand you."

"Get past that. You're not going to. I just need to know if you'll take what I can give you."

"Which is what, exactly?"

"Knowledge. The information. Control."

"Of my thing?"

"Of a lot more than that."

"Could I have Michael?"

"You could have it all."

"What about Roland?"

"Roland is going to be dead in a year. I can't help you with that. He made the choice."

"You are cruel, Grandmother."

"That too, Granddaughter."

The snake raised its head, rattling softly.

"Snake, I swear to God. I can't deal with them and you too."

"I'm not rattling for you. I am rattling for them. They're making me nervous."

"They're making me g.d. nervous, too."

"They're yours, Nadine."

"I don't want them."

"That's why they're like this. Look, you said this was your house."

"I was just being tough."

"It could be. This could be your house. You just have to take ownership of it."

"Fine. I'm sure Grandmother would understand."

"She would delight in it."

"So what do I..."

"Not so fast. If you take ownership of it, you take all of it. Every nook and cranny. If you're going to live here, you're going to be responsible for everything."

"The forest, and the attic and the basement, and the shadows, and the dusty hallways?"

The snake nodded, which pleased Nadine. It looked like that puppet from her mother's childhood TV. She almost smiled.

"I don't know about that."

"Nadine, you have spent your life in the sunshine. You think everything nasty and scary is in the dark. And it is, but only because you put it there. Everything in this house belongs to you now."

She looked around herself, at the old creaky place. It was solid and sturdy. A little bit of work and it would shine. She could be proud of it.

"We can help!" said the voices outside. "Just let us in!"

They sounded like children, now. Terrified and cold, and hungry. What if it was a trick? What if the second she opened the door, they fell upon her in a swarm, sucking at her blood and tearing at her flesh? What if they were all true? What if they were monsters, and not children at all?

"I can't, I'm sorry!"

"We are with you, forever. We make you afraid and we make you weak. You hate us, and it makes us stronger. And more afraid, and more lonely."

"You said that part," she groaned to herself.

"Sorry!" the voices said, and giggled.

Their voices were like silver chimes in the moonlight. They began to tap playfully on the glass, in a made-up rhythm.

"Let! Us! In!"

"So I let you do this to me..."

"I don't do anything. I just kiss you, and you are filled with self-knowledge."

"Why not do that to everybody?"

"I do. You people always forget."

"It's probably easier."

"Most of the time. The stupider it is, the easier. And vice-versa."

"You kiss me, and you leave us alone? And I can do whatever I want."

"Yes."

"Whatever I want, Grandmother?"

"...Yes?"

"Grandmother, do you know why they call this the Halcyon Clinic?"

"Roland. I need to tell you something."

"Sure," he said affably. There was a bit of soup on his chin. She wanted to wipe it off, so she sat on her hands.

"The day we saw the witch. You called me, you said you were afraid you were dying."

"The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day."

"Right. Well, we've been doing some stuff here at the Clinic, and I think I might owe you an apology."

"I'm sorry?"

"I don't think it was Nadine, um, trying to kill you."

"I don't follow, Apache Tear."

"Well, I think I might... You know how we never talk about my stuff?"

"Your thing. Your gift, like Nadine..."

"Right. You know we were raised together, in that place."

"She never talked about it much either, but I know."

"I ended up there because my parents died."

"I had no idea."

"I... Know that. Not many people do."

"Wait, Apache. Are you saying that you think you're..."

"I'm fairly certain, actually."

"I don't believe it."

"We want to see the best in people, Roland."

"No, I mean, I believe that you have powers or whatever, and I know you're capable of killing me, but I don't... You would know. You have to believe that you'd know."

"I don't. I hope to find out. I'm going to enter treatment when this is over. Assuming Nadine lets me stay, which is a leap. But I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? On the off-chance that you nearly killed me?"

"I'm sorry for letting you think it was Nadine."

"Or it was just a string of bad luck. My own guilt, causing me to..."

"Sure, maybe."

"Well, I don't see the point in worrying about it now."

"I sure do."

"If there's something to your theory, which I can't believe there is, but if there is, then you're in the perfect place. I bet they have all kinds of stuff here, to keep that stuff from happening."

"They do."

"Then stop being afraid of it."

The sun was setting. Nadine shivered a bit, looking out the window. The moon was awfully large, hanging in the purple sky. Grandmother cleared the dishes, and sat down across the table with her hands folded. Her eyes were infinitely sad, but there was steel behind them. Nadine braced herself.

"Nadine, night's coming."

"That doesn't sound good."

"That's when it changes. I've given you everything I can. Remember what you've got."

"Okay?"

"I'm going to leave now."

"You'll be back in the morning?"

"I'll be back when it's... Finished. Do you understand what I'm saying? I am going to leave now."

"Okay."

"I won't be here. With you. You're going to be alone, in this house."

"I've got my trusty wolf, and my friendly Snake."

"My hope is that it will be enough. I'm sorry I can't stay."

"Grandmother, you're scaring me. Why can't you stay?"

"Those are the rules."

"But you said this is your house."

"It is."

"So why can't you stay?"

"This part isn't for me. I'm not here for this part. Ever."

"I think you're being cruel."

"That too, Granddaughter."

"Roland, I don't know if you're being willfully stupid or you just don't have the capacity to understand what I'm..."

"I know exactly what you're saying. And I'm telling you to stop being afraid of it. Who does that help?"

"Look, you're like the first person I ever talked to about it, so if you're just going to..."

"I'm trying to help. If it were Nadine, or even me, you'd say the same thing: Stop hiding from it, start looking at it. Especially if it's as big as you say. Feeling guilty and horrible about shit you couldn't control is all fine and good, but you need to look at controlling it now. Which means facing it."

"I don't know if you've noticed this, but historically I don't have the greatest willpower."

"You're sitting there telling me you think you're some kind of a magical serial killer, and you don't have the 'willpower' to even address it? You're not the woman I thought you were."

"I was never the woman you thought I was, ass."

"Now you're getting mad."

"Fuck yes, I am."

"From here, that just makes me think I'm right. You're afraid."

"You know nothing about me."

"I know more about you than anybody on this planet besides Nadine, and I know when you're being defensive. This is one of those times."

"I'll be back later..." she said, standing up, and he shrugged. She could have punched him in the face. She was about to give up her exit and really go off on him, when Grace appeared at the door, white as a sheet.

"Sylvia Gostock is dead."

The house went dark and dead, in Grandmother's absence. It suddenly became quite clear that the house had an upstairs, and that upstairs had been left to its own devices. There was creaking. Not nightmare movie creaking, not bumps in the night, but just sounds. Like a house settling. Out in the forest, past the yard, there was a sharp sound like laughter, or sticks burning. When the sun set, there was no light at all.

Nadine banked the fire, but its light was cold. The snake seemed to be sleeping; the wolf whined, and pawed at the ground near the snake's basket. She listened to the pop and sizzle of the embers, afraid to stand up and walk past the windows to get more wood. But once the wood burned down, she'd be even more nervous, so she sucked it up and went to the pile in the corner. Grandmother had fed it all to the pot-bellied stove for their dinner. Nadine shivered, and looked out into the yard, where the woodpile was high. All kinds of nasty critters might hide there. The yard, within the fence, was bright with moonlight. Beyond the fence it was just darkness.

"Well, Wolf? Shall we go for a stroll?"

The wolf whined, but rolled onto its back for a quick stretch before leaping up and to her side. She picked up a basket for the wood, and set out into the yard, under the pale moon. She felt like a silly Red Riding Hood, wolf riding shotgun, snake by the fire. Walking away from Grandmother's house, instead of toward it. Scared of nothing. Terrified, of nothing at all.

Over her head was a rustling sound, like bats. Witches' skirts fluttering in the breeze, perhaps. Out in the forest was a low rumble, a sound she couldn't identify. The air was completely still. Every step in the lawn was a crunch. Her heart thudded. The wolf crammed itself so far into her thigh, walking timidly, that she thought she'd fall over just trying to get to the woodpile.

"Wolf, you have got to pull it together. We can't both be acting silly. There's nobody here but us chickens."

She could have sworn somebody just beyond the fence laughed, with a chicken's bgawk buried in it. Her eyes formed tricking shapes in the shadows: monsters and men, children shifting in and out, black on darker black.

The laughter came again as she stepped closer to the edge of the yard. It was wicked. If it was real at all, it was unkind.

Apache clutched at the nearest body, as her skin went cold. It was Roland, whose arm she snatched at; she knew in some corner that she'd drawn blood with her nails. She let him go, too afraid suddenly to spare him a glance.

"Gostock's dead? What about Nadine?"

"Apache, I need you to come with me right now."

"You think I did this?"

"I think you need to come with me right now so we can work this out."

"Gracie, I couldn't. You know me!"

"I know that something bad is going down, and you're at the heart of it right now."

"But I'm not... I mean, I've been..."

"I don't want to put you in jail, Patch. I want to protect you. This storm is centered squarely on you. All three of you."

"Dr. Connelly," Roland blustered, holding his arm where she'd scratched him.

"You're fine, Roland. Just get some rest. Apache?"

She went.

"Hello? Creepy forest person or persons?" Her voice was shaky.

"Present." Its voice was like ice, cracking. It made her shiver. The wolf curled itself around her legs, catching her up, as the thing chuckled in the dark.

"Can I ask what you're doing out there?"

"Waiting for you. Come and play."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen."

"Oh, it will."

"Look, you're scaring me. And my wolf..."

"-- Can't help you now. Come out into the dark."

"Absolutely not. I've got this snake inside, and my house..."

"It's not your house. It was never your house."

"Right now it is. And you're not welcome."

"That's how we get you, Nadine Blumenthal."

"Don't I have to invite you in or something?"

The voice laughed, like a strummed tendon. Wet and horrible.

"Apache," Claire said calmly. "Nobody is accusing you of anything."

"Really?"

"Really. But the situation has changed. Have you noticed anything..."

Jeremiah finally stood up.

"I have a call out, to the White Sisterhood. We didn't want to tell you, but there's been a..."

"-- Tarquin is in some kind of cult. He let this witch spider into Nadine's room, and they told me not to worry about it. Maybe she's the one who..."

"Tarquin, is that true? Did you let a 'witch spider' into Nadine's room?"

When Claire said it, it sounded completely retarded.

"Claire, I'm familiar with this particular being. I've never seen Her like this. I've barely ever seen Her. They don't usually bring in the big guns like this unless it's really important."

"Excuse me, who's 'they'?"

"Them. Him. Or Her. The ones."

"Friends of yours."

"God, no."

"She said you were her priest."

"That's how she would see it. But Claire, I'm serious. Whatever Apache's dealing with, I've never seen it like this. It's the kindest thing imaginable. She holds us in her hand."

"She was the one that sold us the bracelets. Clearly a nice lady."

"Apache, there's not time to talk about it, but when you're working with these... When you're dealing with this stuff, you get what you're working with."

"You're saying she's a bitch because I'm a bitch. She's fucked up and hurting Nadine because I'm..."

"I'm saying I don't think she's fucked up and I don't think she's hurting Nadine. I think you're twisting it."

"Well, isn't that characteristic? As long as I'm killing people I might as well turn God into some kind of..."

The old woman stood suddenly at the door of the conference room. Nobody moved.

"Granddaughter, you worry too much."

"You don't know what we are. That's how you like it."

"I'm warning you..."

It laughed again. It multiplied.

"You? Warn us?"

"I'm a person of not inconsiderable gifts."

"Which you ignore."

"...Wait, what?"

"You could drop us where we stand. And oh, we stand! Nadine, there are armies of us. Waiting for you."

"What, exactly, are you waiting for? What do you need from me?"

"So considerate."

"Look, I'm willing to work this out..."

"Your wolf is cringing. Look what you've made, Nadine. Look at that proud beast, brought low. By your weakness. He could shake mountains."

"My wolf and I are fine, thank you. Tell me what you want."

"Your blood."

"That is really unfriendly of you to say."

"You are a fat cunt."

"Well! This conversation is over."

"Which one is Palatine?"

Apache sighed ornately.

"Come on. The Clinic is abuzz."

"I don't know if you've met him."

"Is he the skinny one?"

"No, that's Andrew St. John."

"Is he the hippie? I bet it's the hippie. He has that thing."

"What thing? And no, that's Buzz Aldrin."

"That sweaty, car-fixing, man's man, sensitive new age thing."

"In your experience, does that attract me?"

"Ouch," Roland said.

"Well? And anyhow," she grinned, but refused to meet his gaze, "You think he's a real man's man, huh?"

"Oh, because he's with the other one? Is that supposed to shock me?"

She shrugged.

"If you knew they were together, why did you ask?"

"Well, there aren't any others, so I thought maybe it was a grave misunderstanding or..."

"I would have thought your tastes would run more to Tarquin, Roland. You always liked your men suave. Maybe you're leaving him out on purpose."

"You'll have to do better than that. I can admit that he's a very good-looking man, if you're into date-rapists, and come on: I can't see you giving him the time of day. Nadine either."

"Well, you're half-right. Nadine certainly doesn't think much of him. I think he's great, though. One of the kindest men I've ever met, under that shallow exterior..."

"Apache. Which one is Palatine?"

"The one with red hair."

"The... Oh. Oh!"

"God, what now?"

"I just didn't know, that's all. You know, some guys are into that, but I never... I mean, I thought about it, with you and Nadine..."

"I am leaving. And fuck off, you gross little pig."

"Hey! I never asked. That's got to count for something."

"Well, considering you slept with both of us, I don't see how."

"They were saying you were in love. With her."

"Him, first of all..."

"Wait."

"First of all. And second of all, we're not using those words. Right now. So don't. Use those words."

"I really was off-track, wasn't I? Here I thought you were into the real virile type..."

She snorted.

"I mean besides me. And I know what that was about. I could have been anything, it wouldn't have mattered."

"You're correct there."

But he wasn't. It made her sad, in a way, to think there was so little to it. She'd known he cared about her, and it was a rough circumstance to say she'd never been attracted to him. But of course, she wasn't saying that now. And besides, it was only spending all this time with these freaks that it even made sense to worry about his self-esteem now.

"This place is weird."

"I was just thinking that."

"So she's like, pre-op, or..."

"No, it's not like that. He's a guy. I don't know how to explain it. This place is weird covers it."

"You're smiling. I think it's love."

"Well, it's nothing bad. There's nothing behind it, or beside it. There's not an agenda."

"I can tell, when you talk about him."

Finally, she looked him in the eye.

"Roland, why did you cheat on Nadine?"

"I don't want to get closer."

"You'll have to, eventually."

"Can you stop rattling?"

"That would hardly be fair."

"Can you promise me you won't bite me?"

"Right now, yes."

"So I take you back to the farmhouse?"

"You do whatever you want. But if you're asking if that's why you're here, it is."

She began to talk to herself as she edged toward it, not caring if it laughed at her.

"Big snakes, like you, I always thought about those stories, the tall tales about the wild west, and giant bulls and... About the wheel-snakes. Wagon Wheels."

"I know what you're talking about," it said kindly.

"Yeah, you do? They'd bite their tails and roll around the countryside. It always made me nervous."

"Why?"

"Well, physics, for one thing. You don't have feet, so you can't push. You'd just fall over."

"Maybe if they were on a hill, they could do it at the top."

"Maybe."

She tried to picture her snake, tail in its mouth, coming down the mountainside. Nope, still terrifying.

"I could be your chariot. Turning and turning, forever. Ending and beginning, all in one place."

It reminded her of something.

"What's that thing... Apache was into them, she had all those books in the house."

"Ouroboros."

"That's it. What's that?"

"A wheel that doesn't go anywhere. Or a story about God, in a single image, or..."

"...Or about us. People."

"When you jumped off that cliff, what did you think would happen?"

"I thought I would die."

"Did you?"

"I cheated on my wife because I thought I was dying."

"Like you literally..."

"I felt my life closing in. I didn't know it at the time. I thought we were happy. I was happy. But I felt it all the same. I had to do something."

"Bring it all down."

"...Yeah. That's what I think now, anyway."

"No, I think you're right. The problem is that you didn't care who got hurt, Roland."

He looked at her, sharply curious.

"Why did you do it, then?"

She put one hand behind the snake's head. It didn't stir, or rear. If anything, the buzz became more torpid. With her eyes on the tail -- what a long, strong body it had -- she wrapped her hand around its neck. Softly, so as not to hurt or scare it.

"What is your name, Snake?"

She wasn't sure if talking was a good idea, but its alien eyes didn't seem to reckon one way or the other.

"Down here, it's Snake."

"Are you a boy, or a girl?"

"For you, a girl."

"Why?"

"Because that's how it works. You get the Snake you need."

"I don't get it, are you like a... What are you?"

"You're afraid of women."

Nadine laughed, scoffing. "I am not."

"You are. Being judged. Being called mean. Being called ugly. You expect men to be vicious, but women surprise you every time. You can't fight them the way you can men."

"So you're like my fear of women?"

"Everything down here is you, Nadine. I don't represent anything."

"What the heck does that mean? Of course you do. This is like a dream, or..."

"St. John was right. You really do think this is therapy."

"It better be, or I'm effed."

She shouldered the snake, wrapping its bulk across her shoulders like firewood, holding the head in her hand. Still so tenderly, so firmly. She loved its warmth on her skin.

"What are fairytales? A quest story. And you think that's a metaphor for therapy, or growing up, or..."

"Sure. That's like freshman psych."

"Okay, but nobody's going to tell you the truth, because it's too scary."

"And that is?"

"The quest isn't a metaphor for therapy. Therapy is a metaphor for the quest."

"This is the real world? Shouldn't I feel more like Keanu Reeves?"

She could swear the snake laughed: "Do you?"

"Well, that's b.s."

The snake didn't respond, so she started on the road back home. The sun was going down again, and there was a chill in the air.

"The real world is the real world."

"Did it ever occur to you that most of your problems come from thinking there's a difference?"

"This is like talking to Buzz."

"You should see his Snake sometime."

"Yeah, that's what he says."

This time she distinctly felt it laughing.

"Nadine is... You know how she is. But I just saw such fire in her. It was like my whole life was meant to light that fire, and I never could. She just watched me, and enjoyed it. We lived it up. It made me go crazier, I think, than I would have. Just so she could enjoy it. You, too. I knew you both ate that stuff up."

"We did. But we worried, too."

"Nothing new there. But when she married you, I felt like I was losing touch with that fire."

"Like you were losing her?"

"No, like she was killing it."

"Wow, Apache."

"Yeah, it seems silly. I panicked and I guess maybe I just didn't think it through. I just knew I wanted you away from her."

"Is that the whole truth?"

Apache shook her head.

"You know the real truth. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt you. I was jealous, and stupid, and all the things we tell ourselves we'll never be."

"You wanted her perfect life?"

"God, no. No offense. I just didn't want her to have a happy life."

"Because you'd lose her forever."

"No, Roland. This is not going to be about you, no matter how you try to spin it. It's not because you were winning. We are tied together in ways you can't comprehend."

"Great."

"I'm not trying to hurt your feelings, I'm telling you to back up. That's not what it was about. I wanted her to be unhappy."

"That is obvious."

"I wanted her to be unhappy... Outwardly. I knew there was a scared place inside her, a lonely nasty sad place, and I thought it was like a blister. That I would be doing a better job if I pricked it. It wasn't to prove she didn't love you, or... She did, she loved you so much. It was because I knew loving you would heal over the hole."

"She'd be healthy."

"She'd be a liar. She'd be... One of those girls. Who thinks she's happy. Who stops thinking altogether just in case. It's all she ever wanted. I couldn't stand to see that."

"What gives you the right to make those decisions? Whether or not she's being authentic enough, or..."

"Nothing, dude. Absolutely nothing. But you asked."

"Would you have done anything differently?"

She thought about it. There were about fifteen answers. She decided to give him the truest one.

"If I'd known what would happen, I would have stolen you before the wedding. I would have fucked you, and destroyed you, right in front of her."

"Just to keep her from happiness."

"Roland, I don't know if you missed this memo or what, but I'm an asshole."

"I'm aware. But I don't think you're entirely off-base."

"I'm sorry?"

"I know what she's capable of, too. In my own way I think I was... Trying to light that fire, too. Maybe even a reason I cheated. Just something to... I know what you're talking about. The scab."

"You loved the scab. You were the scab."

"No, Patch. I loved exactly what you love about her. I just wanted to get there first."

"I really hate talking to you."

"I really miss talking to you."

"Do you want some food or something?"

"Heck yes."

Grandmother was cooking when Nadine returned with the snake. Her wolf pranced about in the yard, eyeing the snake suspiciously.

"Be good, Wolf. This isn't your dinner."

The snake rattled quietly, sending a tongue out into the twilight, and the wolf sighed.

Inside, Grandmother was singing a song. It sounded old, and she didn't recognize the language.

"I have brought a guest, Grandmother."

She looked up from the old pot-belly stove, reaching down for more kindling, and winked at the snake.

"Good job."

Nadine laid the snake down in the basket by the fireplace.

"Did you bring that golden goblet?" asked Grandmother softly, stirring a stew.

Nadine started, and looked worriedly at the snake. They both laughed.

"Granddaughter, you're doing fine. I apologize."

"What now, then?"

"Now, we eat. I'll bring some green things in from the garden, for your friend. Then she will sleep, and we'll chat by the fire. Nothing too intense."

"I'm given to understand we're on a short timeframe, here..."

"Granddaughter, this is my job. Give me some credit."

"Okay."

"No reason we can't work while we eat. You set the table."

Nadine set to it. The flatware was stolen from a catalog she remembered from last year, when country cottage was briefly the rage, and she'd admired it: the silver handles were all knotted wood. She put napkins in napkin holders, the whole bit. After a while, Grandmother looked over the kettle at her.

"How did you hold her?"

"Sorry?"

"How did you convey your new friend home?"

"Over my back."

"Makes sense. And the head?"

"What do you mean?"

"Weren't you afraid she'd bite you?"

"I held her around the neck."

"Weren't you afraid you'd choke her?"

"It was soft, Grandmother. I held her just softly enough to stay safe."

"What if you got distracted? What if you tripped, and scared her, and she whipped around with that tail? Or heaven forbid, what if you squeezed too hard, and hurt her?"

"I focused, Grandmother. I'm capable of walking and chewing bubblegum. And she is a living thing, I'm not going to start treating her like a purse."

"You never forgot, not for a moment?"

"Of course not. You're getting intense."

"Not too hard, and not too soft."

"Yeah. Like Goldilocks."

"That's what Nadine always used to say about you, too. That you were a good man, but not a harsh one. We called you Goldilocks."

"Very masculine. I like it." He slurped the soup and grinned at her. She didn't like it; he was getting too comfortable.

"But even with the gender stuff, which we haven't even really talked about, I really feel like he's on my level, you know? I've never been with a guy who I felt was capable of understanding me, much less putting in the time to do so. Not if he hoped to keep my interest."

Roland was offended, he couldn't help himself.

"Well, maybe being a woman half the time helps."

"Roland, come on. It's not like we dated. How are we supposed to talk about boys if you keep thinking you're one of them?"

"Talking about boys. Huh. That's what we're doing, all right. You're right."

"You started it."

"You're right, I did. And I'm fascinated, but you don't seem to have a lot of information..."

"Which is fine. That whole... That whole thing is definitely a larger hoagie than I'm going to contemplate eating anytime soon. Right now I'm enjoying the flirtation phase, and it's enough."

"Flirtation phase. You sound like Marion."

"Trust me, it weighs heavy on my mind."

"Is this how we're going to do it? I kind of expected, like, a teepee and a campfire or something."

"You considered it. Frankly, I like this better."

Nadine looked around herself. It was cozy. Out the window of the cabin, a wide green meadow flowered. There was a breeze, gently moving through the apple tree in the yard, and a white fence. Inside, it was all bent-wood furniture and rough-hewn stone. She'd dreamt of a place like this once, living with Roland.

Growing up, it was all sleek Manhattan apartments, hardwood floors and stucco ceilings, and curtains blowing in the breeze. A closet full of shoes. But she'd learned early that life wasn't for her. By the time she was married, it was more like this: gingham and calico, leather and wood.

The old woman knitted peacefully as Nadine got her bearings. On the floor, near the fireplace, was a large wicker basket piled high with blankets. She looked closer, but the old woman clapped her hands, suddenly. She turned around again, jumping at the sound.

"There's time for that. Let's go for a walk."

When Apache woke again, the old woman was gone. So was Jeremiah. It was only her, and Nadine, who slept like a princess in a fairy tale. She hated being alone with her thoughts -- How could Tarquin be in league with that old bitch? How could she be in league with Tarquin? -- but she knew if she left, then Nadine would be alone with hers. So she waited. She wished she had a hobby.

On the path, through the fence -- gate up to her waist -- they were met by her wolf. She smiled and ruffled the hair between his ears. He grinned up at the old woman, wagging his tail. The old woman led them out, past the roads and into the woods. The sun was high in the sky. It was absurdly bucolic.

"Grandmother, this is like a movie. I feel like a t-shirt the Jewelry Lady would wear. If my wolf starts howling at the moon..."

Grandmother laughed.

"This is from the Sweat. You were raised to give this stuff power."

"It's just hard to take it seriously."

"For now. Besides, you're not in your house anymore."

"It... Burned down."

She felt guilty; fires rose in her cheeks.

"You'll build something better. For now, we're in my house. Think of it that way."

They walked a while.

"Grandmother?"

"Yes."

"How long have you lived here?"

"Long as I've lived."

"How old are you?"

"Old as the moon! But that question is impertinent, young lady."

"Sorry. What are you knitting?"

"A suit of armor," she laughed.

Claire returned, sometime later, with Jeremiah in tow.

"Any progress? Jeremiah said there was no change."

He looked sharply at her, suddenly, like an eagle, and she shivered.

"No. No change."

"But you still want us to wait, before we try again."

"She went in, Claire. I don't think we're supposed to. Not where she's gone."

Jeremiah nodded.

"Maybe Michael could..." Jeremiah took her by the arm.

"Claire. Stop fixing. She's right."

"Well, I don't see why we couldn't just..."

Apache grinned, although she was sad to lose the company. She fixed her eyes on the clock. The old woman had come at dusk. She'd have until midnight before Apache tried again.

"Granddaughter, are you ready?"

Nadine looked over at the question, suddenly afraid.

"Ready for what?"

"For what's next."

"What else have I got to do?"

"Die, for starters. Let's get this story going, what do you say?"

She handed Nadine a strange object, made of aluminum.

She turned it over in her fingers for a moment before recognizing it: an old car's radio antenna. She extended it out, and waved it a few times in the air.

"Alakazam. Alakazooey. Grandmother, this magic wand is broken."

"It's not a magic wand, dear."

"What is it?"

"You'll see."

She stepped sideways, into the trees, and was gone. The wolf, too. Nadine looked up: the sun was still shining, so the forest wasn't scary yet. It was a pretty boring fairytale, if that's what this was. She stayed on the path for a bit, but finally a pile of leaves on the roadside caught her interest: birch leaves, she thought. She tried to remember what she'd learned at the Sweat, as she came closer, but there was something mesmerizing in the way they gleamed in the sun. There was something half-buried in the pile, at the foot of the tree, something that seemed to shine with its own light. She came close, shoes rustling in the brush as she got closer.

That was when the rattling started.

"Things seem to have calmed down. It was an exciting few minutes, though."

Marion plopped down beside her in the chair, as though she'd been tending to the patients herself.

"How are you, Marion?"

"Oh, I'm fine, dear. How is the patient?"

Nadine waved toward her, unable to say anything truly encouraging.

"Her color's perked up nicely. Whatever you did must have worked."

"Here's hoping."

"Apache, I... Well, I'm not being much use here. And this place..."

"It takes its toll," Apache nodded. Was Marion really asking her permission to leave?

"Marion, I'm sure you've had a long day. Traveling is exhausting, and meeting all these people..."

Marion nodded, frowning in a way that would have seemed cartoonish in another circumstance.

"Let one of the drivers take you home. I'll call you if -- when -- things change. Is that all right?"

"She needs me..."

"She needs rest. So do you. Please, do yourself the favor."

"Well, if you say so. The other doctors have so many kind things to say about you, Apache. It was impressive."

"They're a rum bunch," Apache said weakly.

"I've always known you could do anything you put your mind to," Marion lied, squinting as she forced the words out.

"I know, Marion. I'll call you."

Marion heaved herself to her feet with a knowing smile. She turned at the door.

"Oh, I forgot myself entirely! He's asking for you."

Apache shook her head, confused. Michael? Jeremiah?

"Roland. Roland's asking for you."

Nadine stepped back, out of the leaves, but she couldn't figure out where the buzzing, scary sound was coming from. Every nerve screamed, telling her to run, but she knew Grandmother and the wolf wouldn't be too impressed if she did that. She held the antenna out before herself, just like a wand or a sword, and pushed back. The fear around the clearing was so thick it was like walking through a hot summer downpour; it was exhausting, like walking on loose sand.

As she regained her ground, closer even than before, she leaned closer to the object, whatever it was, trying to figure out its outline in the shadows and its blanket of leaves. The rattle got louder, and the leaves began to move. Coiled around the object -- a golden cup -- was a snake, the twin of Apache's bracelet, but thick as the wrist it once had coiled around.

Nadine stood very still and considered her options. She coughed, hoping it would scare the snake, or calm it down, but it did nothing but weave its head angrily at her, rattling louder. She'd never been afraid of snakes, but she knew to respect them.

This one, the teeth alone could give you nightmares. She'd never liked snake mouths, their fangs. Too messy, too biological. It opened wide, as if to say hello.

"Roland."

"No nasty little names?"

"Nadine might not last the night. What do you want?"

"I thought I should ask you how she is," he said awkwardly. His wrists were still bleeding.

"She's fine, Roland. Thank you for asking." Apache turned to go.

"Apache, come on."

"There is no 'come on.' We haven't suffered enough. Now that it's sent Nadine around the bend, we're even guiltier than we were before."

"You are."

"Fuck off."

"I mean, you feel guilty because of what we did. But this isn't about that. Not anymore. We're responsible for Nadine..."

"I."

"You're responsible for Nadine because you love her, not because you hate yourself. We should have come here when it happened."

"Well, now I know that for sure."

"Did you ever talk to her? The old woman?"

Apache grinned.

"Yes, Roland. We are in league. In fact, she's in this clinic right now."

"I'm sure."

"It's true. I woke up and she was standing over Nadine's bed, like the wicked fairy. Maybe she'll visit you next. I certainly won't."

"Nadine, I spoke to Marion for a long time."

"I hope it was awful for you."

"No, it was... It was nice. She was kind. It's like she's so worried, or curious, that she doesn't have time to be mean."

"She just doesn't know what to do when she's not the one in control."

"Look who's talking."

"Nice seeing you, Roland."

"Apache, seriously. I need..."

"No."

"Apache, this place is freaking me out. These are your people, not mine. I almost died. I appreciate that you've been through something, and Nadine is going through something. But I also have been through something. And you have each other, and these people, and I have nothing."

"By choice."

"Apache, I realize I'm selfish. I have no right to ask for anything, from anybody, for the rest of my life. You think I don't agree with you, that I've used up all my chances, but I do. I know that."

"Like you're this monster."

"Worse than you know."

She didn't care to ask.

"Apache, please just sit here. You don't have to talk to me, or even look at anybody. But this room feels about a foot square, and I can't breathe. The only time I felt like I wasn't going to rip open was when Marion was here, scaring me. Please just sit. I know you'll know if you need to go somewhere."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you're just as lonely as I am. And you miss her, and you're scared, and none of them can help you with that. Because I am out of chances."

"No. Too bad."

"Apache, if I were some random guy who did what I did, you'd do it. You would be completely kind to a stranger. Even a rapist or a murderer. I've seen it in you. You are a compassionate person. I've always thought that was why you were so angry."

"I'm angry?"

He grinned.

"Yeah. You are. Because you get frustrated by people not living up to your expectations. Or living down to your pessimism, I should say. You know people could be better, and it kills you inside that they're not."

"Or I'm just a bitch."

"Well?"

"Just don't talk to me. Okay?"

"Deal."

"Hello, Snake. You are beautiful."

There was no answer, and it occurred to her to feel stupid for expecting one.

"So, my particular vision quest at this juncture has grown depressingly standard. I'm supposed to distract you, or fight you, or brave you, in order to get the cup, and then probably bring it to the king or something, and..."

"You know better," the snake hissed.

"I do?"

"You don't care for gold or jewels. That's not what this story is about, not for you." It laughed nastily, hissing to itself. "Maybe if it were a pint of Ben & Jerry's, but not that thing. Think harder."

"So it's about you?"

"Closer."

"Okay, Blue, you're on the right track..."

"No, idiot. Come closer."

"But you'll bite me."

"I'm telling you I won't."

Nadine began to laugh. Of course she was.

It wasn't a country cabin: it was a farmhouse.

Halcyon went, to coin a phrase, apeshit. The machines were screeching so loud that the staff couldn't hear themselves think, as they all came to with a shared gasp, looking at each in horror. The joyful look on her face, under that steel sun, as she dropped backwards, out of sight, arms thrown wide...

"She's arresting. We need a medical team in here," Claire said, reaching for her phone.

"Already on their way from Green," Andrew said, shaking. Buzz went to his side.

"Apache, did she say anything? What is she... What's the...?" Jeremiah was shaken as well, holding onto the side of the bed for support.

"Somebody go get her mom," Buzz choked, but Apache held out her hand.

"Wait. Just wait, please. Turn off those machines. They're too loud, and everybody's thinking too loud, and I just need you to..."

They buzzed around her bed like bees, like a swarm of snakes. She pushed her way through them, shutting down the machines herself. When it was done, they were quiet: just the sound of Nadine's labored breathing.

"Nobody's telling Marion. Not yet. Give her a second."

"Apache, I hardly think..."

Michael stepped forward, careful not to touch her.

"Apache's been running point on this since the beginning. If she says wait, we wait."

Claire shook her head, suddenly angry, but didn't move.

"Go deal with your patients, Redbud."

"Claire," she snapped, without thinking, and then blushed.

"I felt that. When it happened, I felt it. Roland and Marion probably felt it. You're going to have a riot on your hands. Let me deal with this. Jeremiah, you can stay."

He nodded gratefully, and shrugged at the others.

"Lady says stay, I stay. But she's right -- this place feels like a faultline."

Jeremiah and Apache sat at the bedside, and he reached for her hand. They settled in to wait. Michael threw them both an angry look, but didn't argue. And one by one, they stumbled away.

It was a deep ravine she dropped through, but not so deep that her fear ever stopped. She was pointed down, legs above her head, her beautiful swan dive becoming a fetal forward roll as she braced for the impact. The river at the bottom of the gorge had been dry for a long time, leaving jagged rocks in its wake. Sharp granite shards, and smoother pebbles, but no water at all.

When she hit, it felt as though the rocks went all the way through her body: into her organs, ripping at her skin, the sudden heavy crunching sound as she broke upon the floor. She stared up, at the walls of rock above her. Red, earthy stone, with green shoots here and there.

Almost the color of Michael Palatine's hair, Nadine thought. Auburn like that, when the sun shines on her. She noticed her thoughts getting abstract and prepared to lose consciousness, grateful for the rest. But no rest came.

The grey sun passed over her in the dishwater sky, as she tried to think, but all her thoughts were broken as the rocks. Oh shit was a popular one. This hurts worse than dreams, was another. As the sky darkened, she heard a light foot, padding over the stones, and a snuffling like a dog. When it went away again the air was much cooler, and the pain had faded. But she still couldn't move.

"Hello? Am I supposed to be learning something?"

Speaking didn't hurt anymore, the way breathing had when she'd first fallen. She couldn't lift her arms or head, but she took comfort in the sound. She'd never felt so dreadfully alone, without even planes flying over to remind her what life was like without the wilderness. She wondered what terrible creatures she'd conjured up in here, over time.

The steel sun set, replaced by a sickly green moon, and it grew cold. She lifted one arm, and then the other, and there was no pain at all. Just a heaviness, pressing down on her skin from everywhere. Just like in the chair, up at the top of the gorge.

And what if she did pull through, or figure this one out? How would she get back? Would she have a body to get back to? She had the sudden thought that it was all a dream -- Halcyon, the job, everything -- and the thought that they'd never existed brought tears to her eyes.

The snuffling sound returned, with a heavier, bipedal footfall and a sly laugh. A person, then. Like the vision quests at the Sweat. She'd never liked them, because they always seemed to tell you obvious things. The animals or whatever would appear, and tell you to be kinder to your neighbors, and everybody would sit around and talk about how meaningful it was. If it hadn't been Apache's job, she would have laughed about it. Instead she had to pretend she thought it was amazing, just to give Apache something to make fun of. And to impress Jane Crow, who almost always seemed to have more vivid trances than anybody else.

"Hello?" she called again, and was answered by a comforting whuff.

"You can stand up, you know," said an old woman's voice. "You're just being lazy."

"Ma'am, I have made the conscious decision to rest for a little while, having just survived a fall from approximately... One trillion feet."

"Imaginary feet."

"I've been here so long I don't know the difference anymore."

"Me too," said the old woman, and crouched down, staring into her face. Her eyes were old, and wild. Mercy, and a sadness, but an anger, too. Not cruelty, but something harsh and infinite. She smelled like sage, and liniment.

Apache stretched in the darkness, taking her hand softly out of Jeremiah's, and blinked. How had she fallen asleep? How on earth could she have slept on the job? She checked Nadine, whose breathing was still regular, chest rising and falling slowly. She seemed calmer, now. Or was that what giving up looked like?

As her eyes adjusted, she suddenly jumped: the shadows weren't shadows. They were a shape, crouched over the bed like a great spider. She smelled the old woman, and her eyes flashed with rage.

"Get the fuck away from her, old woman."

"Granddaughter," the woman said, without looking up. Her smile was written in her quiet, loving voice. "I have a message."

"I have a message for you too, old woman."

"Your bonds are released. You are no longer responsible for this one."

A deep pit opened in Apache's chest.

"Winter Horse."

The old woman nodded.

"She didn't suffer. It was a good death."

"If you did something..."

The old woman laughed.

"She was elderly, silly girl. It was her time. I didn't do anything but hold her hand. Stop thinking I'm the sort to do things. I just watch. I help."

Apache shoved Jeremiah, and he woke with a start.

"Tarquin, do something."

He stared at the old woman for a moment, and turned on the bedside lamp, but didn't otherwise move. In the changed light, she looked very different. Before, she'd seemed like an old woman at a farmer's market, the kind you'd see with turquoise jewelry spread out on a cloth. Now she looked like Marion, in a nice suit, and makeup creasing her kind face.

"He won't," the old woman laughed. "He's one of mine. My priest, you could say."

Jeremiah nodded, his hand out toward Apache, desperately trying to comfort her.

"This is some kind of Rosemary's Baby thing. You fuckers are a crazy sex cult after all..."

He rolled his eyes, and the old woman laughed.

"You see what you want, girl. I see everything. And I am telling you, I can take it from here."

"I will kill you first. Get away from her."

"You promised me a favor."

"Not this, Grandmother. She's too good for you. Too clean. Please, whatever you want from her, let me do it. Don't bargain with her."

"She's already mine, child. And nobody is clean."

"What are you going to do?"

"Save her."

"I can do that."

The old woman nodded, and for a moment her eyes were filled with tears.

"You'd both keep saying that until you were dead. That's the curse that was put on you."

"You're the witch. Winter Horse was nothing like..."

"I wasn't talking about Winter Horse. You did this to yourselves."

"Grandmother, please."

"Don't beg, child. This is happening. This has happened. For once, please just trust me."

"But you're going to hurt her!"

"Yes."

"So I have to fuck you up!"

"No. You have to sit there, and you have to help me bring her back. And if you cause me trouble, Jeremiah will restrain you."

She turned on him, her hands like claws, and he threw his hands up, afraid.

"Apache, she's not what you think."

The old woman loved that.

"I think you're a bitch, that's what I think. A meddlesome old woman."

The old woman bowed her head, in a mockery of respect. As though Apache had flattered her.

"That too, Granddaughter."

Marion Blumenthal had removed her shoes.

The three women were sitting in the living room, sharing a cocktail and conversation, taking the edge off their tension with some laughter and shared history, holding a glimpse of peace in their hands before it was time to return to the Clinic, and Marion Blumenthal removed her shoes, kicking them softly onto the floor beneath Grace's chair. She wasn't even tipsy, her cheeks weren't rosy, but she seemed more at ease than she'd ever been. Her feet looked precisely like Nadine's.

Apache wondered darkly if there weren't something else happening, some use of Grace's gift, but decided that was an unkind thought. After all, the last times she'd really interacted with Marion she'd been practically a child, knock-kneed with terror of doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. Maybe this was just Marion in the company of grownups.

"Halcyon. It's a funny name," Marion mused. "Like a prescription drug."

Grace nodded. "There's a story..."

Marion leaned forward, interested. Apache was intrigued as well.

"Well. Two stories, really. There was a giant, in Greece, with seven daughters. He was rebellious, and led a war against the Gods. Hercules killed him. And his daughters were so upset that they threw themselves into the sea."

"Nice," Apache said. Marion nodded, uncomfortable.

"In the other story, the daughter of the Wind married the son of the Morning Star. They angered the Gods..."

"How?"

"The usual, hubris. Calling each other 'Zeus' and 'Hera,' that kind of thing. Too proud."

Marion nodded, blinking, like she was trying to remember something. She'd done languages in college, Apache recalled. Once she'd known a lot about mythology. How funny.

"The king went to consult an oracle, and died on the sea. His ghost appeared to his wife, and she threw herself into the sea."

"Lot of that going around."

"Well, in both cases, the giant and the king, the people left behind were bereft. They'd lost something. And so the Gods, knowing they didn't really deserve those fates, transformed them into birds. Kingfishers. The king's wife was named Alcyone. The giant's name was Alkyoneus, so his daughters were called the Alkyonides."

"So there's two completely different myths about these birds, where they come from? The old guys just couldn't put it together?"

"Andrew says when that happens, it's usually because there's an older story they both came from. You can see the most important parts because of what they share."

"Grief," said Marion. Apache stared.

"Grief, yeah. And the cliffside, and the transformation."

"Those are the important parts," Apache murmured quietly.

"Well, that's certainly an impressive story," said Marion, somehow more alive, or more present, or more excited, than Apache had ever seen her.

She wondered if Marion ever missed school. She wondered what school would have been like, if things were different and she and Nadine had grown up together in college, instead. She never thought she'd care for it: she did well in classes at the Sweat, but only because they didn't ask you for facts. Just thoughts. If you could tell the teachers everything somebody said, or what it meant, they didn't care if you knew the person's date of birth, or death, or what city they grew up in. Facts were for Nadine. She would have been great, Apache thought, watching Marion's wheels turning.

"But what's the point? Why the name?"

Marion's curiosity was changing her speech, making her excited and blunt. She seemed so young. Apache remembered her sewing room, back when they were girls: books stacked on every surface, even though they never caught her reading.

"Well, the story goes that the kingfisher was always precious after that, to the Gods. To the Wind. So for one week out of every year -- for the three days before and the three days after the shortest day of the year, to be precise -- there are no storms where the kingfishers lays her nest. She's allowed to raise her eggs in peace, as a gift for what the Gods took."

"A week without danger," Marion said sadly, her eyes suddenly far away. Her daughter's prone form, so small and sickly, seemed to hang before her eyes for a moment. Apache could feel her love and fear across the space between them, thick as smoke, and nearly reached out.

"Halcyon days. And that's what we do: give you a week without danger, so you can deal with your grief and become whatever you're going to be next. We clear a little workspace."

"That's a beautiful story," Marion said, and Apache snorted. She stared over at her, as if she'd forgotten Apache was there. Apache squirmed.

"Um, I mean. Suicide, people dying. Husbands dying. Fathers dying."

Grace nodded, and looked to Marion, who seemed to see Apache in a new light.

"Arianna, things happen. It's terrible, what can happen. But there's nobody whose life doesn't have a bunch of... We can't live in the world until we understand that bad things will happen. It's a beautiful story because that's not the end of the story."

Grace reached out, like a bird, and took Marion's hand.

"What, it's the beginning of the story? That is a bummer. And no, that's not true. Grief is real, it's a fact, but it's not like that goes away. Pain doesn't just go away. Fear doesn't just evaporate, or turn into a bird. It's real. That's not beautiful."

Marion nodded.

"You're right about that too. But once it's happened, you have two choices."

Apache, against Grace's sudden look, opened her mouth to complain, but just then Andrew's voice echoed in both their heads, loud as loud, summoning them back to the Clinic. The girls looked at each other, briefly, and then at Marion.

"I know that look. Let me get some better shoes, and I'll go with you."

She patted Grace's arm as she went past, without looking at her, and in the silence Apache gave her the big thumbs up. Grace giggled, and then her look hardened into worry as she wondered what they'd be heading into.

Jeremiah stood over Nadine's bed, staring down, and jerked visibly when he saw Marion, shrugging pointedly at Grace as they rushed in. Claire cleared her throat, but there was nothing Grace could do, so she smiled and joined them at the door, blocking their view of Nadine.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, I'm so pleased to meet you. I am Dr. Claire Redbud, and this is Dr. Jeremiah Tarquin."

He nodded to Marion, distracted -- but not so much so that it didn't have its usual effect -- and his eyes returned to Nadine's peaceful face.

"We'll be joined soon by Dr. Palatine, whom you've met, and... Buzz..." Claire's voice trailed off, nervously, wondering how Buzz's presence would impact Marion's reaction to the Clinic. Apache realized suddenly that Claire was very nervous, on Nadine's behalf. It was sweet.

They stood around for awhile, waiting for Michael and Buzz, and wondering what they'd do with Mrs. Blumenthal when they arrived. She'd made leaps since that first incident, but they all felt a little bit nervous, knowing as they did what a wedge Nadine's gift had been in their relationship. Finally Mrs. Blumenthal spoke, startling them all.

"I know what you do here. I'm not completely blind. I know you're not really doctors. You're just good at things, like Nadine. Correct?"

They nodded guiltily.

"Well, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but I'm well aware of my daughter's gifts. Whether or not they make me deeply uncomfortable -- which they do -- is not, at this precise moment, the issue. You've been very polite, and made me feel very welcome. Grace has been more than kind, and Apache has been putting up with me for years."

"And vice versa," Apache said, desperate to give Marion some kind of support. She nearly smiled back at her.

"And vice versa. So I want you all to listen to me, very closely. Dr. Tarquin, are you listening to me?"

He nodded, sullenly, and broke off staring at Nadine to give her a brilliant smile.

"You are quite a picture," she breathed, and then got ahold of herself. "All of you. You've got your act down pat, and I appreciate you putting on this show for me. I really do. But I need you to stop it, and I need you to stop it now. This isn't about making me feel comfortable, or selling me your lifestyles. This is about my daughter. My daughter. Who is, once again, in over her head because of these 'gifts' of yours. So I want you to stop worrying about me, and fix her. Immediately."

Everybody stared. Claire laughed, in the silence: a birdlike chirp, that seemed to echo through their bones.

"You heard her, people. Apache, get over here. Andrew, you're up first. Jeremy, go find Michael and Buzz for me."

Claire held up a finger toward the rapidly retreating Marion.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, you're welcome to stay or leave, but I do want you here for the update."

"Well," Andrew coughed, "Without Apache here we can't be sure. But a few hours ago we started seeing some major spikes. It seems like parts of her brain are finally waking up. Now, this could be because she's responding to treatment, or it could mean something else entirely -- it could be medical, she's put herself through hell -- but the point is, whatever happens is happening. It happens today. This case is closed today. And that means we need everybody onboard, and working overtime to turn this around. Time is up. We're not waiting for Gostock. There aren't any miracles left but the ones Nadine performs."

"And me?" asked Marion, clearly against her will.

"You can do what you like. I don't think she'd thank us for bringing you in..."

Marion shuddered, obviously aware of the implication.

"...But she needs family nearby. She needs love."

Marion rolled her eyes, and started into a protest, but he stopped her.

"That's not a doctor lie. I'm not saying that to make you feel better. I mean it. This isn't like the shows on TV. Don't make assumptions about our work here."

Marion closed her mouth like a mousetrap, and stared at him for awhile. Apache was impressed, as he stood his ground. Finally Marion nodded.

"I don't suppose anyone's been in to visit that Roland. He never did have many friends."

And with that, she was gone. They began to gather.

Nadine stood at the edge of the Dig, staring across it to the fields on the other side. If anything, the world was more colorless than ever, but it was heartening to see her this close to the edge. Apache shrugged at Andrew's questioning look, and joined her.

"I see you haven't redecorated."

"One of the ghosts... That's my mother, yeah? She's at the Clinic?"

"Yeah. She's being kind of awesome."

"You never saw that side of her. Well, but I'm sure I'll hear all about it later. 'I realize you're comatose and crapping yourself in a hospital bed, but you couldn't put on a little lipstick?'"

Apache laughed, but new better than to touch Nadine. She still had that ragged, slightly feral look about her. Apache knew she wasn't really welcome.

"So, you stood up."

"I did."

"And you're at the edge of the Dig."

"I am."

"Looked in yet?"

Nadine held back a sob, embarrassed and so angry with herself.

"I didn't want to do it without you," she spit. "Isn't that stupid? I'm just as weak as you think. I'm telling you to get out of my life, but then I can't even do this without you... Holding my hand."

"I'm here."

"I know. I hate it. I hate you."

"I'm here."

"Thanks for not bringing my mom."

"Oh God, she wasn't feeling that. She's with Roland, actually."

Nadine started to laugh.

"What? Seriously? Did she bring him a cookie bouquet?"

"I don't think it's like that. Nadine, do you think your mom could actually kill a person?"

"No. He'll just wish he was dead."

Apache turned to look at the rest of them: Grace and Andrew and Claire. In the room, she felt Michael's hand on her, and smiled. Michael and Buzz appeared with the others, awkwardly waving hello. Nadine waved back, rolling her arms and moaning embarrassedly to herself.

"This is like one of those dreams where you're giving a talk in school and realize you're just wearing your panties."

"You could imagine them naked, that's what you're supposed to do."

"Not in here. They really would be, and it would just be weird."

Feeling strange, keeping one eye on Nadine as she did so, Apache stepped closer to the edge.

"Wanna look?"

"Would that be weird?"

"Not really. Well, maybe." Nadine thought for a second. "Yeah. That would be weird."

"So, Nadine..."

"Yeah, Patch." Her voice sounded ghostly, tired.

"You're probably going to, um. Today's the day. Today is when you have to do this. We're out of time."

"I didn't even get sessions with the others! Michael came in and yelled at me, I was supposed to meet with Andrew today, it was going to be..."

"Is that really the problem? You didn't get enough attention from the staff before you died?"

"No," Nadine said glumly, kicking at the ground.

"Nadine, I learned something earlier that made me think of you. I was talking to Michael about some things, and he was saying some, like, very nice things. And it was really pissing me off, because I thought, how on earth can he really know that? Like, how stupid is he to think I'm actually worth..."

"Loving?"

"Ugh, no. I mean yes. I mean... The point is that all those people you're so embarrassed about, standing over there? They've been dying right along with you."

"So I should do this for them."

Nadine sounded strong for the first time in weeks. Apache almost slapped her.

"No, you silly bitch. You should do it for you. I'm just saying..."

She began to cry.

"Maybe if you think you're not strong enough to do this, or you think whatever is down there is so bad you'd rather die, maybe you can just pretend that they're right. Just long enough to get you through this part. Maybe if you just imagined that they didn't think you were being silly. Maybe if you just took them at their word, for just a second, and trusted them."

"My problem isn't believing that they're nice. I know they're nice. They're too nice. It makes me want to throw up. They're so kind and helpful and... I would think you, of all people, would understand."

"Because I want to fucking punch people when they're like this? Um, I feel you. But I also know that you don't have any options here, and that was the best I could do."

Nadine tapped her lips, thinking hard. She looked just like her mother.

"Did Gracie ever tell you how the Clinic got its name?"

Apache nodded. "Your mom, too."

"Did she like the story? Did she understand the story?"

"Yeah. A lot. She said it was beautiful."

"She would," Nadine said. And jumped.

Apache waved off the driver when they arrived, taking pride in her strength as she hefted Marion's bags onto her back, fishing out the keys with a spare hand and sailing past her, to the door. She could tell Marion was impressed, with the house, and said a silent prayer of thanks. Nadine would be moved beyond the telling if she could see this sudden, proud surprise in her mother's eyes.

Once inside, she put the bags on the bed and nodded to Marion, heading to the kitchen to wait for Grace. To hide, more precisely, but ostensibly to give Marion time to settle her things. She started the tea kettle boiling, for the first time in her life, hoping she'd done it right but more than anything unable to think of anything else to do.

There were some magazines on the dining room table, and she spent long minutes looking at them: to clean up the clutter, or to leave them lying around? Would Marion be impressed with the grown-up titles -- decorating magazines, gourmet journals -- or just see a mess? She stood in the doorway, fairly hopping with anxiety, until she heard the car in the drive and went rocketing out to greet Grace. She nearly wept.

"I always say it's nearly five somewhere, so why quibble?"

Grace set down a tray, martini glasses and tiny snacks, and handed them both napkins.

"What we have here. Well, it's light, nothing to make us dozy. Champagne, with organic fruit juice. After all, it's an open house."

Marion stared at her disbelievingly. Yes, Apache thought, we have friends. Then, more kindly, she remembered that she still spent most of her time with Grace staring at her. She sat back on the divan to watch Grace work her hurly-burly.

"I cannot tell you, Mrs. Blumenthal, how excited we all have been to meet you." Grace sat, ankles crossed, in one of the stark Mission chairs Apache had chosen for the living room. "In fact, we were a bit jealous of Michael. But now everyone's jealous of me!"

Marion faked a laugh.

"Which is just the way I like it."

Marion's laugh was a bit more authentically appreciative, this time. Grace clasped her hands in her lap, looking as small as a doll, and blinked affectionately at Marion.

"Of course, we don't know how long you'll be here, but you must make sure to let Apache Tear know your every desire. She's a wonderful hostess."

Grace reached out, not for the first time since her arrival, and touched Apache gently. At first, it had weirded Apache out, but she'd begun to notice how it calmed Mrs. Blumenthal down just a bit more every time. Like a nervous dog, watching its master demonstrate affection for a visitor: See, everything's fine. Everything is going to be fine.

"Now, let's talk about you. How was the trip?"

Marion sighed, and Grace nodded sympathetically, catching her eye.

"You know. Cramped, rushed, impolite. I'm afraid I'm not one for traveling."

She said it as though it were a personal failing.

"I always get a sinus infection from planes, I hate them! I tried those herbal treatments, but they did no good at all. I think it's a racket."

Marion nodded, rolling her eyes. "I've got some in my purse."

They laughed together. Apache heard her own voice as a forced, panicked scream, but the women didn't react.

"What do you do at the Clinic, Dr. Connelly?"

Apache tensed up again.

"Oh, I take care of our more serious patients."

Marion nodded, understanding immediately.

"I think nine-tenths of what we do is just making sure that nobody feels alone. Terrible feeling, especially when you've got so much on your plate. Getting better. I think of myself as a friend, I would say. There's nothing quite so rewarding as giving comfort to those in need, is there?"

Marion nodded, as though she knew what Grace meant. Maybe she did.

Apache felt like drowsing, as Marion and Grace talked about Nadine's life here, at the Clinic, some patients, Nadine's gifts with treatment, Grace's own well-edited history. She could see Marion falling in love with Grace, like everybody did, and there was a part of her that didn't like it. She wished, as she often did, that she could change herself, her life, just long enough to get through moments like this. Imagine being Grace at a job interview, or at lunch with the ladies. Imagine how easy life could be, if you knew what being a woman was supposed to be like.

Of course, that was why she'd called Grace in the first place -- to charm Marion, to take the burden off -- but it was still disappointing. She'd always felt secondary to Nadine, in her ability to negotiate her mother and women like her, but compared to Grace they were both just children, dirty knees and bad matters.

Sure now that they were content to let her wander, that Marion wouldn't think she was being insolent by staying quiet, she sat back with her drink. Marion's perfume reminded her, strongly, of being back there: the first time she'd met her, when they were both sixteen and Nadine had taken her home for the holidays, instead of leaving her at the Sweat with the rest of the orphans.

The night before, Winter Horse had taken her aside. It was going to be a serious talk, Apache could tell by the firm set of her mouth. Maybe something really bad, given the tenderness with which she rubbed Apache's back at dinner and asked her to come for a walk. It was the same feeling she'd had, the same sad smile Winter Horse and Bethany had, when they'd come to tell her that her father had died.

"So I'm told you'll be leaving us for the holiday," Winter Horse said, offering her warm cider.

"Nadine says there's plenty of room, and she's homesick. She says she wants a friend with her."

That was before Nadine stopped going home altogether, back when she and her mother still tried to spend the proper amount of time together. Whatever that was, before Nadine had finally just let those trips back weaken and lapse into Christmas cards and birthday calls. Nadine and her mother had been the better for it, no matter how strange it seemed to everybody else.

"She does. Apache Tear, I want you to be sure that you're ready."

"For what?"

"We are a family here. We have fun, we learn, we help each other grow."

"We fight, we get grounded, we play mean tricks on each other..."

"No family is perfect. Which is my point. How much do you know, about the time before Nadine joined us at the Lodge?"

"Cheerleader, popular girl. She was in the hospital."

"She was in the hospital for years, Apache. She nearly didn't come back."

Apache shivered. She knew it was bad, she knew the facts, but if Winter Horse was that upset by it, it must have really been bad.

"Nadine carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, Apache. It's part of her spirit."

Apache rolled her eyes; she was aware.

"Part of our work here -- yours included -- is to help her bear that burden. Help her remember where she stops, and other people start."

"She always wants to do whatever anybody else wants to do. If you like a song or a book, it starts being her favorite thing. It can be annoying."

"I know."

Apache was surprised. That was almost a burn.

"Sometimes it can be difficult accepting others as they are. We want to judge them by our own standards -- even those we often fail. Maybe especially the ones we fail."

"She's so weak, sometimes."

"That's how it looks to you. I respect that. What I'm asking you to do is imagine that life is very different in her shoes. Maybe that's what is natural to her. Maybe what looks weak to you makes more sense to her. Being a good friend is respecting that. We don't always need to change people."

"So what does that have to do with me?"

"You are a survivor, Apache. You have the strongest heart I've ever seen. You could take down an army, if you wanted to. If they threatened your friend, or your family here. You are fiercely loyal."

Apache didn't like that. It made her sound mean. It made her feel trapped.

"Apache, keep your eyes open on this trip. I think it will really help you understand her better. And the more we understand someone, the easier it is to respect them."

"I do respect her, Winter Horse. Everybody thinks she's God."

"Well, nothing is as simple as it seems. She tries very, very hard. And she will need your help."

"That's why I'm going."

"I mean, as long as you are here. Perhaps in the greater world, outside the Lodge, if you choose to leave. You have to teach her that strong heart..."

"-- I know."

"No, you don't. You think that means changing her. You think that means taking out the parts you don't understand, or seem weak. The best way for you to help is to see and understand those parts that seem the strangest, or the softest. You have to help her protect them."

"How can I do that, without teaching her to fight?"

"By being an example. Be strong with others, and kinder to yourself. Like you said, she picks up on those things. A little bit of that warrior spirit would help her with the burdens she carries. You know how powerful she is, and how much it presses in on her. I've seen you worrying over her, when you think nobody's looking. You take care of each other."

Apache scowled. Nadine was fine. She certainly wasn't any worse off than Apache. Winter Horse was being patronizing as usual.

"I'm not falling for it. I'm not going to be her babysitter. She's mine, if anything..."

"-- You'll understand later. It's not about control, or power. She can't become so hard that she loses her ability to do what she does best. The world is harsh. I'm just telling you to be gentle with her, and help her fight the inclination to become harsh in response."

Well, that made more sense. Apache would do anything for Nadine, after all. If that meant being a bitch so Nadine didn't have to, that was fine.

More than fine. It was excellent.

"It's that stuff, isn't it? The Lodge."

Apache tried desperately to wrangle herself out of Nadine's mother's arms, but she had become an octopus, sniffling and unkempt, pulling desperately at Apache's arms and clothes. Apache had never heard her mention the Lodge aloud, much less refer to its influence in her daughter's life; Nadine had always said her mother would have preferred a convent, or a sanitarium.

"Not exactly, Mrs. Blumenthal. But it's that kind of thing, yes. I'm sorry."

Marion stopped struggling in her arms, and simply rested her head on Apache's shoulder, weeping now steadily. It was like a river, pouring past: strong and unceasing, without trembling or anything -- you could see the fear running down her, like an O'Keefe abstract painting -- which was somehow more terrifying. With the fingers of one hand, she signaled Michael, and he suddenly shook his head as if awakening from a deep trance.

"Mrs. Blumenthal? I'm Michael Palatine."

"Are you a doctor?"

"You could say that..."

Marion's body went stiff in Apache's arms, and she backed a step away, hands flying to her hat, her collar, her tiny gold crucifix, in a rote ritual that Apache'd seen Nadine mimic. When mother or daughter passed a mirror, the ritual was redoubled: every strand of hair, every inch of makeup, all checked in a zig-zagging, split-second glance. Nadine called it "Quality Control." Marion held out her hand, and shook Michael's firmly.

"Please, tell me what's happening with my daughter."

Michael's eyes darted to Apache's, who once again shook her head a bit. He nodded.

"Your daughter's been through a serious trauma. We're working on bringing her out of catatonia now, but I can't say it hasn't been rough on her. On all of us."

"Roland showed up," Apache said, and Marion's jaw dropped.

"Here?"

"He's in pretty bad shape too."

"Is he... Was he like you two?"

Apache shook her head. "That's part of it, but no."

"I didn't think so. He was always so... Ordinary."

The way she said the word, you'd think it wasn't her God. Marion cocked her head at Apache's tiny grin.

"Don't presume to know everything about me, Arianna. I was never the dragon you two thought I was. Scotty got all the credit for being so tolerant and accepting, but only because one of us had to cheer her on. It was the same with piano lessons, sports... There would be Scotty, cheering at every game and telling her how marvelous she was. And then me, the ugly old witch who actually made her sit down and practice."

Apache wasn't convinced entirely, but she could see Marion's point. Nadine's dad had been the biggest cheerleader of all time, sometimes to a fault. Even when Nadine knew she hadn't succeeded to her own specifications, he'd cheer just as loudly. She said it made her feel like the Special Olympics, once, when she was drunk: "Everybody gets a medal, every time."

But whether Marion Blumenthal was rewriting history for herself or not, it was more important that she was here.

"Can I see her?"

Apache jumped and waved her hands in front of Marion's face, explaining loudly -- too loudly, she could feel herself screaming -- that it wouldn't be possible, Nadine couldn't have any visitors... And then rolled her eyes at herself as Michael stepped forward.

"We'll take you to her room, of course. Right away."

Right. She'd been in the Clinic for so long she'd forgotten how real people did it. All Marion wanted to do was look at her daughter's sick body, lying in a bed. There wasn't any need at all, to protect her from the Dig; no reason to introduce Marion to the angry, powerful thing her daughter was becoming in there.

She felt awkward, bringing up the rear, but when Marion reached behind her -- without even a glance, while asking Michael questions about medical care he couldn't possibly answer -- and clutched her hand, it was dry and firm. Not panicked, not needy, not anything beyond the careless reaching out for family.

Given the heated atmosphere one expected when you went into 36-D, the spiritual warfare that waged every time, it was comforting to just stand there, holding Marion's hand as they looked down at poor Nadine. The sobs were tissue-dabbling sniffles, now, nothing like Marion's tectonic upheaval on arrival, as she patting her daughter's hand awkwardly, mutely, and tried to get answers without actually asking anything of merit.

Normally, this characteristic move of Marion's -- "tell me everything, except for the upsetting parts" -- would have pissed Apache off, but she realized a greater pity and sympathy for Marion had somehow taken root in the last few years. God knew she still spent a good deal of caloric energy on ignoring her own gifts, or the strange role she'd taken in this latest thing.

Michael did a great job explaining the situation, in language just vague and medical-sounding that it gave Marion great comfort, while saying nothing at all. His discussion of her therapeutic course of treatment was masterfully content-free, particularly. He ran through each of the staffers' particular areas of interest, making them all sound like psychiatrists, or marriage counselors, until she was satisfied.

"Well," Marion said, once again drawing herself up to a towering height, "I've seen her. She looks terrible, but I guess that can't be helped. You've given me great hope, Dr. Palatine, which is more than I had when I arrived. I tell you, it was difficult on the way down; the woman next to me on the airplane just wanted to talk about her daughter's new baby the whole time. It took all I had not to break down, or pull off the woman's wig. But I am here now, and I have seen her. And now, Arianna, I think it's time you took me home."

Apache looked at Michael, panicking. The image of spending the afternoon and evening with Marion, sipping Chardonnay and being slowly ground down beneath a sensible heel -- "Isn't this cozy! Why, you'd barely need a man at all, you girls have everything set up so nicely!" -- made her want to die.

"Mrs. Blumenthal, I'm afraid we can't spare Apache."

"I wasn't aware you'd received medical training, Arianna. I suppose congratulations are in order?"

"It's not like that, Mrs. Blumenthal. I just..."

"Ah." She nodded, turning off her brain. Michael shuddered. "I see. Well, drive me home at least, and let me set myself up. I assume there's not a proper guest room, but Nadine's room should suffice, yes?"

From her face you'd think their home doubled as a roadside attraction, a house of wax or reptile house.

"It's perfect. I actually think you'll love the house, Mrs. Blumenthal."

"Nadine has always made me very proud," she said, in a brittle and exhausted tone.

There she was: the Marion Blumenthal Apache best recognized. She nearly fainted with relief -- and when they made for the front lobby, she noticed, Marion's hand was not forthcoming.

"So I see you've landed a doctor," Marion said, sitting across the long expanse of leather in the towncar's back seat. It was going to be the longest car ride on record.

"Pardon?" Apache never knew where to look, when she was alone with Marion. Not that it had happened more than a few times, in the last twenty years. They tended to stick out.

"That Dr. Palatine. He seems lovely. Soft. Somebody you could settle down with, maybe."

Her tone suggested otherwise -- suggested, in fact, that Apache would eventually leave his body in a roadside ditch, roaring off with a bottle of liquor raised to the sky -- but that wasn't entirely out of the question, and Apache had to at least acknowledge her insight. She laughed, in what she hoped was a genteel fashion.

"I thought we were being so careful," Apache smiled, and left it at that.

"And Nadine? Were there any men, before Roland... Reappeared?"

"She's never had any problems in that department. She's always had her suitors."

"I suppose that's true," Marion said, wrinkling her nose.

"You trained her well."

Apache winced the second the words left her mouth.

"Arianna, you've done wonderful things for my daughter. You've been a good friend, often. But I do wish you'd keep that judgmental tone out of your voice. You don't know all that much about our family. Not really."

"I know enough," Apache said, getting irritated despite herself. Where was Marion, exactly, in the years between the Sweat and Halcyon? Making polite conversation and pointed barbs, and staying the hell out of her daughter's strange life. It hardly seemed worth making the point that Apache wasn't part of the family. She knew that.

"You girls have always behaved as if I'm hopelessly antiquated, I'm accustomed to that. You think you invented feminism. And I know you've always laughed behind my back about that. As though having a family were something to be pitied."

"Oh, Marion. Nothing like that. Please don’t..."

"Well, how did it work out for you? For Nadine? How did your bourgeois attempts at revolution work out? She never fully committed to her marriage. How could she, with you..."

Marion stopped short, knowing somehow she'd said too much. She breathed, and settled into her seat. Her disappointment was implicit in the lines of her hands, her paper skin. She seemed suddenly very old indeed.

"Arianna, I..."

"Apache. Fuckin'... I didn't even know your daughter when my name was Arianna. You don't know about my family either, Marion. Just because you control everybody else doesn't mean I'm going to give you the same... Just please, call me by my name."

Marion stared at her, the twitch in her left eye not quite visible, but terrifying nonetheless. She stared, silently, for a long time, as if processing a large thought. As though a war were going on inside. Apache stared back, eyes hollow, hands shaking, and wondered briefly what would happen. Nobody had ever, as far as Apache knew, said the F word in front of Marion. Perhaps she'd permanently broken the woman. Maybe she'd reach out that hand, Cartier bangle twinkling on the wrist, and slap the shit out of her. That would be something.

The war settled, Marion breathed, and finally looked away, at the landscape rushing past.

"We all come from somewhere, Apache."

As subtly as she could, Apache eased her phone from her pocket and wrote a brief text message, knowing Mrs. Blumenthal had no patience for technology. She'd hum quietly to herself,  and look away, as though you were masturbating at the dinner table. She pressed send just as Marion looked back at her, tired and unwilling to argue further: omfg 911!

The phone rang less than a minute later: Grace Connelly, laughing hysterically.

"Girl, I know. I'll meet you at the house."

You could hear it in her tone: the perfect bow in the hair, spotless pumps. She'd probably show up with a plate of cookies and the makings of sugary afternoon cocktails. Apache sighed with relief, too stressed out to reply aloud. Whatever Grace did, it would be the perfect thing.

"Oh, and Michael said to tell her it was a pleasure to finally meet her."

Apache hung up and smiled apologetically at Marion, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

After Michael left, Apache said they had a little time to kill before Andrew showed up, and asked if she needed anything. Nadine pretended not to hear her, so Apache shrugged and broke the link. When she came to, Michael was sitting with her, still holding her hand, tight in its bandage.

"Thanks, um. Thanks for coming in. It was the right time."

"That was the scariest thing I've ever seen! Her face like that."

Apache nodded, still shaken. She looked up into his eyes and slowly pulled her hand out of his grasp. They'd never been alone before. Not before the snakes, or after. Not like this.

"Do you think it's true, what she said?"

Michael looked down at Nadine, her grey and slack face, and smoothed her hair carefully before speaking.

"In there. It's true in there. Maybe not when it was happening, maybe not for you. But in there?"

Apache looked down at her friend's face, her weak shrinking body, and began to weep.

"Apache, it's okay. We're going to fix this. That was a good session. I don't feel like I got a lot done, but she engaged. She's thinking. She knows what she needs to do."

"Michael. I'm not crying because I'm worried about her. Look at her. She's so weak, she's lost so much weight. She looks like a... Like a victim. Like an anorexic. It's shameful. I'm embarrassed for her. She's so pretty..."

Apache ran her hand down Nadine's cheek.

"She would hate this."

"She does hate this," he said gently.

"Thanks for not bringing up God in there," Apache said suddenly, like she'd just remembered to be polite.

"What?"

"I know what you think, about all this. Like Grace thinks it's all about everybody pulling together and Claire thinks it's all about medicine 2.0 and whatever. You think you're a priest."

"I don't feel comfortable talking about that with patients."

"I'm not a patient. I'm your colleague, right?"

"Sure, but..."

"So thanks, for not bringing your shit into it."

"Apache, I'm not some kind of..."

"She wouldn't appreciate it."

"Look, let's leave her out of it for a second. This is about you. What's the problem?"

"I don't think your religion has a place in this... Any of it, really. This place, this case."

"You have the wrong idea. It's not my religion that you're talking about."

"What do you even mean? Of course it is."

"Apache, don't tell me what I believe."

"Don't treat me like an idiot, then."

"I would never do that. But you obviously think some things that aren't true, and I'm the expert. As far as I'm concerned. So... The way that I work looks religious. I get that. I get a lot of resistance to that, actually. But I wish that you, especially you, would try a little harder to understand."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to know me."

"So you're saying that this stuff brings us closer to... What? God? Therapy is religion?"

"More like a fairytale."

"Religion's a fairytale? I couldn't agree more."

"Well, not like you mean. I think the stories that we tell are really just ways of getting to something we can't talk about. I think of it as God. But I mean, Claire thinks of auras as animals and sex as colors, you know? And nobody gives her hell about it."

"Nobody in their right mind would give Claire hell about anything."

"Probably true. The point is that from the outside it doesn't really matter what I believe, any more than whether Buzz's aliens are real or Jeremiah talks to earthquakes. We're all doing the same thing, in different ways."

"Which is what?"

"Seeing where we're broken. Finding the pieces. Sticking them back together."

"And that's God?"

"That's a story about God."

"So where's God?"

"That is also a story about God."

"So have you given any thought to staying on, once we solve this one?"

"I almost did, but then Nadine told me I couldn't. She says if she lives, I have to leave."

"Huh. That sounds fishy."

"Well, she said it right. This is her life, I'm just along for the ride. This is her thing."

"Strictly speaking, you came here before she did. You're the reason we found her."

"I don't remember anybody begging me to stay on, when I left."

"It was a matter of debate."

"Let me guess. You and Andrew didn't want me around."

"That's a harsh way of saying it, Apache."

"But I'm right, yeah?"

"Jeremiah was afraid he'd get into trouble if you stuck around. Claire was the swing vote."

"Isn't it your job to be, like, comforting?"

"Apache, we loved you. You remember that now. But it was a very weird time. Almondine was leaving, and Claire was freaking out, and Buzz was all..."

"And crazy old Apache Tear couldn't be trusted. So what changed? How come I'm good enough to join the staff now?"

"Apache, in the last year you've changed more and faster than anybody I've ever seen. You're so much more grounded than you were when you came the first time. You're stronger than you were when you left."

"It's been a shitty year, that's for sure."

"Not the point. Don't you understand how much... So much of this stuff is just cleaning up an old mess. You're ashamed about all of it..."

"-- As I should be..."

"-- Sure. As you should be. But the woman you are today is not the same woman who did this. You're cleaning up her mess. When I look at you, do you know what I see?"

"The hottest ride in town."

"Apache, come on."

"So that's it? Clean bill of health? Because you said so, I'm okay."

"Ever think maybe this need of yours to have clear-cut, easy answers is what got you here in the first place?"

"So I'm fucked up, but just enough that I'm worth it?"

"Apache, everybody is fucked up the exact right amount. And tomorrow it changes."

"So fine. When you look at me, Michael. What do you see?"

Apache looked away from his face; the intensity behind those bright eyes was almost painful, like looking into the sun. She laughed nervously, as the silence stretched out. He didn't blink.

"Michael, come on."

When he spoke, it was with something in his throat.

"Apache Tear, you are... All you can see is the ways you've gotten broken, and you think it's just fake, glued together, like a broken vase. That you're essentially, or I guess permanently or... That it's something ugly. That we're all just being nice. That Nadine loves you because she feels sorry for you, or just so she can feel superior. That you need to be kept, and that's why you always run free. You think of yourself as this wild thing, as this disappointment. As a girl. As a fucked up girl."

"And you're going to tell me that's not..."

"-- I'm saying you get a lot out of that. Looking at yourself that way, like you deserve what happened to you, or the things that happen to all of us, that's a great way to avoid taking responsibility. You think being some kind of a victim makes you special, and you refuse to see yourself any other way."

"You're a flatterer. These panties are coming off, mister."

"Apache, I... You're not any of those things. That's not what I see. You think you're heading toward something, like you're going to grow up one day, become this butterfly and you'll finally be happy, or perfect, or whole. And that's not... That's not ever going to happen."

"You are the worst fucking doctor in the entire..."

"I'm not saying it right. You're right about that. I'm sorry. I keep getting sidetracked because I want you to understand this, and I know you're not going to, and it's going to make me feel like a failure. Just like in there, with Nadine. And I'm going to keep repeating myself until you're old or dead and I'll feel like I never once said it right."

"Said what?"

"You're not broken. You're not becoming anything other than what you are. When I look at you, I see something whole. Something, a woman, who has arrived at who she is. Who doesn't need to wait around for the... Story to start. To be perfect. When I look at you, you're already there. The story's already started, and you don't even know it, and it's so beautiful.... You're so beautiful, Apache, and it hurts. I don't know how to make you see it."

Apache stood up, abruptly; her chair squeaked across the floor.

"Oh, is this the part where you make an excuse and run away?"

She blushed and kicked his leg, not hard.

"No. I just need to be standing up right now."

"I'm not making you angry? Or bashful, or...?"

"Nobody can make you feel things, Michael."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. And what... I like it." She looked him straight in the eyes. "I like it. I like that girl that you're talking about. I wish I was like that. And I feel like I can be."

"You already are..."

"-- Now who's looking for fake easy answers? I'm still fucked up. Just because you... Just because you see these things doesn't mean they're true yet. More than I can admit, you're probably right about that. But I am six feet deep in a shitstorm of my own creation, and I have a lot to make up for. So maybe for the first time I actually am too busy to..."

"So you'll stay on?"

"Can't. If I lie to her, we can't get in there. But I'll work on getting her to forgive me."

"I think that's a good idea."

"In the meantime, you've got to give a girl a break. You're coming on like gangbusters, here."

"I'm just trying to..."

"Trust me. I like that too. But it's like you said: I'm an all or nothing lady. And right now, I'm dealing with Nadine. I can't do that, and deal with you too."

"You can't just cut it off like..."

"You know that I can."

"I know you don't have to."

"Michael, I'm only going to say this once and I'm not going to look at you when I say it, okay?"

"...Okay."

"I don't know you. Not yet, not really. I hope to, and at that time we can start using words to describe things. But right now, I don't know you. And you don't know me. So stop pretending that you do."

"I'm not pretending..."

"Think about Laurie and Harry, those two kids from the chemical pits. We were convinced they were in love, but it was a one-way trip, and she knew he wouldn't stick with it. She wasn't even that impressed."

"Are you... That's really insulting."

"I am not comparing you to him. Or me, to her. I'm just saying that love is very thrilling, very exciting. When I saw you..."

"I know," he breathed.

"But that's not the real shit. That's just the first blush, it's not the long story. And I want the long story, I think."

"So let's get going."

"But you always want the long story, that's how it works. That's the first blush, it's part of the first blush. Jeremiah falls in love twenty times a day. And he would say, the story is long as it needs to be."

"I am not Jeremiah."

"Neither am I, Michael. Not anymore. But you can't diagnose me, not about this. I'm not running away, I'm not being Sad Broken Girl. I'm not trying to make you chase me. I'm trying to be honest with you. Maybe for the first time. I am saying, this is not the right time. And you have to take me at my word. You have to trust me. You can't tell me I'm healthy and beautiful and all these things, and then second-guess me when I tell you to back off."

"That is... Exactly what I'm doing. Jesus."

"So back your shit down and trust me. There's a time coming for us, and I am looking forward to it. But you can't be a distraction in the meantime. If I live through this, if Nadine lives through this, and if I can get her to let me stay, we'll have our story. Okay?"

"Let you stay? Apache, what did you agree to?"

Apache shook her head in a frenzy, trying to end the conversation before she had to discuss the promises she'd made, there at the edge of the Dig. Michael couldn't know he was part of a bargain, or a bet, or he'd think she wasn't interested. And somehow, she still wanted him to be interested, no matter how weird it got. But that conversation led to ugly places, that he didn't really need to know about. So she put her hand upon his arm, and just before she changed the subject, his smile dropped. Those wet, delighted eyes grew wide, and he wordlessly pointed behind her. Standing in the door, with two suitcases and a Sunday hat on her head, was Mrs. Blumenthal herself. She nodded crisply, almost like Claire Redbud, and looked around herself with disdain.

Apache dropped Michael's hand, shaking her head at him imperceptibly as she stood and presented herself, standing at attention, ready for the onslaught. Apache had noticed more than once that Marion was taller than she appeared. It was like she could somehow transform herself into a taller, more frightening creature, on demand. She was still icily beautiful, ever after all the years, and Apache almost shrank away before she even spoke.

"Arianna," Marion said haughtily, drawing herself up to her true height. But before she could summon the courage to remind Marion to call her Apache -- "Arianna is my slave name!" she used to yell, when she was younger -- the older woman dropped her suitcases to the floor, and threw herself into Apache's arms.

"That's enough of that, Nadine."

The ghosts dissipated, into a rising mist. Michael Palatine stood, suddenly, between her and Apache's lawn chair. Apache was bent double in the chair, shaking silently with strong sobs.

"Couldn't cut it, huh? Called in the girlfriend. Figures she'd find a new one."

Michael looked the way she always looked, on the inside: not exactly male, not exactly female. More beautiful, perhaps, than in the real world, but still with that strength, almost harsh. She looked like an angel, standing at the gates. Nadine tried to imagine her as a man.

"You slept with Buzz."

The way she said it, almost disgusted but more fascinated, made Michael laugh.

"It was an odd time. For everybody."

"Creepy sex cult."

"No, nothing of the sort."

"Well, you've sure lowered your standards."

Michael pointed at Apache, still in agony on the deck chair.

"She was bleeding. Out there, what you did... She was bleeding. Her hands. Her nails were..."

"And you just had to swoop in, huh? Like a white knight?"

"I was the only one there. Trust me, I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because you're dying, and you know it. And that kills me, it just really rankles my hide. I expect a lot more from you."

"Everybody does."

"Nadine Blumenthal, you have a real gift for feeling sorry for yourself."

"I think I have a right. Don't you?"

"Everybody does. You keep going. You stay on. You let people help you."

"I left home when I was in high school. I've made a good life for myself. Things were going pretty well, until lately. I'd say I'm exactly what you expect me to be."

"Nadine, we handed you this job. You were the right woman for it. You still are. But please don't think that earns you the right to do this. You're hurting a lot of people here. Starting with yourself."

"I'm sorry, but it's hard for me to really believe that you're here trying to make me feel guilty, when for the first time in my life, I don't. How is that helping?"

"If you didn't have anything to be afraid of, we'd be able to wrap this up inside ten minutes. You have all the training. Claire says Gostock is first-rate."

"Then why is this happening? Tell me that. If I'm so gifted and strong, how did this happen? You know what used to be here?"

"A little house."

"And now it's the apocalypse. We're on the beach."

"Not because of anything you did, Nadine..."

"No. Because of something you did. Because you creeps knew what she did, and sent her back to me. Broken."

"You aren't going to... Listen, I'm not going to apologize for another patient's course of treatment."

"You aren't apologizing for anything."

"That is not why I'm here. This isn't about your hurt feelings, Nadine. This is about a problem that needs to be fixed. And you're the only one who can fix it. I'm sorry, but it's harsh and it's brutal. That's life. You need to come back."

"You keep repeating that. Broken record."

"It's the only thing worth saying. You must come back. You have to come home. You have patients, we have a business to run."

"So what are you here to do?"

"I want to help you get started. Gostock's still not here, so you're going to have to do the heavy lifting."

"Gostock. I never spoke to her, after I left the hospital."

"I've not met her, but she seems pretty amazing. She's getting up there."

"She was so young, when I met her."

"Jeremiah and I believe that she couldn't help you anyway. She's already taught you everything you need to know. You're going to have to do it yourself, in the end."

"And the first thing I do is walk over to that hole, and look inside. And if I do that, I'll die."

"You're already dying. How could it be worse?"

"I'm not afraid of dying."

"But you're afraid of the hole, the... Dig. Why?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I liked you a lot more on the outside, Nadine."

"So did I."

Nadine looked over at Apache. She'd sat up in the deck chair, which had somehow become wooden, whitewashed planks, an Adirondack like the chairs by the lake, at the Sweat. It dwarfed her. She had her knees pulled up to her chest. Nadine felt a tiny stab of something like hunger, and wished she had more tea.

"Nadine, I want you to think about something."

"Ah. A session with Dr. Michael Palatine. Nadine, our identity is forged in our accomplishments. Most of those accomplishments derive from obstacles we've overcome. Most obstacles present as psychic or emotional pain. Therefore, our identity is forged in pain. It is a necessary evil. When we ask why God allows adversity and pain, there's not an answer. This is because we're asking the wrong question."

Michael laughed, deeply.

"Well, you've cut out a good hour of our conversation. So what does that make you think? You, Nadine, what do you think of that? As a fellow doctor you couldn't be expected to pass judgment on my methodology, but here?"

"Here, I think it's a load. There, too. Your identity is what you are, it's the sum total of things. There's no finding it or defining it or creating it: it's just there, implicit in the things that brought you to this point."

"What point is that?"

"Michael, I don't have any traumas. That's my trauma. At least she gets to say she is messed up because of stuff that happened to her. She has the easy story. I..."

Apache's head jerked toward her, eyes wide.

"-- Fucking excuse me?"

"You have a good reason to be crazy, you have a good reason for letting people hurt you. Reasons to be sad. I just did it on my own, because I wanted everybody to be happy. You're strong. I'm weak. You're lucky because you get to blame something."

Apache stood up, fists clenching, and Michael put his hand against her chest.

"She's diverting. Don't fall for it."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room, you g.d. pretentious twit. I am the room."

"Then stop acting like a child and take advantage of that, Nadine. Take possession of that. You're in charge here."

"I know that. I know that."

"Then act like it."

The sky beat down on them, suddenly bright. The sun was like a porthole to a darker grey. She could feel it crushing her. The cold came in waves.

"Why we are friends, Nadine?"

"Were. Why were we friends."

"Okay."

"I don't know. What do you mean? It's been a hundred years, that's why. Because I didn't know how to make friends with other people, besides you. Because you trained me to take care of you, like a sheepdog."

"There were lots of people at the Sweat that liked you, wanted to be your friend."

"Please. I was just the weird, intense girl with a clipboard trying to be the assistant manager to Winter Horse."

"And why would anybody love you for that."

"I cringe when I think about those days, Apache."

"Nadine, you were the only one, the only person on the entire Sweat, who knew what the fuck was going on. Even Winter Horse, even Bethany, never gave us much comfort. They went by the tides, and the moon. And you've got a whole city's worth of little girls terrified, confused... You and your clipboard were the only thing that made sense."

"I'm sure Winter Horse loved that."

"I'm sure she found it as annoying as we all did. But she loved you. We all did. You were kind, and tender, and you had better control of your abilities than any of us. You were like this tiny mom that just swept onto the ranch and took care of everything."

"I bet you loved that."

"God damn it, Nadine. I didn't want to use you, I wanted to be you."

"You wanted to be Jane Crow. You still do."

"Yeah. So? I watched your every move, trying to act more like you. And failing. Abysmally. All the time. And you would just look at me with that disappointed look in your eyes..."

"That's ridiculous. Like you cared what I thought. You never paid me any more attention than the other girls. You were just this..."

"Nadine, you wrote thank you notes. To other girls, when they gave you stuff, or did things for you. I couldn't even understand that, but I knew I wanted it. To do things the right way. The way the other girls looked up to you, the way Winter Horse looked at you..."

"You hated me even then."

"...Yeah."

"Now it makes sense. Dr. Palatine, there's your secret trauma: Apache's always been jealous of me."

"That was never a secret, Nadine!"

"Apache, calm down. This is interesting. Go on, Nadine."

"Well, it's a load of horsepuckey. I wanted to be just like Apache, we all did. Apache and Jane Crow. It was oppressive. And now I'm supposed to take the blame because fifteen years later, you just had to sleep with my husband? And lie about it? Crawl into my house?"

Michael laid a hand on Apache, to comfort her.

"Nadine, what made you want to be like Jane Crow?"

"Everything was so easy for her. She was beautiful, and cool, and nothing ever threw her. I felt like every second was some other attack, or a pitfall, or another opportunity to embarrass myself."

"Sounds like you were a teenager."

"Oh yeah, Michael? And what were you?"

There was thunder, deep in the distance. Michael smiled.

"I was invisible."

"Then you know how I felt."

"At the Sweat? Or before?"

"God, before. Before the Sweat I was wonderful. I was a cheerleader, I was popular..."

"Then what?"

"Then I went crazy."

"Then what?"

"Then I went to the Sweat."

"So it's not really the Sweat that's the problem."

"...No. Look, this would be easier if she weren't here."

"This wouldn't be happening if she weren't here," Michael pointed out, and Apache nodded.

"Nadine, we used to share everything."

"Apparently we still do."

"So the question remains: why were you friends with Apache?"

"Because she was... Because she didn't give a darn. About what anybody thought. Jane was cool, but Apache was... hot, just alive and excited about every silly thing. And she made everybody else excited too."

"Including you."

"Especially me."

"Is that still true?"

"I guess so, for now. But what's the point of..."

"Look, I don't have a goal here. We want you to rebuild this place so you can get out of there. Everything you need's down there in that hole. So right now, we're talking ourselves into a way to get you up out of that chair and across the road."

"And talking about the Sweat's going to..."

"I'm not asking you about the Sweat. I'm asking you about the accomplishments."

"That forged my identity. Well, I convinced my parents to send me to the Sweat. That was the hardest and the proudest thing I ever did."

"And then?"

"And then. By the time I was set to leave, it felt like home. I never thought I would be comfortable there, with all those broken people. All that dirt and animals and weird girl stuff."

"Weird stuff like what?"

"Just, you know, about boys and the way we looked and trying to be on top and make everybody like you."

"Those weren't a concern at your first school, back home?"

"That's the point: they were the concern. The Sweat made everything different."

"But you would have been going through those things anyway. What changed?"

"Winter Horse said... She said it didn't matter, what we looked like. That there were a million tricks to make it better, but you were still building on the same clay. She said the clay was the point."

"Do you still believe that?"

"You're sitting in it, so I guess so."

"More accomplishments?"

"School. College, I mean. And then guys, and then Roland."

"Quite an accomplishment," Apache laughed, and Nadine picked up a rock to throw at her.

"It was. I got married, Apache. You weren't raised in... You didn't grow up how I did. I don't know if it was stupid or what -- and I guess it turned out to be -- but it was a milestone for me. I loved being married."

"You sure did."

"Is that why you took it from me?"