I attended to every detail of the Inner Sea’s basic spellwork, more mindful than I’d been for months. It was far easier to focus on what I was doing than to consider my reasons for doing it.
I sketched the diagram in minuscule on paper torn from my journal. I leaned close and held the pen lightly, tracing thread-fine geometries across the ruled lines. Knotwork twists delineated each participant; a single variant glyph protected the confluence from expansion. I remembered learning each one: the first breathless lesson on the cool wood floor of Charlie’s back room, the Yith’s clinical criticism in Trumbull’s study. Frances watched closely. Her first Inner Sea should have focused on celebrating her own blood-born strength. No help for this inadequate initiation.
Grandfather traced a simple seal across the wall; in this small a space, there was no room on the floor. Either it would rub off, or the hotel wouldn’t welcome us back.
I grounded, focusing on the connection between myself and my world, as the others also looked inward. My blood is a tide, I told myself, and for the first time I feared that I was lying.
Then the chant. This part was easy: Enochian swirled around my body, indifferent to my lack of confidence—I only needed perfect enunciation, surrendering my voice to blend with Grandfather and S’vlk, Audrey and Charlie and Trumbull. Neko, who joined us so rarely, hummed descant.
Then finally, not daring to think: the knife handle against my palm, the sting of blade on skin, the blood dissipating in intimate ripples.
And I sank into my blood.
My blood, usually a river in full rush to the sea, ran slow. I couldn’t yet mistake it for Charlie’s blood or Neko’s, but its power had waned. Worse, I sensed it through a vertiginous haze, as though I saw the world a half-second late in a cracked mirror.
That haze lay between me and something that should have been inseparable. I couldn’t fathom it. And so I simply perceived, in fear and confusion and mourning.
Something touched my wrist: contact breaking through the timeless haze. I wanted to cling to the physical sensation like a raft, but for this ritual that touch was only the means to another, harder intimacy. My grandfather had grasped my arm so that he could see my blood for himself—and I was swept up in his.
If my blood was usually a rushing river, Grandfather was the ocean. My blood intimated a stronger, surer form that might someday be mine; his embodied that form in full. Deep waters surged around me, vast currents and crushing pressure. Salt filled my every pore, not respecting the boundary of skin. I wanted to drown in him. I wanted to become part of the ocean any way I could.
But the tide receded, leaving me gasping. I sat on a coarse cotton blanket. Grit stung my eyes and nose; the air was heavy with our exhalation. There was no water save my own sweat.
Charlie’s hand hovered near me. I should have said something, but reassuring him seemed too much effort. Audrey looked almost serene, though her gaze lingered on me as well. Trumbull gripped S’vlk’s shoulder. Frances looked thoughtfully at her palm, more still than I’d ever seen her.
I found myself afraid to move, to react—as if the harm done by the Outer Ones’ generosity might grow with any motion.
Neko shook herself from trance and glared at me. “Well? It must be bad—we can’t fix it if you won’t talk about it.”
I summoned what bravery I could. “My blood isn’t right. It’s not … not a part of me, like it should be.”
“Will she still change?” Neko demanded. I wouldn’t have dared, and I caught my breath.
“She should,” said Grandfather, too much doubt in his voice. “But Aphra, you must stay safe. You mustn’t let the Outer Ones work their arts on you, perhaps not even near you.” He shot S’vlk a questioning look.
“There are things we can try,” said S’vlk. “You must practice the arts that bind your body and mind more closely. And perhaps—Khur Catherine, the things we know—perhaps there is some way to teach her. The Yith kept my soul knit through five years outside my body, or mended it themselves … but it’s like your ally Mary. Some arts leave vulnerabilities that cannot be effaced. Aphra, every time you stretch your mind beyond its natural bounds you’ll risk snapping the threads that hold you together. And yet, that stretching is probably the only way to make yourself whole again. You walk a cliff’s edge. You may walk it the rest of your life.”
“Couldn’t we—” Neko stood. She was the shortest person in the room: stunted by her time in the camp, and her family not tall to begin with. “Can we just ask them? I know you hate the Outer Ones, but they aren’t idiots. They can’t be ignorant of these risks. Maybe they have a way around them, or a way to heal people who react badly. When Miss Harris got sick, they had a medical kit right there.”
S’vlk shook her head. “They could as easily compound the damage. Remember that they see our bond with the Earth as a weakness. Something to overcome. Why would they learn to heal what they consider worthless?”
“Let Aphra decide,” said Charlie. “It’s her risk to take.”
I closed my eyes, breathed, tried to compose myself enough to think clearly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t consider the danger. The Outer Ones frighten me so instinctively that it’s hard to be wary of their subtler threats. I wanted to understand them better—I wanted to understand Freddy better, and bring him home.”
“He’s traveled with them in truth,” said S’vlk. “Even if his blood started strong, it would be too late now. Like my daughter.” Frances flinched.
“Does that mean—” I dropped my eyes. I wished there had been some possibility of coming to New York a month earlier, some choice we could castigate ourselves for not making. But by the time we’d known where to find Freddy, he was already lost. How much else was lost with him? “Could he still have strong children?”
S’vlk grimaced, baring sharp teeth. “I don’t know anyone who’s tested that question.”
“I’m more worried about you. What about the ritual we did in January?” asked Audrey. “Could we share Caleb’s strength with you through the confluence?”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing,” said Trumbull slowly. Her fingers fluttered absently. “There, we had to force something out that didn’t belong—and repress something that did. But if Aphra’s mind won’t bind correctly with her own body, the strength of another’s blood won’t help. I could work on the problem with Mary. If you’re willing to bring this up with her.”
“Absolutely not,” said Grandfather. “The state needs no more ways to weaken us.” I imagined the trapezohedron used as a weapon, and nodded.
“You’re being paranoid,” said Trumbull. “She could make the difference.”
“She could,” I said. “But Mr. Barlow and Mr. Peters still think us traitors. If they knew that the Outer Ones could attack us at our core, they’d want a version for their own.”
“They’re here,” said Trumbull. “You’re going to have to deal with them. And by this point they should be too busy worrying about the Outer Ones to fuss about other humans.”
“That’s not how it works,” said Neko. “I hate to say it, because I want help from as many geniuses as we can find. But when people are scared, they form ranks against everyone they’ve ever thought an enemy. They’re going to look at the Outer Ones, and start wondering who they can really trust. Especially since the Outer Ones make a point of recruiting disaffected humans.”
“Barlow’s team wouldn’t be wrong to worry,” I said reluctantly. I should have thought more carefully about how to answer Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt’s demands, should have considered what I made myself complicit in. “Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt brought me in to the altar room, that second time, because it wanted a starting point for its efforts to rescue humanity—someone they could use as a lever to move the world. I was afraid of what it would do if I left it to its own imagination, and the first thing I thought of was to point it at Barlow’s team. But now that I’ve had longer to think it through, I fear the Outer Ones’ ‘help’ will only make things worse. Kvv-vzht-mmmm-vvt is eager to intervene, and sure it can move human governments to its will. Whether it’s right or wrong, the results could be disastrous.”
“And we’ve no way to stop them,” said S’vlk. She hissed softly. “You ought not have cooperated.”
“I know.”
* * *
We tried to sleep. We were all in desperate need by this point. Even the elders were too long out of the water and had gone too far on little food. They weren’t the only hungry ones, but for me the most urgent need was to close my eyes, and my mind, against everything that had happened since Barlow’s arrival.
Charlie sat back against the headboard and dozed. The others lay close on the bed or leaned against walls. The masks and gloves we swept awkwardly into the dusty cave below the bedframe.
I huddled in Grandfather’s lap. I was far too tall to lie there comfortably, but I slept anyway with his scales digging into my side and catching on my dress, his hand cool on my forehead. He sang softly, in English:
“Stars that stand over you, earth that lies under you,
Dagon and Hydra take heed of your birth,
Salt that will comfort you, waves that will welcome you…”
I almost cried again, shocked by memories of my mother singing while I lay burning with childhood fever. But at last I slept.
The city’s heart thrummed against the wards we’d drawn. New York turned slowly with the bedrock beneath it, taking in the heat of the approaching solstice, woven through with the plans and paranoias of its resident sapients. Crowded, aching, grateful, our bodies sought the little repairs and recoveries that can only happen while the mind looks elsewhere.
* * *
When the world’s shadow fell on the city, and its own light rose to occult the stars, someone knocked on our door.
“Visitor for Mr. Winslow,” called a voice.
Audrey rubbed her eyes, but managed to sound awake. “Thank you—we’ll be right down!”
Charlie took a washcloth from the bathroom and made an effort to clear the traces of magic from the walls. Audrey retrieved our ritual gear and put the pack in some semblance of order. I examined myself: how much of my earlier paralysis had been induced by the trapezohedron, and how much had been simple exhaustion?
I was still frightened. I’d reclaimed my body after the camp at great cost, and with long study. Our confluence, built on accidental intimacy, had grown into a worthy family. I’d do anything necessary to make them mine again. Somewhere in my sleep, I’d accepted the risk. Even if ordinary magic put my mind in danger, I wouldn’t give it up. I’d restore my squandered strength, or lose what remained trying. Charlie and Audrey and Mary all fought with, and for, bodies that did not easily accede to their needs. I could do the same.
Caught up in my renewed determination, it took me long minutes to realize what was missing. “Neko! Where’s Neko?”
“I thought she was in the bath,” said Audrey.
“No, that was me.” Charlie held up his blackened washcloth. “I was trying to clean this damned thing off.”
“Did anyone see her leave?” I asked. An image came inexorably to mind: an Outer One wavering into existence in our crowded chamber, snatching Neko into the outskirts before anyone noticed the intrusion.
“Here—” Audrey held up a slip of paper, covered in Neko’s neat script. “It was under the lamp. ‘I’m sorry to run out on you—but like Aphra, I need to do something important without asking permission. I still think the Outer Ones can help with the problem they caused, and I’m going back to convince them. I’ll find you at the beach tonight, or back at Tante Leah’s.’”
“We need to get her back,” I said at once. S’vlk’s words echoed in my mind, more frightening than the chimerical kidnapping: Most people can’t stay away.
“You must not go near them,” said S’vlk. “Not until you’ve restored the strength they stole.”
“She seemed enthralled by their visions,” said Audrey. “Neko’s always wanted travel more than anything else. They could give that to her, but—”
“She always needs to feel like she’s traveling for a purpose,” I said. “They’ll find one for her, and convince her it’s justification enough, and put her on one of their altars.” I imagined her young, gentle face twisted in agony, frozen and mindless.
“She’s a child of the air, and will survive it,” said S’vlk. “You, we can’t risk.”
“She’s my sister.”
“We can go after her,” offered Charlie.
Neko in the mine, Caleb and Deedee somewhere in the depths of the city. I felt the weight of the millions outside, overwhelming swarms of humanity obfuscating the few I cared about. Absurd, selfish, to feel that those millions, each with their own circles of exquisite care, were a mere barrier to my own loves. “I’m sorry. I’m not going to let you vanish into the mine in trickles. Letting people go off on their own has just made things worse—we need to stay together.”
“Then you need to wait and see if Neko comes back as she promised,” said Grandfather. “They’ll not harm her in a single day.”
I was more afraid of how she’d harm herself—but my own judgment was demonstrably untrustworthy. I bowed my head, acquiescing to the elders’ orders.
Grandfather and S’vlk retrieved their disguises, donning them with ill-concealed distaste.
“Come on,” Trumbull told S’vlk. “If Mr. Spector’s found a vehicle with windows, you’ll be able to see New York properly.”
“Through these.” She prodded a rubbery eyehole. But with a rumbling sigh, she worked the mask back over her head, flattening her crest awkwardly before pulling her patchwork hood over the resulting lumps.
She examined the ceiling’s bare bulb thoughtfully. The cord slipped through her gloved fingers, and it was Audrey who turned it off after giving the room a final once-over.
“It’s not that humans have learned to call lightning that’s impressive,” said Sv’lk, her voice muffled and strange. “Containing it is the harder thing.”
Spector waited in the lobby. I caught Charlie’s unguarded smile, quickly swallowed. The FBI agent ran a hand through his hair and stifled a yawn, but smiled back. “I’m sorry—this is going to be a bit of a clown car no matter what.” He paused and looked us over. “Where’s Miss Koto?”
“She—” It wasn’t as though I could hide it from him, and I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. “She went back to the Outer One lair, to try and—negotiate with them. On her own recognizance. I don’t suppose you saw her?”
“No, but that place is a labyrinth. Do you need me to…” He frowned. “What can I do to help? Do you think she’s all right?”
I sighed. “Probably. The elders insist that we go back to Chulzh’th before I try anything else. They’re right, too, I think—the Outer Ones aren’t going to harm Neko.” It was only her own duty and desire that were at stake. And for all that the Outer Ones could enchant minds and sap wills, a Neko who chose to spend her short life traveling would be serving her own true desires. Even if I see her rarely, I won’t lose her as soon. Was that a sensible thought, or the remnant of my own temptation?
“If you’re sure,” said Spector. “Everyone should fit in the car, anyway. And I got you dinner.”
“You’re a good man,” Audrey told him. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that my body was still my own.
My hunger lasted until we went outside and saw the waiting vehicle. I froze on the Pavilion’s top step, then forced myself to continue forward.
Spector glanced back at me. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thank you for finding something big enough to fit us.”
After twenty years and a war, the government must have replaced its fleet any number of times. But the black police van parked by the curb looked little different from those that had taken us from Innsmouth.
The elders had found the town deserted at dusk, long after those vans left. They climbed willingly into the back of this one. The others followed easily. I took a breath of muggy air, trying to steady myself. Spector’s driving. He’s taking us to Chulzh’th. At last I forced myself inside. The atmosphere was close and hot. I shuddered, though the barrier to the driver’s section was down and the holding area—scarcely smaller than the hotel room—smelled improbably of garlic and soy and cooked beef. I took a proffered tray, and tried not to hear my mother begging Dagon’s intervention, or smell my father’s blood staining my dress.
“Eat something,” Audrey told me. I dug mechanically into a dish bright with broccoli and peppers. The long cross-country drive to the camp had been meagerly rationed; filling my stomach pushed back the memories. Spector had ordered some sort of baked fish for the elders. The windows were tinted, so they could eat unmasked.
Spector pulled away from the curb. “Traffic’s going to be a bear,” he warned. “But you’ll get a good view of Manhattan on the way.” He paused. “I apologize. I know you want to get back to the ocean, but my colleagues are worried about what they’ve seen today. So am I, to be honest. I think you’d better talk to them now, and let Acolyte Chulzh’th wait a few extra minutes. If we can get everyone to agree about what the threat is and what courses of action might be a step or two above complete stupidity, it’ll save a lot of trouble.”
I recognized his tone. “What’s Barlow planning?”
Horns sounded, and Spector braked hard. I caught the beef and broccoli before it could slide off my lap. Lights played over us, red and green mixing with the wan yellow glow of streetlamps. “I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m as disturbed as they are. Something’s got the Outer Ones scared, and they’re likely to try … I don’t know what. If I can’t predict George when he’s got a bullheaded plan into his head, what am I supposed to do about them?”
“It’s not only for our sakes we need to return to the water,” said Grandfather. But he rubbed his gills and winced. Coruscating light reflected from his scales. “Acolyte Chulzh’th told Aphra to report back last night. She’s less prone to panicked overreaction than your friends, but she has every reason to believe we’re in danger. Will your friends deign to come back to Coney Island with us?”
Spector twisted around again. “Is that a good idea?”
“No,” I said. “But it sounds like the best we have.” And perhaps their report would help us decide how to respond to the Outer Ones’ ambiguous incursion.