…WHO KNOWS THE WAY

So to review, these are our priorities,” Dr. Pullen said, his brow furrowed. Casey, Dr. Pullen, and the rest of the Leadership Team sat at a curved table in the International School’s first-floor conference room. The meeting was running long—again. It was no wonder with the chaos of the school year’s second half.

“We have fifty-seven students we didn’t have before,” Pullen continued. “Or we did. We did have them, or we had memories of…” He heaved a sigh, shook his head. “New students. New-old students. Some of whom are… what’s the word?”

“I think they prefer Animals,” Casey said. “With a capital A. And capitals for their specific species.”

“Yes, ah—” Pullen said. “But then, there are also…”

“The doubled students,” Ms. Rolonda said.

Casey shook his head. What a mess this cosmic storm had left behind. Sky trolleys, talking Animals, zombies, and god knew how many doubles who remembered snatches of long, strange lives lived in the Hidden City.

“I vote we test them,” Mrs. D’Antoni, the History Chair, said. She was an owlish, auburn-haired woman with a light Mississippi accent and a sweet, round figure. “We can put them through practice LEAP tests and use those to decide how to register them next fall.”

“If they’re still here,” Mrs. Thornton added.

“They’ll still be here,” Casey said. “I won’t get into how I know, but this is our city now. This is our circumstance. We need to adjust.”

Mrs. D’Antoni said something else as Casey’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He tried to still the beating of his heart as he slid his hands into his jeans. He withdrew the phone and glanced down at its screen:

WHERE U AT???

“I’m sorry,” Casey snapped. Everyone turned to look at him. “I have to go. Something’s— I think I’m done here.”

“What?” Dr. Pullen asked. Casey didn’t know whether he was asking what had come up or expressing a mood of general consternation.

“I think I’m done here for good,” Casey said. “My cousin—Jaylon’s back. He finally made it.”

“Negro, you got to go!” Dr. Pullen said.

Casey tried not to think about the last time he’d come here the night Jaylon—died? He still wasn’t sure that’s what had happened. The explosions. The screams tearing their way out of his throat. He’d been here several times since Nola and New Orleans became one again.

The joining of the cities had restored the building. Numerous houses and businesses had returned from oblivion. Just like the students at work, some of them had been transformed or doubled. Three Muses, in fact, now stood next door to Tree Muses, across the street from two Favela Chics.

And what about Casey? After aiding his young cousin in what must be the greatest working of musical sorcery in history, he had awakened on his living room sofa and ventured into the master bathroom for a look in the mirror. Everything about him seemed to be in its right place, but he was a couple inches taller and his beard was gone. He still hadn’t decided whether to grow it back.

Casey pulled his battered car into a vacant spot on Saint Claude and jogged around the corner to the studio’s entrance. The door was unlocked, no chain, no padlock. Casey went inside.

The studio was full of tags. They stood jostling each other like a school of eager fish. Jaylon stood among them, stroking this one and then that one like pets. This time, he looked like himself. His dreadlocks were tight and neat, hanging down to the middle of his back. He wore a Saints jersey—Number 1 Kamara—and a pair of patchwork jeans. A cloud of sewing moths hovered around him, and when he saw their quilted wings working, Casey wondered how he knew what they were if he’d never seen them before.

Jayl wore his beard and mustache cropped short, and now it was shot through with gray. That detail reminded him that more time had passed for Jaylon than it had for him. Or had it? He still didn’t understand it.

“Jayl,” he said, and Jaylon looked round at him.

Casey meant to walk over for a hug, but instead he broke into a run. The tags parted to let him pass. It was only when he reached his cousin, took him in his arms, that Casey remembered what it felt like to touch one of these artworks.

Casey held Jaylon tight, sobbing, and Jaylon returned his embrace. “I wanted to wait for you after the Merge, but I got called away.”

“Called away where?”

“I don’t know if I can explain,” Jaylon said. He disengaged to hold Casey at arm’s length. “Oh,” he said. “Oh wow. Did you grow?”

Casey sucked his teeth. “Sheeeeeeeit,” he said. “Don’t even get me started.”

They laughed.

When their laughter subsided, Casey looked Jaylon up and down. “Last time I saw you, you was glowing, my nigga.”

“I still am,” Jaylon said. “So are you.”

“So we playing Madden now, or do we got some more cosmic shit to handle?”

Jaylon shook his head. “I wish we could,” he said. “We don’t have to leave Earth yet, but the Doctor wants to see us.”

“In his garden?”

“City Park,” Jay said. “At Delgado. You drive.”

“Mane, I think I stopped driving when I parked the car,” Casey said. “They don’t call me Trismegistus for nothing. Take my hand.”

Together, they disappeared, and the graffiti sang a mourning song for their absence.

The night air was hot and thick. The scents of jasmine and cut grass crept in through the darkness, insinuating themselves among the smells of fried dough and brewing coffee. Perry tapped his right foot on the red tile of the patio as he stared out into the park. On impulse, he pulled the letter from his pocket and unfolded it on the table:

Dear Perilous Graves,

As Chancellor and Archmage of Delgado Community College for Spellcraft and Sorcery, it is my pleasure to announce your acceptance into our upcoming fall class. If you are currently deceased, it is imperative that you resume living at once and begin preparing for your first semester. Gifts as profound as yours must be nurtured and developed as well as shielded from harm or exploitation. To that end, we have waived all tuition and fees and welcome you on full scholarship. I look forward to meeting you.

Sincerely,

Dr. James Carroll Booker III, MSoD

DCCSS

“Hey, there, champ.”

Perry turned to look as a brown-haired white man took the seat opposite him. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, a Cuban shirt, and khaki pants flared at the cuffs.

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend, friend,” the man said. “I know a thing or two about what you’ve been through. I’m here to tell you that just because you got a fancy letter in the mail doesn’t mean you have to do what it says.”

“You sound like a preacher.”

“I’ve been called many things, and that’s far from the worst of them.”

“I miss my family, though. My sister. Peaches.”

“I get that,” said the man. “That’s natural. But have you asked yourself how you’ll go back and be just you after everything you’ve seen and done?”

“I don’t know,” Perry said. “How did Milo?”

“You’re still comparing yourself to him?”

“He’s still with me,” Perry said. “His story still means something to me.”

“What would you say if I told you Milo got invited to a fancy school after his adventure, just like you?”

Perry squinted, doubtful. “It’s not fancy, though. It’s right here in City Park. It’s Delgado.”

“Plenty fancy,” said the man. “That James Booker, he plays a mean piano. But you play the horn.”

“You’re the one trying to talk me into something.”

“Am I?” asked the man. “Well… and what about your hero, Milo? Will you take him with you next time?”

“Next time?” Perry said. “There’s nowhere to go. It ended.” But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. “The world was enough for Milo after he saved the princesses. The book says he wouldn’t have had time to go back even if he’d had another booth.”

“Books say a lot of things.”

“Why do you care so much if I go to Delgado or stay dead?” Perry said. “Who are you, and what’s your stake in all this?”

The preacher—if that’s what he was—just watched him evenly until the waitress interrupted to set Perry’s frozen café au lait before him. Perry put the decision out of his mind and gazed at the sweating drink. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. He picked it up and sucked some through his straw.

“If you ever meet Milo, ask him,” said the man. “Ask what happened next.”

“I don’t know you,” Perry said. “Go bother somebody else.”

The man shrugged. “If you say so,” he said. “But I know one thing, Perry: You didn’t defeat the Storm. The Storm is eternal and undying. Eventually, you and everyone else will be dead, and it will just go on.” With that, he rose from the table and walked away toward the natatorium.

Perry watched him go for a moment, then shrugged. The drink was frightfully cold. It locked up Perry’s jaw and sent pain shooting across his forehead. Perry clenched his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to get rid of the brain freeze. All his senses ran together and then—

And then—

And then he opened his eyes.