Epilogue

“No one’s ever really lost. Sometimes we don’t know where they are, exactly, but that just means it’s time for us to go out and find them.”

—Alice Healy

 . . . well, that’s an excellent question, when you really stop to think about it

EVERYTHING WAS COMFORTABLE DARKNESS, and nothing hurt. That was the best part. Maybe I’d allowed a predatory equation from another dimension to devour the world, but dammit, I’d at least earned the sort of afterlife where I got to take five minutes to myself. It would probably suck in a few hours, when I realized I was going to be alone with my thoughts for eternity, but whatever. That was a problem for future-Sarah. Present-Sarah was enjoying the chance to catch her breath without anyone trying to seize control of her mind or force her to unmake reality. Future-Sarah could suck it.

“I think she’s dead.”

The voice was Mark’s. He sounded remarkably disinterested, given that he was reporting on my supposed death. I already hadn’t been his biggest fan, but that was when I decided to really dislike him.

“Pour water on her. That always works with me.”

Annie.

“Because usually if we think you’re dead, you’re also on fire, and it’s hard to check someone’s pulse when they’re burning themselves alive. Has anyone checked her pulse?”

James.

“She’s a cuckoo. They don’t have hearts, so they don’t have pulses, either. A pulse isn’t possible without a heart.”

Artie.

If I’d had a heart, it would have been racing. Artie was alive. Artie was alive and here—wherever “here” was—and still himself. I hadn’t accidentally erased his mind when I’d used him as a way to increase my processing power. I wasn’t a monster after all. I wanted to punch the air and scream. I still couldn’t move.

Well, that was awkward. If I wasn’t dead, I wanted to be able to move. I tried to focus on my body, looking for some sign that it was still there.

I’d never met a cuckoo ghost. Did cuckoos haunt their own bodies when they died, since they were so far away from the dimension that they came from? Was I going to be stuck haunting my corpse? I didn’t want to haunt my corpse. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to tell Artie I was okay. I wanted to put my arms around him and press my face against his neck and let him hold me up until I stopped shaking.

“If she’s dead, I don’t want her in here. Dead things stink. We can’t have her attracting predators.”

Artie again, but . . . but he was talking about me. How could he say something like that while he was talking about me? We were supposed to be a team. He was supposed to be on my side, even if it meant he was siding with a corpse.

“If she’s not dead, she may know where the hell we are. She was the one leading their stupid ritual. James, grab her chin.”

A hand grasped my head and tilted it upward as Annie stopped speaking. The fingers were cold. James.

The next fingers to touch me were anything but cold. They stroked my cheek, almost hot enough to burn.

Then Annie pulled back and slapped me.

I gasped, opening my eyes. A momentary triumph lanced through me—I could open my eyes. I had eyes to open. I wasn’t dead after all. And then I saw the faces surrounding me, and my triumph died, replaced by confused terror.

Annie, James, Artie, and Mark had formed a loose semicircle in front of the chair where I was sitting. I didn’t even need to check to know that I was tied in place. There was no other way I could have stayed upright—and family protocols are very clear. When you have someone captive and you want them to stay that way, you damn well tie them up. We were in some kind of classroom. There was a window behind them. Through it, I could see several more buildings I recognized from the campus . . .

And a slice of sky the color of ripe cantaloupe, sweet and golden and utterly alien. As if to drive that point home, what looked like a centipede the length of a train undulated through it, legs waving like cilia or rudders to keep it aloft. I stared, too stunned to say anything.

“Well?”

Annie’s tone was harsh, cold—unforgiving. I turned to face her, eyes wide and shocked.

I couldn’t read her face. I didn’t need to. The wariness and distrust were radiating off her like the heat from her fingers.

“What did you do, cuckoo?” she demanded. “Where are we?”

“Oh,” I said, faintly. “Crap.”