Chapter Twenty-Seven The Journey’s End 
What was that?” Teddy exclaimed, glancing between Piper and the spot where her grandmother had just been standing.
“Is she gone for good?” Kenji asked. “We should retreat to the house while we can.”
Julius and Camilla examined their hands, shocked by what Melena had made them do. Piper wanted to say something reassuring, but Teddy was staring at her. “You can create shock waves,” he murmured.
“I think it was actually a force field, like a dome I can hold around me for protection, I just didn’t have much control over it.”
“Fine, you can create force fields with destructive, shock-wave-like edges,” he amended. “That is somehow even cooler!”
Piper turned toward her mother. Her hair had fallen from her French twist and hung around her face in stringy sections; dirt covered her hands and knees. She looked almost childlike.
Sophia opened her mouth to say something, but Piper spoke first: “I have to go to the hospital.”
“Yes, of course.” Sophia shakily pushed herself to her feet and touched her temple. “I remember where the keys are now. Let’s go.” Piper wondered if her mother could remember everything now that Melena wasn’t in control of her mind. Was she aware of all the horrible things she’d said to Piper? How she’d treated Julius, Camilla, and Kenji?
“Thank you, but Kenji said he can jump me there from the patio. It will be faster.”
Teddy touched Piper’s arm. “I’ll help her,” he said. “You go ahead with Kenji.”
Piper’s chest swelled. She hugged Teddy and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Ugh, what was that for?” he asked, rubbing off the spot her lips had touched.
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you so much.” She sprinted for the exit.
Teleporting was sort of like stepping through a portal. Blackness closed in around Piper, and for a moment, all she could sense was Kenji’s arms wrapped around her middle. Then the darkness folded away and she was standing in a hospital room. It was identical to the one she’d reached using the infinity pool’s portal.
“I’ll go get your mom now.” Kenji paused, then asked, “Assuming you want to have her here?”
Piper considered it. “Maybe leave it up to her?” she said finally.
Kenji nodded, and with the flip of his collar, vanished. A moment later he was back, and Sophia Peavey was with him. She’d brushed her hair out of her eyes and wiped the sweat from her brow; she looked more like herself again. The woman smiled meekly and stepped toward the bed.
Piper, however, remained rooted in place. Even after Kenji left, mentioning that he’d be in the waiting room, she couldn’t bring herself to approach her father. Instead she watched as Sophia sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed her ex-husband’s hand. He stirred and slowly turned his head toward her.
From where Piper was standing, she couldn’t see her father’s face, but she was reminded of that morning when she was very small and had come to her parents’ bedroom. Her mother had been sitting just like this, telling her father that she had to leave. For all the years they’d been apart, for all the hurt between them, the moment was shockingly natural. Perhaps there was no time for grudges or bad blood.
Atticus spoke softly—words Piper couldn’t hear—and Sophia responded with something that sounded a lot like, I’ll take good care of her. I promise.
A nurse bustled into the room. “Oh, good. You’re here,” she said, noticing Piper and Sophia. “It won’t be long now. I was worried you wouldn’t make it in time.” She checked something on one of the machines, then exited quietly.
Sophia patted Atticus’s hand and stood. “I’ll give you two some time alone,” she said to Piper, and then she followed the nurse into the hall.
The room suddenly seemed very big, the bed very far away. Piper wanted to walk toward it, but she knew the conversation that waited. And what it meant.
Atticus patted the mattress, and Piper made her feet move. The sheets were warm where her mother had sat. Piper threaded her fingers through her father’s. They were so bony now, the skin paper thin. “I don’t want you to go,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“I know. But we talked about this earlier, remember?”
“What?”
“You had that drink with you.” Atticus glanced at Piper’s empty hands.
So she had been here. The portal had brought her directly to him. She thought it hadn’t been real, that it was some sort of illusion. And it must have been, partially. Frederick Mallory had appeared, after all, and he was dead. But everything she’d said to her father after stepping through the portal, he’d heard.
“Is your journey over, Dad?” she asked quietly.
“Almost, I think.” He swallowed, grimaced.
“Will I be able to come there too, wherever you’re going?”
“I hope so. But not until … you’re old. Really … old.”
There was a long pause. Piper wanted to say a million things. About Grandma Mallory and the estate and her mother. About her new friends and how Atticus couldn’t go yet, because he needed to meet them all. She wanted to talk about the bungalow and Carl the penguin and crosswords and aquariums and all the new powers growing inside her. Most of all, she just wanted more time. To talk about everything—especially the meaningless stuff.
“Do you need a copilot?” she asked finally. “On the final stretch?”
“I would like that … very much,” he said.
Piper lay down and curled up beside her father, as she had after each nightmare as a child.
“I love you, Dad,” she said.
“Love you, too, Pipes,” he managed.
She stayed there, holding his hand until the very end.