Probability Angels





Joseph Devon






























© 2008 by Joseph Devon
www.josephdevon.com
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1441403868

Printed in the United States of America.











For Michele, Laura, and Tammoye:
Three people who kept Matthew and Epp alive long after they were dead






















Part 1: Second Choice

   
   The patterned wallpaper, the waist high molding, the chandeliers every ten feet, the glass covered wooden tables with overly ornate vases stuffed with flowers, everything in sight screamed out that this was a place designed to look nice with no thought given to whether or not someone would want to live there. Matthew walked along as quickly as he could in his tuxedo, wondering why hotels always had to look like this.
   Matthew was a short man but not so short that people noticed that about him, his thinning hair made him look in his thirties while the glint in his blue eyes put him closer to twenty. A pair of thin rimmed glasses sat on his face like a statement of health. His tuxedo was well cut and lacked the rumpled shininess of a rental.
   He passed an intersection of hallways, glancing to his right and seeing the elevator bank he continued on. Then he passed the vending machines. Then he made it to the bathroom. 
   Entering the bathroom he slowed down, the door eased shut on its spring behind him and Matthew stood there listening. He could hear him, softly, somewhere past the row of sinks. As Matthew trod through the bathroom, which itself was an orgy of overly ornate decorating, he glanced in the corner at the gold mesh wastebasket. There was something there that shouldn’t be, or at least he saw something there that shouldn’t be, and for the first time since he had walked out of the grand ballroom Matthew broke stride, his casual cool bounce faltering as he closed his eyes hard and shook his head. When he opened them again the wastebasket was empty.
   He turned to face forward and picked up his stride again, turning the corner to where there was a row of stalls with beautifully stained wooden doors. Matthew walked down the row, glaring at the doors one after another. He finally crept around one and looked in to see a man sitting on the toilet with the lid down, the door open, his face in his hands as he sobbed.
   “Excuse me?” Matthew said gingerly. The man looked up. “I was just looking for the cigar bar when I got lost and wandered in here and then I heard you from over by the sinks and I…well…I mean what’s wrong, pal?”
   The man looked up, all elbows and knees from how he was folded onto the toilet seat. Matthew caught his eyes and smiled. “Come on,” Matthew said, “let’s go over by the sink, you can splash a little water on your face, talk it out, maybe I can help. At the very least,” Matthew looked around and smiled a good-natured smile that oh so delicately pointed out the absurdity of a grown man sitting alone in a toilet stall crying by himself, “I can definitely listen.”
   Matthew coaxed the man out, led him to one of the sinks, turned on the tap for him, patiently listened as the man told his story, which Matthew already knew. Matthew nodded, one ear open in case there was anything new he should know, he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a cigar, spent time enjoying its aroma while he waited for the man to finish his tale of heartbreak and fear and unrequited love.
   Matthew hopped up onto the counter, using only his legs, his hands never getting involved. He landed between sinks in what he somehow made look like a comfortable position. Through the whole leap the only thing he seemed intent on protecting was his cigar, which he held between thumb and forefinger of one hand. As he sat listening to the man’s speech wind down he rolled the freshly cut cigar gently, feeling the moist tobacco leaves giving slightly under the pressure of his fingers.
   Matthew glanced over and saw that the man had finished and was looking at him with a face that was still damp from a few splashes of cold water. Matthew knew he was ready.
   “Look,” Matthew started, leaning back into a position that should have been ten times more awkward but that he managed to make look ten times more comfortable. “I’m no expert on these things. I’m just here for this wedding as a distant uncle. Just wanted to find the cigar bar is all. But I see a fellow man sobbing himself to pieces in a toilet stall over a girl, and there isn’t any question in my mind as to what I should think. You, my friend,” and Matthew stared hard at the man, “need to go after this girl.”
   “But she’s married,” the man said.
   Matthew continued to stare, the man’s eyes drawn to his like something deeper was passing between them. “Doesn’t matter,” Matthew said. “A love that can make a man sob in a toilet…that’s a love that you’ve got to at least give a chance to, isn’t it? You said yourself; you knew she was having doubts about her marriage.” Matthew stared.
   Finally the man broke eye contact and turned to face himself in the mirror. “Yeah,” he said, “she has doubts.”
   “Okay then,” Matthew said, smiling like a high-school football coach after a particularly good pep talk. “Then go get her.”
   The man looked at himself in the mirror for a few more seconds; doing something to his face that Matthew could only assume was some form of courage gathering. Then he said, “Thanks,” and turned and walked out of the bathroom.
   Matthew continued sitting on the counter, his legs dangling like a little child’s, kicking happily back and forth. There was a beep and he reached into his pocket and withdrew a cell phone. Flipping it open he glanced over a text message, surprise registering on his face. All thoughts of the man and the conversation were gone as he pondered the text message, gone until he looked down at the counter and saw a neat stack of twenty dollar bills sitting there. “Hm,” he said, “quick work.”
   Hopping off the counter he grabbed the bills and placed them in his pocket then popped the cigar into his mouth. He looked at himself in the mirror, hands in his pockets, the cigar clenched between his teeth off to the side of his mouth, and took a pull, only sucking air through the unlit end. He looked disappointed and concentrated harder. His cheeks formed small hollows in his face as he took a more determined draw, the unlit cigar bobbing between his teeth, once, twice, three times until, during the fourth pull, the end suddenly burst into bright red flames, catching the cigar alit before residing and leaving only a perfectly glowing red ember. Matthew smiled at himself, taking his hands out of his pocket he smoothed down his jacket as he took a few puffs, then he turned and walked out of the bathroom.
   
—–

   Matthew walked down 72nd street underneath the modern-gothic windows of the looming apartment building on the corner. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, taking a pull at his cigar, now mostly gone, enjoying the warm summer midnight. It had rained earlier and the streets were damp. He waited on the light, then crossed over Central Park West and followed the double-wide 72nd street into the park. He turned off the street about twenty yards in and followed a path up a gentle rise, a canopy of trees closing in around him.
   Matthew walked further and further into the park, following path after path, cursing more than a few times as branches he hadn’t noticed swatted at his face. Then, through the darkness, he saw a thin band of yellow hovering in the air. As he drew closer his eyes recognized it as a strip of tape, like the kind used to mark off crime scenes, only different, strung across the path. Matthew paused and looked around, looked at the darkness that was behind him, then looked at how the light on the other side of the tape was different somehow. He smiled, a little laugh coming out of his mouth, then with a touch of nervousness he ducked his torso and stepped onto the other side of the tape.
   The first difference was as immediate as it was obvious. All noise ceased. As Matthew straightened himself up there was no more wind in the trees, no more muffled sounds of traffic from Central Park West, there was only silence. He continued walking down the path, the second change slowly sinking in as he realized he was no longer walking through a post-midnight darkness. The air was now mellower, lighter, like it was only a little past dusk. Then he stopped short and walked a slow circle around a single point of light, smiling as he recognized a firefly, its bottom flashing electric green, frozen in time, hovering in the air. He reached a finger up and slowly pointed it towards the glowing beetle, was about to tap it to see what would happen when a voice spoke up behind him.
   “Please don’t.”
   Matthew jumped and turned, then smiled and shook his head. “Jesus, Epp, you scared the hell out of me.”
   Epp walked over, his face lit by the firefly’s light. His skin was sable black, the color of an exotic hardwood, and he was a good head taller than Matthew, although due to a complete lack of anything but muscle on his body, he probably weighed the same.
   “What happens if I touch it?” Matthew asked, looking back to the firefly.
   “Just more work for me,” Epp answered, the calm undertone of his voice making Matthew’s easy confidence seem like a bad case of nerves. Epp looked Matthew up and down. “Nice tuxedo,” he said.
   There was honest appreciation for good tailoring in Epp’s voice, but Matthew found himself unable to accept it as a straight compliment considering that Epp was wearing a suit that seemed more like a symphony composed of charcoal threads than mere clothing.
   “I was working some adultery at a wedding,” Matthew said to explain his clothes.
   “Adultery?” Epp asked turning and walking away. Matthew started walking with him, the idea of not following never crossing his mind. “At a wedding? With your skill? Seems a little beneath you, Matthew. You might as well tailgate at the political conventions with the rest of the newbies.”
   “Well,” Matthew said, not letting himself get rankled, “the woman in question was the bride.”
   A slow exhalation of breath through Epp’s nose was all Matthew got, but he knew enough to know that this was as close to laughter as he was likely to get. “I suppose that does contain a certain amount of flair worthy of you, Matthew.”
   “Yeah?” Matthew said, a touch of haughtiness in his voice. “The guy involved was the priest.”
   A smile spread across Epp’s dark features and as his eyes softened Matthew knew that he had redeemed himself.
   “You know, it’s been twenty-two years,” Matthew said, “you think it might be time for you to give me a little credit?”
   The smile disappeared from Epp’s face. “Not a chance.”
   “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Matthew said, “so why’d you text me?”
   “Come,” Epp said, and Matthew followed him off the path into a patch of lawn, more trees popping up between them and the views of the city. Not much farther in, at a secluded area, they came upon a frozen couple. The woman was in the process of saying something with strong emotion to the man. The man was stuck with a panicked look on his face, his body lurching forward as if he was trying to break into a run. There was a large knife in his hands. Matthew bent down and examined the knife, saw the red sheen covering it, the blood frozen in the air spraying off the blade, could imagine the man’s arm moving fast, the knife whipping around as he panicked. Matthew straightened up. The man was running…he turned…he saw a form lying on the grass not far away and gathered easily enough that this was the victim.
   Matthew turned back to Epp. “I’m still not used to murders.”
   “I don’t know that we ever get used to them.” Epp was looking down at a clipboard.
   “Still though,” Matthew walked over to him, “I don’t get it.”
   Epp looked up from his clipboard. “It’s an insurance thing.” He pointed to the couple, “These two need a body. Don’t worry about that, it gets complicated.”
   “But,” Matthew was looking around at the coverage, more trees than you’d normally get in Manhattan, that was for certain, but it was still awfully thin, “I mean, it’s 2007, who the hell dies in Central Park anymore? And what time is it, actually?” He squinted, trying to read the frozen light level. “It barely looks like the sun has set.”
   Epp flipped a page, studying something, flipped another page. “We are here to test their spirits, Matthew. Their intelligence is out of our hands. This isn’t even my work, to tell the truth. Someone else started it. It’s not bad. A little sloppy, definitely not great, but not bad. I just took it over recently.”
   “Really? You can do that?”
   “These are special circumstances.”
   “Well whoever set this up must have been pretty angry when you took over. You’ve got a knife murder, by a couple, in Central Park? How much is this worth?”
   “For me? Nothing,” Epp shook his head. “You don’t get to jump in this late and gain any currency. And as for the guy who started this in motion, he’ll be fine. He’ll wind up making double what this is worth. We’re sending him to Hollywood for a week.”
   “Yeah,” Matthew said, his tone not fading, “but you’ve probably had a hand in a dozen of these types of headline cases. I’ve never wondered but how much are cases like this worth?”
   Epp shrugged, cool eyes never leaving Matthew. “They keep me in Zegna.” Epp extended a hand with the clipboard in it.
   Matthew took it and glanced down. “Plus you get to use all the neat toys.” He began flipping through the sheets. “These are probability photographs, aren’t they?”
   Matthew turned page after page, each one showing a possible outcome, most of them involving the couple being herded into a jail cell, or a police car or a courtroom. Each photo had a graph in the lower right-hand corner containing simple probability waves of varying heights. Matthew stopped at a photo of the couple sitting happily at home; he glanced at the graph in the corner and saw that the curve was barely more than a straight line. Matthew chuckled. Then he handed the clipboard back.
   “I still don’t get it. Why bother with the,” he circled his finger in the air, looking around, “you know, the time tape stuff?”
   “Special circumstances,” Epp said, reaching a hand out to take the clipboard back.
   “And what might these special circumstances be, Epp? And what am I doing here?”
   Epp paused. Matthew was struck by the fact that Epp seemed unsure of how to continue. Epp took a deep breath, his lips pursing in thought. Then he pointed. Matthew turned and looked at the form on the ground. “She’s a jogger. She wound up being their choice for victim. Like I said, it’s complicated. It’s also just awful bad luck.”
   “Why?” Matthew asked, taking tentative steps towards the form lying on the ground.
   “Matthew,” Epp paused again, the rarity of Epp being unsure was making Matthew’s nerves start to sit on edge. “Matthew, she’s yours.”
   “Yeah?” Matthew asked, curious. He was creeping around now, moving very low to the ground, the back of the woman’s head the only thing visible. “I don’t remember doing her,” he said puzzled, “but it’s been a long time. I guess she could be one of mine.”
   “She wasn’t a case of yours, Matthew.” Epp looked around, as if hoping for some help in saying what he had to say. When no help came he continued speaking. “She was your choice.”
   Matthew’s body reacted before he did, his legs giving out as he leaned over the body so that he fell kneeling into the grass. “No,” he said in a whisper. He looked up at Epp, eyes stunned, his face showing nothing but denial. “NO,” he said, his voice rising in a shout. Shaky hands reached out and rolled the body over with a thump, her hair falling off of her face. Matthew sucked in a stuttering breath and looked down at the blood covering her shirt. He ran hands over her body, smoothing out her shirt, trying to wipe away the blood; he looked up at Epp again. “Fix her.”
   “Matthew, that’s not how this works. She—”
   “Fix her!” Matthew yelled. He stumbled up and began walking towards Epp, who held up his hands, trying to calm Matthew down. “You fix her!” Matthew said, his finger jabbing out behind him at where she lay. “You fix her right now!” Epp lowered his hands as Matthew approached.
   “She doesn’t die!” Matthew yelled in Epp’s face. One hand rose up and shoved Epp’s shoulder hard, “that was the deal,” he screamed, his eyes stinging now. “The bullet changed paths and went into me and she gets to live and I die. I die!” Matthew shouted, slapping his own chest. “Me! Not her!” And he pointed another finger back at the body.
   “You chose life for her, and she’s had a decent one, as per the deal,” Epp said, calm enveloping him, “but immortality for her was never part of it. Her time has come.”
   “Fix her,” Matthew said. Epp remained impassive. “Fuck you!” Matthew screamed, and he stormed off past Epp.
   “You go blow off steam, Matthew,” Epp yelled out after him. “You walk this off and I’ll clean up here and I’ll meet you at the usual place.”
   Before Matthew disappeared into the dark Epp saw him walk past the firefly and with one angry hand reach up and swat it out of the air.
   
—–

   Matthew fumed down the street. His hands were in his pockets, his bowtie unstrung and dangling from his collar. He wasn’t sure where he was going; he barely recognized his surroundings. He was breathing heavily through his nose, the hot summer air pumping in and out of him like fuel. He spotted a couple walking towards him and he lowered his shoulder and walked into the girl, with a hush like a steam vent he wafted through her, eyebrows angry. “He’s cheating on you,” he thought, and then he was through her, past her, and two steps later he heard her turn and start cursing off the young man with her. A handful of coins appeared in his pocket and he ran his fingers through them.
   Another pedestrian came into sight, a lone woman, and he never broke stride, just ducked his head and plowed through, baring his teeth as he went, and he heard the woman burst into sobs behind him and more change appeared in his pocket.
   His cheeks were moist and with the flat of his hand he tried to wipe the tears away but they kept coming and he was walking through a group of street dwellers and drug dealers and behind him he heard a fist fight break out and the change in his pocket bulged then flattened into a couple of bills and he thumbed at the corners.
   His eyes stung and his nose was running and now he tried the back of his hands but he couldn’t keep his cheeks dry and he heard someone calling his name. He spotted a group of tourists and thrust both hands into his pockets, angling his walk so he’d catch all of them square on. His lip curled up and his teeth were bared and he was only a few steps away from them when an arm caught him across his chest and he was being restrained.
   “Matthew!” someone was shouting in his ear and he turned and saw Benjamin with his jowly face and rough beard. Benjamin’s clothes were burly, if not disheveled, and the belt of his trench coat never seemed to hang right. “Matthew, leave some for the rest of us, here,” Benjamin was laughing.
   “What do you care about them for?” Matthew was staring at the family of tourists.
   “I don’t care about them, I care about you.”
   “Lemme do ‘em,” Matthew said, his body practically going limp under Benjamin’s restraining arm, as if he wasn’t even able to hold himself up anymore. “I got a good one for ‘em.”
   “Okay, but then we go get a drink at the place, right? Maybe get your head back together?”
   Matthew nodded and Benjamin let down his arm and gave him a shove. Matthew teetered on one foot, hopping along, passing through the family of tourists who began pointing at a map and arguing. Matthew looked at Benjamin from over the father’s shoulders. “Arguing over a map?” Benjamin said. “That was your big idea?”
   “I don’t…” Matthew stopped talking, looked around confused. “This isn’t helping.”
   “Come on,” Benjamin said, and they walked towards the street. “You have a fiver?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Okay then.”
   Benjamin held up his hand with a five dollar bill in it and Matthew stood next to him doing the same. There was a whir and Matthew felt the wind in his hair as the five dollar bill vanished and then he was standing next to a statue of Ralph Kramden and looking up at steel girders painted aqua-green. Benjamin was over by a row of double glass doors holding one open. Matthew walked through into the Port Authority Bus Terminal.
   They walked through the long hallway, mostly empty at this time of night, ugly brown brick walls rising up to the ceiling three stories above them, their feet stepping on tiling that looked like it had been decorated with a can of glue and the contents of a well used three-hole punch. They rode up an escalator and continued towards the back of the building until they reached another set of double glass doors. They walked through into the Port Authority bowling alley. On the right was the arcade, down the hall straight ahead were the lanes, Matthew and Benjamin turned left and walked into the bar.
   “What do you think?” Benjamin asked, looking around at the bar half full of college students, bus drivers getting off their shift, bowlers, and anyone else sucked into drinking at the Port Authority. The bar was an island in the center of three walls of booths, most of which were full.
   “I don’t know,” Matthew said, running the back of his hand over his forehead like he was testing to see if he had a fever. “You mind clearing a few seats? I think I’m through bumping skin tonight and I certainly don’t feel like going visible.”
   “Sure thing, buddy,” Benjamin said and he walked to the farthest corner of the bar where a man was sitting between two empty stools. Benjamin leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear and the guy stood up and stormed out, a half drunk pint glass still sitting on the bar.
   “Cheating wife?” Matthew asked, watching the guy leave.
   “Thieving brother,” Benjamin said.
   “Interesting,” Matthew said, sitting down.
   Benjamin was fishing in his pocket as he pulled back the barstool next to Matthew. He put a stack of twenties on the bar as he sat down and with a wave of his hand a couple of cheap rocks glasses appeared filled with flat ice cubes and pale scotch. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, listening to the bar around them. One drink finished, Matthew threw a twenty on the bar and another round appeared.
   “It was 1985,” Matthew said, apropos of nothing. “We had married the year before when everyone said we weren’t ready. We knew we were ready. We thought we were ready, anyway. Who the hell is ever ready for marriage?” Benjamin nodded, sipping his drink, staring straight ahead, listening but not intruding. “Anyway,” Matthew went on, “we were living in Brooklyn in some god-awful apartment complex where the noise of the train was a welcome distraction from the mice in the walls. But, you know, we loved it. And we weren’t going to stay there forever of course. We had big plans.” He took a gulp of scotch, holding it on his tongue before clenching his teeth and swallowing it down.
   “We went to a Mets game one night. Neither of us were fans or anything, that was the funny part. It was sort of a, ‘We’ve never done anything like this so why don’t we give it a try,’ kind of thing.” He shook his head. “I mean we didn’t know what the fuck we were doing and we left in the middle of the game and wandered down the wrong street and…well it was New York in the eighties.” His glass came up and a couple of ice cubes went into his mouth, he chewed them awhile.
   “Anyway, there he was…I can’t even remember really what he looked like, but the gun I remember. And there were some words, it all gets a little jumbled and then the gun went off,” Matthew mimicked a gun with his thumb and forefinger, his thumb dropping, his mouth making a little “pow” sound. “And all I really remember is this rush of thought chased with pure adrenaline and all that was going through my head, over and over was, ‘Please be me not her, me not her, me not her, me not her…’” He sucked another ice cube into his mouth, got a good hold of it between his back teeth and crunched it down with a laugh.
   “And then things get hazy,” Benjamin said, recognizing the laugh.
   “And then things get hazy,” Matthew said with slightly drunken camaraderie and the two raised their glasses and clinked them together.
   “Next thing I know,” Matthew went on, “I’m standing at my own funeral and this preposterously well dressed black man is talking to me about things I in no way understand. And he says his name is Epp. And he takes me under his wing.” Matthew breathed out a sad sigh and it came rushing back. He put his glass down on the bar with too much force and liquor splashed over his fingers. “And twenty-two years later she dies anyway.”
   “It’s not Epp’s fault you know.”
   “I know, I know,” Matthew held his alcohol soaked fingers up and looked around, then settled on wiping them off on his pants. “But you can’t really blame me for my reaction. I never gave this a whole lot of thought, I guess. It’s all sort of jumbled in my head.”
   “Of course,” Benjamin said as if Matthew was blaming himself for things that he shouldn’t. “If you don’t think things through, things stay jumbled. That should be our motto.” Benjamin caught sight of a friend on the other side of the bar and he gave a smile and a nod of his head. “Anyway, the deal was never for our choice’s immortality, just that you’d go instead of them, and they’d have a shot at a decent life.”
   “Is yours gone yet?”
   “Mine? No, forty years later and she’s still puttering on, god bless her.”
   “Yeah. Well I still feel like Epp could have filled me in a little better.”
   “Ah. You can’t blame him. That’s just how he is, all impassive and what have you. You know why he’s like that don’t you?” Benjamin looked around like he was worried he was being watched. “It’s because he was a slave.”
   “No shit? He’s been doing this for more than a hundred years?”
   “That’s why he’s got the rank.”
   “And we get cheap whisky.”
   “Amen,” Benjamin raised his glass and held it towards Matthew who obligingly gave it another clink with his. “Anyway,” Benjamin placed his glass down and looked past Matthew, “oh shit.” There was a change in his demeanor, a straightening of his back and a quickening of his pulse. “He’s here.”
   Matthew looked around and saw Epp coming through the bar towards them. “Yeah, he said he might drop by.” They watched Epp walk the bar, those who could see him giving curt nods like they were afraid to display any emotion around him. He was courteous in turn, waving and greeting those who he passed, but there was an aloofness about him that kept him detached.
   “Hello, sir,” Benjamin said with a little nod of his large head as Epp came over to them.
   “I don’t outrank you, Benjamin,” Epp said as he slid into the barstool on the other side of Matthew. “I keep telling you that.”
   “Yes, sir,” Benjamin said. “Let me buy you a drink.” He threw another twenty on the bar and watched as it broke into a ten and some singles and another rocks glass appeared in front of Epp.
   Epp picked up the glass slowly, turning it in the light, he swirled it gently under his nose and breathed in. Then he took a sip, letting it slide on his tongue, and then swallowed. He put the glass back down. “I don’t outrank you, Benjamin, but tonight I’m going to insist that you drink what I drink.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crisp stack of bills held together by a paper band. Two of these dropped on the bar and Benjamin stared at them from the corner of his eye, frozen in mid-drink. Matthew looked at Epp, then down at the two stacks of money.
   The bands across the packets had “Five Thousand” written on them in orange letters and as Matthew watched they began to shake and shrink, depleting in size as three new crystal rocks glasses appeared on the bar in front of them. The glasses filled up with a new type of scotch. When Matthew looked back at the stacks of bills, there were only a few left.
   “Sir, I can’t let you…” Benjamin started, but Epp waved him silent.
   “Even for the immortal, Benjamin, life is too short to drink bad scotch.”
   Matthew picked up his glass, amazed at how heavy it was and how cool the crystal felt. He smelled the liquor inside and just closed his eyes, enjoying it. Benjamin only stared down at the bar, afraid to go near it. Epp took a sip and smiled, then looked over and saw all of this. “Don’t worry. Next round’s on me as well.” He threw another two stacks of bills onto the bar.
   Matthew dared a sip and Benjamin dared to pick his glass up. Much the same as before, the three sat drinking in silence, letting the whisky do the talking. More rounds came, and the conversation started up again, nothing important being said, just words being exchanged over a shared drink or two. After a few more Benjamin pushed his chair out and stood up a little wobbly. “I think I’m done for the night,” he said. “Want to come down to the East Village, Mattie? We’ll fuck with the hipsters and scrounge for change. It’ll be fun.”
   Matthew laughed. “No, thanks, I think I’m just going to sit tight for awhile.”
   “Suit yourself,” Benjamin said, easing his weight off his barstool. He caught Epp’s eye. “That’s some good scotch,” he said, stifling a burp, “I thank you for that, sir.”
   He gave a couple of slaps on the shoulder as he walked past them, then exited out of the bar. Epp watched him go. “That guy will not listen to me when I tell him I don’t outrank him.”
   “Don’t you?”
   Epp turned to look at Matthew and Matthew instantly regretted what he had said Epp’s look was so disappointed. “Don’t tell me you think like him.”
   “Well you do get to do a lot of pretty neat things that we don’t get to do.”
   “It isn’t rank, Matthew. I can do those things because I have learned how to do them, not because some sanctioning body allows me to do them. I don’t get to use the tape because someone says I get to, I can use the tape because I’ve come to learn a few things about space-time. The elders meet together not to decide the rules for everyone else but because we like meeting together, we like exchanging ideas and lessons. But the pool of knowledge is open for anyone to drink from. We have no control over that. You should know that by now.”
   “I feel like there’s a lot I should know by now.”
   “It takes time,” Epp said, his voice soft and understanding after his small tirade. “You’ll get there. But the first thing you should do is stop listening to people like Benjamin. I know, he’s fun to share a drink with and I’ll stand him a round anytime, but he’s got a lot of things backwards. Like most newbies he seems to think that we’re in control here. They make their first choice and they get a taste of this new world and they think the meat bags are somehow below them,” Epp looked around at the regular people drinking in the bar all around.
   “We do seem to hold a lot of the cards,” Matthew said, and to illustrate his point he waved a hand through the head of a guy walking past his stool. The guy decided then and there to cheat on his taxes.
   “But it’s a lot more give and take than most newbies ever care to realize. They have their fun and then their choice straight-lines and then they’re gone. But we share this world, and we use what the mortals come up with. I mean, take the tape again. Do you realize that when I first learned that trick the tape didn’t even exist yet? I mean I had to pound wooden stakes into the ground, and then spool this spindly twine around them to mark off an area. But then tape comes along and I get to use tape. You know? Or take the money,” Epp dropped another two blocks of cash down on the table. “We use money because a symbol for our currency is damned handy but it’s only a symbol. Most newbies never bother to question that.”
   Epp looked over at Matthew, who was watching the cash shaking on the table, slowly depleting itself as his glass filled again with scotch. “Look at you,” Epp said. “I forget sometimes how far along you aren’t. You’re picturing some lady at a desk somewhere tallying up what’s been spent and what’s been earned. You think the elders run the money, don’t you?”
   “Well,” Matthew said, clearly thinking something along those lines but also not sure he was so crazy for thinking it.
   “It’s just the easiest way for us to visualize what is happening, but there is no bank of accountants somewhere that cuts your paycheck when you do a meat bag, Matthew. It’s just how we come to express the notion of how much you’ve pushed and how much they’ve pushed back. I mean, do you think there’s an exchange rate?”
   Matthew’s face was a wrinkle of puzzlement that was part him staring at the money and part scotch. “It doesn’t matter what it looks like, Matthew.” Epp reached a hand out, he flexed his fingers a few times, then made a fist and pounded down on the bar. At first Matthew didn’t notice what was happening, the sound that came out of the bar was so booming, so unnatural, that the sound was all he could focus on, but before Epp’s fist came down again he caught a glimpse of the pile of money and saw that it was now some form of large silver coin he had never seen before. Epp banged the bar again and the coins jumped and Matthew was pretty sure he was looking at Spanish Doubloons. Epp pounded, the coins jumped and Matthew caught sight of something that must have been Chinese, then a coin that looked vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place, then something he’d never seen before, then back to a stack of crisp $100 bills.
   “Neat trick,” Matthew said.
   “It’s not a trick, and you will learn in time. If you want to that is. You might not. But tonight it’s time for your second choice.” Epp quieted down and went back to sipping his scotch.
   “I don’t get it,” Matthew said, shaking his head, not even sure what it was he wasn’t getting.
   “It comes in time. And give yourself some credit, you’re learning already. That trick with the cigar you’re so fond of, that takes a fair amount of chemistry and thermodynamics. And you’re doing rather well grasping,” Epp’s hand reached out and plucked at the bar a few times and three or four small waves sprang up, much like the kind Matthew had seen on the photographs in the park earlier, “probability waves.”
   Matthew groaned and laid his head on the bar behind his glass of scotch, but he could see the waves dancing through the crystal. “Please…no math.”
   Epp smiled, and one by one he pushed down the waves until one began to rise higher and higher until it was the only one left and it reached up to the ceiling. “You have plenty of math yet to learn. Again, assuming you come our way. You do have your second choice to make.”
   “That’s the second time you’ve said that. I have no idea what it means.”
   Epp didn’t answer, only turned back to his drink, took a delicate swallow, rolled it around in his mouth, then let it pass down his throat. He looked around after a few seconds, his eyes glancing to the speaker in the corner then over at the jukebox as he listened to the song that was playing. Matthew realized he wasn’t going to get an answer so he went back to his drink and the two remained silent for a few more minutes.
   “I still don’t think I get the part about them pushing back,” Matthew said finally, something in the rushed form of the question giving away how rare he considered it to have Epp’s mind to pick.
   Epp shrugged. “That’s one of the simplest concepts to grasp.” He held his hands out in front of him so his palms were down and his fingertips were touching. “Some you test and they come out okay, they get a little stronger for it, but some you test and they push back,” and Epp pushed in with both his hands, allowing his fingers to rise up like a mountain growing. “Some push back a little,” and his fingertips rose up a little, “and some…well some push back a lot,” and the mountain grew higher. “But, in the end, someone has to give,” and Epp let one of his hands collapse under the other.
   “Yeah, but I’m not sure I’ve ever felt that.”
   “Of course not, you’re not a tester yet. You haven’t made your second choice. You’re still a newbie. And, frankly, the only thing a newbie really amounts to is a bad idea on legs.”
   At the mention of a second choice Matthew looked at Epp, but Epp’s face gave nothing away and he decided not to push it. Matthew returned to his drink, and slowly the events of the night flooded back to him, and he saw her hair tousled and her shirt bleeding red. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” he said, confused.
   Epp didn’t say anything but there was a warmth in his silence.
   “Why? Why did you put the tape up to start with?”
   “To help you.”
   “How does that help me, to know she’s out there dying and I can’t do anything?”
   Epp curled his fingers around his glass and smiled down at the bar.
   “This have something to do with my second choice again?” Epp didn’t answer and Matthew returned to staring at the rainbows forming in his crystal glass. Then he turned to Epp with a new question. “Do you remember when your choice died?”
   “Of course, you never forget. It was a house fire. I woke up and could hear her screaming in the next room. That was when I made my choice. Twenty years after that I watched as my wife was buried.” He took a drink. “That never fades, Matthew. Never.”
   “And you’ve been dong this for two hundred years?”
   “Two hundred? You really are bad at math.”
   “Sorry, Benjamin said that you were a slave, so I figured—”
   “This would be a wonderful time for you to take stock of everything that exists in your head, and to separate out the assumptions from the facts.”
   “So you weren’t a slave?”
   “Oh, I was a slave.”
   “So…”
   “My slave name, which I kept, is Epictetus, not Chicken George. Epictetus. That is Greek, Matthew.”
   “Greek, but…” and then Matthew saw. “That first set of coins you turned the money into…”
   Obligingly Epp pounded the bar again and the cash jumped up and landed as a set of crude silver discs. “Ancient Greek,” Epp said. And he thumped the bar one last time, turning the silver back into a pile of hundreds.
   “Jesus Christ,” Matthew said under his breath, still staring at the bar.
   “Never had the pleasure of meeting him, no. But he was my mentor’s last great push. After him she retired. Not that I can blame her; the work does take something out of you.” Epp looked down at his glass hollowly.
   “She…she retired?”
   Epp nodded. “She decided to cross over.”
   “So where is she now?”
   “How the hell should I know? One world at a time, thank you very much.”
   “So,” Matthew was having a hard time with this, “you’ve been doing this for…and she…how long did she test for?”
   “Her first great push was to strike Homer blind, and she finished things out by chatting with Yehoshua in the desert. Not a bad pile of work by anyone’s standards.” Epp turned to his drink.
   “Fuck me,” Matthew said, and for lack of anything better to do he finished his drink.
   “That’s nothing,” Epp said, as the cash on the table shook and Matthew’s drink filled up. “What will really baffle you is the notion that she herself had a mentor. I mean, when you start thinking about what sorts of things came about because of that man’s pushing…” Epp waved his fingers over the bar and the image of a small stone wheel rolled across it, then the image of a fire being lit. “It gets pretty interesting.” Epp looked around the bar. He stood up. “But anyway, we old timers will go on if you let us. I’m going to leave you for now, Matthew. You have a choice to make.”
   “I made my choice,” Matthew said glumly. “My life and not hers, and now hers is about to end out in the park when you take that tape down. That was my choice. It’s made already.”
   “Oh no. That was your first choice. You still have—”
   “My second choice. So you keep telling me, although I have no idea what you mean.”
   “Who was it you were protecting, Matthew?”
   “My wife.”
   “And what was it you saw in the wastebasket of the bathroom?”
   Matthew turned on his stool, his face unsteady, his eyes trying to carve away Epp’s calm. “How…how did you know about that?”
   “You’ve been seeing it again, haven’t you? That’s a good thing.” Epp nodded as if this confirmed a hunch of his.
   “How did you know about that?”
   “Our biggest lies are the ones we tell ourselves,” Epp said, and then he was gone.
   Matthew sat drinking, thinking about the wastebasket at the hotel earlier that evening. Only that didn’t seem right, and there hadn’t been anything in there, he had only thought he had seen something. But what had he thought was there? And why did it rattle him so much?
   Matthew sat and drank his way through Epp’s cash. Then he started working through his own. It was hours before he left the bar.
   
—–

   Matthew walked through the park again. Ducking under the tape he made his way to where his wife lay dying and as he looked down the tears started again. It was strange, he felt so distant from her, but looking at her face the memories were able to reform. The way she had looked up at him after he kissed her, the way she always swung her arm when he took her hand as they walked, how she couldn’t keep the bathroom in any sort of order to save her life. And now that the memories were forming again Matthew turned away from the body, grotesque in its frozen state. He started walking, remembering how they had been stupid and in love. He was out of the park and thinking about how they had made plans. And then he was thinking about what he had seen in the bathroom wastebasket. And suddenly he was on his knees for the second time that night, collapsing to the sidewalk with what he had seen, his sobs split by screams as his world cleaved neatly in two. When his scream stopped he only knelt and quietly breathed, hands shaking at his sides. He saw a familiar pair of dress shoes walk in front of him and stop, the pants hovering above them forming a perfect break just above the cuff. Dawn began to spill over the sidewalk.
   “Epp, what is going on?” he said quietly.
   “What was in the wastebasket, Matthew?”
   Matthew started to stand up, but thought better of it and wound up sitting down on the concrete. He wiped a stray tear away from the side of his nose with the tip of his finger. “A home pregnancy test. I saw a home pregnancy test in the wastebasket of my bathroom the morning before the Mets game. And it was positive.”
   “Very good, Matthew. Are you starting to understand now?”
   Matthew looked up at him, bewildered. He shook his head. “I have a child?”
   “You have a daughter,” Epp said. “And it is time to make your second choice.”
   “What do you mean?”
   “All those years ago, when you called out for that bullet to strike you…who was it you were protecting?”
   “But I didn’t know about my daughter, did I?”
   “You knew enough,” Epp said, and he plucked two curves up out of the sidewalk. He pointed at the larger one, “Your wife,” and he pointed at the smaller one, smaller but still pronounced, “and your daughter.”
   “But it was my wife, I was protecting my wife.”
   “Were you? Then why did you spend so much time away from her? How come you didn’t even know she was approaching her death? How come you can’t even remember her name?”
   “I know her name,” Matthew said, angry, “it’s…” and he stopped, frowning.
   “I’ve mentioned before that you were tethered to your choice. Didn’t you ever wonder why you never traveled the world? You have this rather strong new power and yet you never once saw any other lands, never walked through The Vatican at midnight or took a swan dive off of Angel Falls. You’ve been tied here. But what you didn’t realize, some would argue couldn’t realize, was that you’ve been splitting time between two lives. You’ve been following your own daughter.”
   “Oh god, whose wedding was I at?”
   “Relax. This isn’t a Greek tragedy. I believe she was in attendance as a guest of the bride.”
   “So what happens now?”
   “I would think that would be obvious. You choose.”
   “I get the feeling that there’s more at stake here than I think.”
   “How true. Stand up.”
   Matthew obliged, and Epp reached out to straighten his jacket, brushing a stray leaf from the park off of his shoulder. Then Epp spoke. “There exists for you now a small window of opportunity. Pick your daughter and you remain tethered, still on this world but permanently a newbie until your daughter’s time comes and you both pass out of this world together. Choose your wife, however, and everything changes. Once she passes, you will be set free. Or cast loose, depending on how you look at it.”
   “Won’t I cross over with her?”
   Epp shook his head. “Your tether to your daughter will keep you in this world as your wife leaves, but once she is gone, the tether will snap and you will be,” Epp waved a hand through the air absently, trying to think of the correct word, “free.”
   “You mean…”
   “You’ll be a newbie no longer.”
   “So I’ll…I’ll be an actual tester,” Matthew said, starting to understand.
   “Indeed. But I really have to warn you, once the tether snaps…once your tie to the ones you loved enough to die for breaks…everything changes.” Epp stopped talking until Matthew finally looked up at him. Epp’s eyes were specters and Matthew wished he could look away, but he only stared and listened as Epp spoke. “You will know for certain that you are entirely alone on this earth, and that you are loved by no one. You will be cast adrift with no compass and no oar. Your brain will expand in ways you never thought possible, but your heart will remain frozen in the same place forever containing nothing but the memories of your two choices. And those memories will haunt you, they will come upon you when you least expect them, when you least look for them, they will reappear to rip into you millennia after they should have vanished quietly into the night. You will not be able to stop the hurt, and your heart will well up, and your eyes will bleed hot tears. You won’t own the memories. You won’t be able to cherish them or enjoy them or call them up for company. The memories will own you. The pain stays with you always, and all you will have to look forward to is the work.”
   “And the work makes it worthwhile?” Matthew said, seeing hope.
   “The work is horrible,” Epp said bluntly, and he began to pace in front of Matthew as his speaking picked up pace and energy. “You will be known as the scourge of mankind. People will curse you, spit when they refer to you, hate you. You will be viewed as the biggest problem their existence has. Nobody will understand, nobody will see what it is you do, none of them ever grasp that they become who they are in this world because of the obstacles in their lives, not in spite of them. The few you do get through to, the few who come to appreciate the strength you draw out of them, they will instantly be mocked by everyone else the minute they speak these thoughts. The ones who break too easily when you push will be nothing but disappointments, and the ones who make you proud will push back so hard that you will shatter and it will take centuries to put your head back together. The work is nothing but a heartache you chase to wash away the pain of your choice.”
   “Then, Epp,” Matthew shook his head, clearly shaken, “I’ve got to ask. What is the upside?”
   And Epp stopped short, seemingly frozen, head staring down at his foot. Then he snapped up and his words began rattling off in crisp, strong syllables and his eyes were so strong that Matthew felt a chill run down his spine. “The upside is that you can be greatness itself. You could be Shakespeare’s broken heart, Beethoven’s deaf ears, Van Gogh’s madness. You could be Keller’s scarlet fever, Roebling’s crushed left foot, the color of Dr. King’s skin. You could be the entry for light to pass into the soul. You could be the reason that anything worth doing on this rock ever gets done,” and he stared at Matthew and repeated himself. “You could be greatness itself.”
   Matthew stared down at the curb, his eyes out of focus as he thought, one hand reached to rub the back of his neck.
   “Do you understand what you need to do?”
   He gave the back of his neck a squeeze, then looked up and his eyes met Epp’s. He nodded and said a silent, “Yeah.”
   “Do you understand what I’m going to go do?”
   Matthew thought for a few seconds. “Yes,” he nodded, “you’re going to go take the tape down.”
   “Are you ready?”
   “How will I know what to do?”
   “I can’t answer that for you.”
   “You went through this too?”
   Epp nodded with his eyes closed. “When I woke up in that house fire I heard her screaming. I heard both of them screaming. I made my first choice and twenty years after that I attended my wife’s funeral. My wife was the strongest thing in my life. But it was twelve years after her death that the woman I truly loved was buried. We tell our biggest lies to ourselves.”
   “Shit.”
   “Well put.” Epp raised his eyebrows. “Are you ready?”
   Matthew realized his body was trembling. “I think so.”
   “Then, Matthew Huntington of Brooklyn, New York, I wish you luck.”
   “Thanks,” Matthew said. He looked around, clearly unsure of what exactly to do next, but then his face cleared and he nodded one last time before stepping towards the curb. He held his hand up with a five dollar bill in it and with a blur he was gone.
   Epp looked around at the 72nd street square as dawn reflected rosy pink off of the puddles in the street. Then he turned and walked towards the park.
   
—–

   Matthew looked at the door, glancing about the frame as if it was going to offer up any number of clues as to what lay beyond. He ran a finger over the doorknob, and then stepped through.
   In the park, Epp was standing at the tape, the sunlight growing brighter around him as he stared across the yellow line to the large square of darkness it contained. He reached a hand up and grabbed the strip of yellow, then gave a yank. It grew warmer in his hands as it stretched thinner and thinner, until finally it snapped, the end not in his hand recoiling and springing back whip-like and light towards the tree where it was tied. Inside the square the light began to change.
   The hallway Matthew entered was dark, but he had the feel of high ceilings and dusty white walls. He walked, his feet noticing the occasional warped slat of wood under his feet. He walked past a semicircle arch that led to a cramped kitchen, past a closed door, then around a corner to a bedroom. There was a fluffy comforter, rumpled and bright like starched snow, an end table with a clock radio and a lamp, a small desk cluttered with books and a laptop. He stared around; everything looked generic enough on its own, but combined there was a personality here.
   Epp stood at a tree, his hands passing around and around it as he unwrapped loop after loop of tape until he finally reached the end. He walked around the tree, gathering handful after handful of tape as he went, the light on his left shifting from dusk into darkness now, and two figures ran towards him, one of them tossing a knife into the bushes before they reached the barrier where the tape had been and they disappeared to catch up with their present selves.
   Matthew heard a door slam and he spun around to see a woman standing in the hallway, sleepy eyed, wearing a large t-shirt, reaching a hand through the doorway he had passed to flip off the bathroom light. He breathed in, and in, and in, seemingly unable to exhale any as his blood beat warm in his ears. “Christ, you look like your mother,” he said as his daughter walked past him. And her face, on top of the resemblance to his wife, was somehow so familiar, and he remembered in rapid succession, a child’s laugh at the corner of a room he was working, a little girl in pigtails who had watched as he caused a fight on a street corner, the glimpse he caught in the shop window of a teenager walking past as he looked over the clientele, her face at a thousand different moments in his past appearing again and again as he floated through his work and it was like an optical illusion that he had only seen one way until just this moment when it became so clear how close he had been to her this whole time, how much of her life he had witnessed.
   Epp wound his way around the third corner of the square he had marked out, tugging the tape off a tree branch. Inside the square the light rain that had passed through earlier that night began to fall, the raindrops tapping soothingly against the treetops.
   Matthew watched her climb into bed, roll around a few times trying to get the comforter right on her body. She settled down onto her back, her face up at the ceiling. He watched and could tell that she was debating whether she should go back to sleep or not. She reached a hand up, scratched her forehead, half rolled over and looked at the clock radio, then rolled back. She clasped her hands behind her head, wriggled back onto the pillow, and smiled as she looked up at the ceiling. One thought went through Matthew’s head as he watched her and it shocked him with its certainty, but as a lifetime of watching his daughter grow up flooded through his memory he knew it was true.
   “She’ll be okay,” he thought.
   He lingered for a moment longer, each new breath he took seeming to drink in something from the content form lying under the comforter in front of him. Then he turned and walked to the bathroom. Not knowing if there was some sort of rule against this and not particularly caring if there was he focused on the mirror. With a little effort he managed to steam it up. Then with the tip of his finger, he began to write.
   Epp reached the last tree, the mess of tape wrapped around his hand quite large now. He reached up and tugged at a loose end, the knot holding the last bit of tape coming undone. Behind him the uneven square of light was lurching its way towards the present. The knot came undone, the last bit of tape collected in his hands, and behind him everything looked normal. He balled the tape up again and again, compressing it more and more each time until with a final brushing of his hands nothing was left.
   He turned and saw Matthew standing in front of him. Epp’s eyes picked him over carefully, starting at his feet and working his way to the top of Matthew’s head. The smallest vibration of a smile wavered on Epp’s lips. “Did you leave her a note?”
   “Yeah.”
   “Hard to resist. Believe me I know.”
   Matthew smiled and then faltered, a puzzled look coming over his face, he stared aslant at the ground looking very much like someone who had walked into a room only to realize they forgot why they had gone into that room to begin with. “Wait, did I leave a note? Why can’t I remember? That happened barely twenty seconds ago, didn’t it?”
   “I’m sorry,” Epp said gravely, “the bond is broken. The memories own you now, not the other way around.”
   Matthew swallowed. “Why do I have a terrible feeling?” he looked up and winced as he pressed his palm to his chest. “This is awful. Does this go away?”
   “You grow accustomed to it.”
   “That’s not the same thing.”
   “No. It is not.”
   Matthew raised his hand and pointed beyond Epp. “Did my wife pass?” Epp nodded. “I’m going to go say goodbye. Maybe look at her one last time.”
   As he started to walk past Epp, Epp’s hand came up and barred his passage. “I have to insist that you do not. That is an itch you can’t scratch, Matthew. You have to trust me that a simple goodbye is very much for the best.”
   Matthew looked sick and not at all sure that he agreed with Epp.
   “Does she get found soon? I don’t want her just lying there,” he said, not conceding anything to Epp just yet.
   “It will be a matter of minutes.”
   “Then we should wait for that. Maybe wait and make sure she’s taken care of okay, you know, just to make sure—”
   “I think maybe we should occupy you with some simple drills…take your mind off of it.”
   Matthew breathed out shakily. “Yeah, okay. So you’re my teacher now? Is that how this works?”
   “You are free, Matthew. Anything and anyone you care to learn from you may call teacher. I’m more of a welcoming committee.”
   “Okay,” Matthew said, not sure he was going to be okay with this, but wanting to start just to do something. “So where do we begin?”
   “Some light travel. The choice you just made was difficult, you’ve earned a bit of currency from it. And you’ve never traveled freely before in your existence. I think we should go somewhere far away that you’ve never been.” Epp turned and looked up at the sky, his eyes keen, his face observant, almost as if he were smelling something in the wind. Then he turned back. “Night is falling over the Himalayas. I think we should go view the sunset there. See what long shadows look like upon Mount Everest.”
   “Really?”
   “It’s as good a place to start as any. A better place to start than most.”
   “How the hell do I go about getting there? All I’ve done so far is—”
   “Forget what you’ve done so far. And forget what’s in your head right now. Just take a deep breath and give it a try.”
   Matthew clearly felt he deserved the right to object some more, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth with the way Epp’s eyes were boring into him, so he gave a cockeyed smile and looked around. Then he closed his eyes. For a few moments nothing happened, but then his form began to waver and then ripple and then vanish. Epp was staring at nothing.
   Epp tilted his head and his face took on a vacant look as if he were staring at something far in the distance. He had a look of high expectations growing steadily each second until finally he winced as if watching someone take a bad fall. “So close,” Epp said. And with a quick glance around he began walking, his form rippling as he went, until he was gone and there was nothing but the damp grass of the park and the morning sun.
   In an apartment downtown a rumpled white comforter was piled at the foot of a bed, its owner having just recently decided that it was time to get up. She was currently standing next to the shower, trying to adjust the water, leaning over the tub, gingerly running her hand under the spray that was far too hot. As she fiddled with the knobs and steam filled the little bathroom her eyes caught sight of her mirror. She walked over, slowly, head tilted to the side as she read what was written. She gave a glance behind her, as if someone was watching, then turned back. One of her friends must have written that there last night, she knew, while they were getting ready for the wedding. Only there was something conveyed in the note that was so simple and so warming that she couldn’t imagine which of her friends had written with such emotion. And it was the strangest damned thing. Suddenly all she wanted to do was cry but when she opened her mouth a soft laugh cascaded out, and, after reading the note one more time, she turned and hopped happily back over to the shower.

Part 2: Three Lessons

   
   The wind blowing over the rocks kicked up a mist of white powdery snow that danced like liquid across the face of the mountain. At first there was nothing, then a form rippled and began to take shape. As it became more recognizable it began to fall, arms and legs firming up in the fragile light. The arms began flailing and the legs began kicking and the body fell in a drop so long it was possible to imagine that the body was flying. A leg caught an outcropping of rock and the body bounced before flipping over to land face first on a lower plateau. The force of impact caused the back to bend so much the heels of the man’s feet almost touched the back of his head. It slipped along a few more inches, the sound of cloth rustling against ice mixing with the wind, and then it finally came to a stop.
   The body remained face down, the rise and fall of its back as it continued to breathe was the only sign of motion.
   “Get up, Matthew,” Epp said. 
   Matthew closed his eyes tighter, rolled over, and curled up into a ball. He was dressed in a tuxedo and his dinner jacket was doing little to help against the cold.
   “That was the worst try yet,” Epp said.
   Matthew gathered himself together enough to lift his head. As he raised his eyes a few inches off the snow he saw, a foot or so in front of him, an immaculate pair of dress shoes with charcoal pants hanging above them, a perfect break just above the cuff. Matthew wiped some blood off of his upper lip with the back of his hand.
   “Epp? How long have you been standing there?”
   “Since you started falling.”
   Matthew pulled himself up to a sitting position. He took off his glasses and examined them before resetting them on his round face. He drew his knees up, his stocky frame bundling up against itself. “So you knew I’d land here? You were able to tell that I would land exactly,” and he slapped the snow covered rock with the flat of his palm, “here?”
   “Of course not,” Epp said. Matthew looked up at him. Epp’s face was stern and showed no signs of feeling the bits of snow and ice that the wind was whipping against his dark black skin. He was tall but muscular and his entire frame was draped in a charcoal-knit suit that was tailored so perfectly it almost seemed to be making love to him.
   “If I had known exactly where you’d land,” Epp said, “I’d have been standing here.” And he took one step forward, covering the foot-wide gap so that the very tips of his shoes were touching the spot on the snow Matthew’s face had just occupied.
   “It’s the same thing,” Matthew said, shaking his head and huddling his face in towards his knees.
   “It is most certainly not,” Epp said in a voice that caused Matthew’s stomach to tense. “You have to learn, Matthew, that something being highly probable is very different from something having actualized into a definite occurrence. I didn’t know where you’d land until you had actually landed.”
   “It’s the same thing,” Matthew repeated, managing to sound like Epp wasn’t there.
   “Not even close,” Epp said, and there was a sudden savagery in his voice as he bent down and lifted Matthew up, gripping him by the front of his shirt and holding him up with one arm bent at the elbow.
   “Oh come on, Epp,” Matthew said, not even trying to struggle, just trying to hold onto Epp’s fist and rearrange himself to be slightly more comfortable on his perch. “I’ve been up and down these mountains a thousand times. I can’t do this anymore.”
   Epp drew his hand back as if to toss Matthew like a shot-put. “A thousand times,” Epp said, “and yet you still fail to grasp the very basics. You still think probability is actuality. You still bleed, failing to remember that you are pure energy. You still fall instead of fly unable to shake the belief that you have a body. A thousand times and that hasn’t sunk in yet.”
   Epp flexed his knees slightly and as Matthew watched him aiming into the sky at some far off point he closed his eyes and braced himself. “You were a lot nicer to me three months ago,” Matthew said through his teeth.
   “I had so much less to teach you then,” Epp said, never taking his gaze away from the distance. With a last tensing of his knees, Epp threw Matthew’s body, watching as Matthew flailed, his body hurtling off into the dark blue of the Himalayan sky.
   
—–

   Ten year old Sophie Loughton ran up the three stone steps in front of her house and opened the outer door. She let the lower storm window rest against her hyper-colored backpack as she fished in her pocket for her key. Finding it she unlocked the inner door and ran inside, shedding her backpack and boots and jacket in a trail of outerwear as she tottered through the kitchen in her white cotton stockings. She stopped at the refrigerator and stared up at the various notes taped to it, scanning over black magic-marker wording on yellow sticky-sheets to see if any of them were for her. Satisfied that she had nothing pressing to do she grasped the handle of the refrigerator door and opened it, bottles of salad dressing clanking as it slipped out of her grasp, opened too quickly, and slammed against the counter. She withdrew a saran-wrapped plate and then shut the door and resumed her tottering run through the den and over to the stairs. Short legs pumping quick steps she climbed to the second floor, ran down the hallway to her room, and slammed the door. Only then did her motion stop as she backed up against the door to make sure it was shut properly, the plate resting on her forearms and palms, fingers gripping around the edge and already feeling slick due to condensation on the saran-wrap.
   There was a trembling on her face, a flicker of emotion before it froze up again in determination. When this passed she seemed, only then, to notice where she was, as if the entire trip from school to this room had been performed by someone else. She looked down at the plate now, for the first time seeing the slightly browned apple slices and the cream-white cheese stick. She set the plate on the floor and ran over to her bed, a pink cloud of overflowing comforters and pillows in colorful cases. Diving face first into the softness she then turned over and picked up a stuffed horse, holding it at arms length she made it run along the edge of the bed, but something internal seemed to reject this attempt at play and she quickly grew bored and turned to stare out the window instead.
   “Epp, where are we?” Matthew asked from the corner, having watched this entire scene play out. The girl showed no signs of having heard him.
   “The bedroom of Sophie Loughton.” Epp answered. He was standing next to a little desk painted a dusty pale white.
   “Why?” Matthew asked.
   Epp turned a slow head, his perfectly at ease body allowing him to achieve a sense of absolute calm even as he gripped Matthew with his eyes. “Would you rather have been thrown past Everest again?”
   “No,” Matthew said emphatically, stepping forward towards the bed, brushing snow off his shoulders as he walked. The white dust floated towards the floor and disappeared in a shimmering dance of light before it ever touched the ground.
   “She looks sad,” Matthew said, leaning in to study Sophie’s face.
   “Not quite yet,” Epp said. Matthew glanced back and saw that Epp was holding a clipboard in his hands. Running a thumb across his tongue Epp began to flip through the sheets.
   “Probability photos?” Matthew asked.
   Epp nodded.
   “Can I see?” Matthew walked over towards Epp who was now engrossed in the contents of the clipboard. Epp would study a sheet, then flip through a few more, then glance around the room his eyes fixing on a specific object before returning to the clipboard. “Epp?” Matthew asked again, anxious about intruding. “May I see?”
   Epp looked up and handed the clipboard to Matthew without a word, then walked over to the girl and began to examine her himself. Matthew looked down and glanced through some of the photos, each one depicting a different outcome, each one with a small graphed wave in the lower corner showing the probability of that outcome. He flipped through a couple of photos of Sophie before he stopped at a blurry picture of himself giving the camera a giant goofy thumbs-up.
   “Epp?” Matthew asked. “Something’s not right here. I’m in these pictures.” Matthew glanced down at the corner of the photo of himself and saw that the curve was almost a straight line. “Epp?” Matthew looked up and saw, for the first time, how Epp was studying the little girl. Then Epp turned and a device appeared at the end of the bed that looked like a heart-monitor from a hospital.
   “Epp, no. Absolutely not.”
   Epp ignored him and continued to take readings, at one point retrieving the clipboard from Matthew’s hands before walking around the bed, glancing at almost everything in the room as he walked, the rustle of the papers on the clipboard the only thing to be heard. “Epp,” Matthew said with much more insistence in his voice. “I’m not doing this.”
   “Yes you are,” Epp said calmly, glancing over one last thing before lowering the clipboard to his side and looking up at Matthew. “It’s been three months since you became a tester and we’ve been training you hard, but it’s time to leave the training grounds behind and actually engage.”
   Matthew stood where he was, afraid that any motion on his part would acknowledge assent. He allowed himself to shake his head. “I can’t do this.”
   “You’ll learn.”
   “What makes you so sure?”
   “Because two-thousand years ago I couldn’t do this either. Now step up and remember what we’ve gone over.”
   “Come on, Epp, seriously. I haven’t even seen the top of Everest yet. I haven’t even come close. You can’t really think I’m ready, can you?”
   Epp had wandered over to the monitoring device and was tuning some dials located on its front panel. “You were never going to make it to the top of Everest. Nobody ever does until their first push. That was just endurance training.”
   “What.” Matthew said with no inflection in his voice, more as a robotic response to hearing something. “I fell past that thing I don’t even know how many times. Are you telling me that you had me do that for no reason?”
   “Not no reason. To toughen you up. To get you striving further than you were comfortable with. Trust me, this is going to seem easy to you now.”
   And in spite of the anger that was threatening to boil up as he remembered fall after face-first fall onto cold rock, Matthew stayed calm, too eager to believe that this was going to be easy. “Really? All of that is going to help make this easy?”
   “Absolutely,” Epp said, turning away from the control panel. “Besides, I’ll be here monitoring your every second in case something goes wrong.”
   “Like what?” Matthew asked.
   A storm was gathering outside and the darkening light of the room, the little girl still playing quietly by herself as they talked, the stillness of the house, all of it compiled to make nervousness creep across his back. “And how wrong could things go?”
   “Nothing can really go wrong for her,” Epp said, pointing at Sophie. “If she doesn’t push back then she’ll just return to her current state. It’s only if they engage and you begin to build off each other that the meat bag can get hurt. And that won’t be happening here. That sort of thing happens when someone pushes against a target for an extended period or multiple times. One push isn’t going to do anything negative to her.”
   “And me?”
   “You?” Epp paused where he was, the corners of his mouth rising. “You could be destroyed.”
   Matthew couldn’t tell if Epp was joking.
   Epp reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a thick roll of plastic tape that looked like the yellow tape police use to seal off crime scenes. “I’ll also be using this,” he said, waggling the tape. “With time slowed to a stop I’ll be able to step in if something really starts to go wrong.”
   This made Matthew feel better and he felt himself able to breathe easier. There was also the joy of watching Epp use the time tape. With his usual slow, studious walk, Epp crossed over to one side of the room and, pulling a thumbtack from his suit pocket, pinned one end of the tape to the wall. He began to spool out the yellow band and Matthew watched as the area inside the boundary Epp was drawing began to warp and slow as space and time obeyed Epp’s wishes. Epp walked past Matthew, spooling the tape out, and Matthew couldn’t resist a light snort of wonder. “That is such a neat trick.”
   Epp sighed as he walked past. “So I see I get to do this one more time before your first engagement.”
   “Do wha—” Matthew started to say, then he started to yell the word “No” but before he could get anything out Epp had gripped his shoulder and pushed. Matthew flew back towards the wall by the door, the rush of speed making his clothes flap and his ears stand out and then he was a wavering shadow of himself and before he came into contact with the wall he disappeared.
   There was a gap of a few seconds where Epp pinned another corner of tape up before Matthew came flying in backwards from the opposite wall. The heels of his shoes caught the rug and he fell onto his back, his legs straight out in front of him as he skipped backwards along the floor before crashing up against the wall. Immediately he jumped up and began swatting at himself, his hands flying all over his tuxedo, brushing against the fabric as roaches and spiders and tendrils of vine fell off of him. There were legs everywhere as they dropped onto the floor, some not even making it that far, before they began to disappear. Then Matthew was standing, his whole upper body tense, looking at the spot where the last cockroach had disappeared, his breath streaming in and out of his nose.
   “If you continue to view these tools as tricks, Matthew, then you will never learn to use them yourself.” Epp finished closing off a square with the tape. Sophie Loughton was inside, frozen in place on her bed.
   “I simply,” Matthew said, his voice containing abnormal volume and stresses as he struggled to get a hold of himself, “was saying how interesting I think the time-tape is. I have an awful lot to learn from you and some things are inherently going to be labeled in my mind as tricks, or magic, or voodoo until I get a firmer grasp on some of the more basic tools. So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t give me a ride through the jungle underbrush every time I need to compartmentalize something away to be learned at a future point.”
   Epp stared at him, his eyes bright against his dark skin. “That was very well put, Matthew,” he said, truth in his voice. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. You have my word.”
   “Thank you,” Matthew said, calming down and losing some of his tension. He walked over to Epp. “So…what’s going on here?”
   “Little Sophie Loughton got dumped today.”
   “She has a boyfriend?” Matthew looked past the tape and stared at Sophie. “She’s like two.”
   “Ten. And her boyfriend, who used to follow her around like a puppy, decided that he would now go around with Romey Laufen.”
   “That tramp.”
   Epp glared at Matthew.
   “Hey, I’m just saying. Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free, right?”
   “One would purchase the cow if the future value of all milk after deducting for risk was greater than the asking price plus the value of the amount of expected free milk, assuming a cow that provided no benefits other than milk,” Epp said, walking past Matthew and adjusting part of the tape.
   “Man, you must get invited to all the best parties.”
   Epp ducked under the tape and studied Sophie, his clipboard back in his hand. “That was my way of telling you that your joke didn’t make any sense and that being coy is not going to get you out of this. It is time to engage.”
   Matthew ducked under the tape as well and stood next to Epp. He stared at the little girl on the bed. “You really think I can do this?”
   “If you think you can, then you can,” Epp said. “What I know for sure is that it is time for you to try.”
   “Seriously, how badly can this go? What’s the worst thing that can happen to me?”
   Matthew expected a quick comment from Epp, or a long grave sermon, or even another trip through the jungle, but instead Epp avoided his eyes as if there was something about that question that he didn’t feel like contemplating. “You’re ready,” was all Epp said.
   “And what…uh…I mean how do I…”
   “To start with it’s the same drill as when you were a newbie. Once you engage you’ll notice the differences and you’ll understand what to do. You obviously won’t need to take form here; it’s all been set up. Sophie talked over her break-up with her best friend and is perfectly ready to toss her boyfriend aside in an All-Boys-Are-Stupid sort of manner. Your job is simply to make her take a second look. Your job is to rattle her enough so she has some self doubt. Make her question things a little deeper.”
   “Come on, though, she’s ten. I feel weird pushing a ten year old girl.”
   “Think of it as necessary surgery. If you don’t push her here, she’ll just continue through life as a meat bag.”
   Matthew leaned back, ducking his head, taking a wider view of the bed and girl. “And you’ll be right here waiting?” he said.
   “I’ll be right here. I have some people dropping by, but I’ll be right here.”
   “People?”
   “Former students. Stop stalling Matthew.”
   “Yeah but if—”
   “Now, Matthew.” Epp’s voice was warm, full of feeling, but commanding just the same.
   Matthew glanced back at Epp and then took a few steps forward. He reached an arm out and halted, his hand poised in the air, his fingers in varying states of relaxed tension. “So it’s just like when I was a newbie?” Matthew waited for a response but nothing came. When he turned around Epp was still standing there but his face was impassive and Matthew realized that Epp wasn’t answering any more questions.
   Matthew drew closer. Sophie was still holding her stuffed horse where she was frozen and as Matthew approached he felt the familiar ache in his heart begin to throb. His daughter and his wife, the two people he had loved enough to commit himself to an eternity without them, remained always in some deep pit in his chest. But now the pain of leaving them came upon him stronger than he had felt it in months. It was so deep and so internal it might as well have been physical pain and he grunted and faltered as tears welled up in his eyes and the ravenous loss of love clawed at his chest.
   He passed his finger against Sophie’s hair, and then vapor-like through her head, at which point his body lurched forward. The pain of loss intensified to a degree he had never felt before, the longing to see his daughter ripping into him, and he engaged in his first test.
   Epp watched as Matthew’s body spasmed then froze, Matthew’s connection with Sophie causing him to halt in time as well. Epp rifled through his clipboard, the rustling of paper loud in the still room. He checked the monitor then nodded and walked to the window, ducking under the tape as he went. He sat down against the sill and watched, glancing at the clipboard and monitor every few minutes.
   There was a vibrating in his pocket and he withdrew a cell phone and flipped it open to read an incoming text message. He put the clipboard down and held the phone in both hands and the rattling of his thumbs across the keypad clacked in the air as he wrote back. A few seconds later the phone buzzed again, and again he wrote back. “Nobody talks on the phone anymore,” he muttered under his breath. Then, satisfied that the conversation was over he flipped the phone shut and returned it to his pocket.
   Behind him on the road out past the front yard of Sophie’s house a car drove by playing its bass loud enough to hear, the deep beat warbling higher and lower as the car passed. This was followed by the soft patter of drops against leaves as the clouds outside finally began to rain.
   Epp walked back over towards the bed and rotated between glancing through the clipboard, peering at Matthew, and tapping his fingers against the monitor.
   “Hi, Epp,” a soft woman’s voice behind him said. Without taking his eyes from his clipboard Epp held up a hand with one finger raised requesting silence from the new person in the room. After a few seconds he rubbed a weary knuckle against one of his eyes and turned to greet the woman. “Hello, Mary.”
   Mary was standing in the corner. She was short in stature but with a body like a coiled spring she seemed capable of commanding an entire room. Her hair was thick, spilling down her shoulders like gold-spun hay, while her hands rested gently on hips that could easily have been holstering twin pistols. She walked forward, exiting the corner meekly, her head leading the way as if she was unsure about intruding.
   She stepped around Epp and took a good look at Matthew and, while his pain had been real enough when it was happening, his freezing in time had turned him into a comical statue causing Mary to burst out laughing. “Do we look that stupid when we test?”
   “Most likely, yes. Pain doesn’t freeze well.”
   “Boy, he looks like he’s going through quite a bit of pain. And it’s only a little girl. It hardly seems worth it.”
   “It was a rookie’s first push that caused Miss Frank to start keeping a diary,” Epp said. “Don’t judge.”
   The admonishment struck Mary completely, her role as student to his teacher instantly coming to the forefront as her shoulders shrank slightly. “I’m having problems, Epp.”
   Outside there was a rumble. The room had grown quite dark with most of the late afternoon sunlight being filtered out by the clouds. This was contrasted by the square around Sophie’s bed, which still contained some pre-storm light.
   “What problems?” Epp asked, and as another rumble of thunder distantly echoed outside he tilted his head and squinted as if trying to hear something unspoken in the sound.
   “Well with my specialty for one. And also I seem to be at a point where I’ve grasped space-time and should be capable of using the tape but I keep thinking about what you’ve taught me and I just know I’m missing something. You always told me that I would know, I mean really know when I was ready and somehow I just don’t feel that yet. And—”
   Epp raised his hand again and again his finger called for silence. “We’ll start with your specialty. What is your problem there?”
   “Three hundred years ago I was a nun. A nun, Epp.”
   The dark parts of the room flickered with light and a rumble of thunder, much closer now, seeped in through the window panes. Epp’s head cocked again and he listened to every last note of the thunder’s dying sound. “And I’m assuming that would be Bartleby.”
   In the corner, next to the little desk, a figure began to form out of mist and nothing. Slowly a sound filled the room until it was distinguishable as a low yell, growing in volume. The figure solidified into a young man, fists clenched at his sides, head tilted back, screaming at the top of his lungs. The head lowered and the scream faded and pin-straight black hair bobbed around Bartleby’s head as he cackled into a loud joyous laugh and walked forward in a strut. “This is fucking amazing,” he shouted, his fists still clenched at his sides, his enthusiasm catching on enough to make Mary smile. “It was just like you said it would be, Epp. Just like you taught me. And I can feel it, man. I really can. You know? If I concentrate, and really, I mean really deep down at the base of my testicles concentrate, I can feel it. If I focus and concentrate on the separate particles of moisture that compose the storm cloud and notice, sort of out the corner of my eye like you said, the electric charge start to build then I can control it. Actually control it. But you really have to focus with your body. I mean really tense all your muscles.” And he tensed his whole body in demonstration, his face set in harsh angles of concentration before he seemed to build up something within himself and then release it at exactly the same moment a bolt of lightning struck outside.
   “You aren’t using your body,” Epp said, facing the monitor once again, clipboard in his hand, his voice barely raised in volume when compared to Bartleby’s shouting. “You exist merely as the sum of all energy you have received from the universe in exchange for steering that energy along certain channels and while you are capable of forming that energy into a mass shaped in your once human form you do not have a body.”
   “No, Epp. I really think I have to feel it all the way down my body. It doesn’t work if I don’t have every muscle—”
   “Mary,” Epp said, and although he again had no extra volume in his voice he easily interrupted Bartleby. “Mary, please demonstrate a lighting strike for Bartleby.”
   Mary turned to face Bartleby, her hands resting on her low slung waistline. Her whole body was casual, her hips tilted to one side, with no effort to speak of she reached an arm out and held her hand palm up. Her fingers curled and her thumb rested against the tip of her middle finger. Then she snapped, her fingers creating a beautiful sound as lightning struck outside.
   “You don’t have a body, Bartleby,” Epp said, turning back around. “You do seem to have problems listening, however.”
   “Who’s this?” Bartleby asked staring at Mary.
   “This is Mary; she’s been having some problems with the time-tape as well as with her specialty.”
   “What’s your specialty?”
   “Sex,” Mary answered.
   “Lady, from where I’m standing you don’t got no problems,” Bartleby said, walking past her and stopping at the strip of yellow tape. “And who’s that guy?”
   “His name is Matthew. He’s a new student of mine.”
   Bartleby grinned. “Been kicking his ass up and down the Himalayas?” Epp didn’t respond. “You know I’ve been meaning to ask you, Epp. I’ve been thinking over all that toughening up and all you like to do at the beginning, trying to force us to engage faster. Wouldn’t it just be easier to take us to a well populated graveyard? That would’ve gotten me motivated, I can tell you that.”
   Mary walked forward quietly so she was standing next to Bartleby on the border of the tape. Lightning flashed outside and the dark areas of the room were illuminated, Mary and Bartleby’s figures coming into sharp relief while inside the tape, where the day’s light still existed, things remained the same.
   “I don’t care to teach through fear,” Epp answered.
   “Not teach through fear?” Bartleby said. “Fucking hell, Epp, you threw me off the top of the Eiffel Tower.”
   “Necessity and fear are different,” Epp said, his back still turned. Mary had ducked under the tape while this conversation was taking place and she came around to Epp’s front only to have him turn away from her. “Had I shown you the consequences of what a fall from the Eiffel Tower might do to you that would have been fear. Throwing you off the top was merely condensing the amount of time you were allowed to figure things out. I never show new students a graveyard until they’ve engaged at least once.”
   “I just find it amazing that with all you do you still find time to take on new students,” Mary said. There was a reaction in Epp as she said this, a barely perceptible sagging of his shoulders and Mary had the notion that she had said something wrong. She had the notion, in fact, that she and Bartleby had done nothing but say incorrect things since they had each first shown up.
   Epp turned around to face them. His whole body looked weary. “When I was a slave,” he said, “I used to hang around the kitchen. I enjoyed learning new things and cooking always interested me. And one day I opted to cook for some of the other house slaves,” he paused. “I’m assuming that if I tell this story with dormice stuffed with rose petals as the finished dish I’ll only lose you further, so I’ll switch it over to something more accessible, like potatoes. So let’s say I opted to cook a potato dish for some of the other slaves, and one of them stayed in the kitchen with me the whole time. When I washed the potatoes he laughed this off, saying they were clean enough from the kitchen slaves and this wasn’t needed. When I chopped the potatoes I took the time to make sure they were all cut into as uniform a cube as I could make them so they would cook evenly. He laughed this off as not needed and too much attention to detail. When I soaked the potatoes in water to remove some of their starch, he told me this wasn’t needed and was a waste of time. When I parboiled them first he told me he never bothered to do that. When I tested the oil temperature, when I seasoned them on both sides while frying, when I drained them carefully after cooking, when I did all of these things he told me that he never bothered with such steps and that they weren’t needed. And then we ate. And he thought the potatoes were the best dish served that night. And do you know what he asked me? Honestly asked me?”
   Epp looked at Mary and Bartleby each in turn, his eyes running over them carefully. “He said the potatoes were amazing and he asked me what my secret was.”
   “I don’t get it,” Bartleby said.
   “He means that taking care of rookies like this guy,” Mary pointed at Matthew, “is all part of it. He didn’t get to where he is and then start doing this stuff on top of all his work. This is his work.” Mary nervously slid her fingers along a golden ringlet of hair that was hanging off to the side of her face. “Is that right?”
   At those words something inside of Epp seemed to unhinge, some set of internal wires and supports sagged at its foundation and he turned, once again to look at Matthew and Sophie. “If you have to ask if you’re right, Mary, then you’re not.”
   “I get it,” Bartleby said, picking up Sophie’s stuffed horse. “So you’re saying I should take on a student? You really think I’m ready for that?”
   “I don’t think you are anywhere close.”
   “So what then? You just tell me what to do, Epp, and I’ll do it.”
   “That is precisely the problem.” Epp was staring at Matthew now.
   “Seriously, Epp,” Bartleby said, trying to catch Epp’s attention. “Just give me another challenge. Anything. Let me have it. Whatever you want.”
   Epp froze, his charcoal suit highlighting his eyes squinted in thought. “I’ve failed you,” he said, dropping the statement like a weight into the conversation.
   “What?!” Mary shouted. “Epp don’t say that.”
   “Yeah, Epp. Do you know how much I’ve learned under you? How can you say you’ve failed us?”
   “Because you are still under me. Because if you really wanted to make me proud as students you would seek to surpass me, but I’ve let you down. I’ve kept you too sheltered or led you too strictly. You’ve come to view learning the tricks I teach you as a replacement for actual experience, you’ve come to regard accomplishing what I set out for you as more important than the work.
   “You,” he glanced at Mary, “you’re upset because your specialty doesn’t seem to fit you. Well that is how it goes. You are what you are and you don’t get to choose every step of your path. You’re not the first tester to find themselves blundering into a specialty that seems all wrong for them. It happens quite often. Poets find themselves pushing mathematicians, thieves pushing saints. Hell, Ricardo was pushed to his theory of comparative advantage by a lute player. You are here to learn, not to continue with the illusion of who you once were. You can’t move forward with your skills if you continue to fight them. You want to use the time tape? Then use it just as you are.
   “And you,” he turned to Bartleby. “You are so caught up in whether you’re outperforming your contemporaries that you haven’t done an honest day’s work in centuries. The test is not the lesson, Bartleby.
   “And you both seek to avoid the real challenges of the outside world by residing as my students forever. You aren’t making sure I approve of your steps because you need teaching; you’re doing it to avoid having to take steps of your own.
   “I’ve let you down. Reality is far more rewarding than anything I can show you. And reality is far more dangerous than anything I can prepare you for. Reality will not pull its punches.”
   He looked from Mary to Bartleby, his eyes scratching across their faces, before turning around and looking at Matthew. “School is out,” he said, and he reached a hand up and grabbed the yellow tape. With a tug he popped it loose from the wall and the square of light inside the room became a jumble of yells and shifting shades and lightning flashes. Epp ripped the tape off of all four corners and everything finally synched up to where it was in the present.
   Matthew fell to the floor, screaming in pain as Sophie reappeared seated at her desk. She was frantically scribbling in a notebook, her mood matching Matthew’s yells although she showed no signs of hearing him.
   Matthew’s screams turned into individual words: “Let me see my daughter!” Then he was on all fours, crying and begging, “Let me see my daughter,” over and over, “let me see my daughter.”
   Epp walked over to Bartleby and gripped his shoulder. Without a word he shoved and Bartleby flew towards the window disappearing after a few feet.
   Then Epp traced a loose rectangle in the air with his fingers and a few seconds later a door appeared out of a shimmering blend of colors. He opened it. “Through here. Both of you. Now.”
   Mary knelt down to give Matthew a hand and half led half carried him through the door. Once they were through Epp slammed it shut, then walked over to Sophie’s desk. He reached a hand out and gripped the corner of the sheet she was writing on. Sophie’s hand continued on through his arm as she wrote. Epp waited a few more seconds then yanked at the corner, the sheet duplicating and splitting into two copies, one remaining exactly in place, the other forming in Epp’s hand. He folded the sheet and slipped it into his suit pocket. He walked through the door and slammed it shut behind him. In a blink it shrank into oblivion and nothing remained in the room but the sound of the rain outside and Sophie’s pen scratching across the page.
   
—–

   Matthew sat up. After walking through the door he had lost track of things. The door had done something strange and he had separated from the woman who had helped him through. And he really was very tired. He realized the ground he was sitting on was muddy and the seat of his pants was soaking through. He started to scramble back to try and stop the seeping water from drenching his pants but he found himself lacking in energy and when his back came up against something solid he settled for leaning back against it in a sitting position. Everything smelled like rotting leaves.
   It was dark but street lamps from somewhere close by made vision possible and he figured he was close by to where he had just been because the weather seemed to match. It wasn’t currently raining but a storm was moving through. He looked to the ground at his right and breathed in slowly. Then he groaned and leaned his head back, clunking it against his support a few times. “This just keeps getting better,” he said.
   He looked back at the corpse lying on the ground at his right. “Hey,” he said, nudging it with one hand. This was a reflex; he did it without thinking, and even as he did it he knew it was a stupid gesture. The man’s clothes were soaked through and covered with moss, his skin was rotting away in parts and he was lying face down in the soft dirt deep enough to obstruct any breathing he might have been doing. He was dead. But, not knowing how to process anything that had happened to him in the last hour not to mention the last three months, Matthew adjusted the glasses on his face and once again nudged the corpse. “Come on,” he pleaded, “come on, wake up.”
   When this again accomplished nothing Matthew leaned back against his support and closed his eyes. He felt the need to be alone with his exhaustion if only for a few seconds.
   Rain started to fall.
   He heard a rustling close by.
   He opened his eyes.
   “My god I’ve raised the dead,” he thought stupidly as he watched the corpse next to him begin to move. A shower of dirt dribbled across his leg as the corpse’s arm lifted and moved sluggishly toward his leg. The hand lowered onto his leg at the same instant that the head raised up and Matthew felt cold shock spread through him as he saw that the thing’s half-rotted face was staring at him; dead eyes glossy with rainwater were locked onto his face as a hungry grin spread across the thing’s yellowed teeth. He looked down at the hand clamped onto his knee and he saw the thing’s fingers, two of them nothing but bare bone, sink into his flesh. He felt his skin tearing, his muscles tensing and ripping, his body seizing with pain. His mouth was open to try and scream but nothing came out the pain was so intense and then he felt the bony fingertips scrape against the underside of his kneecap before giving a yank and he screamed. The thing was dragging itself closer to him and he could hear it breathing, a soft repetitive rasp almost like a laugh and the fingers squeezed harder and he heard his own bones breaking. One of his hands flailed up to push against the thing’s face but his fingers only slipped right through the soft waxy skin and into the thing’s mouth. He felt teeth on either side of his knuckles grinding through to his bones and all Matthew could do was try to wriggle away but every motion seemed to hurt and every movement he made only served to let the thing get more leverage against him and he realized that either he was losing strength or it was gaining strength or both and then he heard a woman’s voice shouting, “He’s over here,” and there was the sound of a struggle and then it was off of him and he was doubled over holding his bleeding hand against his stomach, his knee a faraway throb of pain.
   When he looked up he saw the woman who had helped him through the doorway earlier standing next to Epp who seemed to have control of the thing in some sort of wrestling hold. Epp was staring at him, looking into his eyes. “Matthew, meet Mary,” Epp said. “Mary, meet Matthew.”
   Epp was staring up at Mary now and there was something mean in his face. When Mary looked back down at him and Epp was sure he had her attention, he let go of his grip on the thing.
   At first it flopped to the ground, its muscles in their current condition unable to support its frame. But then Epp had a hold of it again and instead of subduing it he was helping it turn around and face him. Then Epp took a hold of one of its arms by the wrist, got a good grip on it, and plunged the thing’s hand against his own chest.
   The smile on the thing’s face was orgasmic. And it wasn’t the sight of blood on Epp’s chest that sent Matthew into a panic. It wasn’t the gluttonous smile of the thing feasting on Epp’s energy nor the sound of its hands, both of them now, clawing into Epp’s ribs. These things were too overwhelming, too far beyond Matthew’s realm of possibility to even register.
   Instead it was the sight of Epp’s suit ripping, buttons popping off to fly in all directions as the thing’s two bony fingers raked down his shirt, it was the tearing sound of fabric that set Matthew off and he dove forward to try and help. Only when he tried to get a grip on one of the thing’s arms his own pain flared up again and he collapsed to the ground.
   He felt paralyzed. Lying on his side he saw Epp on the ground, wounds all over his body, the thing straddling his stomach. It raised one hand high overhead. For a second the hand remained poised in the air, rainwater dripping off of the fingers and bones, and then it plunged down into Epp’s chest as the thing gave a shrieking porcine yell. The hand disappeared up to the forearm into Epp’s body as he spasmed, deep red blood spouting out of his mouth, and Matthew heard Mary screaming and his eyes lost focus and then it was over.
   Matthew felt himself gaining strength, not quickly, but gaining strength instead of losing it and he was able to get into a sitting position. Mary was on her knees over Epp, sobbing uncontrollably, her hands at her face and then she was screaming at Epp, shrieking, calling him a bastard, throwing punches at him even as he sat up. Epp only sat there, a happy smile on his blood covered face.
   “I told you that you could do it,” Epp said, looking over at the thing, now tied up and covered all over with yellow time-tape.
   Mary was still sobbing, no effort at controlling herself apparent as she screamed right through her tears, “You bastard don’t you ever do something like that again.” She gave Epp’s arm another flurry of hits.
   As Mary slowly calmed down, and her tears became less, and as the thing tied up in tape continued not to move, Matthew began to let himself register other things. Like how tired he was. And how the thing he had leaned back on for support upon first arriving was a gravestone. And how next to it was another gravestone. And how he was in a graveyard. “Epp? Where are we? And what is that?”
   “It’s you,” Epp said. Matthew watched as Epp’s suit began to knit itself together, the red stains receding.
   “He doesn’t look like me,” Matthew said.
   “He was being figurative,” Mary said, the edge on her voice subsiding like the stains on Epp’s shirt.
   “You wanted to see your daughter? This is how that path ends,” Epp said. “You see her once and then you want to see her twice. You see her twice and then you want to spend the day, then a month, then a year. And, well, where do you think she’ll end up?” Epp held his arms out indicating the graveyard all around them. “Those who try to avoid the work find themselves chasing their loved ones into the ground. They hover over their graves, their energy fading, slowly rotting and crumbling. Eventually they’re completely consumed by a desire to follow their second choice on the one hand and a constant hunger for juice on the other.”
   “Epp,” Matthew pointed at the thing on the ground, “that is a fucking zombie.”
   Epp nodded. “Yes. Yes it is. They pop skin every once and awhile, especially after they’ve fed on someone with decent juice. But it takes a lot to get them anywhere close to functional. Take a look around, most of them don’t go anywhere.”
   Again Epp waved his arms and Matthew this time let his eyes follow, and he saw them. Twenty or thirty of them spread about the graveyard, clothes rotting and flesh sagging. Some of the closer ones were awkwardly trying to crawl their way over to where the three of them were grouped. There was one a few rows away who had managed to bury his head in the dirt at the foot of a gravestone.
   Epp stretched his legs out gingerly then rested his head against the gravestone. The stains and tears in his clothes and skin continued to reform as a placid smile spread across his face.
   “That was it, by the way,” he said to Mary. “I’m no longer your teacher. You are now the only one responsible for you.”
   Mary only stared. “Epp, where is Bartleby?”
   Epp didn’t answer.
   “What did you do with him, Epp? Is he at the bottom of some sea somewhere? Or…buried in a pyramid? Where is he?”
   “The far side of Mercury,” Epp said, his eyes shut.
   “Mother of god,” Mary whispered.
   “But he can get back, right?” Matthew asked.
   “I think so,” Epp said, standing up slowly.
   “You think so? You mean once he learns his lesson he’ll be able to get back, right? And these things,” Matthew pointed at the thing wrapped up in time tape, “you knew that these things couldn’t really hurt us right? And you knew Mary could definitely…do whatever it was that she did and you knew, right? There’s no real danger, here?”
   “With hunger that strong,” Epp said, “there is always a chance of danger.” He looked down as the last ragged threads of his suit sewed themselves together. He began to walk. “But—”
   Epp stumbled forward in quick stuttering steps, barely catching himself on another gravestone. He turned around to look at Matthew and Mary over his shoulder, disbelief on his face. Mary gasped and her hands went to her mouth. Matthew tried his hardest to understand.
   Epp slowly let go of the gravestone and tried to walk back normally, but it was clear he had to favor one leg. “This,” he said, looking down at himself, “is certainly going to take some getting used to.” He tried hobbling forward again, then stopped. With a twirl of his fingers a handsome wooden cane appeared in one of his hands and he started walking again, using the cane for support. Mary, pity overcoming anger, stepped up and took Epp’s arm, trying to help him get a feel for the cane.
   Matthew wanted to ask a number of questions but he was too tired. “Epp? I’m exhausted.”
   “I know,” Epp said, shaking Mary off. “No more detours, you can lead us now.”
   Matthew looked around dumbly. “Lead you?”
   “We can’t lead, we have to follow you. We’re not the ones who pushed recently.”
   “But where?” Matthew asked.
   “You know where,” Epp said.
   And to Matthew’s surprise, he did.
   
—–

   The summit of Mount Everest had held a lot of different images in Matthew’s imagination. Most of them concerned wind battered people struggling to make the last few steps over a knife ridge of rock and snow. Danger was always involved and death was always a risk.
   At no point in either of his lives had Matthew contemplated what the summit of Mount Everest might be like if death was not an option, gravity not a factor, and the weather obeyed your command.
   He had closed his eyes while leaving the graveyard; the sensation of wind rippling across his skin as he traveled was still enjoyable to him. With his eyes closed he felt his feet touch ground but the wind was still blowing. He stood like this for a few moments, then opened his eyes to see a sky as blue as the color of his wife’s eyes framing an uneven triangle of rock. He turned around and saw the world spread out at his feet, wave after wave of mountain peak flowing out like a sea. He heard footsteps crunching over the snow and saw Mary walking up a slope with an impossibly steep angle. Epp followed behind her, still limping, but also doing his share of disobeying gravity.
   And then Matthew realized that they weren’t alone. There were forms all around them, people all over lying down in various states of repose.
   Mary stopped behind him, Epp behind her. Epp winced, putting too much weight on his bad leg to lean around and look at Matthew. “You have to lead,” he said. “We can only follow. This is all you.”
   Matthew turned and started walking up the peak of Mount Everest. To his left was a woman lying on her back, her fingers laced behind her head, her feet were facing up towards the summit on a slope of at least eighty degrees. He passed a man on his right sitting with a smile on his face, leaning back against the rock face, supported by nothing.
   He stopped at a young woman who was lying with her palms down, as if her hands were lovingly feeling the softest mattress in the world. Her entire body was suspended out over a drop of a thousand feet with only the heels of her shoes resting on rock.
   “This is where they come who need rest,” Epp said behind him. “This is where those who have pushed the world further on come to regain their strength.”
   Matthew continued walking, looking at the figures all around him, at the path in front, at the sky above that was so far off the earth it grew black overhead.
   “How long have they been here?” Matthew asked, passing a man splayed out happily on a rock wearing a style of clothes that Matthew didn’t recognize.
   “Depends on their push,” Mary answered from right behind him, her voice warm in his ear. “Anywhere from a few days to a few centuries.”
   “And these are all here for one specific person?”
   “It varies,” Mary said.
   “It’s really more art than science,” Epp said from behind him. “Sometimes a tester will bind with a specific person throughout a lifetime, constantly pushing, drawing what they can out of that person.”
   Mary pointed off to a ledge where an old woman sat. “Gandhi,” she said.
   “Sometimes a person will burn through more than one tester in a lifetime so that specific testers only wind up bringing about specific parts of that persons work.”
   Mary pointed to a young boy dreamily curled up on his side in the snow. “E = mc squared.”
   “And sometimes a tester will find themselves able to push more than one person together into collaboration.”
   Mary’s fingers brushed the hair of a bristly man sleeping deeply under an outcropping. “Abbey Road,” she said.
   “Why here?”
   “Not just here,” Epp said, “but most mountaintops.”
   “Yeah but, why here?”
   “That I can’t answer.”
   “I always figured,” Mary said, “that if you were going to spend a century resting up in one spot, you might as well make it one with this view,” and she spread her arms out, her fingertips seeming to brush across the entire earth.
   “That’s a better reason than most I’ve heard,” Epp said, looking around as well.
   “Does it matter how high up the person is?”
   “Altitude signifies nothing. You just fall where you will.”
   “Now what?”
   Epp poked at the ice and snow with his cane.
   “I’m going to stick around for awhile,” Mary said. “Enjoy the view. See if anyone wakes up.”
   “What do I do?” Matthew asked.
   “You’ve got some reading ahead of you,” Epp said. He reached into his suit and handed Matthew a piece of paper folded into squares.
   Matthew unfolded it and stared. Across the top of the sheet was printed: “From the desk of Sophie Loughton.” Matthew squinted. “She wrote a poem?” he asked.
   “You both wrote a poem,” Mary said, but Matthew wasn’t listening.
   With the paper unfolded in front of him he started walking forward as he read. “It’s not bad really,” he said, his feet carrying him further away.
   Without taking his eyes from the page he reached his free hand out and felt out for a seat, his fingers finding a piece of rock. He began to sit down, changed his mind halfway through and stretched out instead, lying down with half his body dangling off of the edge of a precipice. He fidgeted just a little, crossing his ankles and wriggling his hips deeper into the snow for comfort, once and then twice. Then he became perfectly still, the poem in his hands, the Himalayan morning spread out behind him.
   
Part 3: Sunrise Over the Dakota

   
   Matthew looked out over the darkness blanketing Central Park. The patina green copper eave underneath his feet was barely lit from below by the street lamps lining Central Park West. He held a nub of a cigar between the fingers of his right hand. It was well chewed and, if someone did manage to get it lit again, could barely have been expected to provide one more puff before the embers at the end began to burn the smoker’s lips. As it was, though, it was unlit and Matthew only toyed with it between his fingers.
   He turned to Epp, who was standing a few feet away where the roof sloped down. Even in the darkness barely pierced by halogen lamps the cut of Epp’s suit stood out as perfection in charcoal threads. His right hand held a fashionable cane, the dark exotic hardwood complimenting Epp’s skin as he tapped it idly against the rooftop, his face peering out over the trees of the park.
   “I just don’t get it,” Matthew said.
   “What’s not to get?”
   “You’re friends with him?”
   “Absolutely.”
   “But he wants to destroy you.”
   Epp laughed, softly, conceding Matthew’s point. “Yes. If you put it like that it does sound rather confusing.”
   “I just…I just don’t get it.”
   “It’s complicated, although not nearly as confusing as you’re making it.”
   
—–

   Matthew tried to walk quietly into the large hall, but as he was the only person making any noise this was impossible. He settled for walking as quickly as he could and trying to minimize the disturbance he made.
   The rear of the room was filled with benches, which were split down the middle by the aisle leading away from the doors in the back. The ceiling was low and the windows were high up on the walls, a clear indication that it was a basement space. Matthew walked along, trying desperately to keep the sound of his tuxedo shoes on the tile from making any noise when he spotted a familiar face waving him to an empty seat.
   He sat down next to an attractive girl, small with a pert nose. Her dark blond hair bobbed in curls as she turned to chastise Matthew.
   “You’re late,” she said.
   “Thank you, Mary,” Matthew said, “I’m well aware of that.” Matthew took a cigar out of his pocket. The tip was bit off and the end was dark black but it looked like there had only been one or two puffs taken out of it before it had been put out, apparently by being submerged in water. Matthew rolled the wet cigar between his fingers. Then he wriggled his toes and felt that his sock was soaking wet. Then he looked between the two people seated on the bench in front of him so he could see the front of the room.
   Despite the surreal aspect of where he was and who was in the audience, the scene in front of him was recognizable as a trial. There were currently three principal players. A pale, gaunt man presiding over everything, seated high up and looking out over the room, was clearly the judge. A man in a dingy suit standing before the room who was pontificating loudly was clearly arguing for punishment. And, seated off to the right hand side of the judge, was Epp, the man being charged with a crime.
   “This man, Epictetus,” the man in the ratty suit was saying, “has been charged with endangering at least three of his fellow testers. We have gone over and over testimony from witnesses and heard a confession from the defendant himself that he had gone out of his way to make sure other witnesses weren’t available.”
   Mary leaned over and whispered to Matthew. “Where were you?”
   “I didn’t know,” Matthew said. “I don’t know anything about what’s going on.”
   “And it is my belief,” the man with the ratty suit continued, and as Matthew stared at him he got a sense of Asian heritage from his face, possibly Japanese if the cheekbones were to be trusted, “that Epictetus has been proven before this court to be a danger to our people, our way of life, and our future. And I move that he be given the harshest punishment the Council is able to give out for the crime that he is on trial for here today, the murder of Bartleby Kneller.”
   Matthew’s mind began racing at the sound of these words. There was minimal reaction in the crowd and Matthew knew that this was old news to everyone there but himself. He leaned over to whisper something to Mary but just as he did so Mary, who was a soft-spoken girl and, despite the sexuality of the clothes she wore, was rather timid, suddenly shouted, “Holy shit!”
   
—–

   “He wanted you dead,” Matthew said, looking out across the darkness at Central Park.
   Epp sighed. “It’s complicated. Besides, the Council’s powers are somewhat dubious. Even if they had found me guilty they’d have a hell of a hard time punishing me. The courts they hold are mock-ups, they just want to feel like there’s order in our world.”
   “You seem to be the only one who doesn’t take them seriously.”
   “What can they do?”
   Matthew was silent. He rolled the burnt out nub of cigar between his fingers. He had asked this very question to a number of people and, while he had received a number of answers, he had only heard one that made much sense to him. “They can turn people against you.”
   Epp tapped his cane on the gutter, then turned and began to walk slowly across the rooftop, heading for the northeast tower. He moved slowly, the angles of the eaves and the slipperiness of the roof forcing him to pick his way while using a cane he did not seem to be getting used to. Matthew walked with him. “They can do that, yes,” Epp said, “but so can anyone. My point is that they have no special power granted to them simply because they can get an audience together for a trial.”
   The cane and the darkness made it easy to see him as an old man walking along, but when he reached the corner he turned back and Matthew saw he was smiling. This had the effect of replacing the image of an old man with that of a man who was young and strong in every way except for one leg that hurt when he walked. “You should have seen your face when you walked into the bar to see Kyo sitting with us.”
   
—–

   Matthew walked up Broadway, thoughtful as he moved. The night was fresh but cold as the winter was making its first inroads into the island of Manhattan. As he walked he puffed on a half smoked cigar, alternating between holding it between two fingers and clenching it between his teeth.
   He stopped below 76th street and looked around, confused if he had the right address. There was a bar in front of him with a big wooden bear standing out front like he had been told, and there was a neon sign above the door that said “BAR.”
   He walked past the bouncer unseen and into a narrow space crowded with people. The lighting was bright, that was the first thing he noticed. Most bars he had been in seemed steeped in dark but this one was lit all the way up to the ceiling high overhead. Matthew walked along the bar, passing through people, running his hand over the warped, unfinished surface.
   The bar stools on his left were all full, and on his right there were people up against the wall. There was barely enough room for someone to make their way through the space between and Matthew smiled as he walked along, drifting through people like fog.
   The bar ended on his left and there was space for a few tables. A song he recognized as one of Johnny Cash’s began to play on the jukebox. There were two steps up on his right leading to a second space where there were booths and dart boards. He climbed the steps and saw Epp and before he could say hi he saw the man in the ratty suit sitting next to him. Up close Matthew decided he was definitely Japanese and his suit, especially when viewed right next to Epp’s, was beyond cheap looking. The jacket barely fit over the man’s rather large body, and there were stains and rips in it. The man’s face had a small mustache and beard, coarse black hair that didn’t seem to grow so much as sprout.
   “The fuck is he doing here?” Matthew asked before anyone even saw him.
   “Matthew,” Epp said, “this is Kyokutei. But we just call him Kyo.”
   Kyo was holding a beer can in his hand, his palm curled all the way around it, and he was laughing a smug laugh as he took a sip.
   
—–

   “You might have warned me,” Matthew said.
   Epp took another step towards the edge of the roof and then stopped walking. “Well I tried to introduce you, but you spoke up before I could do anything.”
   “Yeah. That and everyone there was completely drunk.”
   “I don’t know about completely drunk.”
   
—–

   “Wow,” Epp said, leaning back from the booth and looking at the collection of empty beer cans scattered on the table in front of him. “I’m completely drunk.”
   “Me too,” Mary said, perched on a high stool at the end of the table, and she gave a little giggle into her glass of wine.
   
—–

   “It was a celebration,” Epp said. “I was freed from all charges.”
   “So the man said.”
   
—–

   Matthew watched as the gaunt man presiding over the trial rapped his gavel again and again to regain order.
   He eventually calmed everyone down, but it took quite a bit of work. He waved the man in the ratty suit forward and the two exchanged words, the gaunt man clearly not happy with the man in the ratty suit. After trying to plead some argument or another the man in the ratty suit finally gave in and the gaunt man gave a few more raps of the gavel to command complete silence. “The charges,” he said with little fanfare, “are dropped.” He turned to Epp. “You’re free to go.”
   
—–

   Matthew watched as the street lights on Central Park West below him changed from green to red. “There’s just a lot I don’t understand.”
   “So ask,” Epp said.
   “I did. You answered me with riddles.”
   “Really?” Epp asked, smiling. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
   
—–

   “How can you sit and have a drink with that guy?” Matthew asked as Kyo walked off to go to the bathroom.
   “Ah,” Epp said a little slurred. “You’ve got to understand,” and he reached a hand up to place it on Matthew’s shoulder only to find that his hand fell through Matthew’s body.
   “Wait a minute,” Matthew said, looking around the table, “you guys are visible?”
   “Of course,” Epp said. “How else are we going to get served here?”
   “But,” Matthew was astonished, his face working itself up for any number of reasons. “We’re practically immortals. We don’t need to come to this shit hole of a dive bar on the Upper West Side to drink cheap beer. Hell, if you all want I can buy a round of something really nice. I can definitely handle some champagne,” and he started to move his hands without thinking, willing a bottle to appear when Epp’s hand slammed down on his own.
   “No.” Epp said forcefully. “We don’t do that. Not tonight. Tonight we drink as they do,” and he looked down towards the main bar where it was more crowded.
   “You can touch me,” Matthew said. “Did you just go invisible? And do you all realize that you’ve been basically talking to empty air this entire time?”
   At the bar a pitcher of beer was toppled over by a woman in a halter top dancing across it.
   “No one here cares,” Epp said.
   “Fair enough. But why am I drinking PBR?”
   “Cause it’s cheap,” Epp said.
   “I meant—”
   “I know what you meant. And I answered. When we drink with Kyo, we drink what is cheap. He’s a warrior. It’s a riddle for you. When is a samurai not a samurai?”
   
—–

   “Okay, so that probably sounded like a riddle to you.”
   “Yes. Especially the part where you told me it was a riddle.”
   Epp smiled, and Matthew realized that the sky was growing lighter towards the east and that the night was fading.
   “To be fair,” Epp said, “it is a pretty simple riddle. When is a samurai not a samurai?”
   “Haven’t a clue,” Matthew held his hands out in front of him. “I know nothing about samurai.”
   “Oh. Then it’s not so simple. The answer is, when he doesn’t have a master. Which actually makes him a ronin, not a samurai. So when is a samurai not a samurai? When he serves nobody.”
   “And that’s what this guy, this Kyo, does?”
   “On a much deeper level than you understand.”
   “What’s that mean?”
   “We travel through this world taking energy from it by pushing it farther along. And it is, like most existences, deeply flawed. There are a few flaws we could go into here, but the biggest is what happens to a tester when they push. They disappear from the world. You’ve seen small pushes up till now, where the pusher will doze for a week or so, but you have to imagine spending a lifetime putting someone to the test, and then collapsing from pain and exhaustion for a century or two. You wake up after pushing a centurion and the entire Roman Empire has crumbled.
   “So that is where Kyo comes in. Through no prodding from anyone, because of no calling from any higher authority, simply because he came to know our ways and decided that the pushers needed someone to retain continuity for us, to keep track of what happened when we were gone, to make sure there was always some sort of solid ground waiting for us, he became what he is. Kyo has never, since he became a rookie, actually pushed. Since he has never pushed, he has never gained energy. He has remained poor for our sakes. And it has become tradition that when one drinks with Kyo, one drinks cheap.”
   “That would explain the suit,” Matthew said. “So he has no power?”
   “No energy of his own,” Epp said, “does not mean that he can’t control the energy of others.”
   “Well then you should be scared of him. I keep telling you, he wanted to destroy you.”
   “Don’t worry about Kyo and me. We’re old friends. He was only doing what I asked of him.”
   “You asked him to come after you like that?”
   “Yes, a few hundred years ago. Somebody has to keep me in shape. Believe me, if anyone is going to be testing the testers, my vote would be for Kyo.”
   “And not the Council.”
   “No. Not the Council. It has no power.”
   “How do you know?”
   “I’m the one that broke it.”
   “How?”
   “Well, I was the one that created it. It was easy enough to break it. Keeping it broken is tougher. That’s why I stand trial every now and then. It helps to publicly prove them wrong.”
   “So you really don’t think that, what’s his name, Gregor, has any power over you?”
   “I think he barely has power over himself anymore.”
   “I still don’t understand why everyone laughed at me.”
   
—–

   “I got it,” Matthew said. The table was littered with empty beer cans and Epp was wobbling in the booth, both hands on the table, staring down Kyo across the way. The two seemed locked in some titanic struggle, then Kyo’s hands moved and the quarter he was holding bounced across the table and into a shot glass sitting in front of Epp.
   “Ha!” Kyo yelled.
   Epp glowered at him, then picked up his mug of beer and finished it off.
   “Okay,” Epp said, and he plucked the quarter up and started aiming.
   “Dracula,” Matthew said. “That guy, Gregor. I’ve been trying to figure out why he looks familiar. It’s Dracula. The guy looks just like Dracula. Not the movies. Well. Sort of the movies. But if you ever read the book. He reminds me completely of that.”
   Epp turned, drunkenly, the top button of his shirt was undone, a tiny detail that, on Epp, made him seem like he was the king of all hobos. Then the table burst out laughing as a whole.
   “Why that’s absolutely adorable,” Kyo said. “Where did you find him?” he asked Epp.
   Mary just giggled and teetered on her stool, her nose buried in a glass of cheap wine. Then she looked at the far corner of the booth. “Oh my,” she said, “the man on fire seems rather drunk.”
   
—–

   “I still don’t know what they were laughing about,” Matthew sulked, staring down at the rooftop.
   “If it’s any consolation, we were laughing because you were so close, not because you were so far off.”
   “That doesn’t help me.”
   “Well, your analysis was sound, but your initial assumptions were a little backwards.”
   “That also doesn’t help me.”
   “What if it’s not that Gregor looks like Dracula, what if it’s that Dracula looks like Gregor?”
   “Oh,” Matthew said, slowly getting it. “But how…oh!” he said, really getting it. “He pushed Bram Stoker?”
   “No, Matthew. He didn’t technically push anyone, or maybe he pushed an entire village at once. It is, quite frankly, one of the largest ongoing debates we have. It’s at the root of why I let the Council put me on trial every now and then.
   “Six centuries ago, Gregor decided to act like what we now would recognize as a vampire. He terrified an entire village. Taking forms, disappearing, even the occasional little push would look like him taking a victim. It was his first great act as a tester. At the time I couldn’t decide, but I was leaning toward thinking it was genius.
   “I mean, the things he was doing aren’t easy. You disappear directly in front of a meat bag, their mind is going to opt to believe that they saw you get up and leave the room for no reason. But he got them to actually see him as he really was.
   “The man’s legend is still reverberating to this day. The Council, however, thought it was an outrage. And taking down Gregor became the Council’s first great act. Which was when I resigned. Pity, too, we had only started up a decade before.”
   “But how did they go after him? You said they had no power.”
   “They were curious, which carries great power with it. All of these great testers in one room wondering what they could do combined. I really began to think that they wanted to punish Gregor only because they could, not because they felt they should. They were like a child with a new toy.”
   “So, what did they do?”
   “They starved him. Any push he tried to do would be taken in advance. Any time he was about to engage he found that his target was already occupied. Slowly he began to dwindle and wane. They drove him, essentially, into the graveyards. And when they stopped, Gregor was beaten. He’s completely different. No interest, no spark, no ingenuity. This was a pusher who created one of the greatest iconic symbols known without even engaging. People still feed off his creation. And now he’s nothing. His spirit is completely broken. Things eventually came full circle and he now rides a desk as one of the Council heads. Everything else slowly faded into the past.”
   Epp’s voice was distant and he stared out at the night with a thoughtful look on his face. Then he turned and nodded at Matthew. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It would have been best if we could have walked you through some of these answers earlier tonight.”
   “Well,” Matthew accepted the apology, “you were celebrating.”
   “Yes, and you did eventually catch up to us if I remember correctly.”
   
—–

   “What am I buying?” Matthew slurred unevenly at the bar.
   “Cans,” Kyo answered. “Lots of ‘em.”
   Matthew watched as the bartender walked past. “Mary, did you do something to her breasts?”
   “I knew they’d be open very late tonight,” Mary said unapologetically. “I wanted them to get good tips.”
   Matthew laughed and looked back at Mary. Her little body was wobbly and she was rocking back on her heels. For a moment he thought she was actually going to fall over before she righted herself.
   “You,” Matthew said, “are going to have a wonderful time tomorrow morning. Be hungover as anything.” He thought about this. “Hey, Epp!” he yelled at Epp standing three people over. “Am I going to be hungover tomorrow?”
   “You? Yes.”
   “But I don’t have a body.”
   “Is your sock still wet?”
   Matthew wriggled his toes and, to his discouragement, felt that the toes of his sock were indeed still damp. “Yeah,” Matthew said, the disappointment barely edging its way through his drunkenness. He turned to Mary again. “Epp says we’ll have hangovers.”
   Mary shook her head blearily. “Not me.”
   “No?”
   “You think I’m going to be awake tomorrow morning?”
   “I’m not sure what else you’ll be.”
   She smiled and stepped forward from the back wall. Everyone else from their group was a little ways down the bar chatting with strangers while Matthew, trying to put in his order, was edged in next to a solitary man on a bar stool. The man was dressed nicely, his button down shirt juxtaposing with the overall dinginess of the bar, although there were so many different types of drinkers present his juxtaposing fell short of making him stand out.
   Mary sidled forward and stood right up against him. Matthew thought she was coming to help get the bartender’s attention. He turned to thank her but stopped before saying anything and simply watched.
   She was crying, the pert skin on her face shining with wet tears, and as she gave a shuddering sob Matthew felt some part of his insides plummet while he watched one of the most beautiful women he had ever met exhibit signs of pain. Her face was resting on the nicely dressed man’s shoulder, her hand ran up the back of his head, her fingernails disappeared under his hair. She tilted her head and, as she wept, delivered a kiss with soft lips on his neck just under his ear.
   A bartender finally came over and asked Matthew what he wanted. He only stared for a few seconds, and as the bartender waited, and as the nicely dressed man gave him a glance then returned to his glass of whiskey, Matthew knew that neither of them could see Mary.
   He managed to put in an order and the waitress smiled at him as she popped open can after can of Pabst Blue Ribbon on the bar, and Matthew smiled back, and tipped nicely. Then Mary was leaning up against him, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Didn’t think he had it in him,” she said sleepily. “Night,” and she stood up on tiptoe and kissed Matthew on the cheek.
   Matthew watched as the nicely dressed man looked at his watch, then his drink, then around the room, then at his watch again, then finally reached into his pocket and placed his wedding ring on the warped wooden surface of the bar. He rapped it a few times, then slipped it back onto his finger before turning around on his stool and hopping to the floor. “Thought for sure he was going to cheat,” Mary said, rubbing her eyes. The man left.
   Then Mary yawned and tried to shout towards the others at the bar. It came out weakly and Matthew got their attention for her. “Mary’s off to Everest for a day or so,” he yelled.
   Epp shook his head, “She never could handle the hangovers.”
   Kyo nodded and lifted a can of beer as a farewell toast.
   Mary nodded at both of them, then glanced past them and laughed. “He’s like some strange variation of Popeye.”
   
—–

   “You might have gotten answers earlier if you had been there with us from the start,” Epp said. “It’s never easy to walk in on the middle of a party.”
   Matthew sighed and looked out over the pink of dawn just beginning to glow behind the buildings across the park. “I thought it’d be nice to see some old friends.”
   “Thought?”
   “Turns out I was wrong.”
   
—–

   Matthew rolled his cigar in his fingers, concentrating on it. It was still soaking wet but he was making progress in getting it dried out.
   “Whaddya say there, Matty?” Benjamin called out. They were in the Port Authority bowling alley, the usual group of customers scattered about. Matthew hadn’t seen Benjamin since making his second choice and he managed a smile as he looked at him, perpetually rumpled in his trench coat. “Another round?” Benjamin shouted.
   There were a few of them gathered at the alley, the newbies that Matthew had spent over twenty years banging around New York City with. Matthew was about to stand another round but he stopped. With the hand not holding his cigar he reached into his jacket pocket, puzzled. It had been awhile since he had used cash to purchase anything. He remembered throwing twenties down on this very bar plenty of nights, but now that seemed a strange thing to do. It had started to seem like cash was an unnecessary middleman for most transactions. Why convert energy into cash, then that cash into what you were trying for when you could just convert energy into what you wanted? Matthew reached inside of his tuxedo coat pocket and felt a packet of money appear there. He wasn’t sure exactly how much it was, and he was about to pull it out to buy the next round, but he stopped himself.
   He wasn’t having much fun. He felt disjointed from these people, and as he watched an old friend of his spark a bar fight in the far corner he forced himself to smile, converted the packet of money in his pocket into what he knew was only a few twenties, then pulled that out instead. “Here you go,” he said, forced smile still on his face, “another round on me.”
   The twenties shimmered then disappeared as drinks appeared in the hands of people all around the bar. Matthew went back to drying out his cigar. A few minutes later he felt he had it and he popped it into his mouth and gave a few hard drags. It took more than the usual three or four but after awhile he managed to get the end to burst into a perfect red ember and he, truly smiling for the first time since he had come into this bar, finally resumed smoking his cigar. His sock, on the other hand, was still sopping wet.
   
—–

   “They seemed so,” Matthew stepped out onto the rooftop ledge and leaned back against a high gable, “cruel somehow. There was no point to anything they did. It was just pranks at best. At worst they were tearing into people’s lives.”
   “They were newbies,” Epp said, simply.
   “Was I like that?”
   “All newbies are. Although it seems like a lot more fun until you hit your second choice. Once you become a rookie you gain some perspective. You can only see how clear the line is while looking back.”
   “So when will they hit their second choices? Some of them I used to enjoy hanging out with. Benjamin in particular.”
   Epp smiled and closed his eyes as a bit of winter wind rustled across the trees of the park before sweeping up onto the roof. “Benjamin already made his second choice.”
   “But then…oh.”
   “He chose the life, not the work. Once his wife dies he’ll pass out of this world along with her. He doesn’t even remember who his first choice was anymore. You shouldn’t fault him. His probabilities were very low for going the other way.”
   “It just seemed,” Matthew pushed off of the gable so he was standing straight up again, “it seemed so cruel. Without purpose. Nothing like what we do.”
   “You’re forgetting,” Epp said, “that they came first. That they came out of the meat bags, but we came out of them.” Now it was Epp’s turn to lean and with a tired sigh he propped his cane up against the opposite gable and then settled down against it as well. “At least, that’s the current theory. Makes sense to me. You have to look at it this way, Matthew. If they didn’t exist, we couldn’t either.”
   “Because we came out of them. I get it.”
   “Because of that, but more because we’d have nothing to grab a hold of. Think about little Sophie, your first push. Did you ever wonder why she was having such a bad day? You ever think about what set up those circumstances, how the pain entered into her life for you to push against in the first place?”
   “No, I just thought. I mean. It’s just life I figured.”
   “Yes, and there are other forces that bring it out, but the newbies are a large one and an important one. Every little trick they pull echoes and reverberates and sets off more and more ripples. Like tossing a stone into a pond. Their energy travels as it dissipates.” To make his point Epp picked up his cane and thumped it down on the roof. Matthew jumped back as a small circular wave rippled its way out from where his cane had landed, the circle expanding as the wave shrank in height until it fizzled out a few feet from Epp. “They cause a breakup that causes a fight that causes someone to think about revenge that causes someone to think about cheating and so on and so on, always getting a little less as it spreads until eventually it fades out entirely, but without all of those nicks and cuts on the surface of life it’d be hard if not impossible for us to find anywhere to grab a hold. Could you imagine if you had had to work every single person involved in little Sophie’s breakup? If you had to bring about every little nuance in her boyfriend, had to work every person that influenced him, work every person that influenced them? It would be endless.”
   Matthew didn’t say anything for awhile. Only watched the deep pink sky start to lighten its shade.
   “Would you be able to do that?”
   “Do what?”
   “Work everyone like that.”
   Epp didn’t say anything.
   “Did you know?”
   Again, Epp didn’t answer.
   “My sock just finished drying off. Did you know it would take exactly this long?”
   Epp turned and looked at Matthew.
   
—–

   Matthew kicked his legs and tried to swim upwards. His tuxedo jacket was billowing up into his face and his mouth and throat burned from too much salt. His clothes were heavy with water and all he could manage was to get to within a few feet of the surface of the ocean before he lagged and drifted deeper again. He could see Epp’s shoes, or the soles of them anyway, standing atop the water.
   When he looked down things only became worse. The water was too deep to fathom and light itself seemed to be sucked away as everything faded in the distance into blackness. There was the awful feeling of vertigo as the sea floor, hidden miles below his feet, seemed to want to rush up at him and with a frantic push Matthew managed to burst his head above the surface, take a half breath before swallowing more salty water, catch a glimpse of the impeccable break in Epp’s pants just above his shoe line, then flounder and sink under again.
   He was panicking and his kicking feet drifted through bands of colder and colder water as he sank lower and deeper into the hungry darkness. He felt something swimming near him and heard, somehow perfectly clear, Epp’s voice. “Oh my goodness, Matthew! What is that?!”
   Matthew opened his eyes and screamed an underwater scream of bubbles and strangled gurgling noises that resounded inside his head as he stared eye to eye with a huge eel. Its mouth opened, glasslike teeth sharp and pointy sticking out at all angles, and then it spoke. “Matthew,” the eel said in a strange falsetto. “You must learn to stop panicking,” it said in a voice that Matthew was on the verge of recognizing. “You must learn,” the eel said, and now Matthew placed it as Epp’s voice, only higher pitched, “to—”
   “You know you have a very strange sense of humor,” Matthew said, looking up at Epp.
   Epp peered down at him. With a casual wave of his hand Epp made the eel disappear. He shifted his cane so it was planted on the surface of the ocean right between his shoes and leaned on it gently with both hands. “And you,” Epp said, “have ceased struggling.”
   Matthew looked at his hands, then around, then back up and realized that Epp was right. He was completely dry and felt no signs of being four feet beneath the surface of the water in the middle of the ocean. He smiled and then really began to look around, enjoying the change. He took a fresh cigar out of his jacket pocket and put it into his mouth. With a few long tugs on it he caused it to burst into flames and light up under the ocean. Then he laughed, the cigar off to the side of his mouth, as he floated himself up until he, like Epp, was standing on the surface of the water.
   “This is fantastic,” he said, the cigar now held between two fingers as he looked around at the infinite view.
   “Mm.” Epp said, noncommittally. “Although, I think your shoe is leaking. Does it feel like your sock is getting wet?”
   And as Epp said that Matthew looked down and suddenly it did sort of feel like his sock was getting wet. Getting soaked, actually, and then his feet broke the surface of the water and he plunged back down again, the cigar extinguishing in a hiss as he tried to flounder to the surface.
   Epp leaned over, both hands planted in front of him on his cane. “Well, Matthew,” he shouted down. “This is getting a little boring for me. And,” Epp lifted one arm up and shook it until his wristwatch was visible, “I’ve got to go stand trial. So, when you figure all this out,” and he twirled the tip of his cane over the surface of the water, “maybe you come see me, no? It’s in the basement of the Council building on the Upper West Side of Manhattan.” Epp’s body began to ripple and then it vanished.
   Matthew saw the soles of Epp’s shoes disappear as he struggled to get his head above water.
   
—–

   “I feel like you’re slowly zeroing in on the one real question you’re dying to ask,” Epp said.
   “Did you know?” Matthew turned and with energy tossed his cigar stub across his body, over the rooftop, out over the air above Central Park West. “Could you have known that he’d come back right then?”
   
—–

   “And I move,” the man in the ratty suit was saying, standing in front of the hall, “that he be given the harshest punishment our people are able to give out for the crime that he is on trial for here today, the murder of Bartleby Kneller.”
   Matthew’s mind began racing at the sound of these words. There was minimal reaction in the crowd and Matthew knew that this was old news to everyone there but himself. He leaned over to whisper something to Mary but just as he did so Mary, who was a soft-spoken girl and, despite the sexuality of the clothes she wore, was rather timid, suddenly shouted, “Holy shit!”
   People turned, people shouted, then more people turned, then more people shouted. Standing at the rear of the room, dressed in a black on white suit, pin straight black hair slicked back on his head, a black trench coat folded neatly across his arm, was Bartleby.
   “I’m not dead,” Bartleby said, and although Matthew had only barely met him, had actually only caught a glimpse of him in Sophie Laughton’s bedroom, he had the distinct feeling that a lot of the boyishness had dropped from Bartleby’s demeanor, and when he walked down the aisle towards the man in the ratty suit, the pale gaunt man and Epp, he carried himself with an enviable assurance.
   
—–

   “Did you know he wouldn’t be angry?” Matthew asked.
   
—–

   Matthew watched with confusion as everyone laughed loudly just because he had thought Gregor looked a little like Dracula. Everyone was laughing loudly except Mary, who just giggled and teetered on her stool, then buried her nose in her glass of cheap wine. Then she looked at the far corner of the booth. “Oh my,” she said. “The man on fire appears to be drunk.”
   Bartleby was laughing so hard that when he reached a hand out to steady himself he knocked his beer onto Kyo’s lap.
   
—–

   “Did you know he’d be,” Matthew wrapped an arm across himself and rubbed his shoulder, as if unsure of his words. “Did you know he’d be changed like that?”
   
—–

   Epp shook his head with mock disgust, “She never could handle the hangovers.”
   Kyo nodded and lifted a can of beer as a farewell toast.
   Mary nodded at both of them, then glanced past them and laughed. “He’s like some strange variation of Popeye.”
   Matthew turned to where she was looking and saw Bartleby, his long black trench coat brushing against the floor as he stood with his whole body tilted back, his arms over his head, a can of Red Bull in each hand. He was steaming, actual water vapor was billowing up out of his body and he squeezed first one can, then the other, their tops bursting and the cold liquid shooting into his open mouth, the sound of the aluminum crackling in his hands as loud as the sound of his mouth filling up with splashing liquid.
   Matthew laughed. “He really does look like Popeye.”
   Bartleby finished and stood upright, tossing the crushed and empty cans onto the bar. His steaming seemed to be under control. The people around were looking on with interest, although clearly they had only seen a man drinking too much Red Bull, not a man about to light on fire.
   
—–

   “Well,” Epp said. “I knew it was very hot on Mercury.”
   “The man bursts into flames constantly.”
   “Yes,” Epp said. “It’s bizarre isn’t it? Did you notice how it didn’t seem to affect anyone else? I wonder if he can learn to control that.”
   “Did you know!” Matthew yelled suddenly. “Did you know that,” Matthew waved his hands in the air as if swatting at the numerous things he wanted to ask, “that my sock would dry at exactly this instant? That Bartleby would show up right as you were about to be judged? That he would actually appreciate what you did for him? Did you know?”
   “The boy inside of him begged for a challenge. The man inside of him accepted,” Epp said, barely moving.
   “Did you know!” Matthew shouted.
   “I know enough to know that opening my mouth now could only serve to make me seem less impressive. Besides, these all sound like variations on the same question.”
   “You’ve got your best friend trying to destroy you. You’ve got your students in mortal danger. You cause grave injury to your own body. You feel sorry for a head of the Council, the only symbol of power our society seems to have, because you think he’s powerless. You are running an unholy amount of risks with your life.”
   “Why don’t you just ask your question?”
   “Epp,” Matthew said, the volume of his voice dying, leaving only edge and wonder, “just how powerful are you?”
   Epp was holding his cane loosely in his hands, which were clasped at his waist. He smiled, but it was sad, and he stared out at the dawn slowly seeping over the buildings across the trees. “How can you measure something that you are unable to test?”
   “Are you doing all this to challenge yourself?”
   “No,” Epp answered immediately, dispelling any possible doubt as to the answer. “I’m doing all this because I think I have more to teach than most. I have a duty to this world to impart as much of what I’ve learned as possible.”
   “But you…” Matthew trailed off, exhausted. “How can you throw so many things up in the air? Aren’t you worried that you’ll drop one? You’ve already got so much power under your belt, aren’t you afraid that you’ll lose instead of gain?”
   Epp only tapped the tip of his cane a few times against the gutter and continued to stare out over the park. “Power is like life. You’ll learn that if you cherish it too tightly you strangle out of it everything you’re trying to protect.” Another gust of wind kicked over the roof and Epp’s jacket flapped behind him. “It’s only life.”
   Matthew turned to follow Epp’s stare. He watched as the red disc of the sun finally arced over the top of one of the distant buildings. He heard Epp breathe in happily. “It’s a new day, Matthew. What would you like to do with it?”
   Matthew stared at the sunrise along with Epp and he felt something lingering in the back of his mind. Some sense of power, some sense of wonder at the spinning earth beneath his feet, and a thousand ideas raced through his head of adventures and tasks and lessons he might want to undertake. But none would solidify and he tried to lock at least one image down, to pin down the feelings into one distinct thought, but they only drifted away and he began to get worked up, to chase harder, to want more, until Epp’s words, spoken only a few moments ago, sounded again in his head. And even though it was only seconds ago Matthew knew that those words would be in his head with the same clarity a thousand years from now, the way that only the words of the best of teachers can stay with you. “It’s only life,” Epp had said, and Matthew deflated, and ceased trying to pin down the dreams and wonders and grandiose plans and he simply let them be. And for the moment he was at peace.
   He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “You think there’s a diner around here that serves scrapple?”
   “A noble pursuit; I think we might be able to dig one up,” Epp said. “Follow.” Epp turned and stepped off the edge of the roof, his body hovering, wavering, in mid-air before disappearing.
   Matthew took one last look at the sun, a whole disc in the sky now, already having cleared the edge of the building. He heard the traffic light beneath his feet clunking as it changed from red to green. Then he turned and walked after Epp, his body disappearing as well.
   
Part 4: A Body at Rest

   
   Matthew stood at the top of the steps and looked down at Bethesda Fountain. A crowd was gathering in the early winter morning. He watched as much of the crowd arrived at the fountain by walking across the boat pond to the north while a few appeared next to the fountain, their bodies wavering and misty until they took shape and looked around, saw a friend, started talking.
   There were a few members of the crowd who were oblivious to all of this. Two young lovers, huddling against each other, bundled in heavy winter gear, were standing by the northern benches and quite a few of the water-walkers continued on their way by walking right through them.
   A family taking a photo on the near side of the fountain was equally oblivious. Smiling for the camera, they did not notice the constant stream of people who were wavering into existence all around them.
   “It’s kind of creepy,” Matthew said.
   “You’ve never seen a large group of us coming together?” Bartleby asked, standing next to him. Bartleby’s question was largely for show as he was concentrating on keeping the glove of his right hand from bursting into flames. His face was screwed up into attention but he was losing whatever control he had over the situation as flames began to grow higher and higher over his black wool glove. He sighed and walked over to the side of the path and dipped his hand into a bank of snow. There was hissing and steaming and when he took his hand away there was a disorienting double existence of snow that was both melting and untouched at the same time before things blended together again and returned to normal. Matthew blinked, shook his head, then looked away.
   “I don’t understand how you can not be mad at Epp,” Matthew said.
   Bartleby looked over, then turned back to the gathering crowd below. “I’m not about to go complaining to Epp because I keep catching on fire.”
   “You scared of him?”
   “Not hardly,” Bartleby said. “I told him off pretty good for sending me to Mercury. It’s just that complaining to Epp about my hand occasionally getting too hot would be like complaining to Gandhi that you had to skip breakfast.”
   Matthew turned, and while the hyperbole of the statement got a laugh out of him, no understanding of what it meant crossed his face.
   “Oh, that’s right,” Bartleby said, “You don’t know. I keep forgetting.” There was arrogance in his words, a thin veneer of swarmy layered over his normal conversational tone. The arrogance wasn’t enough to be offensive, and Bartleby had been nice to Matthew over the past few months since Epp’s trial so that Bartleby’s arrogance, while certainly hinting at the level that had gotten him banished to Mercury to begin with, only came across as mildly irritating, the sort of cockiness that is easily tolerated among friends because it’s well known that it’s also a cockiness that is easily mocked away if it grows too strong.
   Matthew was about to ask what it was that he didn’t know when a familiar melodious voice called out to him and Bartleby. He looked up and saw Mary walking, practically skipping, her way towards them, her short frame bundled in clothes that looked soft and warm, her breath steaming out of her cheeks, apple-red from the cold. “Hello, boys,” she smiled, standing up on tip-toe to give both Matthew and Bartleby a kiss on the cheek.
   “You seem happy,” Matthew said, watching Mary remove her large furry hat and scratch at her head before replacing the hat and turning back to him.
   “It’s a wonderful day,” she said simply, then walked towards the railing and looked down at the still gathering crowd around the fountain. “It’s not every day you get to see a life begin.”
   “Is that what this is?” Epp asked, all of a sudden standing next to Matthew, his appearance abrupt enough to cause Matthew’s feet to skitter on the cold stone beneath his feet.
   “It’s as good a description as any,” Kyo said, appearing from nowhere on the other side of Matthew and rattling him further.
   “Did you guys plan that?” Matthew asked, unnerved but enough under control to pretend calm.
   “We thought it up while getting coffee,” Epp admitted, his eyes never leaving the crowd below them.
   Kyo didn’t answer; he only took a sip from his cup of coffee.
   “I’d think you two would have more interesting things to do with your time.”
   “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Epp answered. He set his cup of coffee down on the ledge and popped the plastic lid off. “You get sugar?” he asked Kyo. Epp wasn’t dressed for the cold, his perfect charcoal grey suit was left uncovered by any coat, his closely shaved hair was uncovered by any hat. Once his coffee was flavored to his liking he replaced the plastic lid and took a long sip, his eyes happy against his dark skin.
   Kyo, on Matthew’s other side, stood in his hideous lime-green suit, ill cut and made of some fabric that seemed neither to bend nor breathe well. With an arm of stone he too brought his coffee to his lips and took a drink. There was no reaction in his high cheeked face; his narrow eyes never left the fountain.
   “Nice to see you again,” Matthew said, leaning away from Kyo. Kyo didn’t respond. Matthew gladly took this excuse to walk around to the other side of Epp and take a stance at the stone railing. The rest of their group joined them and all five watched the crowd below gather and swirl.
   “Okay,” Matthew said after awhile. “So what exactly am I looking at?”
   Epp pointed, coffee cup in hand, “You see Gregor?”
   Matthew’s eyes searched the crowd until he spotted the tall pale figure of Gregor, his dark overcoat enhancing his overall vampiric aura. Standing next to Gregor was a much taller man with broad shoulders, his face mostly hidden by mirrored sunglasses. “I see him,” Matthew said. “Who’s the guy next to him?”
   “A lower member of the Council. An aide of sorts. You rarely see Gregor without seeing the big guy in the mirrored sunglasses.”
   “He looks more like a bodyguard.”
   “We don’t have bodies, Matthew.”
   “You know what I mean.”
   “Sure. Anyway, the big guy’s name is Hector.”
   There was a perceptible shift in energy in the crowd as more and more attention became focused at something happening towards the western side of the fountain. A small path cleared and a young man walked through, making his way towards Gregor.
   “See him?” Epp asked.
   “Yeah.”
   “That’s the tester everyone is here to see.”
   “What’s his name?”
   “I don’t know. Never met him personally.”
   The young man arrived in front of Gregor and Gregor began to speak. Matthew was too far away to hear everything being said but he caught a lot of talk about commitment and momentous events.
   “What’s the rope for?” Matthew asked, watching as Hector handed Gregor a rope.
   “It’s largely symbolic,” Epp said.
   “It’s a strong enough symbol that it’s become very real.” Kyo said. Matthew had forgotten about him standing on the other side of Epp.
   “We’re not having this argument now,” Epp said, glancing at Kyo. Then he turned back to Matthew. “Technically the rope represents a commitment on the part of the tester as to how far they’ll range from the meat bag. A longer rope means more potential to bring a wider array of things into play, but also carries quite a bit more risk. If you lose too much control and stray too far from your meat bag…” Epp didn’t finish his sentence. He only tried to take another drink of coffee, noticed that his cup was now empty, and commenced to crush it in his hands until it disappeared from existence. “Anyway, it’s customary to mark off a certain length of rope to indicate just how freely you’re going to play your mark, but since we don’t have bodies and the rope doesn’t really exist in any physical reality, I’m a firm believer in the notion that it’s all in your head.”
   Matthew turned back to the crowd and watched as Gregor counted out a certain number of lengths of the thick waxy rope. One end was knotted in a loop and the young man hung it around his waist. Gregor continued speaking and his face became grave as he pronounced some sort of blessing upon the young tester.
   “What was that?” Matthew asked.
   “Hell, I don’t even believe in the rope,” Epp shrugged, “as far as I’m concerned anything beyond that is a rather large load of horse shit.”
   “Epp doesn’t exactly care for ceremony.” Kyo said. “Gregor is saying a few words of hope and inspiration. I personally see nothing wrong with providing a little send off for someone who’s going to commit himself to a single person for the next few decades.”
   “I have no problem with that either. It’s when Gregor gets it into his head that he’s the main event here is when I start to lose interest. This is that young tester’s day, not the Council’s. All they’re doing is piling on. And then you get all of those people down there believing that it’s more important to please the Council than to do your work well. Too many people start believing that and…”
   “They have their way of doing things, but there are other ways as well,” Kyo said. “Plenty of people take after you, Epp, among others.”
   Matthew didn’t say anything, but as he looked around at the crowd that was a good thirty yards away, he felt a strange sense of isolation and a distinct difference between the small group of five he was standing with and the larger group down by the fountain.
   “So you have a little following, Epp?” Matthew asked. Epp didn’t say anything. “How about you, Kyo? You have a following?”
   “Those without masters find it difficult to take on students,” Epp said.
   “But you take on students, Epp,” Matthew said.
   Epp gave a tiny shrug in reply.
   There was another ripple in the crowd and heads began to turn to the west once again. “And there’s the mark,” Epp said. A family of three crested the small hill that rose to the west of the fountain and began walking down the path towards the crowd they couldn’t see.
   “Which one?” Matthew asked.
   “The girl,” Epp answered.
   She was maybe ten years old, bundled up in a snow suit, taking a happy stroll through the park with her parents, oblivious to the fact that her life was about to change forever. The family began to walk, literally, through the crowd. They approached the fountain and the girl ran ahead to look into the stone basin, emptied for the winter. The young tester stepped forward and with a gentle hand he looped the other end of his rope around the girl. Immediately both ends tightened, the girl didn’t notice a thing, but the tester collapsed to the ground as the rope squeezed his midsection. The crowd began applauding, slow at first, but it grew in strength until it was a sustained roar of approval.
   He was still collapsed on the ground in pain when the family of three began moving away from the fountain. The loops of rope began to run out as the girl got farther and farther away until finally it pulled taut and the body of the tester, still in pain, began to drag along behind the family.
   “Well he’s off to an amazing start,” Epp said thickly.
   Kyo eyed him. “Watch yourself, Epp.”
   “Oh, get off my back,” Epp said, “you knew I was going to get all worked up watching this thing.”
   “Yes, but the Council is what upsets you, you’ve no right to take it out on that tester.”
   “I know,” Epp said, honestly lamenting. “I wish him luck, I really do, I’m just in no mood to take part in,” he waved his hand, “all of this.”
   Gregor was speaking again, saying something somber to the crowd.
   “Do you need the Council’s permission to attach to a mark like that?” Matthew asked, watching the young tester getting dragged out of sight to the east.
   “They think you do,” Epp said. His tone was sour, harsher than Matthew had ever heard him. Matthew decided to switch topics.
   “What the longest rope that anyone’s ever used?”
   Epp didn’t answer; he only stared down at Gregor and the crowd. On the other side of him Kyo chuckled his deep dry laugh.
   “Great,” Matthew said. “Let me guess. That question is fundamentally stupid on some deep level that I don’t understand.”
   Epp continued staring. He took a deep breath, his chest rising, then let it out and seemed to relax some. “The year was 1655,” he said, and with one last look down at the fountain, he turned and began to speak.
   
—–

   The cold rain pelted down on the black mud digging thousands of tiny holes in the earth. Epp’s coat was drenched over his breeches and waistcoat and he was staring with obvious anger at Kyo, who was dressed in a rough jerkin hanging above wrinkled stockings.
   “He’s in the schoolhouse,” Kyo said, pointing across the empty farmland surrounding them towards a small town of clustered cottages. Epp glanced down at his shoes as he walked, sneering at the accumulation of mud.
   “I should be in London,” Epp said, slogging his way towards the town.
   “No,” Kyo responded woodenly, “no, you should not.”
   “There is absolutely nothing worth nothing out here, Kyo. Mud farmers and small town lords…and you know what will be here in a hundred years? Mud farmers and small town lords.”
   “You told me to find you a mark. I found you a mark.”
   “Yes, but somebody interesting. Not some rube out in the sticks that needs help milking his goats.”
   “The great Epictetus,” Kyo said as they followed the road into town. The rain continued down, the sound of it hammering down on the cottage roofs a different pitch than the sound of it pouring down over the fields. “Your arrogance has grown to the point where it is in danger of choking you, Epp.”
   “My arrogance? My arrogance has nothing to do with the fact that I would greatly prefer to be in London at the moment searching for something more interesting to occupy my time with.”
   They passed through the wall of the schoolhouse. Kyo stopped at the desk of a young boy seated next to the window. With a knife the boy was carving something into the window sill.
   “His name is Ayscough,” Kyo said.
   “And he is a lost cause,” Epp said, eying him, seeming to study something underneath the visible appearance of the boy.
   “You don’t see it?” Kyo asked.
   “And what is it I’m supposed to be seeing?”
   “You can’t even see his potential, can you? Are you that far gone?”
   Epp sighed, fed up with Kyo, and looked around as if getting ready to leave. “I truly don’t know what we’re doing here.”
   “We are here,” Kyo said, advancing, hard eyes searching Epp’s face with anger, “so that I can teach you the only thing I possibly can teach you: humility.”
   “I don’t need to learn any more humility,” Epp said, avoiding Kyo’s gaze. “This boy could be great. And on and on. All I have to do is believe. I get it.”
   “Clearly you don’t,” Kyo said. “And I never thought I’d see the great Epp acting as scared as you are now.”
   “Scared,” Epp said, dismissing the remark.
   “You hide behind your fame and your past works. You occupy your time with the Council and—”
   “Don’t get me started on the Council right now.”
   “And you value your fame and your reputation over doing actual work in this world.”
   “The Council needs to be—”
   “The Council is none of your concern anymore. Even Gregor has come to forgive what happened. Your acts of defiance are now only distractions from how far you have slipped.”
   “How far I’ve slipped?” Epp asked, standing up to his full height, cutting an imposing figure in his coat and breeches. Off to his side the boy continued carving in the window sill. “You are talking to Epictetus, one of the only testers to have seen the age before Christ. I don’t need to stand here and listen to you lecture me about—”
   “Then why did you ask me to take you on?” Kyo asked. “I don’t care very much what you do. I’ve seen any number of testers grow fat and useless on their own arrogance. It makes no difference to me if you choose to go that route as well. But you agreed to become my charge and so here we are. So before you start quoting ancient deeds and meaningless titles at me, you should bear in mind that it was you who asked me to present you with a challenge.”
   Kyo looked down at the boy. “And so here we are. Twelve year old Ayscough is nothing but blind untapped potential. You knew I had a knack for spotting meat bags that others might overlook, you asked me to find you something that could actually challenge you, that might possibly be a danger to you. You might have been desperate or drunk when you asked, that is no concern of mine, all I know is you asked, and here we are.”
   The boy continued to carve into the sill.
   “You have until tomorrow to make your initial measurements. Then you bind.”
   “Why bother with the wait,” Epp said, angry.
   “Let yourself calm down before you do anything foolish,” Kyo answered.
   “No. Why bother, if I’m going to waste sixty years of my existence on this boy I see no reason to delay another day. Let’s bind right now. And why don’t we go with no rope at all? A completely free binding? How’s that?”
   “You are making the mistake of thinking that you are going to teach me a lesson here,” Kyo said. “You forget that I belong to none of your clubs, I ascribe to none of your thoughts. I serve nothing.”
   “Oh? And I suppose I serve you? Is that what you mean to say?”
   “No,” Kyo said. “You serve them,” and he waved a hand around the room, indicating everyone in it and everyone beyond its walls. “All of them.”
   Epp didn’t react one way or the other for a few moments. Then he shuffled his feet and looked down at the boy. “In all seriousness…do you think I could do an infinite binding? No rope?” his question was plaintive, his argumentative mood gone now to be replaced by a quiet boyish insecurity.
   “If you’re as great as you seem to think you are then I see no reason why not. If you’re doing it in order to look as great as you think you are, then it will destroy you. But the thought of a ropeless bind had crossed my mind after you first approached me. I never thought you’d actually go for it.”
   “There are legends of it happening.”
   “Again. If you want to actually use that much freedom on your push, then you might survive. If you do it only so that you can seem legendary, I’m pretty sure you’ll perish or recede into cowardness.”
   Epp had stopped listening. He was staring down at the window sill. “What did you say his name was?”
   “Ayscough.”
   “Where’d you get that?” Epp asked.
   “It’s his mother’s surname.”
   Epp laughed, seeming to be on sure footing for the first time since the start of the conversation. “We’re not on the Pacific Rim, you crazy umbrella maker. Here in England it’s given name, then father’s surname.”
   Kyo seemed unsure of himself. “Oh?”
   “Yup.”
   “So…what’s his actual name?”
   “He carved it right here. Isaac,” Epp said, reading the window sill. “Isaac Newton.”
   
—–

   Kyo walked across the courtyard of Trinity College of Cambridge University. He entered the northern building near the courtyard entrance and made his way up a narrow stone stairway before walking through a closed door and into a small apartment.
   Epp was sitting over at the windowsill, his body backed by the small panes of glass interspersed through lead frames. He saw Kyo enter and he smiled and gave a gesture of greeting, then rolled his hand out as if unveiling something and Kyo’s eyes turned to see twenty three year old Newton sitting at a desk in the corner of the apartment furiously writing over some papers.
   “You’ve got something?” Kyo asked, walking up behind Newton and looking over the papers meticulously arranged across the desk. They were awash in calculations, some of which took up entire sheets, and precise sketches of arcs and tangents. In spite of the obvious attention to detail and accuracy the sheer amount of work represented on the papers all around created an air of disarray and chaos.
   “Those models we made when he was a teenager? Those were nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Epp said. “This is something else altogether.” Epp walked up to the desk and plucked the corner of one of the sheets at random. The page split into two, one copy laying on the table undisturbed while another appeared in Epp’s hand.
   Kyo squinted at the hunched numbers scattered all over the table. “Looks like algebra,” he said.
   “It’s beyond algebra, from what I’ve gathered. This can go where algebra can’t.” Epp flapped the sheet. “We’ve invented calculus.”
   Kyo turned his attention to the paper in Epp’s hand. “Actually,” Kyo said, “that’s a logarithm calculated out to about fifty places. I suppose if you took that and—”
   “Don’t bother,” Epp said, “I don’t understand a tenth of what this boy has done. I just know that we’ve invented something pretty big.”
   “Discovered something pretty big. Any number of people are working on these problems even as we speak. You’re having him write it up and send it around, I’m assuming?”
   “Of course,” Epp said smiling. “He’s writing up a letter now. Once he posts that I want you to go gather up as many members of the Council as you can find. I want them to see this.”
   Kyo turned away from the sheet of paper and began to examine Epp’s happy face. He was disappointed by what he saw there.
   “He’s writing a response to a letter right now,” Epp continued, “from someone named…”
   Epp turned and looked at the sheet that Newton was composing. “Wait,” he said. “No, don’t do that.” He came around and began reading over Newton’s shoulder. “He’s doing it again,” he yelled. With an exasperated sigh he looked over at Kyo.
   Kyo didn’t say anything, only continued to study Epp. “He’s been…hesitant to send things out. He received some replies that were less than worshipful earlier and since then there’s been some reluctance to-oh stop that!” he yelled as Newton crumpled up the sheet of paper he was writing on and began composing a new one. This time his pen moved with determination, no hesitation, and in a few minute he already had reached the point where he had crumpled up the last sheet.
   “Good,” Epp said. “Just finish your damned letter and let’s get this over with.” Epp returned to Newton’s shoulder and resumed reading. His face fell immediately. “No,” he spat out.
   “Problem?” Kyo asked.
   “He’s writing in code,” Epp said. “He’s sending out our discovery but he’s writing it in code!” Epp stood up, angry. “Who the hell shares their ideas using a secret code that nobody understands?”
   “Some would say that’s all that mathematicians do,” Kyo said, sitting back and watching Epp, amused.
   “You’re going to do this and you’re going to do this right,” Epp said, coming around to stand next to Newton. “We’re just going to recopy this letter and then,” Epp reached a hand up to Newton’s head then screamed and jumped back, tripping over himself he fell onto the stone floor before curling up, holding his hand in pain.
   Kyo stood over the wincing Epp. “You don’t seem to have the greatest rapport with your mark, Epp.” Kyo walked back over to Newton. He bent down and began examining him. “You pushed him towards the calculus, did you?”
   “I gave him a couple of kicks, yes,” Epp said, sitting up, flexing his hand.
   “A couple of kicks? That sounds rather clumsy,” Kyo came around to the front of Newton and peered into his eyes.
   “I don’t need advice from a pauper,” Epp said, gathering himself up quickly and hurrying over towards the desk. “I’ve got this completely under control.”
   “He’s paranoid,” Kyo said, concluding his examination of Newton.
   Epp stopped. “That’s impossible.”
   “No, it’s quite possible. He’s isolated and paranoid and not about to share anything that he creates.”
   Kyo looked at Epp with disgust. “This is a not a very impressive start, Epictetus. In fact,” Kyo turned and watched as Newton took the current sheet of paper and crumpled it up as well, “it’s rather disappointing.”
   
—–

   Kyo walked across the courtyard of Trinity College. He made his way into the building on the northern border and walked up the narrow stone steps. When he walked through the door into Newton’s chamber he found that it was all black within, the windows were heavily draped with everything covered except for a single beam of light.
   “We had to grind the prisms ourselves,” Epp said, standing next to twenty-nine year old Newton as he carefully arranged two pieces of glass on a table. The beam of light was traveling into the room and striking the first glass, at which point it changed into a band of multicolored light before striking the second glass and turning back into a single beam of white light.
   “This is what made us decide to redesign the telescope,” Epp said. He was anxiously walking back and forth with Isaac, his uncontained energy contrasting with Newton’s meticulous slowness as he took any number of observations of the refracted light. “He kept wanting to see things the old way but I kept forcing him out of it until we got to this point.” Epp was practically hopping from one foot to the other as he watched Newton at work. In spite of his energy there was a worn look to him and he was sweating heavily. “Do you know what this means? Everything is different. Objects don’t generate color. It’s all backwards. Objects appear different colors depending on how they interact with light, with this,” and he gestured in the dark at the rainbow, “with light itself.”
   Kyo busied himself at the table, enjoying what he was seeing but somehow uncomfortable. His eye strayed towards Epp more than it focused on the prisms and the light.
   Eventually Newton backed away from the table and removed the drapes over the window.
   “I suppose that’s interesting enough,” Kyo said.
   “That’s it?” Epp asked. “That’s all you have to say?”
   Kyo stared at Epp.
   “You know what? I don’t think I want to wait anymore. Can you go call on some of the other testers? Go ahead and contact the Council too, while you’re at it. It’s time everyone knew about this.”
   “Knew about what?” Kyo asked, impassive.
   “About…about all this,” Epp said, looking around at the room that was now empty except for Isaac sitting at his desk.
   “Epp,” Kyo said reluctantly, “you still haven’t done any real work.”
   Epp stopped pacing, the bounce fell out of his body and he turned to stare with smoldering anger at Kyo. “You keep saying that. I’ve been working this guy for eighteen years and you keep coming back to me over and over again, after every new thought, every new equation, every new experiment, and you tell me that it isn’t enough.” He began circling, walking slowly, moving towards the window, his eyes tracking Kyo. “The telescope? That wasn’t enough?”
   “The telescope was the hit of the Royal Society,” Kyo said. “I told you they were fascinated and you received any number of letters asking for an explanation of what Newton had learned in order to make it, and what he had learned after making it, and what came out of that?”
   “They got the telescope,” Epp said, “that wasn’t enough?”
   “It’s a trinket. They want to know how it works.”
   “He knows,” Epp said, pointing at Newton.
   “But you can’t get him to share,” Kyo said, his words were laced with delicacy, although there was a firmness underneath that made it unlikely that he was going to back down. “It’s the calculus all over again.”
   “He knows,” Epp said. “It’s all in there,” he said, pointing at Newton’s head.
   “And if it stays in there than it will be of absolutely no use to anyone.”
   “So he has to share? Is that it?”
   “There’s no give and take here. He just throws out conclusions that are as startling as they are brilliant, but with no backing he’s not a member of the modern scientific community, he’s more of a throwback to the age of magicians.”
   “He’s still brilliant.”
   “Agreed. But that was there before you came along. What is it that you’ve managed to bring out of him?”
   “You,” Epp snorted, “are really starting to get to me. Have you not seen anything we’ve done in the past two decades?”
   “I’ve seen all the things you’ve started. I’ve seen you bring exactly zero projects to completion.”
   “You know this is all very big talk from a hobo who’s never even pushed a little girl not to mention,” Epp was circling in closer, his face getting angrier and angrier as he spoke, “ever suffered an honest day’s pain in his life—”
   Epp’s words clipped off in bitter anger and he boiled over, charging at Kyo. There was a sweeping motion around Kyo’s body and Epp’s feet stopped running, the soles of his boots skidding across the stone floor before he came to stop a few feet in front of Kyo with the blade of a samurai sword resting across his neck. Kyo turned his wrist and the blade glinted in the sunlight.
   “I realize that you’re rather on edge,” Kyo said, “so why don’t we take a moment and recollect our thoughts?”
   Epp was frozen under the blade, his eyes peering down and to the side to get a glimpse of it. His face was thoughtful, as if he weren’t trying to physically avoid the blade so much as think his way around it. “Is it even possible for you to cut me with that?”
   “Let’s not find out,” Kyo said. With a slow withdrawal he took the blade away from Epp’s body and with another sweeping motion it disappeared.
   “I just feel like I’m doing enough here,” Epp said.
   “And I feel like there’s only one problem here that you both are sharing,” Kyo said. “He isn’t following through with anything because you aren’t following through with anything. You get two steps into a new idea and you get excited to show all your friends and it never comes to completion.”
   “And I,” Epp said, slowly and deliberately repeating himself, “feel like I am doing enough here.”
   “Despite what you think, Epp, I am not here to judge you. If you think this is the best you can do then this is the best you can do. But you should keep in mind that you sought me out for a reason. You knew I wasn’t part of your cadre and you came to me seeking a challenge. I respect you and the work you’ve done over the centuries can’t be ignored, but as of late you’ve stopped working and tried to build yourself a life here with your societies and your adulations and your yes-men praising everything you do.
   “You’ve grown weak, Epictetus. I mean look at you. You haven’t even suffered a single day you’ve been working this man. Have you even once felt the pain of your choices?
   “You’ve forgotten what it is you’re to do here. I’ll try and sum it up with some simple math.” Kyo walked over to where Newton was sitting and looked down. He flipped through some papers, then looked up again. “One choice,” Kyo said, holding up his fingers, “plus a second choice, equals an eternity of service. You made those choices, Epp. It is as simple as that.”
   Kyo took one last glance at the desk, then began walking towards the door. “I’ll check in on you again in a few—”
   “What if he’s too much for me to handle?” Epp said.
   Kyo smiled and Epp was surprised to realize that he had never seen Kyo do this, he was also surprised to see that it was friendly enough. “I knew who I was choosing a mark for,” Kyo said. “You’ll have to trust me on that.” Kyo reached the door. “But really you have no choice here. You could back down and not commit fully, but allowing yourself that weakness would kill you inside as surely as anything else.” He stood at the door and looked at Epp. “There are only two paths here, Epp. You can either walk off into the darkness, lighting fires where you can to warm those who might dare to come after you…or you can sit here and do nothing but complain about the cold. For people like you that isn’t much of a choice at all.”
   Then he turned and walked through the door.
   Epp stood there, breathing slowly, staring at the door, lost in thought as Isaac Newton scribbled at his desk on the other side of the room.
   
—–

   Kyo walked across the courtyard of Trinity College under a clear starry night. He approached Epp and Newton standing near the entrance to the northern building. He nodded at Epp, received a nod back in reply, then he turned and stared up into the sky.
   “It’s beautiful,” Kyo said.
   “He certainly thinks so,” Epp replied, staring up at the comet looming over head, its luminous tail four times as large as the moon, hanging in the sky above them.
   Newton remained outside for hours watching the comet move across the nighttime sky. Epp stood with him and Kyo stood with Epp and no man uttered a word.
   Sometime after dawn Newton finally returned from his stupor and made his way inside. Epp didn’t follow.
   “Something’s happening,” Epp said.
   “Oh?”
   “This comet…and an argument we had a few years ago with Hooke. It’s…something’s there.”
   Kyo studied Epp, watched him struggling with his words, saw the wear on his face.
   “I know you probably don’t believe me, but I think maybe this is it. I think I’m ready to see what Mr. Newton is capable of.”
   “I believe you,” Kyo said softly.
   Epp looked at Kyo curiously. “Why now?”
   “Are you really going to try in earnest?” Kyo asked.
   “Yes. I am. But how did you know?”
   Kyo looked Epp up and down again. “How did you die?” he asked.
   Epp’s eyes narrowed. “I woke up, heard the woman I loved screaming from behind one wall and my wife screaming from behind the other. It was a house fire. They lived…I died.”
   “You died in the fire?”
   “Yes.”
   “That’s how I know you’re serious this time,” Kyo pointed down at Epp’s hand. When Epp held it up in the dawn light a sickened look came over his face as he saw it blister and writhe.
   “Your hand is burning,” Kyo said.
   Epp stared at his hand, flexing it, shaking it in the air.
   “I’d like to bring in someone to help,” Kyo said. “If you’re going to lock with Newton I think we might need it.”
   Epp’s eyes never left his hand. “Okay,” he said. Then he looked up. “Nobody I know too well. Nobody too connected. I don’t want to see any of them.”
   “Afraid you might fail?” Kyo asked.
   “No. I just don’t want the distraction. I think I know someone who would work. She was a nun. She just crossed over a few years before I latched on here. Her name is Mary. If we’re going to need someone to patch me up, she knows some basic medicine. She should be fine. I’ll send her word.”
   “I can track her down,” Kyo said. “Shouldn’t take too long. You going to be okay while I’m gone? You’re not tethered you know.”
   “I know.”
   “I’ll be back soon. Try not to stray too far.”
   “Try not to take too long.”
   “Okay then.”
   
—–

   “I’m still not sure why I’m here,” Mary said. “There have to be hundreds of testers dying to help Epp out.”
   “He wants to keep this quiet,” Kyo said.
   They were in Newton’s chamber. Isaac was seated in his usual spot at his desk. Epp was standing off to the side, watching as he wrote. Epp sighed and turned back to face the room. “One more time,” he said. His hand waved and a wooden tank appeared hovering over the floor. He banged a fist against the tank and water began to pour out of a hole drilled in the bottom.
   Epp grunted and bent over slightly, his hand held against his body. He coughed and closed his eyes as Newton began scribbling furiously. Once Newton’s writing slowed down Epp reached his hand out and held it under the flow of water, which immediately began to turn to steam as he closed his eyes and flexed his fingers.
   “What does water falling out of a tank have anything to do with a comet?” Mary asked.
   Kyo just stared and shook his head. “Don’t know.” The water was finished emptying and with a wave of his hand Epp made the tank disappear. “Bandage him up,” Kyo said.
   Mary looked from Kyo to Epp, then shook her head before walking across the room, strips of fabric appearing in her hands as she walked.
   
—–

   Epp was sweating, his waistcoat was off and he was constantly wiping his brow as he paced up and down Newton’s apartment.
   “Seems like an awful lot of waiting around goes into this,” Mary said.
   Kyo turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “Perhaps you’d like to give it a try?”
   “Oh no,” Mary said. “Mr. Epp said he was going to show me a few things before he let me try anything on my own.”
   “Your lessons are going to be on hiatus after this is all over,” Kyo said, watching Epp pace.
   “You’ve said that before,” Mary said, “what do—”
   Kyo put a hand on her arm and she silenced immediately. Newton’s head was cocked, deep in thought. Epp was watching him, his eyes moving back and forth, fixed on nothing, as if looking for something specific far in the distance. Then with no warning Epp disappeared.
   Kyo jumped forward almost toppling Mary over. “Where did he go?” he turned, shouting at her.
   “I don’t know,” Mary said, no concern for herself evident, only worry about Epp. “It looked…I think he was headed for the coast.”
   Kyo looked around at the area where Epp had vanished. “That was fast,” he said, examining the area like a dog picking up a scent, “that was very fast.”
   “Can you find him?”
   “Think so,” Kyo said. “Hope so. Come on.” He took Mary’s hand and the two disappeared. When Mary felt land under her feet again she opened her eyes and looked around to see that they were standing on a small wooden pier. The tide was in and the wooden planks were only a few inches above the water. She looked around to see that they were in some sort of port town, seagulls cackled overhead as people strolled along the dock.
   Kyo was hurrying towards a specific point on the walkway and Mary could see that steam was coming up from under the boards. Kyo looked at the people all around him. He sighed. “Hopefully this won’t be too obvious.”
   In one fluid motion he reared up on tiptoe and raised a hand above his head, then dipped down, the hand closing into a fist as he dropped to one knee, his fist hurtling through the air until it crashed into the boards, splitting them, sending them exploding off in all directions to rattle along the walkway, his arm plunging into the water, then drawing back, pulling Epp up by the collar, tossing him onto his back on the pier.
   Steam was billowing off of Epp’s body as his chest hitched and his body spasmed, he struggled for air, taking short shallow breaths, each one coming directly after the other.
   “He’s drowning,” Mary said, hands at her face.
   Kyo shook his head, tense as he watched Epp finally start to calm down. “No. He’s choking on smoke.”
   “Kyo, sir? What does the tide going out have to do with a comet?”
   “Don’t know.” Kyo shook his head. “Bandage him,” he said stepping back.
   
—–

   “They’re propelled by God’s will,” Mary said. “They come to visit from far off realms and they flash past us on their journeys.”
   She and Kyo were sitting in an out of the way corner of Newton’s room. She was sitting upright, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Kyo was sprawled backwards, his chair tilted against the wall.
   “See,” Kyo said. “I always thought comets were just small planets, only there was,” he tried to illustrate what he was saying with his hands, “a huge fire lit on one end of them that pushed them through the sky.”
   “That doesn’t make a lot of—”
   Kyo stood up so fast his chair toppled over.
   “He’s gone again,” Kyo said. “Fast…really fast this time.” Kyo strode across the room and looked down at Newton, working by lamplight at his desk, the moon visible out of the window.
   Kyo went so far as to actually sniff the air around where Epp had vanished. He looked out the window again and Mary could see that his face was pallid. “I’m not from around here,” Kyo said, his eyes never leaving the window, “but whatever god it is you people pray to perhaps you could ask him to watch over me for the next few hours.”
   “You want me to ask Jesus for help?”
   “Is he powerful?”
   “He’s our one and only god and savior.”
   “Then he should do just fine, yes.” Kyo turned to look back at Mary. Then he rippled and disappeared.
   
—–

   Kyo emerged into total darkness. There was no usual feeling of his feet touching down onto solid ground. Instead there was nothing.
   Kyo was a man who took care to maintain his composure and the sound of his heart thumping in his ears was doubly disturbing both because of the loss of control it represented as well as the fact that it was the only sound he could hear.
   He turned his head and felt a disorienting sense of motion in the opposite direction he was looking, everything was jumbling, nothing was doing what it was supposed to. Turning his head the other way created the same sensation until he saw Epp floating a few feet away from him and then, with a point of reference, some sense of direction returned.
   He reached a hand out and, concentrating, slowly, he was able to take a hold of Epp’s wrist. There was no sign of life in Epp’s body and when Kyo touched his skin it was cold.
   Kyo began to notice things, little bits of light here and there and he was getting a better sense of how to move. Holding Epp’s wrist he managed a torturously slow back flip, his head coming around to see what was behind him and as his heartbeat slowed to a methodic pounding pulse he took one deep unending breath and stared at the Earth floating millions of miles away, the moon slowly passing in front of it, the sun further in the distance passing behind the Earth. Then Epp’s wrist began to burn in his hand and he squinted hard as Epp began to glow brighter than anything else he could see.
   Kyo could feel the heat coming off of Epp’s body and even with his eyes closed and his head turned he could still see only the bright red of his own eyelids. “Epp!” Kyo yelled, his hand searing against Epp’s wrist as Epp’s body began to shake.
   “Epp!” Kyo screamed and he forced his eyes open to see the moon pass in front of the earth and the earth pass in front of the sun and then he could hear Epp struggling to breath through gasps and he shut his eyes again.
   Kyo tried to move, tried to get back to Newton’s apartment, and he felt that he could make it, but when he tried to take Epp with him there was only a wiggle of movement, like he was pulling on the handle of a locked door. He tried again but again Epp budged only a bit before stopping dead.
   Kyo could feel the skin of his hand begin to slide off as Epp’s wrist burned hotter and hotter. Kyo tensed and pulled one last time. There was a sense of motion, of falling, of accelerating well beyond any sane speeds and then there was heat and more heat and then wind rushing past them and then they both crashed onto the stone floor of Newton’s room, Epp slipping out of Kyo’s grip to go skidding off into the corner and the whole building trembled and Kyo noticed that there was daylight coming through the window and he had the sense to wonder how long he had been gone as Epp began screaming and Mary ran across the room towards him and Newton, staring idly out the window, watched as a gust of wind shook the branches of a tree causing a ripe apple to let go of it’s branch and fall with an unceremonious plop onto the ground outside.
   Isaac Newton grunted, furrowed his brow, then turned back to his papers.
   Kyo got to his feet and rotated his arm in its socket, feeling it slowly returning to normal. He walked as he rubbed his shoulder to where Mary was kneeling over Epp, smoke pouring off his clothes. He was a mess, no part of him was unharmed, and Mary was having a hard time even looking at him. It was clear, though, that Epp was breathing, and his eyes were open.
   “Are we done here?” Mary asked. “I’m not sure what I can do with him now,” she looked up, panicked. “He needs to get to a mountaintop if he’s even going to have a chance.”
   Epp nodded. “That’s everything…all wrapped up. I’m done.” He tried to sit up but failed miserably, his eyes looking at the charred tatters of clothing that were clinging to his burnt body.
   “I’m going to need a new suit,” he mumbled.
   “We’ll work on that,” Kyo replied. Mary looked up at Kyo expectantly and Kyo nodded in reply. Then he turned to Epp.
   “Epictetus,” Kyo said. “Pick your mountaintop.”
   Mary leaned in close and Epp whispered something in her ear, then all three began to ripple, then they vanished.
   Across the room Newton coughed, the sound loud in the empty room, then returned to his writing.
   
—–

   “Then what happened?” Matthew asked.
   “A few months later Newton published the Principia,” Kyo said, staring down at Bethesda fountain in Central Park. “And the rest is history. Epp woke up a couple hundred years later feeling fine and we all lived happily ever after.”
   “That’s amazing,” Matthew said.
   “It’s okay,” Epp said.
   “You changed the nature of the universe.”
   “For a few years, yes. Then a little kid and a blond waif got their claws into a patent clerk in Switzerland and everything got thrown out the window.”
   The crowd below was emptying out and Epp stepped back from the ledge, limping a few steps before he got his cane under him, then began walking around towards the stairs. “Let’s go say hello, as long as we’re here.”
   Kyo, Mary and Matthew followed. Bartleby was already near the staircase. As Epp walked past, Bartleby grunted and held his hand in close to his coat. “Problems?” Epp asked, hobbling by.
   “No,” Bartleby said, clearly bottling up pain, “nothing I can’t handle.”
   The group made their way downstairs and walked up to Gregor standing next to Hector in the mirrored sunglasses.
   Gregor had a smile on his face that was dry and dusty and he reached a gaunt hand out to take Epp’s, enclosing it with his other hand. “It is good to see you, Epp.”
   “Was a wonderful ceremony,” Epp said.
   “Yes, well you know how important these things are.”
   Epp didn’t respond.
   “I heard about your leg. I wanted to give you this.” Gregor held out a handmade cane to Epp.
   Epp winced, uncomfortable having to decline the gift. “I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his own, now slightly worn cane. “It’s just that I’m used to this one by now.”
   “Of course,” Gregor said.
   The rest of the group said their hellos and made some small talk before they then said their goodbyes and began to walk away.
   Once out of earshot Matthew sniffed a few times and wrinkled his nose. “That big guy smells funny. Like rotten leaves or something.”
   “You don’t have a body,” Epp said.
   “I know, I know, but he really does smell like dead leaves.”
   “You don’t have a body,” Epp repeated, a little more sternly, “so you don’t have a nose.”
   “If I don’t have a nose, Epp, then how do I smell? Can you answer that?”
   “Terrible,” Epp said.
   “That was horrible,” Matthew said over the sound of Kyo’s laughter, gruff and dusty but warm just the same.
   “My god, I haven’t heard a setup that bad in seventy years,” Epp said as they left the area by the western path.
   Gregor stood next to Hector and watched them leave. The rest of the crowd had long since departed and the two men were alone. Hector was holding the unaccepted cane.
   He had it gripped in one fist, about halfway up. “You know,” he said, his thumb slipping up the side of the cane, “I really hate that arrogant asshole.” He flexed his thumb and the thick wooden cane snapped in two.
   “Patience,” Gregor said, as the sound of Epp laughing barely carried back to them through the cold winter air. “You’ll get your chance soon enough.”

Part 5: Robin’s Flight

   
   The graveyard was covered in snow. Hector stood and shuffled his feet, his suit jacket stretching taut across his strong back and shoulders, his mirrored sunglasses a tiny snow covered graveyard all on their own.
   Next to him stood a shorter man with a bald eggshell skull and a hat in his hands. He was working the brim of his hat through his fingers, rotating it in circles over and over. Gold rimmed spectacles covered his face like the clasp on a jewelry box. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then went back to moving his hat through his fingers.
   Behind him stood a girl in her early twenties with long hair as dark as a raven and black eyebrows over a plump nose. Her eyes were heavily lidded and the hints of purple makeup surrounding them served to make her hair seem darker. Overall her face gave the impression of stupidity unless she happened to look directly at you, at which point an intense energy was conveyed. The rest of her was bouncy, as if she were six years old and impatiently waiting for something. One of her hands was bare; the other was sheathed in a delicate looking black leather glove. She was staring at the back of the bald man’s head.
   “I still don’t understand why Gregor wants to meet with me here of all places,” the short man said looking around at the snow capped gravestones.
   “Because he does, Jerome,” Hector said with the air of someone who doesn’t care much about the complaint he’s responding to.
   Hector reached over and took Jerome’s arm, pulling it closer he looked down at his watch. Then he turned and looked back over his shoulder at the raven haired woman, holding Jerome’s arm up as if it were merely an extension of the watch, he asked, “Is this right?”
   The woman didn’t respond, only remained staring at the nape of Jerome’s neck.
   “Nyx?” Hector said, and the woman stirred and focused on him. “Nyx, is this right?”
   Nyx pulled a pocket watch from her coat pocket. “It’s right,” she said, then she resumed her stare at the back of Jerome’s head.
   “It’s just unnatural is what it is,” Jerome said, not paying much attention to any of this. “Our kind shouldn’t be spending time in a graveyard.”
   “Gregor got to know graveyards rather well back when the Council was starving him out,” Hector said, his voice engaging in the conversation now that they had found a topic he was interested in discussing.
   “And when was that?” Jerome asked. “Three, four hundred years ago? The Council relented; Gregor doesn’t need to frequent these places anymore.”
   “You mean Epp relented.”
   “Epp was only a small part of what happened, Hector. He created the Council, sure, but he envisioned less an attempt at a governing body and more a general pool of knowledgeable people that could share ideas.” Jerome’s voice was nasally, a quality that, combined with his demeanor, made him always sound as if he were giving a lecture.
   “Epp created the Council,” Hector countered. “He put all those testers into one room and directed them to consider Gregor’s actions. And he didn’t stop them when they decided to punish Gregor. And I believe starving Gregor out was even Epp’s idea. They wouldn’t let Gregor, a fully formed tester, push anyone. The man roamed this world with no energy to feed on. You wonder why he wants to meet in a graveyard? These places are like second homes to him. He almost became a permanent resident.”
   “I’m aware of the history,” Jerome said with indignation. He looked at his watch again. “It was a period of time when barriers of all kinds were being broken, the world was shrinking and travel between continents was far more widespread. I hardly think Epp is responsible for a hundred other testers becoming overzealous with the notion of what was possible. Even Gregor himself has forgiven the Council to the point that he’s taken a position of prominence among them.”
   Hector tilted his torso forward so as to get a good look at Jerome. “You really are one of his, aren’t you?”
   “One of who’s?” Jerome asked, shrinking away from Hector’s body language.
   “One of Epp’s.”
   “He was the first tester I came in contact with after my first choice. And he became a bit of a mentor to me after my second choice, but I hardly consider myself ‘one of his.’” Jerome was overly diffident, using the tone of someone who is proud of what he has become but is still too unsure of himself to allow any credit to be given to anyone else.
   “You’re one of his, alright,” Hector said, backing away and staring at the snow. “It’s important to understand one’s heritage, Jerome.”
   Hector looked back at Nyx. She was holding up her pocket watch by its chain, letting it swing back and forth, and she shook her head and mouthed the word, “No.”
   “How much longer are we going to wait?” Jerome asked.
   “We asked someone else to meet us here,” Hector said, glancing around. “Another Epp supporter. Guy’s name is Robin. But it looks like he won’t be showing up.”
   “Hector,” Jerome said, smiling, “I’d hardly call myself a supporter of Epp. The connotations of that word make it sound like—” 
   Jerome broke off his thought and jumped backwards as a decayed hand landed with a clump on the headstone right in front of him. The hand flexed and grabbed a hold of the rounded top of the stone and pulled the rest of the body up, a half rotted head rising into sight, teeth visible through holes in its cheeks, eyeballs looking too large for the head without skin covering them as they stared at Jerome. The mouth of the thing opened and it breathed heavily, its wrinkled lips making a sick mockery of a smile, and Jerome got the distinct notion it was trying to laugh or express happiness of some sort. He stepped forward and quickly moved his hands; yellow caution tape appeared tying the corpse to the headstone.
   “You know, just because they move slowly,” Jerome said, turning back towards Hector and Nyx, “doesn’t mean they still aren’t dangerous.”
   Hector looked at Nyx and nodded. “Actually,” he said, suddenly loud and engaged, and Jerome turned to hear what he had to say. “They don’t always move slow. If they’re fed powerful enough testers, enough of them mind you, they actually start to grow back.”
   Jerome looked puzzled. “Who would feed them testers?”
   “I’m just saying,” Hector said, “they wind up here because they’ve given up, and they start to rot because they don’t take in any energy,” Hector regarded the corpse tied up in yellow tape. “And after awhile their hunger passes a point and they become dangerous, able to feed on testers themselves, able to suck life from what they once were. However, if one of these things,” Hector said, walking over to the decaying corpse and beginning to unravel the yellow tape Jerome had put up, “gets to feed on ten or twelve good healthy testers, they actually start to grow back. And the funny thing is that they come back faster than normal and far,” Hector wadded up the yellow tape as the thing began to move again, “far more powerful. And, eventually, they come to look just like any other tester out there…although there are always some parts of them that don’t regenerate fully.” The rotting corpse was resuming its painfully slow crawl towards Jerome. “Like, say one of their hands might not look right.” Behind Jerome, Nyx flexed her one gloved hand, the leather creaking in the cold. “Or their eyes might not completely heal.” Hector stared at Jerome through his mirrored sunglasses.
   “What are you—”
   Nyx slipped behind Jerome and clamped a hand over his mouth, his eyes opening wide as she caught him mid-breath. Her other hand went to his shoulder. With what seemed like the gentlest pressure she pressed down and Jerome’s body sank to the ground.
   It was clear from his thrashing and muffled yells that he was trying to fight back, but every attempt to push back against Nyx accomplished nothing and when he tried to dig his fingers under her hand and pry it away from his mouth it looked like he was trying to bend solid steel.
   She held him down on his knees in front of her, facing the rotting corpse that was crawling his way. Jerome’s face managed to push against Nyx’s hand hard enough at one point that he cut himself and smeared blood on Nyx’s palm. With a gasp of delight she took her hand off his mouth and held it up in front of her face.
   Jerome began screaming but even with only her one gloved hand on his shoulder, Nyx easily held him in place. She closed her eyes and was about to taste his blood when Hector grabbed her wrist.
   “No,” he ordered. “He’s not yours.”
   “But it’s only a drop,” she pouted as Jerome turned back to look at them and began to beg.
   “I don’t trust you to stop once you start,” Hector said.
   “Please,” Jerome pleaded, a thin edge of panic lining his voice, “let me up you’re hurting me and—”
   Nyx clamped her hand over his mouth again.
   The thing was close now. Jerome’s screams grew louder against Nyx’s palm, short whistling breaths spurted out of his nose, and then his muffled screams grew higher in pitch as the thing reached a hand into his stomach and began to feed.
   Eventually it was over.
   Hector and Nyx sat back against the next row of gravestones and stared at the area of ground that was now a mix of snow white, dirt brown and blood red. Nothing of Jerome was left and the corpse was laying face down. The changes were small but noticeable. Parts of its clothes were less tattered, and the hands were showing marked improvement, almost no bone was visible on the right one.
   “How many more do you think for this one?” Nyx asked, sucking Jerome’s blood off the heel of her palm.
   “I’d say maybe four,” Hector said. “But we could probably name it after the next one.”
   Nyx tilted her head and ran her tongue over her teeth. “He tastes English,” she decided.
   Hector suddenly gripped her arm.
   “What?” she asked, trying to wriggle away from him.
   He got to his feet and pulled her up as well. “Did you see that?” he said, staring out over the graves.
   “See what?”
   “I think it was the other one.”
   “Robin?”
   Hector nodded. “Did you notice anyone here earlier?”
   “Me?” Nyx asked. “No, I sort of had my hands full, remember? Do you think he saw anything?”
   “He saw this,” Hector said, looking around at the mess in the snow, “that’s for certain.” He turned to her. “Can you go after him?”
   “I can try,” she said.
   “Okay. Go. I’m going to get a hold of Gregor.”
   Nyx walked lightly over to the area where Hector had seen something and began to look around. Her face was sour in thought. She contemplated the snow, the gravestones, the air, the nearby trees, then her usual look of blank bounciness came back as she figured something out and a few seconds later she was gone. Hector watched this, then he vanished as well.
   Face down in the snow the back of the not so rotted corpse rose and fell, rose and fell, as it breathed in the cold winter air.
   
—–

   The hallway was big and full of echoes as people passed up and down it, moving in and out of the offices that ran its cold stone length. Hector stood in the middle of the hallway watching Gregor talking to three or four testers over by a wooden bench. Occasionally a handful of passing persons would walk through them, oblivious to their existence. Eventually Gregor finished discussing whatever it was he was discussing with the three other testers and with a few handshakes and goodbyes they turned and left.
   “You’d think the Council could figure out a better place to meet,” Hector said as another handful of people walked through him and Gregor. “Like a big empty cave or something.”
   Gregor looked confused. “Who wants to meet in a cave? There are plenty of empty rooms in this building. We’re always causing leaks or broken windows or what have you so if someone needs privacy or can’t hear themselves talking over the din there’s somewhere to go. But most meetings are like the one you just saw, a couple of people stopping in to chat about something or ask a question before heading off. Nobody wants to trek out to some distant empty cave. We like this place.”
   “Still,” Hector said, walking along beside Gregor, he raised his voice as someone walked through him going the other direction shouting into a cell phone, “we’re basically gods to these things. It seems a little backwards to me.”
   “Well maybe we’ll look into fixing that after things have changed. Now,” Gregor said, stopping at a door with a “Closed for Repainting” sign taped to the outside, “please step into my office.”
   The two walked through the door and entered a small room. The furniture inside was draped over with dust covers. Gregor looked around. “They’ve been painting this room since Son of Sam was around.”
   “Still seems silly,” Hector said, taking a seat, the dust cover rumpling under his body.
   “So,” Gregor said, sitting on the corner of the desk and looking down at Hector. “Your message said that Robin never showed?”
   “Never showed is most likely,” Hector answered, “but there’s a chance he showed up at the wrong time and then took off.”
   “So he could have seen…”
   “He could have seen everything, nothing, a tiny bit, it’s impossible to say, I only thought I might have seen something. At the most he’ll be suspicious. I don’t think, even if he really was there, that he saw enough to get anyone of any import to panic with him.”
   “The only one of any import,” Gregor said, tugging at his lip and staring down at the floor, “is Epp. Everyone else can be handled, or already has been handled, at this point.” Hector waited, not saying anything, recognizing that Gregor was lost in thought. Eventually Gregor looked up, something having been decided, although Hector also knew that whatever had been decided might never be revealed to him. “This is why there are supposed to be two of you there for every feeding,” Gregor said.
   “You have any idea how hard it is to lure a tester into a graveyard? We got two testers agreeing in one week, we decided it was worth the risk.”
   “Don’t call them testers,” Gregor said.
   “It’s what they are.”
   “I know but,” Gregor turned away, dissatisfied with the thought, “they’re of a certain class of testers.” Then his thoughts took a different track. “You are double checking my research, right? I don’t want anyone fed to the kids if we even have a doubt that--”
   “I’ve told you,” Hector said, “all of the victims are checked over carefully by me, and if I’m unsure then we don’t move forward. The only ones we’re using for fodder are the ones who, when push comes to shove, were the ones who were going to stand by Epp to the very end.”
   “That maniac has more people willing to support him than seems possible,” Gregor said with tired musing.
   “True,” Hector replied. “But not nearly as many as he used to have.”
   Gregor nodded. “Okay, so, Robin? What are you doing about that?”
   “Nyx is sniffing him out. She’s decent at tracking people down, nothing like that Japanese freak, but she can do okay.”
   “I’m assuming you mean Kyo.”
   “Yeah, that guy. You really think you have him handled?”
   “When the time comes,” Gregor said, “I believe he’ll come right to us.”
   “Well, when that happens, I know Nyx wants first crack. She’s dying to know what he tastes like.”
   “I’ll keep that in mind,” Gregor said, rolling his eyes. “Now back to Robin.”
   “We wait and see what Nyx can turn up. If Robin saw anything than there’s really only one person he’s going to try to get in touch with. How likely is Epp to see him?”
   “He’ll see him, they were close enough a few centuries ago, but I’m not sure if Robin has Epp’s current number.”
   “So if Robin gets a bead on where Epp is and shows up then Epp will most likely listen to him.”
   “And this whole thing will have to kick off much earlier than we planned,” Gregor agreed.
   “But Nyx is on his trail.”
   “And she’ll be in touch with us the second she knows anything?”
   “Of course,” Hector said. “And,” he went on, “we have the decided advantage that if Robin saw anything, then he’s bound to be in a complete panic. He’s not likely to trust anyone but Epp himself.”
   “Yes,” Gregor said, “there’s that. Do we know where Epp is? I usually make some pretext to contact him every day or so—”
   “Or put him on trial.”
   “I saw a shot,” Gregor said, “I took it. At any rate, I haven’t heard from Epp in a day or so but he’s most likely with that new one he’s bringing along.”
   “The idiot?”
   “Matthew, yes. Epp certainly chooses strange company, doesn’t he?”
   “He’s a fan of anything deviant.”
   “Well, while Nyx is trying to follow Robin you can try to find Epp. That’s where Robin is headed. If you can stay close to Epp then we’ll basically have Robin trapped in between Nyx and yourself.”
   Hector nodded. “I’ll call around.”
   “Now,” Gregor said, “I have a meeting to get to,” and he stood up and walked through the door.
   Hector sat back on the dust cover, took out his cell phone and began making calls.
   
—–

   Matthew stood on the street corner watching people walk past. His tuxedo was billowing in quick ruffles against his body as the winter wind rushed up Lexington Avenue. People walked around him and through him, huddled against the cold, bent into the wind.
   Then he saw her, black hat covering her long hair and her hands in a puffy winter coat, and although he knew he had no heart he could feel his pulse racing, and although he knew he had no stomach he could feel it churning and although he knew he had no skin he could feel it prickling.
   “You know, there’s more than one reason why this is dangerous,” Epp said, appearing next to him. This effect usually startled Matthew, but he was too lost to be startled.
   “Just wanted to see my daughter again,” Matthew said, his eyes still on the girl. “What’s so dangerous about that?”
   “Nothing in this world is dangerous, Matthew, until it becomes so.” Epp stared with Matthew. “I do know how hard it is to resist, though. She looks like you.”
   “She has her mother’s eyes,” Matthew said, and the girl passed through Matthew, who gasped a pitched cry before his knees buckled and he fell to the ground, eyes squeezed shut, his face starting to break into grief. Matthew reached a wobbly hand up and pressed the heel of his palm against one of his eyes.
   “How long have you been following her?” Epp asked.
   Matthew didn’t answer, only continued to kneel on the sidewalk savoring his pain.
   “You know what’s down this path, Matthew.”
   “I just wanted to take a quick look,” Matthew argued, still on his knees but becoming bitter at Epp’s interruption.
   “Until I’m sure you can stop after one quick look I’m going to have to very,” Epp knelt down and got in Matthew’s face, “very strongly recommend that you stay away entirely. Because it always starts with one look, then it’s one more look, then one more, then just one more. Then next thing you know seventy years have passed and you’re rotting face down on top of her grave because you can’t break away. This is the person you loved enough to become what you are, Matthew. Don’t ever underestimate how much power she wields over you.”
   Matthew was clenching his teeth now as tears started to well up, “She’ll be gone someday,” he said, breathing deeply through his nose to clear his head. “I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything. I want to make sure—”
   “You want to make sure you remember the choice you made,” Epp said, his voice clipped and hard. “That’s all you need to remember. You belong to the world now, not just to her. You have lessons to learn and work to do.”
   Matthew sat down on the curb and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It came over me yesterday. It was…it was unbearable. Just this hollow rotting ache inside of me and I had to see her.”
   “Is that the first time the hurt has hit you for no reason?”
   Matthew took a deep breath and nodded in reply, fingers rubbing his closed eyes.
   “It only gets worse,” Epp said, sitting down next to him. “The most important thing is to always try to remember that it passes. Always.”
   Again Matthew breathed deeply through his nose. “I looked in on her yesterday, just for a second. And I couldn’t leave her. The feelings were…it was so strong…it was like a drug or something.”
   “Poets have made worse comparisons,” Epp said.
   “I didn’t understand what was going on. I mean it was like when I first pushed but worse somehow.”
   “I keep telling you, this can get dangerous. And it can get worse.”
   “You’re not exactly comforting, are you?”
   “It wasn’t me who made you come here, Matthew.”
   “Yeah but, it can get worse? How? To see her…living her life without me it’s horrible.”
   “The worst thing they can do is move on without you. Imagine it wasn’t your daughter but your wife. And imagine you watched her remarry.”
   “You’d think I’d be happy for her but…”
   “That’s not how it works.”
   “You ever go and see your choices? Visit their graves?”
   “Graves?” Epp smiled sadly down at the street. “There hasn’t been a grave over either of my choices in twelve hundred years. One of them has a warehouse over where she was buried. The place reeks of coffee beans at all hours of the day. It’s very strange.”
   “So you’ve been back.”
   “Sometimes. Sometimes I go there to think. Sometimes I go there to remember what it is about these creatures that I loved enough to continue on in this world as a tester.”
   “And it’s not dangerous for you?”
   “It’s always dangerous,” Epp said, turning to Matthew to make sure he was listening. “But I never make a game out of it or for a second try to fool myself that I’m in control when I’m not. The thing is, I’m not sure we’re meant to never visit with our choices. But for someone in their first year, I think maybe you should take it easy. Two days of watching is more than enough.”
   “I just can’t think of anything else to do.”
   “Nothing cures like work.”
   “You know, I did pass someone yesterday who seemed,” Matthew held up his hands trying to feel for the correct word, “ripe somehow. He was a weird looking guy with a pierced nose.”
   “That’s good. You might not be right but you need to slowly start learning how to read the marks that are best for you. You should probably track that down.”
   “You aren’t coming with me?”
   Epp eased a leg out into the street and ran his hand over his bad knee. He took a deep breath then sighed. “No, I’ve got something I think I need to do.”
   “But what if I…I mean I just left my daughter. You trust me not to go catch up with her?”
   “You aren’t a child, Matthew, so I will not hold your hand. In the end it’s on you. It is always on you. If you can’t break away now on your own, then you’ll never be able to break away on your own.”
   With a ripple Epp disappeared from where he was sitting.
   Matthew took one last deep breath, and then stood up. Instantly he was dying to go see his daughter. She was only a block or so away, and maybe she had met up with some friends, maybe he could hear her laughing, if he hurried he could-
   Matthew squeezed his eyes shut tight and clenched his teeth so hard the muscles of his face twitched as they flexed. His eyes were rimmed with tears by the time he managed to turn away a minute later. After he wiped them off, he forced himself to focus on the man with the pierced nose. Matthew had a vague idea of where he could find him. He found that if he stood still and listened hard he could hear him walking, it was just a matter of narrowing the direction down and-
   “Excuse me.”
   Matthew jumped and looked around. He was staring at a large man he had seen before. He couldn’t remember the man’s name but he immediately recognized the mirrored sunglasses.
   “Excuse me,” the man said, “but I was told that Epp might be around here somewhere. Did you happen to see him recently?”
   “He was just here maybe two minutes ago, but you missed him. He took off. I’m not sure where.”
   “Ah,” the man looked displeased by this news. “Well thanks. It’s Matthew, by the way, right?”
   “Right and you’re…”
   “Hector.”
   “Hector. Right. Hector.”
   “Do you have Epp’s most recent number?”
   Matthew took out his phone and looked at it. “No, sorry. I wasn’t really paying very close attention while he was here. And he just popped in and popped out. I didn’t get a very good grip on him.”
   “Okay,” Hector nodded, “well if you see Epp can you give me a call? I’d like to speak with him.”
   “Of course.”
   Hector disappeared and Matthew went back to trying to locate the man with the pierced nose. “I still think that guy smells like dead leaves, I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he said to himself.
   
—–

   It was eleven at night in Kuala Lumpur.
   “Okay,” Mary said, “now just take it easy. Are you feeling tense?” She was wearing a sun dress that rippled against her body as hot, humid air blew over her.
   Bartleby nodded, his all black attire contrasting with Mary’s cheerful outfit. “A little. It comes in waves. I’ll feel fine for awhile and then suddenly it’s like my whole chest cavity is boiling.”
   “Okay,” Mary said, agreeing with Bartleby. “Okay but for right now you feel okay, right?”
   “Yeah. For right now.”
   “Okay,” Mary said again, “now, open your eyes, but don’t look down yet. Just open them and stare straight ahead at me.”
   Bartleby did as he was told, opened his eyes, saw Mary smiling at him with big eyes. Saw one of the Petronas Towers behind her against the nighttime sky, the globe at the top glowing bright. His eyes wanted to move lower, to look below the globe to the growing rings of shiny steel layers of the spire, each one larger than the one above it until the top floor of the tower was reached. He forced himself to stare only at the lit ball at the top, taking deep breaths, noticing for the first time how hard the wind blew at this height.
   “Good,” Mary said encouragingly. “Now look down, but do it slowly,” she said, putting a reassuring hand on Bartleby’s arm.
   Bartleby did as she said and let his eyes drift lower, controlling his head so that slowly the entire fifteen hundred foot gap between himself and the earth came into view. He stared down and stayed in control until he felt like the ground was reaching up to pull him down at which point Mary yelped and pulled her hand back as he burst into flames.
   Mary ducked around to the other side of the spire, Bartleby’s flaming body reached its arms out and stared up at the nighttime sky and eventually extinguished itself.
   Mary came back around to where he was standing, his coat still smoking. “That was so much better,” she said, excited.
   “It was, wasn’t it?” Bartleby said, worried about granting himself too much credit but feeling that something real had been accomplished. “And,” he said, his arms smoking more heavily as his excitement began to grow, “heights have got to be my biggest problem. If I can handle myself looking down from here then—” he cut himself off as his right arm burst into flames. “Damn it,” he muttered, walking around the spire again, away from Mary, focusing on cooling his arm off.
   “I’m glad you feel this is working,” Mary shouted over to him through the wind, “although I still really don’t understand how you can’t be angry with Epp.”
   “It’s complicated,” Bartleby said, getting his arm under control and coming back towards Mary.
   “It would have to be,” Mary said once Bartleby was back in earshot.
   “Actually, it’s not that complicated, I just don’t think you’d understand.”
   “Oh?” Mary asked.
   “Well, it’s like how Epp trusted you to save him when he was being attacked in the graveyard.”
   Mary’s face fell and her head lowered. “I don’t like to think about that. If I hadn’t hesitated there Epp might not have his limp.”
   “Maybe, but the point is, he knew you were ready. He knew what you were capable of.”
   “I suppose.”
   “And he saw me as capable of making my way back from the farthest place he could put me.”
   “There’s no way he could have known that you would make it back from Mercury.”
   “No…I mean…I don’t know. I think he knew. I think the fire was a surprise, but I think some part of him knew. With Epp I’m learning that the harder he hits you the more he respects you.”
   “So you see all of this as flattering?
   “More or less.”
   “That is so warped.”
   “Excuse me?” someone shouted.
   Mary and Bartleby both turned to see a man standing on the other side of the spire. He was looking at Mary. “It’s Mary, right?”
   “Yes,” Mary said guardedly.
   “We met awhile ago, my name’s Robin.”
   “Robin?” Mary said, trying to place the face.
   “Look, it’s not important, I’m just trying to find Epp and I was wondering if you knew where he was. I can’t get a hold of him.”
   “No, sorry,” Mary said. “I haven’t seen him. Have you?” she asked Bartleby.
   “Nope,” Bartleby said, only half listening, already turning to face the other tower and start calming himself down again.
   “What’s this about?” Mary asked.
   Robin stared at her for a few seconds. “I can’t say.”
   “You can’t say? I might see Epp before you find him. If you told me what you wanted I could—”
   “Never mind,” Robin said. “Forget it.” And with that, he vanished.
   “What was that all about?” Bartleby asked.
   “I’m not sure,” Mary said staring at the area Robin had just occupied. She crinkled her nose as she pondered what had just happened and then eventually dismissed it. “Okay,” she said turning back to Bartleby. “You ready to try again?”
   Bartleby opened his eyes and slowly began to lower his head to look at the fifteen hundred foot drop. He managed to keep from bursting into flames for an extended period of time, something that occupied both his and Mary’s attention so much they never saw the raven haired woman wearing one leather glove appear behind them, study the air for a few minutes, then disappear.
   
—–

   At midnight in Tokyo Kyo was sitting in a sushi bar. The sushi chef behind the counter was contemplating him with a mix of astonishment and fear. The bar was small, with barely enough room for people to walk behind the seats at the counter and it was still crowded at this late hour with foot traffic from the busy Tokyo street outside constantly refilling any seats that were vacated.
   “Now listen to me,” Kyo was saying in Japanese, his thick woven suit was an ugly mustard, “I’m talking about a fermentation process that lasts for months. The fish rests, surrounded by rice under a heavy stone for months.” Kyo’s high cheek boned face and ruddy coloring were intimidating as he stared at the chef.
   The other patrons of the sushiya were looking away, embarrassed for this man’s outburst and not wanting to be associated with someone who might offend the itamae.
   The chef, for his part, was debating whether to refuse service, although this man had been a regular for longer than he could remember and certainly knew his sushi, his current rant was more than disrespectful and the chef wondered if he had shared too much of his personal bottle of sake. But the man in the ugly suit was so emphatic about what he was saying that it was hard to ignore him, even though to sit there and listen was to imply that an accomplished itamae such as himself was capable of learning anything about his art from a simple customer.
   “This is narezushi you’re speaking of.”
   “Yes,” Kyo said, holding the itamae with his eyes, not wanting to let anything slip away now that he had him hooked.
   “There’s no need to ferment that for months at a time anymore. The vinegar is capable of achieving the same effects in merely a day or two.”
   “It is not the same effect,” Kyo said, and the itamae felt the odd notion that this man in the ugly suit was not who he appeared to be. His eyes, his manner, his ability to act in the most impolite way but somehow not come across as anything but the superior in the situation, all of these things always made the hairs on the back of the chef’s neck stand up. Anyone else would have deserved a ban from the sushi bar and would not have been allowed to remain after such insults, but the sushi chef always felt a strange sensation when he talked to this man that settled somewhere deep in the back of his skull and for fleeting moments he would feel as if he were one of the ancient members of his trade in some roadside shack along a muddy road, outdoing his own best to craft perfect pieces of sushi that would feed the local samurai who passed through. The sushi chef enjoyed this feeling immensely, and it was for this reason alone that the man in the ugly suit was allowed to act as he did, not to mention rarely, if ever, pay his bill.
   “You want me to make narezushi,” the chef said.
   “Yes,” Kyo answered. “Please.” There was true want in this word.
   “And you want it made in a manner that has not been used in centuries.”
   “Oh very much so,” Kyo said, his voice hungry.
   “There is a danger to eating food prepared in that way.”
   “Believe me the risk is not a concern to me. The aroma and flavor very much are though. It’s been awhile.”
   “I am sure I could locate a specialty establishment where you could—”
   Kyo shook his head. “No,” he said quickly. “I want you to be the one to make it. If you would do me that honor I would be in your debt,” and he lowered his head in a quick bow.
   The bow was done with such perfect reverence that even the other patrons at the bar forgave the man in the ugly suit, his bow getting across the deep respect he held for the chef far better than his clumsy and oafish words had.
   Although, after the sushi chef had backed away in silent contemplation, neither agreeing to this task nor refusing, the patron seated closest to the man in the ugly suit began to think again that sake was more to blame for his antics than anything as the man in the ugly suit began to talk to people who weren’t there.
   “What!?” Kyo said with irritation, turning to the man who had been standing by the door during this whole exchange, new customers coming in walking physically through his body. “Speak,” Kyo insisted when the man didn’t say anything.
   “I’m Robin,” the man said, “we’ve met before.”
   “Don’t remember you,” Kyo said, turning back to his sake.
   “It doesn’t matter,” Robin said, remaining in the doorway. “I’m just trying to find Epp.”
   “Don’t know where he is,” Kyo said, still not turning back to the door. His phone rang. He pulled it from his suit pocket and stared at the incoming number. “Hector?” he said aloud, puzzled. “What could Hector possibly want?” He pushed a button and silenced the ringer, then went further and turned off his phone before returning it to his jacket. “You know anything about why Hector might want to see me, mystery-man?” Kyo asked, turning back to the doorway.
   Nobody was there. Kyo grunted and turned back to the bar, he stared hard at the sushi chef who was preparing a dish for another customer. The man seated next to him did his best to keep his eyes on his own plate and not do anything that might attract attention. Then Kyo whipped back around to the door, chin tucked low to his shoulder, eyes glaring out under angry lids, a man tired of being interrupted during good sushi. “Now what?” he bellowed.
   The man seated next to him fumblingly gathered up his plates and bottle of Tsingtao and moved to an empty seat down the bar away from Kyo.
   Kyo continued to stare at the twenty something woman in the doorway with the raven dark hair and one leather glove. She didn’t answer, only gaped open mouth at him and laughed a laugh that could be read as amazingly stupid or amazingly indifferent to everyone else’s existence. She held herself off from clapping her hands but she did bounce a little bit in excitement on the balls of her feet as she stared at Kyo. Kyo didn’t move, only continued to stare her down.
   “Japanese, huh?” she said, looking at the area around her. “Oh, I just love eating Japanese,” she laughed an open mouthed laugh, more like a guffaw. Her eyes became unfixed as she stared into nothingness and sniffed the air. Then she disappeared. Once she was gone Kyo shook his head and turned back to the bar.
   “Apparently all the weirdoes are out tonight,” he grumbled, then he caught the sushi chef’s eye. “Now,” he slurred, all thoughts of Robin and the dark haired woman falling out of his head, “you understand that you have to continuously replenish the water as you press the fish under the stone…”
   The sushi chef crossed his arms. The man in the ugly suit was acting stranger than normal, but he would be closing soon and saw no harm in letting him sit and talk some more. As Kyo continued talking the sushi chef stood and listened, and once again the creak of wooden wheels rolling over rutted mud and the caustic laugh of the passing samurai filled his head.
   
—–

   It was around five o’clock in Italy, somewhere south of Rome, and the sun was setting on a winter afternoon. Epp was standing on the edge of a highway, the occasional truck rumbled over the pavement behind him. The highway embankment rolled out in front of him and beyond that was an industrial complex, a small office building, a few warehouses. As the wind shifted, the unmistakable smell of coffee beans filled the air.
   The aroma on the wind seemed to knock something out of Epp, and leaning heavily on his cane he backed up a step or two and sat against the guardrail.
   “This is as close as I’m getting,” he said, staring down at one of the warehouses. A truck went by, swerving close to the guardrail, causing pieces of debris and paper to whip up into the air along the highway. Nothing on Epp’s suit moved. He looked down at the ground between his feet and poked through the gravel with the tip of his cane. “It helps, sometimes, to come talk to you. I hadn’t thought of it but something earlier today made me think to come here.”
   He reached a hand up and ran it down the back of his neck. His lower lip stuck out. His eyes staring out at nothing in particular. Every part of him looking like a man at a loss for what to do next. “I miss you more than you’ll ever know, that much is certain now. Two thousand years and the power of a god and there’s no end to how much I’d give up to be able to talk through some of my problems with you. You were always so good at helping me notice what I was thinking too hard to see.”
   Epp cleared his throat.
   “Like my mentor. I’ve been thinking about her a lot recently,” he lifted his head and began speaking in a more conversational tone. “About how she retired. About where she went. She said I’d understand when the time came what it entailed to leave this existence, and she said she was ready to go, but…I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about her. I wonder what went through her head before she left. I wonder what it’s like. I wonder how you know. Every time I get a new thought nowadays some part of me wonders if this isn’t it. If this isn’t the first sign. Every time something that once was exciting now seems old I wonder if that doesn’t mean it’s time to think about leaving. Every time I push myself into a new situation to see what I can learn, I wonder if the lesson I’ll be learning is how to finally let go.”
   A car driving past blasting its stereo broke up his thoughts with a warbling bass line. Then it was past, the sound of its engine disappearing down the highway. Epp shifted on the guard rail, wincing as he moved his leg. “I don’t know. I’m just so tired.” He sat in silence and stared out over the warehouse.
   Behind Epp on the other side of the highway a snow dotted field slowly rose into a tree covered hill. In the midst of empty branches and fallen leaves the form of Robin wavered in the afternoon light and solidified into existence.
   He looked around, unclear of his surroundings, slowly taking everything in. His eyes squinted into the distance and he finally spotted Epp. The highway was a ribbon in the distance, Epp himself was barely a different colored spot against the black of the pavement. Robin began to move, walking through the bare trees, feet shuffling against brown, dead leaves.
   He heard something behind him, a rustling in the underbrush, and without looking back he took off in a full sprint, feet snapping through dead branches as his body began to hurtle out of control down the hill, but even then he heard the noise behind him growing louder and closer and he knew he was lost. He drew in a breath and was about to scream as loud as he could, a feeble gesture considering the tiny point of color in the distance that was Epp, but before he could even do that Nyx hurtled into him at an angle and the two crashed down the slope, trees snapping at their trunks as they fell. When they came to a stop, Robin was pinned underneath Nyx as she sat straddling his back. Her ungloved hand was pinned against his mouth and although he was flailing and struggling with the energy of someone in terror, every part of his body in contact with Nyx might as well have been in contact with solid granite. No motion from him caused any part of her to waver. Even when she let go with one hand to place a call on her cell phone his entire body writhing underneath her made no impression.
   Nyx held her phone to her face. “Hector,” she said, “I’ve got him.” She looked down through the trees towards the highway as she listened. “No, it was close but it could have been closer. He was still a good quarter of a mile away from Epp at least. No,” she said, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable trying to move him to a graveyard.” Robin’s muffled yells were growing louder and her eyes squinted as she tried to listen, then she shook her head and interrupted Hector. “Hang on a second,” she said, and she took the phone from her ear and stared down angrily at Robin struggling beneath her. “Will you please keep it down?” she insisted. Robin’s cheeks puffed with air as he tried to scream under her hand. Her eyebrows lowered and she went back to the phone.
   “Yeah,” she said. “Oh yeah? Okay!” She was excited by what she had heard, her body regaining some of its bounce as she clicked the phone shut and put it back in her pocket.
   Nyx leaned her head forward and pressed her chest against Robin’s back, then she turned and gave him a quick kiss on his temple. “Hector says I get to keep you,” she said. She smiled. The hand that wasn’t around Robin’s mouth rested gently on his back, up by his shoulders. Then it began to sink into his body. Robin’s head tried frantically to break free and his eyes began to bulge with his efforts to scream. Nyx opened her mouth and leaned in towards the back of his skull, little white teeth pressing against his scalp. There was a thick cracking sound, like someone was biting into a very crisp apple.
   A few minutes later a truck downshifting brought Nyx out of a happy half-doze. The area of the woods around where she lay was spattered for some distance with blood. No other trace of Robin existed. She stood up and stretched, then looked back down at the highway and stared at the tiny dot that was Epp. She shook her head, then slowly began to waver, then disappeared.
   A quarter of a mile away Epp shifted his weight off of his bad leg and stared down at the warehouse.
   “I guess what I’m saying is…everything is becoming the same. After two thousand years,” he paused and looked up at the darkening sky, “I’m starting to wonder if I’m needed in this world anymore.”
   He sat back, silent, eventually becoming lost in thought. Another truck rumbled by, its engine growled loudly as the driver downshifted, and all around the winter light of the Italian afternoon slowly faded into the bruised purple of twilight.
   
Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

   
   Kyokutei walked through the upscale hotel restaurant. There were lustrous burgundy leather booths and thick crystal glasses everywhere. A waiter clicked a long lighter a few times and an order of Banana’s Foster was set into motion. The atmosphere was thick and conversation seemed barely able to make it across the tables before falling with soft thuds into the thick carpet.
   Kyo disapproved and found himself disliking the entire place. His nose curled in a snarl, although he was unaware that his emotions were leaking onto his face.
   He was dressed in a frayed rayon suit and his neck was worn red from the cheap collar stays in his shirt. None of the diners or waiters noticed him as he walked, literally, through some of their tables. He made his way to the rear of the room and then ducked into the kitchen. Walking through a chef or two and past a rack of rolls he turned into a back corridor, past a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, then through a doorway covered with thick plastic strips and onto a loading dock. A few more turns through boxes and past a row of metal lockers painted gunmetal green and he was in the loading dock office.
   Hector was seated at a beat up lunch table reading a tattered paperback novel with a cowboy on the cover. He folded it closed and tapped it against his thigh leaning his large frame back in his seat as he stared up at Kyo through his mirrored sunglasses.
   “Gregor here yet?” Kyo asked.
   Hector shook his head. “Not yet.”
   Kyo pulled a metal folding chair out across from Hector and sat down. He looked around the room, then over at a stack of newspapers, puzzle books and pornographic magazines piled next to a work sink. He stood up and began flipping through, looking for something to read.
   “Feel like a game of cards?” Hector asked from behind him.
   Kyo flipped through a few more naked woman and crossword puzzles then turned around and agreed. “Sure,” he said, returning to his seat.
   Hector produced a deck of cards with the shine worn off of them and began to shuffle. The slough of old cards filled the room as Kyo tried to make himself comfortable in the warped metal chair. Hector cut the deck, cupping one half in each hand, then shuffled again.
   “So,” Hector said, “can I ask you about—”
   “No,” Kyo answered.
   Hector shrugged off this rebuke with a quick laugh, as if he had been expecting it, and continued talking, only handling more of the conversation by himself without looking to Kyo for any input.
   “I mean, I’m pretty sure I have you pegged from somewhere in feudal Japan. But that’s a pretty large swatch of time, so that doesn’t exactly narrow the field down much, does it?”
   He smiled and slid the deck of cards into the middle of the table. Kyo reached out and cut the deck, dropping one half next to the other. Hector reassembled the pack. “You know I’ve met a couple of testers from that era. Lots of samurai wind up in our group.” He began dealing, the sound of cards against smooth metal the only response to Hector’s unspoken questions.
   “From what I’ve gathered,” Hector continued on undaunted, “the old samurai code, or whatever you called it, gave you a pretty solid in into our little world. You had to uphold such,” he stopped dealing as he searched for the right word, the sudden silence stifling, “loyalty to your master, your…what is it?” He snapped his fingers a few times.
   “Daimyo,” Kyo said.
   “Right,” Hector said, smiling again, enjoying the small output he had drawn out of Kyo. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting one’s daimyo,” he spoke the word slowly, sounding it out, looking to Kyo as he did so as if for verification of his pronunciation, but Kyo gave no reaction. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting the daimyo was basically a constant. Almost any action to protect another person in the line of duty would create the needed two choices because there was always this protecting of the master in mind. It’s like a free pass. Does that sound right?”
   Kyo still didn’t answer. He only leaned back in his chair, facing half towards the table and half towards the wall and began drumming one set of fingers on the table. Hector laughed, clearly enjoying the difficulty of drawing any reaction out of Kyo. He resumed dealing.
   “Fine, don’t answer,” Hector said.
   The cards rasped across the table softly.
   Kyo’s fingers drummed down repeatedly.
   The rhythmic staccato patter of the drummer’s sticks drew to an end leaving only the soft sound of wind through the snowfall.
   Kyokutei, samurai of the Tsuwano Domain, was standing in the town square watching as three official looking men gathered to address the crowd gathering around the drummer’s summoning. Everyone in the crossroads was at a standstill. Even the wind died down allowing the snow to fall in thick drifting flakes that piled up on Kyo’s cheekbones before melting. Kyo had heard this proclamation read in another village of the domain yesterday.
   Word had spread and most of the townspeople knew to some degree what was coming, but as the proclamation was read there was a broad range of reactions and a lot of confusion as the extent of the news sank in.
   “People of the Tsuwano Domain,” one of the men read. He was a samurai, his ceremonial helmet and armor imposing in the dark winter afternoon, “your master and leader, Ichiro Hideyoshi, has been sentenced to an honorable death by Imperial decree after an incident in The Imperial Palace. All lands of the Tsuwano Domain are to become the property of Akira Mitsukuni.” The man to the left of the samurai preened as this was read, and Kyo shielded his eyes from the snow to get a better look at him. Dressed in the robes of a statesman, Akira Mitsukuni was a thin bony man whose most discernable feature was a large mole growing on his cheek.
   The third man of the group was less familiar to Kyo. Dressed in the elegant robes of a monk, the man’s head was shaved bald and he was taller than either of the other two.
   “All goods and belongings owned by the former master Hideyoshi,” the samurai continued reading, “are as of now officially the property of Akira Mitsukuni. This includes any land or goods belonging to the family of the former master.”
   Kyo knew what was coming next and he began to make his way through the crowd of villagers, all of whom scattered in front of him.
   “All servants of your former master,” the samurai in the center of the square went on, “are now to serve in the Mitsukuni house. And all samurai who served Ichiro Hideyoshi are to become ronin. They now have no master.
   “This case has been decided by imperial decree. Ichiro Hideyoshi was allowed an honorable death at his own hands. According to the Emperor this incident has been dealt with fairly and no further action,” the samurai’s words grew in volume and intensity as he read this, “is required.”
   As Kyo continued through the crowd he wondered if the change he felt was real or in his imagination, if the people surrounding him were actually thinking about him differently already or if that was all in his head.
   The mud was frozen into ridges under his feet and the snow continued to fall in stale white rifts as he walked along. He approached the edge of town where he had left his horse. She was tied up where the western road finally shed off the last of the shops that sat alongside.
   Kyo stopped and ran his hands down his horse’s nose. She pressed back against him appreciatively. Without realizing it, Kyo passed a long while like this, lost in thought, feeling his horse’s velvet brown muzzle under his palm. He was roused from his thoughts by the pounding of horse hooves on the frozen mud road. He backed up around to the far side of his horse and watched over her saddle as the three men who had read the proclamation, the monk, the samurai and the lord, all rode past on their way out of the town. With anger Kyo noticed that he had remained behind his horse, had ducked behind her saddle, had hidden from sight.
   The decree stated that his lord was dead and that he was now without a master. Lesser samurai should begin their new lives as ronin immediately, but as one of Ichiro’s closest advisors it was expected of him to honor the memory of his lord by refusing to live such an existence and join Ichiro in death by his own hand instead. All of this he knew, yet standing in the road as those three men rode past had upset him greatly and he was angry when he climbed up onto his horse. He was angry when he rode off east in the direction of his home. He was angry when he stopped at the roadside stall just on the outskirts of his own village.
   There were no other customers, not surprising on a winter’s afternoon, and Kyo walked up to the bamboo counter and stood leaning against it. The hut was cozy and the cedar planks used to soften the look of the hard wooden struts created a pleasant aroma.
   “Was the proclamation any different the second time you heard it?” a friendly voice said, and Kyo turned to see Noboru walking into the hut. Noboru was a squat dumpling of a man who had been running this stall, serving up his daily creations, since the day Kyo had come to serve under lord Ichiro. Back then Noboru had been a boy but his skill in cutting a fresh fish had been apparent. As a samurai of the domain it was customary for Kyo to get to know the local artisans, and Kyo’s love of sushi had made him a frequent visitor to Noboru’s hut. Over the years a strong bond had developed between him and the sushi chef. After a long period away from home this stall was always Kyo’s first stop before continuing on to his house and many conversations while lingering over sake had drifted into things Kyo would rather not carry over the threshold of his own doorway.
   “No,” Kyo said as Noboru laid out a woven mat on the counter, “the proclamation was the same.”
   “Not surprising,” Noboru said. He began creating.
   “I didn’t recognize the monk,” Kyo said.
   “He was recently placed in charge of the monastery up in the hills.”
   Kyo nodded at this. “And the samurai looks familiar enough.”
   “Date Masamune. Second in command to Akira.” Noboru began to plate a few pieces on the woven mat.
   “That’s what I thought,” Kyo said, waiting until Noboru had finished before taking in the presentation with his eyes. After examining it for a few moments, he plucked up a piece and peeled the outer layer of rice off, exposing the pungent aroma of fermented carp. It was deep and earthy and with a lingering punch that flowered far back in the depths of his skull. He tossed the rice into a wooden bucket next to the counter and popped the fish into his mouth, savoring the give of the meat and the odors that wafted up into his nose.
   “It’s an Imperial decree,” Noboru said, seemingly apropos of nothing.
   Kyo nodded, took another piece, peeled and chewed and savored and swallowed. “I serve my master first.”
   “Then you know what you need to do,” Noboru said. Kyo was obliged to follow his master into the next world. To accept the life of a ronin would be an insult to his former master, not to mention a humiliating role for Kyo to assume.
   “I serve my master,” Kyo repeated.
   “It was an Imperial decree,” Noboru said.
   “I serve my master—”
   “It was an Imperial decree!” Noboru shouted, banging his fist down on the bar.
   Kyo turned and glared at him. Had the two not known each other for almost two decades the act of an artisan daring to interrupt a samurai would have been unheard of. They were friends, though, and such exchanges were welcome if not encouraged by Kyo. Still, as Kyo’s hard eyes burned into Noboru’s face, it was made clear that nothing further would be tolerated.
   Noboru took a deep breath and regathered his thoughts. “The decree clearly stated that the Emperor viewed this matter as closed and no further actions were to be taken. He was disavowing any thoughts of revenge. This isn’t a local matter anymore; this has the Emperor’s eye. Ichiro is gone. His power is transferred to Akira. And you should take the honorable route and join your master.”
   “My master was set up,” Kyo said, “and this was nothing more than a power play by Akira. The monk was lying. The samurai was lying. And,” Kyo continued, holding a piece of sushi up as he spoke, his eyes focused on some far off point, his words coming out stubborn and unchanging, “I serve my master first.”
   He popped the piece of sushi into his mouth and began to munch on it.
   “Shit,” Noboru said nervously.
   Kyo grunted in agreement.
   The plastic flaps in the entranceway rustled and Kyo looked up from his cards to see Gregor and Nyx coming into the back office. Kyo placed his cards face down on the table and slid them towards the center. “I almost had gin again,” he said.
   “Yeah, sure you did,” Hector said, not relinquishing his cards.
   Kyo began to stand up as Gregor drew near but Gregor waved him back down, smiling. “Please,” Gregor said, “finish your game. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”
   Kyo was frozen half in and out of his seat by this statement. He seemed unsure of what to do but after a bit he sat himself back down and gathered up his cards.
   “All right,” Hector said, discarding, “let’s just see how you—”
   “Gin,” Kyo said, picking up Hector’s discard and laying his hand face up on the table. “And I don’t want any coffee, thanks,” he said, swiveling around to look at Gregor. “I’d like to just hear what you have to say and be on my way.”
   Gregor turned, the empty glass coffee pot from the coffee maker on the counter in his hands. “That’s what I like about you, Kyo,” he said, “always direct. Always to the point. Always professional.”
   “Thank you,” Kyo said. “Can we get on with this?”
   “Sure, sure,” Gregor said. “Although I’d like some coffee. Let me just make up a pot?”
   “Sure,” Kyo said. “Just try and make it quick.”
   “I can’t control how fast water bleeds flavor from coffee grinds,” Gregor said conversationally. “Wait,” he went on, looking more intently at the coffee maker, his voice occupied now, “can I control that? You know I’ve never thought to…” he leaned in and began to peek and peer at the coffee machine from various angles.
   Water began to drip into the pot, a high pitched ringing sounding through the room as the empty glass vibrated. Slowly the pitch changed as more water accumulated. Hector began to deal out more cards, sluffing them across the table.
   It was during another snowfall next to the fountain in their garden that his wife had finally turned on him. Five months had gone by since the enforcing of the edict had made him a ronin and he had done nothing to avert the shame this brought upon his family. If anything he had been doing his best to bring more shame than the title of ronin alone could bring. He had been frequenting bars and brothels in the local town and had been known to stay out all night in a drunken stupor.
   “You,” his wife seethed at him. “You think nothing of me. You think nothing of your son. You only drink and whore and drink some more. Other samurai who served Lord Ichiro beside you, they have long ago brought great honor upon their families by following their master into the next world but you have done no such thing. You lack the courage to be what you have to be; instead you act like a coward. It is bad enough that you turn your back on your former master, but to not even seek out a new master to serve so that this family might once again hold its head up high. You are lower than the shit clinging to the bottom of the pig out in the yard.”
   Kyo loved his wife. And she was entirely right, which only made him love her more. Her outburst had been within earshot of two visitors to their house that day as well as any number of servants, and even though their privacy was supposed to be guaranteed within their own house, Kyo knew that word would get out that his wife had tried to shame him and rebuke him and get him to do the right thing.
   It was enough. He could leave the house now and separate himself from his wife and son and it would all be his own fault in the eyes of the domain.
   That evening he made it formal by having a notary draw up papers of divorce. He would never see her again. He would never see his twelve year old son become a man.
   It hurt. But Kyo bore it.
   He went to Noboru’s hut after. Again there were no other patrons. He stood next to the counter and listened as Noboru swore while laying down the woven mat and muttered to himself while preparing a few pieces of sushi. There was a rift in Noboru’s personality as he proved unable to not prepare a plate to the best of his ability even while cursing and displaying obvious disappointment at Kyo’s presence.
   “Five months,” he said when the plate was arranged. “Five months!” he said again, not raising his voice but speaking in a forced whisper, as if worried about being overheard.
   “They expected something like this,” Kyo said, peeling the rice off of a piece of fish. “All three of them have been guarded since the day these lands became Akira’s. They needed convincing that there was nothing to guard against. Patience was required.”
   “Five months and all you have done is drink and rot.”
   Kyo stared down at the woven mat decorated with pieces of sushi and didn’t deny this. “Patience was needed,” he said. “And tonight the monk dies.”
   Noboru repeated the fear he had voiced countless times in the past few months. “The gods will be furious with you, Kyo, if you attack a monk on holy land.”
   “He’s no monk,” Kyo said, chewing a piece of fish. He swallowed laboriously, the piece of sushi sticking in his throat. “And I serve my master first,” he said distantly.
   That night in the mountain monastery Chiro Takase, the tall bald monk, stirred in his sleep. His bed was soft and his sheets were smooth and his large room was ornately decorated to impress even lower ranking lords with the worldly wealth that Chiro had accumulated. Chiro was about to fade back into sleep when he heard a small noise, possibly the same noise that had woken him up in the first place. He rolled over and noticed that the charcoal brazier that he kept by his bed to warm him on winter nights was out and he cursed whichever student of his forgot to refill it that afternoon.
   He sat up and tested to make sure; putting his hand up against the bronze container. Feeling nothing but cold metal he cast off his sheets and slipped his feet into his slippers. It was dark by his bed, but the open window cast a perfect rectangle of light from the full moon onto the matted floor. He picked up the brazier and began walking towards the door, the bronze chain jangling against his leg. As he stepped into the square of moonlight there was another metallic sound in the room and suddenly the glint of moonlight off of steel was in his face as the tip of a katana blade pressed into his neck. Chiro froze, rigid, back arched as the point of the sword pressed into his skin. He tried to relax but he felt the rasp of metal against his neck and a small trickle of warm blood began to flow down to his collar bone and he forced himself to stay even more still. “You can take anything you want,” Chiro said, “just please—”
   “You lied,” a voice from the darkness behind the blade said.
   “I…what?”
   “Five months ago. You lied and said that master Ichiro had committed an act of unforgivable rudeness to the emperor while you were entertaining him and Akira. You lied.”
   “I did no such thing. What right do you have to come in here and—”
   “You lied!” Kyo roared and stepped into the moonlight, his face terrifying in anger. He removed the sword from Chiro’s neck and moved in close, gripping the monk’s neck and pressing against it with a smaller dagger. “You lied and now you will pay for that mistake.”
   “I am a monk of the—”
   “You are a disgrace to these robes.” Kyo dragged the dagger down Chiro’s chest and slit his silk robes in two or three places, cutting the skin as he did so, and Chiro felt the cold winter air blowing across the blood on his now naked skin and began to tremble. “And you are no monk,” Kyo said, his face up close to Chiro, his hard eyes glaring. There was a moment, a pause, a hesitation, as the only sound to be heard was Chiro breathing fast and heavy. Then he gagged as Kyo slid his dagger into his throat, cutting quickly so the monk wouldn’t have time to make any noise before he died.
   Kyo let the body drop and wiped his dagger off on the monk’s bed sheets. He stared down at the corpse sprawled out in the moonlight. At the end something had gone wrong. Something deep inside Kyo had shifted. Something had slipped out of his grasp as he had stood here inside a monastery and had the audacity to lecture a monk on what was right. Kyo assumed it was his body reacting to finally being able to act after five months of playing the part of a disgraced ronin and he forced himself to stop thinking about it and instead began to ransack the monk’s room.
   The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that a bandit had robbed the mountain monastery and that Chiro Takase had been killed. Everyone was shocked.
   Akira doubled his guards.
   “There we go,” Gregor said, sitting down with a fresh mug of coffee. Nyx took the fourth seat at the table. Her purple lined eyes were bright as she stared at Kyo, and her mouth was constantly in motion as she worked something over with her tongue, a cough drop or a piece of hard candy, occasionally clamping it between her back teeth to suck at it lovingly. Hector opted to deal another round of cards, this time giving a hand to Nyx and Gregor as well.
   “Can we get started?” Kyo asked.
   Gregor put his mug down, sloshing a little coffee over onto his hand. He wiped his hand on his pants and picked up his cards. “Well,” he said, rearranging his hand, “there’s really nothing to get started. I just wanted to have a chat with you. Just sit down and talk with you again. It’s been awhile,” he smiled at Kyo then discarded.
   “Well then let’s talk,” Kyo said, “and get this over with.”
   “We were just talking earlier,” Hector said, his voice brash and obviously aimed once again at getting some sort of reaction out of Kyo. “We had a lovely little talk about Kyo’s past, isn’t that right?”
   “I don’t remember saying much,” Kyo said.
   Nyx laughed, her voice ranging up and down in tone like a melody gone wild as Hector shifted uncomfortably and accidentally bumped the table, sloshing more of Gregor’s coffee out of his mug.
   “Shit,” Gregor said jumping back, trying to avoid getting his pants soaked while Nyx continued laughing.
   The bar fight in the second year was when Kyo had started to worry. There was laughter and rice wine spilled all over him as a few drunken samurai had singled him out for abuse. It was not the first time this had happened. As a ronin he was despised by most samurai and he noticed that even some villagers were less than respectful to him. Granted, villagers were not bound by custom to show any reverence to a ronin but plain common sense should apply. Kyo still carried his swords with him.
   But the samurai in the bar didn’t care about this. It had been two years since Akira had folded these lands into his own and the samurai who served him were completely in his control. Ichiro was all but forgotten and Kyo’s existence was never equated with the warrior he had once been. He was viewed as a joke, his swords were considered ornament. And so there had been laughter in the bar and sake sloshed out of cups and onto the floor as the samurai roughed Kyo up. And none of it was very new. Kyo had allowed this kind of thing to happen a few times before, only this time when he was thrown out of the bar and into the muddy street he didn’t pretend to lose his balance and fall. Instead he really did lose his balance and fall, his wrist twanging with pain as he landed on it hard as some mud landed in his mouth from where his body splattered down. And there was no cloak, no shield, none of the usual feeling he had when these altercations occurred, the notion that it was going to be okay, that if he could persevere then they all would know the truth soon enough. Instead he just felt pain in his wrist and heard laughter all around him and tasted gritty mud in his mouth and the sake he had taken to drinking more often recently clouded his head and made the laughter seem to be coming from everywhere. He got to his feet and began walking, then felt one last kick to the back of his legs that sent him sprawling again onto the side of the road.
   This time he sat for awhile, not noticing the stink on him, before he caught his breath and stood up. He walked slowly, rotating his wrist in circles as he went, trying to test to see how much it hurt.
   There was a crowd in Noboru’s hut. More samurai. Kyo sat outside and waited, falling into a doze as his body worked through the sake he had drunk. He woke up, gurgling and gasping, when Noboru sloshed a bucket of cold water onto him. By the time he realized what had happened another bucket of water hit him and he stood up wiping the water out of his eyes.
   “You stink,” Noboru said, the evening light casting shadows on the road.
   Kyo only nodded. “Can you draw me another bucket?”
   Noboru walked off, then returned a few minutes later and laid the bucket at Kyo’s feet. Kyo rinsed as much of the mud off of him as was possible then stood up and started to walk inside. “You still stink,” Noboru said. Kyo stopped, held up his hands as if unsure of what else he could do. Noboru sighed and waved him inside.
   Kyo leaned wearily against the bar. Noboru laid out a mat. “Sake first, please,” Kyo said. Noboru very deliberately finished making the piece of sushi he was working on, then brought out a porcelain cup and poured Kyo a cup of rice wine.
   “You get into another fight?” Noboru asked.
   Kyo nodded.
   “Kyo, what are you doing to yourself?”
   Kyo tilted his head back and threw the sake down his throat. “It’s just an act, Noboru. You know that.” Noboru heard the underlying statement as well. Noboru was the only person who knew that. “Soon enough this will be done and people will know. It won’t be much longer.”
   “It’s been over two years, Kyo,” Noboru said softly, relenting in his attitude and going back to crafting something for Kyo to eat. “Your son has earned a sword of his own. And your wife,” Noboru pointed off into the distance to emphasize his point. “Your wife has moved to a different province. ”
   “I know,” Kyo said. “I know. But next week, the samurai dies.”
   Noboru looked at Kyo, at the mud still clinging to the edges of his robes and the red seeping into his eyes and the rough stubble that was sprouting from his chin. He agreed with Kyo, but was surprised to find how much of him was doing so in a patronizing manner. “If you say so. How?”
   “Date Masamune has taken to riding alone once or twice a week through the forests in the western part of the domain.”
   “And?”
   “If he is alone, that will be enough,” Kyo said, staring determinedly down into his empty sake cup. “I will need a horse, though.”
   “I’ve got one you can borrow.”
   Kyo shook his head. “I’m quite capable of stealing a horse for myself, thank you. A ronin has to learn how to fend for himself from what is—”
   “But you’re not really a ronin, Kyo.” Noboru was appalled at the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. From the look on Kyo’s face it seemed as if Noboru had physically struck him.
   Kyo rolled the empty sake cup a few times in his hand until he had shaken off what Noboru had said. “Was joking,” he said through a baffling set of emotions, “of course. Borrowing one of your horses is out of the question as is anything that could lead any one to suspect you were in any way involved in this act.”
   “So…are you going to really steal a horse from—”
   “No!” Kyo yelled, hurt and angry, his hand banging down on the bar hard enough to make his woven mat full of sushi pieces jump in the air. He shook his hand in the air and flexed his fingers. “Of course I’m not going to steal a horse. I’ll return what I take or compensate the owner fully.”
   “Of course,” Noboru said. “Of course.”
   Date Masamune enjoyed his weekly ride through the forest, especially now that spring was coming and the flowers were starting to bud. The stillness of the forest seemed comforting to him and it was pleasant to be away from all the demands of his inferiors and all the stress of his superiors and just ride. Plus he knew he was a handsome sight, up on horseback, his hand crafted armor shining in the sun. He knew this impressed the people when he rode through town.
   The sun was getting low and he was contemplating turning around and heading back. He reined in his horse and turned her around in a tight circle, her nose brushing close to the trunk of a thick tree when he felt something sing through the air next to his face and heard a vibrous thunk. He swatted at his cheek, assuming it was a bug, and turned his head to see what the sound had been and then his horse began skitting sideways and he managed to get her under control as he stared at the arrow buried in the tree trunk.
   “Dismount,” a voice behind him said. “You fight me to the death today.”
   Date slowly turned around and saw a bedraggled man, who was familiar in some far off way, standing on a rise behind him. The man was armed with a bow and carried the two swords of a samurai.
   “Dismount,” the man said again.
   Date nodded, began to slowly raise one leg over his saddle, then kicked hard and yanked his horse’s reigns, taking off through the forest in a thunderous gallop.
   Kyo’s eyes narrowed. His legs widened their stance. His hands moved. An arrow was notched, aimed and fired before he took his next breath.
   He lowered his bow and began walking. He came upon the horse first, the arrow in her haunch deep and the blood red and mixing with the dark forest earth. He continued walking, shaking his head as he heard the lame horse whinny behind him. He stood over Date.
   “I said to dismount,” Kyo said as Date crawled along through the green sprouts of spring, dragging a broken leg behind him. “I said we would fight with honor,” Kyo said, and the horse let out another loud whinny of pain. Date continued dragging himself forward.
   “If you won’t fight with honor,” Kyo said, his growing impatience making his words harsh and trembling, “then at least die with honor.”
   Date didn’t respond, didn’t look back, only continued to try to crawl away, his hand crafted armor dragging pieces of branches and clots of mud along with it. “I said die with honor!” Kyo yelled, infuriated now, and he reached a hand down and grabbed Date by the shoulder, rolling him over and sitting him up as Date screamed in pain, then screamed in fear, then began sobbing.
   “No,” Date said, hands in front of him to ward Kyo off, and his sobbing increased. “No, I’ll do anything you want,” he said, spit and snot smearing on his face as he begged. “Anything you—”
   “Die with honor!” Kyo roared, shoving Date back onto the ground, where he collapsed in a shuddering heap. Kyo’s anger fumed up in his throat and he found he couldn’t talk, only kick and kick and kick as Date shrieked and then Kyo was kneeling on his chest and cutting his throat before stumbling off to sit with his back up against a tree a few feet away.
   A few minutes later Kyo caught his breath and stared at the body of Date Masamune. He found he could only glance at it for a few seconds before he had to turn away. He realized he had forgotten to even mention who he was. His wrist still hurt. His head was roaring. He cleaned his weapons and backtracked to find where he had hidden his horse along the trail.
   The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that Date Masamune had been killed in the woods in the west of the domain. Everyone was shocked. People began to whisper.
   Akira ordered his palace fortified.
   Gregor made a last attempt to wipe more of the coffee off of his pants. “Well,” he said. “I guess these pants are ruined.”
   “Sorry bout that boss,” Hector said.
   Nyx sucked on her cough drop.
   “Can we get on with it?” Kyo asked.
   “Of course,” Gregor said, dabbing a few more times with the rough brown paper towels he had found by the sink. “Will you two excuse us?” He balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash as Nyx and Hector stood up and left. “I was hoping to get a chance to visit with you a bit,” Gregor said, sitting down again at the table, “but I can see you’re a busy man so I won’t keep you any longer than I need to.”
   Kyo drummed his fingers on the table top.
   “I don’t suppose it’s any secret to you that I don’t exactly see eye to eye with Epp,” Gregor said.
   “You’re not working on another trial, are you? Because that struck me as one of the larger wastes of time I’ve had in awhile.”
   “No, no,” Gregor shook his head. “Nothing at all like that. And the trial wasn’t…I was just testing the water there, you could say. Wanted to see what side of the room people sat on. That sort of thing. But what I’m planning now, well, it’s a little different. Now normally I wouldn’t bother you with any of this but you have a….a strange role in all of this.”
   “I worry you,” Kyo said.
   “It’s not that you worry me. You make me sound so sinister,” Gregor laughed. “No, it’s just that you’re such an unknown, Kyo. One never knows what you’re going to be doing or really, even, what it is that you can do.”
   Kyo stared at Gregor and waited to see if he would say anything more. When nothing more came he drummed his fingers over the table top and turned away. “Why is it when I ask people to come to the point, they invariably become more obtuse and vague?”
   Rather than let himself be rebuked, Gregor answered back in turn. “Because you’re a keeper of secrets, Kyo. Everyone who knows anything is going to want to pry your little mysteries out of you. You should have learned that by now. If you act mysterious, people are going to respond with curiosity.”
   “It’s not an act.”
   Gregor rolled his eyes and sighed.
   Kyo’s jaw tightened.
   Noboru shook his head.
   “Just let me in,” Kyo said.
   It was night and Kyo had stumbled his way to Noboru’s shack after being kicked out of the last tavern.
   Four more years had passed and Kyo’s name had become lost to anyone of import. Noboru sighed again, then stepped aside and let Kyo stagger his way inside.
   Noboru started to unroll a mat but Kyo waved it away. “Just bring out the bottle of sake,” he said gruffly.
   Noboru did as he was told, then stepped back and looked with distaste at Kyo, who was sloshing a large gulp of sake around in his mouth before swallowing. When he was done Kyo turned and looked at Noboru, chin pressed in close to his shoulder, a wavering smile on his face. “Eh?” Kyo grunted.
   Noboru had no idea what was being asked.
   “I think,” Noboru said carefully, “that maybe it is time that this ended. Or at the very least, that you should not come around here anymore.”
   Kyo sucked something from between his teeth, then turned back to the bottle and took another long pull.
   “You have become an utter wreck of—”
   “I’m almost done,” Kyo said quietly, not meeting Noboru’s stare.
   “Almost done? Your master was killed almost seven years ago, Kyo. This is no longer anywhere within the bounds of sanity. Everything has moved on. Everything. Your wife no longer lives here. Your son I have lost track of. This isn’t even my main shop anymore, I’ve moved to a larger location. This is mostly just storage for me. I am beginning to believe that there is no honor in what you’re doing. It would have been more honorable to charge at your enemies instantly upon learning of your master’s death and have fallen in battle that way. I mean what if you had become ill and died? What if one of them had become ill? There would have been no way to prove that you were taking the honorable course rather than drinking yourself into a pickle.”
   Kyo looked up, scared. “This is just an act, Noboru,” although his hand never left the bottle.
   “An act?” Noboru shouted. “An act? No act lasts this long, Kyokutei. Just how many different lives do you think you’re allowed to lead? You have become what you pretend to be.”
   Noboru watched and noted with pain that Kyo did not deny this last statement. He only stared down at the bar and held the bottle next to him. “Akira has ordered his number of guards drastically reduced,” Kyo said softly. “This month the lord dies.”
   “You know you can’t survive.”
   “I’ve been dead for six years,” Kyo said quietly. “Death was the only way out, it was just a matter of how. Once I finish what I started, I’ll do the honorable thing. I won’t wait for the Emperor to judge me; I won’t wait for the town to hear. I will either die trying or die right there in Akira’s palace by my own hand.”
   “I will pray that you die honorably,” Noboru said, “and that you still have a spirit left to save.”
   Kyo didn’t say goodbye, he only walked off into the cold winter night with the sake bottle still in his hands.
   Later that month the snows came in thick and deafening, their white blanket covering the entire land over the course of one night.
   The courtyard of Akira’s palace was obliterated in white and as Kyo dropped from the wall he landed with a soft thud, dipping down to one knee, his body tense, one hand buried in the snow supported on strong flexed fingers, ears open to hear if anyone was coming. He heard only the wind. He felt the icy burn of the snow against his hand and savored it. He felt the numbing wet of the snow against his knee and he smiled. If he were capable of controlling the weather he couldn’t have planned a better night. Thick snowfall made everything seem as if it were moving even when it wasn’t, it made sounds difficult to hear and easy to dismiss, and it made guards stay in by the fire, neglecting their rounds and growing sleepy.
   He had killed two by the rear wall before making his way over, but he didn’t expect any more interference until he reached the bedroom of Akira himself.
   He forced himself to wait a few minutes longer, to make sure he heard nothing else moving, then he took his frozen hand out of the snow and tucked it into his robe, feeling it come back to life as he crept forward through the courtyard.
   He met no one as he stepped inside the palace hall.
   Outside the snow began to peter out and breaks started appearing in the clouds.
   His luck held as he made his way through the palace and he came across no more guards even as he walked quietly down the hallway towards Akira’s bedroom. He took a grip on the door, knowing that he would have to be quick, and took a short series of fast breaths before sliding the door back with a hard shove and leaping into the room. There were two guards on either side, one of which fell instantly under Kyo’s sword. The other was young and inexperienced and in the darkness Kyo quickly dispatched him as well, his sword sliding cleanly into his stomach before he pulled back and strode over to Akira’s bed.
   The lord was cowering beneath his bed sheets, scrambling to retreat as much as he could, if only a few more inches towards the head of the bed. An alarm gong sat a few feet away, forgotten and unused in Akira’s fright. Kyo had assumed that he would get one chance at Akira before being cut down by the guards that would be inevitably summoned, even in this small provincial palace, but no alarm had been sounded and he found himself with no need to hurry.
   Fragile gray light was starting to spread in the sky and Kyo stared at Akira, scrawny in nothing but his sleeping gown. Kyo was surprised to find that he had nothing to say, no act to perform, and that he was tired. He stepped forward, drawing his sword, and finished his job.
   When it was done he carried Akira’s head along with him and returned to the hallway. As he passed the guards on the floor one of them gasped and attempted to move. In the morning light Kyo looked down and saw how bad the wound was, his eyes scanned all over the body but he took little notice of anything, instead, suddenly drowsy, he continued on, Akira’s head at his side.
   It was bright out when he entered the courtyard again and the white snow was blinding. He placed Akira’s head on the ground then knelt in the snow and prepared to end his life as well as he could. He hoped to bring some small amount of honor back to his family by doing so.
   He would have no second to finish the job if he wavered. He would have nothing but himself. Most of the samurai he had known had refused to think much about this act, some had been terrified of it, some had opted to deal with it by never thinking about it. Kyo had always gone through life with a blundering determination and had taken the time to speak with a doctor on the subject. He knew that earliest possible release for him would be to pass out from blood loss after the initial cut, but that the highest possible honor he could gain for his lord and family would be to make it through a second cut, maybe a third, before dying.
   He removed his smaller dagger from its sheath and held the point against his stomach. He said a prayer for his lord, his wife and his son. Then he took a deep breath, wished for the salvation of his own spirit, and drove the point of his dagger up into his body.
   Then everything went wrong.
   “It’s all right, I guess,” Gregor said. “You don’t have to answer the question.”
   “I’m really not sure I can,” Kyo answered. “Although I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I would if I could.”
   Gregor smiled. “I know. Being an unknown can be an advantage sometimes. Although, rumor has it that Epp was there right at the moment you became one of us.” Gregor was staring at Kyo, then he closed his eyes and shook his head, correcting himself. “No, wait, what am I saying? You never became one of us. You became…well you became whatever you are, I suppose, and rumor has it that Epp was there at the moment that that happened.”
   “I’m the same as you,” Kyo said. “I’m just completely different.”
   “Regardless, it’s this strange relationship you have with Epp that worries me.”
   “We do go way back, him and I.”
   “Yes. Yes you do, and although you’re happy to throw obstacles in his way that you come up with, I’m wondering what would happen if someone else were to come up with something that might challenge Epp. I’m wondering, you know, how you might react.”
   “You all have to do what it is that you do. Whatever interactions you’re planning on having with Epp, I’m not going to go out of my way to interfere, unless you involve me directly, of course. But I don’t owe Epp anything. I don’t owe anyone anything. That much I made clear right from the start.”
   “Right,” Gregor said, his curiosity once again overriding the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “What was it that happened there, at the start, as you put it?”
   Kyo only looked down at the table.
   Kyo was shocked at the pain, at the feeling in his hands, at the amount of steam that was boiling up from his body as he opened it up with his dagger, and then the blur of the last few hours came sharp upon his mind and he cried out.
   Six thousand miles away, Epp stopped talking in the middle of the conversation he was having with a new tester beneath the city wall of Rome.
   “Did you hear that?” Epp asked.
   The other tester shook his head, confused, and then tried to restart the conversation. Epp held up a finger for silence.
   A moment later there was another cry as Kyo pulled the blade further across his stomach and remembered the young guard he had left dying a few minutes ago up in Akira’s bedroom, and how his eyes had looked blankly over the guard’s body in the gray light of dawn, and how he had registered that the wound he had dealt was fatal and then continued on. But as Kyo knelt in the courtyard everything else he had seen finally became clear in his head and he cried out again as, a few yards away on the floor of Akira’s bedroom, Kyo’s son took his last breath.
   “What is it?” the new tester asked Epp, who had dropped to his knees and covered his ears with his hands.
   Epp looked up, bewildered. “You don’t hear that?” Epp cried out. The young tester shook his head again and began to grow nervous.
   In the courtyard Kyokutei’s mind was a mess as he started to fade, forgetting about any chance of saving his own spirit he only begged over and over again that his son could somehow be saved, even if it meant his own disgrace. Then he died.
   Then he stood up.
   A man with blacker skin than he had ever seen and wearing some sort of leather jerkin was standing in front of him.
   “My name is Epp,” the black man said. “What on earth did you just do?”
   Kyo turned and looked down at his own body lying in a swatch of red snow. “Am I dead?” he asked.
   “I think we had better talk,” the black man said.
   “If you say so,” Kyo said, deferentially, assuming this man to be a god.
   “I do.”
   “My son,” Kyo said, and turned to run back inside.
   Epp didn’t follow, knowing from experience that it was impossible to protect his kind from certain pains. Instead he stood in the snow and looked down at Kyo’s body, then looked up to see Kyo running across the snow covered courtyard. Epp’s eyes grew puzzled and he shook his head. “What are you?” he asked as the samurai’s back disappeared into the palace.
   It was hours before Epp was able to calm Kyo down. Then it was hours more before either one of them could make much sense of what had happened. They were standing in a frozen field. The snowfall had only accumulated a dusty half inch, the rest having been blown off by the wind. It was almost dark again and Epp was peering back over his shoulder.
   “Are you still all right?” Kyo asked.
   “I believe so,” Epp said, squinting off into the horizon, “I can still see home.”
   “And when do I get to return home?” Kyo asked.
   Epp sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve tried to explain to you, you don’t go home. Not ever again.”
   “So I am dead,” Kyo said, “and soon to be reunited with my lord and ancestors.”
   “No,” Epp answered. “No that isn’t it either. I am trying to explain this but even I don’t quite understand it. I’m sorry for that. Usually you get a decade or more to make your choices, but you…” Epp faltered, baffled again at the conclusion he had reached, “you somehow…you were your own first choice, and you chose to protect yourself by dying at the exact same moment that your son was dying, who was your second choice,” Kyo wasn’t listening anymore and Epp didn’t blame him as he continued on just once again trying to get a handle on it himself, “and it all must have happened in the space of a single heart beat. I mean the chances of that…for that to have happened…” Epp trailed off then once again dredged up the only solid piece of information he had, which was also the most amazing part of all of this in his mind. “I heard you all the way in Rome!” Epp shouted, pointing off into the horizon despite knowing from previous attempts throughout the day that the concept of Rome was not about to sink into Kyo’s head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
   “But I’m done now and I would like to rest.”
   “You can’t go home now, Kyo. You flew through all the barriers and tests and landed, in the space of a heartbeat, in the role of a tester. I keep trying to tell you, you serve all of humanity now.”
   “No,” Kyo said softly, sitting on the ground. “I am through serving.”
   “That’s not a choice you can make anymore. You, somehow, already made it. You now serve—”
   “NO!” Kyo screamed and Epp stumbled backwards in fear the man’s roar was so loud. “No more masters,” Kyo screamed again, standing up. “No more serving,” he yelled, only this time his voice cracked and became hoarse and his foot landed funny on a frozen rut of dirt so he fell to his knees almost immediately. “No more serving,” Kyo said, his voice back under control as he looked up at Epp, pleading.
   “I honestly can not say what would happen if you refused to ever push,” Epp said. “I really can’t. Most testers who don’t push, they begin to fade away.”
   “Like death?” Kyo asked.
   “I suppose, yes. It’s a type of death.”
   “Then that’s what I’ll do.”
   “I’m not sure what…I really don’t know what to do here,” Epp said, and then he swore as he looked back at the horizon. “I don’t even know where I am and if I don’t get back soon I won’t be getting back until your people discover my people…or the other way around.” He turned back to Kyo. “Someone will find you. Do you understand? There have to be other testers in this land. Someone will find you. You are not alone. Until then,” he sighed, “I’d give you some advice if I had some but I don’t. Or if you want to you can come back to Rome with me. At least you’d be sure to be amongst your kind and I’d be there. It might be nice to know that at least one other—”
   “I can get to where you’re from,” Kyo said, still kneeling in the dirt.
   “No, you can’t.”
   “Yes, I can,” Kyo said, staring off at the horizon. “I can see where you came from.” It was the first action Kyo had taken since his death that in any way indicated to him that what Epp had told him was real, that he wasn’t human anymore. In some strange way he was actually able to see the path Epp had taken to get here.
   “But that’s impossible. I can barely even see where I came—”
   “I can see,” Kyo interrupted. “You can leave now. I have family to look after.”
   “I need to start moving,” Epp said. “Or I’m going to be here permanently.”
   “I know. Go. I’ll be able to find you again.” Kyo tilted his head as he looked west, and was again amazed to see that Epp’s trail was so clear to him. “Go.”
   Epp hesitated. “I try to welcome those I can into this world as gently as possible,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you, Kyokutei.”
   “Thank you, Epictetus. The sentiment is enough.”
   “Not hardly,” Epp said, then turned to the horizon, wavered, and disappeared.
   “Again,” Kyo said, “I’m not going to answer that.”
   “I know,” Gregor said. “But you have to understand that it’s fun to try and piece you together.”
   “Actually it is no fun at all. I’ve been trying for centuries.” Kyo stood up and brushed his hand against his suit jacket before extending it to Gregor. “I have no reason to interfere in anything you might be planning as long as it doesn’t interfere with me.”
   Gregor stood up and took Kyo’s hand. “Great,” he said, smiling.
   “One word though,” Kyo said, dropping the handshake. “I don’t like you very much, although I like very few testers so you shouldn’t take that personally. But I do think you are talented, so if you think you have found something that will be able to pose a challenge to Epp, I believe you. On the other hand, I’m not sure how smart you are, so I will tell you to think twice about messing about with it, whatever it is. Anything that could even begin to pose a challenge to Epp will be something that you yourself will have difficulty controlling.”
   Gregor opened his mouth a few times as Kyo spoke to begin replying but Kyo talked through him, then turned and walked out of the room before anything was said.
   Gregor watched him go. “God forbid you just answer a couple of questions,” he said to himself, watching Kyo walk down the hallway. “Still,” he perked up, “neutral is neutral I suppose. And once Epp is gone…” He smiled. Then he turned and began to make up a cup of coffee that he might finally be able to finish.
   Out in the hallway Kyo gave a curt nod to Hector, who grinned at him, and a nod to Nyx, who bounced up and down on the balls of her feet with giddy energy as Kyo walked back out into the restaurant. Nyx took a long, slurping suck on the object in her mouth, enjoying its taste so much she didn’t notice Hector glaring at her until he cleared his throat and she froze, like a student caught chewing gum.
   Hector held a cupped palm up in front of her mouth and she obligingly slid the object out between her lips and into his hand. Hector held it up to the light, turned it around a few times, then stared angrily at Nyx.
   “What?” she asked. “I stopped off for some Chinese before I came here.”
   Hector handed the finger bone back to her; she popped it into her mouth and resumed sucking.
   “Hey,” she said, elbowing Hector in the side as she turned around and looked through the office door at Gregor stirring sugar into his coffee. “What do you think he tastes like?”
   Hector’s lips curled up slightly at the corners of his mouth in an uncontrollable boyish grin. “Lack of foresight,” he answered.
   Nyx giggled with her mouth open.
   
Part 7: Politica del Carciofo

   
   Matthew rolled over in his sleep. Something deep inside of him was telling him that it was time to wake up. With his eyes closed and his head encased in slumber he thought that maybe there was a pot of coffee on in the kitchen, that maybe his daughter was running the shower, that maybe his wife was pushing clothes around in their closet, he thought that one or all of these things were calling him out of his sleep and he turned to his side and smiled, his eyes still shut. He would wake up and go see his loved ones and kiss them before they started their days, and later they would be the last things he saw before he returned to bed. Then he opened his eyes and saw the Himalayas sprawling out in front of him and he remembered that he was alone.
   With a soft grunt he pulled himself to a standing position on the rocky ledge he had occupied for the last few weeks and began to stretch the stiffness out of his body, a motion so deeply ingrained in his psyche that he performed it despite not being in possession of a body.
   He finished stretching and looked around at the mountain top covered all over with the sleeping forms of other testers. Once his ears adjusted to the wind he found it to be oddly quiet and he decided to stroll a bit, the occasional dislodged stone or crush of gravel as he slipped sounding far too loud in the rocky snowscape.
   He arrived at a lower spine of rock that afforded a view of Everest’s southern face. On previous visits to mountaintops he had found a sense of peace when looking out at the scattered testers sleeping off years, if not centuries, of weariness from a push. Now, in the weird silence that he was convinced was somehow following him, things looked decidedly off and he found himself wishing for the company of other non-sleeping testers. Rubbing the back of one hand over a still weary eye he fumbled with the other in his pocket and dug out his cell phone. He flipped it open and his thumbs went to work, looking up numbers, typing out text messages. Then he flipped his phone shut and waited.
   The wind picked up. It sounded like the mountaintop was screaming.
   
—–

   Epp’s fingers were splayed across the base of a wide glass goblet and he swirled the base around on the table, watching the amber liquid inside the glass circulate. After a few swirls Epp picked up the glass and took a sip of the warm beer, the liquid thick on his lips, bitter on his tongue, and sweet in its aroma drifting up the back of his throat. His cell phone, sitting on the table, beeped and flashed, and he glanced down at the screen, then sat back.
   “You done?” Kyo asked sitting across from him, the flagstone covered town square behind him beginning to bustle in the late afternoon.
   Epp looked distracted by the question and raised his eyebrows, confused, as he set his glass down again. “I’m sorry, were we in some sort of hurry?” He looked down at Kyo’s largely untouched beer, the settling head leaving a wispy foam clinging to the glass. “Drink,” Epp suggested.
   “Not in the mood,” Kyo answered, looking at Epp with irritation as Epp leaned back and stared at the foot traffic in the square. Epp’s relaxation was too complete, his enjoyment of the scene too formulaic, and Kyo could tell that he was only pretending to be perfectly at ease and that their conversation was working its way into his blood. Confident in this reading, Kyo allowed himself to sit back himself and with a wrinkled nose he first sniffed, then tasted the Belgian Ale in front of him.
   “You know, it’s not that I’m too easy on him,” Epp said, staring out at the buildings across the square.
   Kyo set his glass down and looked up. “I’m not sure those were the words I used, but, yes, you are.”
   “The guy has a right to do what he wants to with his existence, with his energy.”
   “And so do you,” Kyo said. “But you aren’t listening to yourself; you never have when it comes to him. You—”
   “Don’t tell me what I think.” His voice came out harder than he had expected. Epp glanced over and saw a few sets of eyes on him. He waved his hand and the eyes all turned away as their owners suddenly felt the need to look elsewhere, at a pigeon on the flagstones or a street performer making his way around the cafes lining the square, anywhere but at Epp.
   “I don’t need to delve into what you’re thinking, Epp,” Kyo answered, his manner changing not in the slightest after Epp’s rebuke, “your actions are plenty telling. You have treated him differently for centuries now, he gets none of the same ‘oh so gentle guidance’ that all the rest of us get as—”
   “He has earned the right to—”
   “You overcompensate with him.”
   “I deal with him as I see fit, Kyo.”
   “You still feel guilty.”
   “You’re god damned right I do!” Epp said loudly, his hand absently waving away the intruding faces at the surrounding tables. “I almost destroyed the man. For nothing. For no reason. And you’re going to sit there and tell me that I treat him differently now? Of course I treat him differently.” Epp’s fingers plucked a cardboard coaster bearing the logo of a local brewery off the table. He folded it back and forth, cracking it along the middle, then ripped it in half and repeated the process with both pieces.
   “The Council was as much to blame as…” Kyo trailed off as Epp waved a tired hand in the air, the anger gone from his body.
   “I really don’t want to go into the details on that again,” Epp said. “The Council was to blame, I was to blame, Gregor was to blame, I don’t particularly care. When you walk around for centuries with the burdens that sit on my shoulders then we can talk.”
   “I’m not one of your bright eyed innocents, Epp,” Kyo said. “Don’t complain to me,” but the tone wasn’t accusing as Kyo’s irritation was gone as well. Instead it was banter, a joke, an exchange between equals.
   “He’s your biggest weakness,” Kyo said, his head cocked as he stared at the last few bubbles in his beer drifting lazily up from the bottom of the glass. He no longer seemed to be talking to Epp. Then his attention refocused and he caught Epp’s eyes. “And he’s up to something.”
   “Of course he is,” Epp answered, taking a gulp from his glass, “he’s Gregor.”
   “If he was anyone else you would have stuck your nose into his business decades ago.”
   “Maybe,” Epp said. “But I think he’s earned a fair amount of latitude from me.”
   “I think just the opposite. I think he’s dangerous.”
   “To who? To what? If he’s up to something and it works then who’s to say it’s not better?”
   “I can’t tell if you’re being overly confident or overly stupid.”
   “I think it’s a happy mix of the two.” Epp smiled and made himself comfortable in his chair and resumed people watching.
   “You really don’t need to prove to anyone how normal you are. You don’t need to constantly show the world that you get tested yourself.”
   “No, but I need to show myself that. It’s how I continue to believe in myself. If I’m wrong, I expect someone to prove me so.”
   “And you think Gregor is going to do that?”
   “What do I know? You seem to think that he’s out to get me. And I’m just saying, maybe he’s David and I’m Goliath. Maybe it’s time for me to fall a bit.”
   “The story of David and Goliath loses a lot of its meaning if Goliath purposely ties his own feet together before the fight starts.”
   “I guess there’s no chance of me getting to sit here and enjoy a nice beer on a lazy afternoon, is there?”
   “No. No there isn’t.”
   Epp lifted his glass to his lips and drained the last of his beer. The phone on the table beeped and lit up and as he swirled the brew around in his mouth tasting it, he lifted his phone up, grunted, and swallowed. “Speak of the devil,” he said.
   “What’s he have to say?”
   Epp flipped his phone open, read, then thumbed in a message. “He wants my advice on something. Wants me to meet with him.” With a clack he closed his phone and stared over at Kyo.
   Kyo shrugged. “I’ve said my piece. Now I’ll back out again. I take no stakes in what you all do.”
   Epp stood up, smiling, “Says the man who followed Isaac Newton to his grave because he knew I’d want a first hand account of what happened next.”
   “Yeah, well…” Kyo said.
   Epp threw a few bills onto the table, slid the menu over, double checked the prices, and then added another couple of bills. “I’ll see you later. Enjoy your beer.” And his form wavered then disappeared.
   Kyo watched the pigeons bob across the flagstones. He took another sip, his face souring at first then relaxing as if the flavor was maybe growing on him. His own phone rang and he reached into his pocket, took it out and glanced at the name flashing on the screen.
   “Nyx?” he asked himself. “The hell could she possibly want?” He shook his head, putting his phone on the table and, ignoring it for the moment, turning his attention to his beer.
   He jumped when a waitress tripped carrying a tray, sending fragile glasses shattering and cutlery clanging across the café floor behind him. A baby at a nearby table started crying.
   
—–

   “Who was that?” Bartleby asked.
   “It was Matthew,” Mary answered, not caring for his tone.
   “What does he want?” Bartleby was dressed in all black, his collar cockeyed, his hair greasy.
   “He just woke up,” Mary said, sliding her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. “He’s feeling out of sorts.”
   “So you’re going to go see him?” Bartleby asked, staring at her.
   “I hadn’t quite decided that, Bartleby,” Mary said. Before she spoke she, almost imperceptibly, took a deep calming breath. She had hoped, as she always hoped, that Bartleby would be more together today than the last time she had seen him, would be more like he had been a few months ago. But recently something had slipped within him, the strains of his existence had become too much, and before they had exchanged two sentences Mary had known that this time would be just like, if not worse than, all the other times.
   “You can go see him.” Bartleby said hurriedly, his head nodding a little bit as he spoke, as if he were reaching an accord within himself very quickly.
   “I don’t believe that’s up to you, Bartleby.” Mary said, piquantly.
   “Well you were supposed to help me with my lessons today,” Bartleby answered, his dark eyebrows lowering to hover over his eyes. “So were you just going to leave? Or did you already make other plans? Or were—”
   “This is the third time you’ve asked for help with these lessons in the past two weeks. And this is the third time that I’ve shown up and you’ve had nothing prepared. And when I suggest that we get started you turn me down.”
   “What? I thought we could have a drink first.”
   “I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough to drink already today,” Mary said as she caught the sick fruity smell of alcohol coming out of Bartleby.
   “Well I’m sorry. I didn’t realize talking to me was such a chore.”
   “It’s not that,” Mary said, her jaw clenching. “You’re putting words in my mouth. But if you want to stop,” she looked Bartleby up and down and noticed that his shirt was starting to smoke slightly, “this. If you want to get a handle on this then you have to want to get a handle on it. I’ll gladly help you, but I’m not your mother, Bartleby.”
   “I don’t need your help,” Bartleby said.
   “Oh my god,” Mary said, looking up at the sky. “Then why did you ask me here? This keeps happening.”
   “So this is my fault? Is that what you and Epp have decided?”
   “I haven’t even seen Epp in weeks!” Mary was exasperated, her usual petite persona now outsized with annoyance. “You know what? I’m going to leave before I start yelling again. I don’t like being this upset. When you’re ready to work on your permanent suntan again, please call me, but I don’t think listening to you complain for a month straight is doing either of us any good.”
   “Wait, no,” Bartleby said. “You don’t have to leave. Come on,” he wheedled, “just stay for a little bit.”
   “Someone is starting a lifelong push today, Bartleby,” Mary said to him, flat and detached. “Did you get that message? You can come there with me if you want. Otherwise I’m leaving.” Mary turned away.
   “Don’t you leave me,” Bartleby shouted, his hand reaching out and grabbing Mary’s arm too firmly so that she winced. His body flushed with adrenaline, and things became scary.
   “Let go of me.”
   “Wait,” Bartleby stammered.
   “Let go of me,” Mary ordered.
   “I—”
   “Let. Go. Of me.”
   Bartleby moved like he was underwater, his head drifting in wobbly motion, his hand slowly withdrawing from Mary’s arm to reveal three dark brown burn marks where his fingers had been.
   “Good bye, Bartleby,” Mary said. She didn’t look back, only walked across the street before vanishing.
   Bartleby stared at the point in the street where she had disappeared, numb disbelief at how he had acted playing across his face. Then he started to get angry. Before another minute had passed it was all her fault.
   The light changed. The driver in front didn’t notice, the cab behind him started then stopped short, tires emitting a little squeak as the whole frame of the cab rocked back. The cab driver leaned on the horn, loud in the quiet street, and Bartleby’s head snapped up, the horn unnerving him, his eyes growing larger as smoke began to billow off his body.
   
—–

   Kyo’s phone beeped and lit up where it sat next to an empty beer glass. Kyo paused, his third beer at his lips, and glanced down. It went quiet. Kyo tilted his head back and began taking a gulp of his beer. He was beginning to enjoy the thick headed beer fog that was starting to creep into his skull. The phone beeped again. He growled and put his glass down, picked his phone up.
   Matthew had called. Kyo would give that a few minutes. He barely knew Matthew and didn’t care to share his Sunday with him, but with that being said the Himalayas could be lonely when you first woke up and if nobody who knew the kid better was going to answer Matthew’s wake up call he supposed he could suffer through some small talk. At the very least he wouldn’t have to scrounge for his beers if he had some company.
   And Nyx had texted again. Then there was an odd pairing of messages from a Beauterschmidt and a Jansom. Beauterschmidt was a well known tester. Actually, Kyo thought, reversing that thought, it was more that everyone at some point had met Beauterschmidt. The guy was everywhere, a bit of social butterfly. While Jansom on the other hand was about the quietest guy Kyo had ever met, but also one of the nicest. They both appeared to be together near some cathedral somewhere in the Romanian backwoods and were texting Kyo that they were about to start a life-long push. Which was always interesting.
   With one last swallow he finished his beer, grabbed his phone, and stood up.
   
—–

   Matthew stood, his tuxedo jacket flapping out behind him, and continued to scroll through the numbers in his phone. They were all at least two weeks old, that was about how long he’d been out, but even a two week old number would get through within the hour, barring some incredibly strange travel patterns on the part of every single tester he had met.
   He winced as a particularly strong gust of wind hit him, and without thinking he reached a free hand up to grab his jacket at the lapels and hold it shut by his chest. If he moved off the mountain that would just make things take even longer.
   He’d give it another few minutes, then head somewhere warmer. The edges of his jacket flapped angrily around him. His phone flashed and a couple of texts came in from a Beauterschmidt and a Jansom. One of them was starting a life-long push today.
   “Works for me,” Matthew said, then wavered and disappeared.
   
—–

   Epp leaned back, relaxed, even the lines of his suit seeming to fall into soft relief against the felt wall of the cubicle behind him. Across from him stood Gregor, hands in his pockets, half standing, half sitting on a filing cabinet that was in the hallway.
   Epp was staring down at the carpet, one hand squeezing the back of his neck. He sighed then looked up. “What is it, ‘Have an Esoteric Argument with Epp Day?’”
   Gregor shook his head, not sure of Epp’s meaning.
   “Look,” Epp started again, “what I think you’re driving at, it’s been tried. It doesn’t work.”
   “When?” Gregor asked.
   “Centuries ago,” Epp said.
   “Well a lot has changed since then.”
   Epp nodded. “Yes, yes it has. But I still don’t see it happening. I don’t want to sound too final or anything, but I really just think the idea is flawed at a fundamental level.”
   “Oh no, that doesn’t sound too final at all.”
   Epp again nodded, acknowledging Gregor’s point. “Yes, well it’s sort of hard to get around. Suffering is what we’re here to do. It’s the one thing that drew us into this existence.”
   “But that doesn’t mean it has to continue.”
   “I’m fairly certain it does.”
   “No,” Gregor said, and for the first time there was raw emotion in one of the two men, something beyond the lusterless chat they had been having. “Why? Why all the confusion? Why all the uncertainty? Why all the games and trouble? Why this arbitrary ritual that we follow in order to improve their lives?” he looked around at the office employees talking, sitting, typing, reading, joking, answering phones and looking up paperwork.
   “It’s the charge we took on when we made our initial choices,” Epp answered, his head moving slowly across the room, scanning the scene playing out in front of him. “Those choices are who we are. Our existence is so closely tied in with our need to continue with our work that to separate the two…” He shook his head again.
   “There are plenty who don’t remember their choices with much fondness anymore.”
   “I’m sure there are. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t make them. We all had the chance to bow out, but we chose to serve to them.” The woman in the cubicle next to Gregor opened her desk drawer and scratched her armpit as she took her lunch out.
   Gregor turned to watch. Then looked back at Epp. “We have so much power, we are so clearly,” and his voice grew thick in the back of his throat with anger, “superior to these things. We are gods. They? They are cattle.” The woman crammed a large forkful of salad leaves into her mouth and began chewing, her jaw moving in large circles.
   Epp smiled. “I commend you on your choice of location. But it doesn’t matter. The most pigheaded, slobbish moron amongst them is more important than all of us. We feed off of them, we accomplish through them, and our agreement to serve them is what brought us into existence. It’s their world…we just signed an extended lease to occupy it.”
   “Yes. Occupy it. For centuries and centuries. And, when we’re not suddenly plunged into despair over our two choices, we have to stave off that clawing, horrible, hunger by revisiting our death over and over. I understood my choices, but this whole deal was never explained to me with great clarity.”
   “Gregor,” Epp said, his voice trying to bring things back to his original point. “It’s been tried before.”
   “But so much has changed,” Gregor said, his waxy face growing long as he pleaded with Epp to just agree with him. “We have so much more in the way of technology at our disposal. It would be easy to gather them up, to slow them down, to pen them in and keep control of them. No more erratic pushes and horrible leaps into the unknown. Just small simple pushes, every tester gets their share of energy, we set it up, nice and neat and easy. We can’t get around the despair, but we can run the pushes as efficiently as any farm. And no tester ever goes hungry again.”
   “But that’s just what I’m saying. It’s been tried. It doesn’t work. You can’t just stick a straw into one of them and suck some energy out. You have to push, really push, or you get nothing. The pain is all part of it. You think you’re going to remove the flaws from the system, but you don’t seem to grasp that the flaws are the system. The tamer the push is the less energy comes out of it. Pushes are rough on all parties involved, and the rougher the better for all parties involved.”
   “I’m not saying we’d have it up and running in a matter of days. But we could take years, decades, centuries, to figure out how to turn a push, turn a chaotic struggle of pain and torture for our kind, into something as painless as…I don’t know…as a simple trip to the pharmacy.”
   “You’re not going to be able to convince me—”
   “This doesn’t disgust you? To know that your existence is reliant on this?” Gregor waved at the woman still munching on her salad. “That the best you can hope for is to not be hit with complete pain anytime soon but just suffer through moderate doses?”
   Epp shrugged. “I’m okay with the nature of my existence. To be honest, I’m curious to see what they’ll do next.”
   The woman tore open a package of ranch dressing and dumped it onto her salad.
   
—–

   Bartleby sat in a dimly lit pub on Manhattan’s upper west side. He was leaning, elbows on the bar, intent on nothing but his drink, all his surroundings blocked out to the point that he didn’t realize he was occasionally breaking into audible conversation with himself. His thoughts were all serrated edges and quick distorted images in his head. He was tired, exhausted really, not having had a calm moment in months, except when she was around, but even those had grown more and more infrequent, and now he had gone and completely ruined everything and there was no chance of her forgiving him because he was a freak and what had he been thinking? And the stress of the words in his thoughts made him speak some out loud, his glass picked up and waved for emphasis, then slammed back down on the rough wooden bar disgustedly.
   The bartenders were standing back. There was some good baseball on today, so a few early customers were to be expected, but they both had recognized that the young man in black was not coming in for a few afternoon beers and a baseball game. They knew when someone was picking up their drinking where they had left it off the night before. They both stood at the far end of the bar and watched.
   “There he goes again,” one of them said, and the other looked over and watched as Bartleby spoke angrily to himself, then ran his hand over his face as if to wipe away his tiredness.
   “Any idea how bad off he is? Is he going to be trouble?”
   “Don’t know,” the first bartender said. “He’s certainly pissed, that much I can tell you.”
   “At what?”
   “From what I’ve overheard? The planet Mercury. And something named Epp.”
   “It’s way too early to have the crazies out,” the second bartender said. “Still, he doesn’t exactly have the look of a brawler, does he? I’m guessing he just got laid off this week. He’ll drink himself into a stupor, then be on his way.” He watched as the young man in black took a deep breath and seemed to calm himself down some. “He’s not hurting anybody.”
   Bartleby stood up and walked to the bathroom in the back. He was the only one there and after he had used the urinal he stared at himself in the mirror above the little sink. The conversation he had been having at the bar was still going through his head and was still punctuated here and there by bursts of words spoken out loud. Then something seized up inside his head and the conversation spilled over into pure anger as he suddenly grabbed hold of the sink and pulled it out of the wall, porcelain crunching onto the tile floor, before throwing a punch at the mirror and cracking it into a star burst of lines.
   He looked around, scared at how large the outburst had been, part of him had been expecting to maybe swear loudly a few times, not destroy a bathroom, and now he had to stare at the physical results of his anger, and he found he didn’t care. He found he didn’t care at all. And with a dreamy feeling of unreality he watched as his own hands set fire to the wooden bathroom door. He smiled as the fire spread around him, making him feel safe, and he laughed. “Fuck you, Epp,” he spit out bitterly. When he was sure the fire was good and set he walked outside to watch the people panic.
   
—–

   Kyo walked through the woods in the dark. He swore to himself and stopped walking, looking around with an expression on his face that betrayed how stupid he felt. The café had been nice. This was aggravating.
   “Beauterschmidt!” he yelled. “Jansom!” Kyo growled and his forehead wrinkled. Walking with just the moonlight had seemed enjoyable when he first arrived, but now he pulled a flashlight out of nowhere. He turned it on and then stopped, realizing that just because he could see where he was going didn’t make knowing where he was going any easier.
   He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone and looked over the recent texts again. Beauterschmidt and Jansom had texted him from these woods, that much was certain.
   Kyo came around a dense stand of trees and ducked through some bushes. He stopped and breathed slowly through his nose, his lower teeth pushing hard against his upper jaw as he strained to let no reaction show on his face. He had found Beauterschmidt and Jansom.
   One of their bodies was propped up against a tree so that it almost looked like it was sitting; the other was sprawled out against the muddy forest floor. Neither one was entirely intact. There was perfume on the air.
   “Hello, Nyx,” Kyo said.
   Behind him Nyx chirped with happy laughter and Kyo turned around to face her. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, delighted. “You did know I was here!”
   “Just noticed you actually.” He played his flashlight over the two bodies and the light dancing over them asked questions.
   “Yeah,” Nyx said. “We needed their cell phones. Nobody would come if I called them. And those two knew everybody.”
   “Who else is coming?”
   “Everyone, I think. Hector’s been making calls for awhile now inside a cathedral south of here. But where have you been? You were the first person we called. We wanted you here early. You know, you’re different and all,” she said like a teenager, “and so we thought we’d bring you out here into the woods alone rather than send you to the cathedral with the rest.”
   “Because I’m different.”
   Nyx agreed, happy as a puppy.
   “And by ‘We’ you mean the two behind me? Or the one off to my right?”
   Nyx’s mouth opened as she giggled, her hands clasped by her mouth as if Kyo were surpassing all her expectations.
   Kyo only stared at her. Two men walked up slowly behind Kyo. One more stepped towards him from his right.
   
—–

   There was a drip of water, a barely audible moist tap, that echoed off the stone walls in constant rhythm. Matthew looked up and his mouth stupidly fell open as he continued to crane his neck to try to get a look at the ceiling of the cathedral. It was lost in darkness. The giant stone structure he was in was under renovation, or salvation, or destruction, he couldn’t tell which. There were a number of new additions so that the giant space of the cathedral’s nave was broken by scaffolding, added floors, dividing walls, wooden platforms, essentially slicing the large internal space into possibly hundreds of smaller rooms, blocking the windows and hiding the ceiling. It made things confusing. Upon arrival Matthew had been forced to stop short and opt to enter by the front door rather than try to move directly into any one of the upper rooms where Beauterschmidt and Jansom had texted him from.
   He called out and heard no answer, then found a stone spiral staircase and started climbing. Eventually, after a few wrong turns, he walked into a giant room with a stone arched ceiling and monstrous wooden floor beams secured with ancient iron brackets. The room was well lit and there was a large crowd of testers at the far end. As Matthew walked towards them he saw that there were tables laid out with a buffet. “These things are catered?” Matthew said, mostly to himself.
   “Sometimes,” he turned and saw Mary and smiled. The two exchanged hugs and pleasantries before Matthew asked if anyone they both knew was there. Epp or Kyo or Bartleby.
   “Don’t talk to me about Bartleby,” Mary said in a tone of such frostiness that Matthew shut up entirely on the subject. “I heard you just woke up,” Mary said switching topics. “You pushed on your own?”
   Matthew nodded and Mary began asking him questions about how it had been as he poured himself a cup of coffee from a large silver urn. Matthew talked, and met people, and discussed how nobody could tell which way north was, and was having a good old time until he saw someone flicker into existence at the other side of the room.
   “Hey!” he shouted. “That guy’s got it figured out.” And he walked over the yards and yards to the side of the room by the entrance to say hello to the newcomer. It was a portly man in a burgundy raincoat. “Hey there,” Matthew said, “how did you—” then he broke off in a swear as the man turned to face him and Matthew saw that half his face was rotted away.
   Then two more popped into existence. “Hey, Gordon,” one of them said.
   The fat man turned to answer. “You two block the door.” They moved to the doorway and stood in front of it. Matthew backed up, never taking his eyes off of the fat man in the raincoat, who only stared back until Matthew had backed up so far he bumped into some of the testers on the other side of the room. Then Matthew saw the fat man smile.
   
—–

   Epp stood next to Gregor and looked out over the cubicles in front of them.
   “They’re cattle,” Gregor said. “We rule over them.”
   “They’re potential,” Epp answered. “And,” his voice grew sharp here, as if this conversation was no longer interesting to him and he wished to make his point and be done with it, “we serve them.”
   “If we could just—”
   Epp waved a hand, limping back over to the outer cubicle wall to retrieve his cane where it was leaning. “This is all academic, Gregor. I disagree with you. That’s all there is to it.” He picked his cane up and turned to face Gregor. “But I wish you the best of luck, I really do. I won’t stand in your way. I’ve been around far longer than most; certainly long enough to know that just because something’s always been done one way doesn’t mean it should always be done that way. If you’re right, you’ll succeed. But you will have to do so without me.”
   Gregor stared at Epp. He spoke his words slowly, thinking them over, trying to force too much meaning into each syllable. “I,” he began, “really wish you would be a part of this.”
   Epp held his hand out. “No,” he said. His hand hung in the air. Gregor didn’t look at him, only leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets as he stared down at the office carpeting.
   On the far side of the room a man with a baseball cap pulled down low over his head, as if he were purposely hiding part of his skull from view, reached up and pulled the fire alarm. The noise was loud and piercing, an electronic panic signal like a scream in the night. People looked up, stood up, turned to their neighbors, glanced around, and waited as a supervisor explained that he had just called down to the front desk and that this was not a false alarm and, yes, everyone really should get up and head outside. Chatting and laughing the people began to get up and leave. Except for the man with the baseball cap pulled down low, and a woman sitting atop a desk a few cubicles away from Epp who was wearing a scarf too tightly around her neck. The office began to empty. Another man stayed behind, the occasional worker walking right through him as he made his way over to where Gregor and Epp were standing. All told, six people came around, walking slowly, to stand around Epp as he stood with his hand still hanging in the air like a dead question.
   Epp looked around, and only then did he bring his hand back to his side.
   “Oh, Gregor,” he said, “what have you gotten yourself into?”
   Gregor didn’t meet his eyes, but swept his face along the carpet and past Epp as he turned and began walking out of the room. The man with the baseball cap pulled low on his head walked up to Epp.
   Gregor reached the double glass doors leading into the office and he finally turned back. Epp was staring down the cubicle hallway at him. The man in the baseball cap passed between them, his foot lashed out and Gregor heard Epp’s cane crack in two. Epp lurched suddenly and leaned up against the cloth coated cubicle wall and then one of the women was on him from behind and Gregor heard him start to scream and saw him start to bleed and then Gregor bolted from the office, ducking out through the glass doors and out into the hallway with the elevator bank and the marbled floor and he made it to a violin shaped decorative stone sculpture and he put his hand against the wall and started shaking. A few deep breaths reassured him. He stood up taller. He looked around for Hector. There was a voice in the stairwell, and as Gregor walked towards the door he recognized Hector’s voice out in the hall.
   “Just get to the cathedral,” Hector was saying, his words harsh and agitated by the confined acoustics. “No, Nyx has Kyo. You just need to get to the cathedral. Everyone else has directions. People are already showing up. Yes. Yes.” Then an exasperated, “No.” Followed by, “I’ve got another call,” and a farewell.
   Then the other call was started. “No, Gordon,” Hector was saying, an earpiece for his cell phone clipped to the side of his head, “you can not start until everyone gets there. No…No…Oh please, Gordon, you couldn’t possibly get any fatter than you already are. It’s our less fully formed friends that I want to make sure get a chance to feed well, not you. And, yes, they’re going to be the slowest to get there, but you do not start until a hell of a lot more people are there…Don’t worry, nobody’s going anywhere. The cathedral is a blind spot…No…No…Okay. Bye.”
   Gregor walked back towards the elevators. The hallway door opened. Hector entered, his burly shoulders stretching his coat across his back like beetle’s wings.
   “It’s done?” Hector asked.
   “Epp’s inside,” Gregor said, barely audible. “Hector,” he then asked, “where’s Nyx?”
   “She’s off doing something,” Hector answered.
   Gregor stared at him. “And we wait. Once Epp is gone, we wait for word to get out before approaching all his people again. And we wait to meet with Kyo again. We give them a chance to come around to our side.”
   “Of course,” Hector said. “Of course.”
   “And the cathedral?” Gregor asked. “Is there anything going on at the cathedral?”
   
—–

   Kyo’s eyes were on Nyx. The flashlight in his hand trained on her face. The three men approaching him remained faceless sounds walking through the underbrush in the dark. Kyo remained where he was and the flashlight never moved, catching every movement of Nyx’s lashes swishing as her purple lined eyes blinked.
   The two men behind Kyo were close; the third coming in from the left was right up on him.
   “You just hurt him enough to hold him down,” Nyx shouted, bounding up to her tiptoes as she spoke as if to improve her view. “That’s all, you got that?” she said. She hated to ruin the wonderful mood but she also hated to miss seeing what was going on, so her flashlight came out, and the shadowy forms in front of her came into view as she trained her own spotlight on Kyo.
   The man standing in front of Kyo, a small blond guy with an outfit that screamed tennis, drew a hand back, then plunged it forward, fingers grabbing into Kyo’s shoulders. Then he grunted strangely as his hands bumped and slid across Kyo’s jacket, never moving a rayon thread, before his hand glanced off into air. He was able to utter a half word, a dejected outburst of surprise and confusion before his mouth clicked shut as Kyo rammed one palm up into his chin, Kyo’s other hand moving to the back of his head, Kyo’s fingers snaking around to grip his skull from behind, and then Kyo’s palm was pushing to the side, twisting his head around, and there were two wet thocks as a set of interlocked vertebrae popped apart and then Kyo let go and the man in the tennis clothes dropped to the forest floor dead.
   The other two men started swears themselves, or gasps, or screams, but there was a blade in Kyo’s hand instead of a flashlight and as Nyx watched the other two men were sliced apart by Kyo. He paused after his last stroke, his body wavering slightly and she heard him blow an angry breath through his nose. “Fucking morons,” he said with disgust. He turned to face Nyx. “Just what did you think ‘different’ meant?” he asked, his eyes dark and searching in her beam of light.
   Her flashlight moved and Kyo followed it down to his arm. There was a small cut through his jacket that had drawn blood. “Maybe not so different,” Nyx said.
   “Different enough.”
   Nyx didn’t answer. She just turned and ran.
   “Oh, no you don’t,” Kyo said, his legs already moving underneath him as he took off in chase.
   
—–

   Gregor was red in the face, screaming at Hector, who was also furious but who was currently being shouted over by Gregor. “That cathedral took me years to construct. Do you know how many renovations had to start and stop, how many companies had to run out of money, how many architects had to drop out and how many times I had to time it so the funding would run dry at just the right moment in order for that place to slowly crumble just the way I wanted it? The upper space in that cathedral is possibly my greatest work of art. Designed to be hard to get in and out of, there’s conceivably no other place like it on earth. It is to be saved, it is an emergency fund, a wild card, an I don’t even know what but I do know that any tester who walks in and out of there once or twice will get a firm enough grasp to travel easily. It doesn’t work more than once. Once the confusion gets put to rest it’s just like any other place on earth. Years! And what the hell is Kyo doing involved in all of this? I don’t want him involved yet! Call Nyx; call whoever you were talking to. Tell them to come back, get them out of there, never mind, I’ll do it myself.” He took out his phone and dialed, glaring up at Hector, he tapped his foot and waited through a few rings. “Voice mail,” Gregor steamed into his phone. “Nyx, this is Gregor. I’m not sure what Hector has told you,” he said, giving one last look at Hector before turning away and walking down the hall. “But you call me back as soon as you get this. You hear me? As soon as…”
   Hector made up his mind and walked up behind Gregor, grabbing one of the violin stone statues that lined the hallway as he walked, the stone rasping heavily across the pedestal as he snatched it off. He hefted it in one hand and drew back, closing the distance between him and Gregor in a few long strides.
   “…you get this message, do you—”
   The statue caved in the side of Gregor’s skull and his body slumped, his feet moving strangely under him, he slipped and fell face first into the wall, sliding down to the floor as his cell phone clattered onto the marble. One of his hands rose up and swatted at empty air in front of him in a repetitive motion as some part of him attempted over and over again to block the blow that had already landed.
   “Shit,” Hector hissed between his teeth, looking up and down the hall then down at Gregor, who was still sinking against the wall, the blood pooling under him making him slip further into an awkward pile of limbs, his arm still swatting at the air.
   
—–

   Kyo chased Nyx. First at a train station in Stockholm there was a hint of the perfume she wore to the north. Then a rush of air over his body before he was in a garden somewhere in Germany. A footprint in the soft rich garden earth crumbled as he arrived. It pointed south. Space and time rushing past him, a market in Tunisia where he saw no trace of her until an eddy of wind swirled, then reversed itself and swirled in the opposite direction as if rushing to fill in a gap of missing air somewhere off to the west. The water of the Mediterranean making strange patterns with its waves, the smoke in a Spanish elevator drifting towards the floor in a quick downdraft, an English football match where the roar of the spectators warbled in too high a tone, sign after sign, hurtling into homes and lakes, skidding across farmland and through storm clouds. Sniffing the air in Dublin, skidding across the wet grass of a Scottish hillside and knocking out a section of a low stone wall before leaping off and hurtling into a place where everything stopped making sense.
   Things were all funny. Everything was moving too fast or being too large or both at the same time. And he almost lost her but then he felt something and was off again, past a country village, cottage windows lit up in the dark, then back to another area where nothing made sense.
   And he felt as if he were moving too slow. And he was clunky and ungraceful and he finally lost her there. Having trouble breathing he made his way slowly out of the dark chamber he was in. Looking around he nodded his head, almost in appreciation. “Oh, very clever,” he said.
   
—–

   Nyx appeared in the hallway of the office building. She heard a loud thump, hard and edgy. Turning around she saw Hector bent over. He was holding a stone statue up over his head. He brought it down again and there was another thump. His target was hidden by a podium but there were a pair of legs poking out. The statue raised and Nyx saw that the stone was a deep scarlet, the porous material almost black, while the front of Hector’s suit was a mess of red. The statue swung one last time, Hector’s hair flopping in a sweaty lock onto his forehead. He stood up and looked down. Then, suddenly precise and calm he returned the statue to the pedestal, nudging it ever so gently an extra half inch to center it.
   Nyx walked over to him, came around to the other side and saw Gregor’s body on the ground.
   “You were supposed to wait,” Nyx said, looking down, her voice on edge and her eyes distant.
   “I panicked,” Hector said. “He started piecing things together, or at least picking the pieces up, and then he was making phone calls and…” he stopped talking, realizing he needed to catch his breath. As he stopped he noticed that Nyx was breathing heavily as well and he looked at her face, scared and disjointed.
   “Nyx,” he asked, “where is Kyo?”
   Nyx looked at him, fear in her face welling up, and then she burst into sobs, uncontrollable tears that squeezed out of her face as she began speaking. “Hector, I don’t know what he is but he is not like us. It was like he was made of stone. The guys I set on him couldn’t even make his suit jacket move. And they were gone before I could even react, and then he chased me—”
   “He’s coming here?!” Hector yelled. Nyx stopped talking, her eyes blubbering over, her body shutting down at being shouted at. “Nyx?” Hector tried again. “Nyx did Kyo follow you here?”
   Nyx shook her head. “No,” she sniffled. “No, I lost him. But he was so close the whole time. I had to run through two particle accelerators before I lost him. Hector he was so scary,” she finished, wiping quickly at one eye then the other with her hand and sniffling again.
   “Okay,” Hector said, trying to think. “Okay. Some things are happening ahead of schedule. That’s fine. And we always knew Kyo was an unknown. Now at least we know something in that department, right? And the buffet at the cathedral is almost ready to start, so that’s going according to plan. So really not that much is--”
   The double glass door behind Hector shattered, glass exploding outward as the man in the baseball cap crashed into the wall opposite, his body embedding deep into the plaster before slowly peeling off and dropping with a lifeless slap onto the marble floor.
   “Oh, fuck me,” Hector said, watching Epp step through the doorway. “You know part of me thought that six wasn’t enough.”
   Epp was coming down the hallway toward them, his suit jacket was gone but his bloody shirt was knitting itself back together as he walked, his limp pronounced without a cane, one leg out to the side to keep him balanced. He glanced down at Gregor on the floor as he approached, then kept his eyes on Hector as he limped forward.
   Hector held his hands up while Epp was still a good ten feet away. “All your friends are dying,” he said simply.
   Epp stopped.
   “You could work your way through me and Nyx. I’m sure it’d be fun but it would take a good bit of time. Meanwhile your friends are all dying. Hard to say how many are left even now but surely the more time you spend here the less time you can spend…”
   He shut up as Epp took his cell phone out and glanced at it, his eyes flitting down for quick moments, not wanting to break eye contact with Hector.
   “They’re all there,” Nyx started, but Hector cut her off, knowing that Epp would figure it out quickly enough and that things would work out better the less Epp felt he was being manipulated.
   “We can tell you where they are. Help you get there fast—”
   Epp wavered and disappeared without taking his eyes off of Hector.
   “Where’d he go?” Nyx whispered.
   Hector held his hands out in front of him palms up. He curled them into fists and opened them over and over again, waiting for them to stop shaking. “He’s Epp, Nyx. I’m fairly certain he was able to figure out where to go all on his own.”
   “Should we go too?”
   “We? No. Absolutely not. What we do is wait until tonight is over and we see how the fiasco at the cathedral goes. Then we figure out what to do next.”
   “Okay.” Nyx said. “Okay,” she repeated, watching Hector flex his hands. She reached up and wiped a stray tear from her cheeks, her face now under control.
   
—–
   
   Kyo tramped through the underbrush. He had backtracked to the woods to look for any information that might be helpful. He was a hundred yards or so from where Beauterschmidt and Jansom were lying. He felt something in the wind, some small wavering up at the tops of the tree branches. Cocking his head he listened harder. His ringing phone made him jump and he turned in slow circles as he answered. “Epp?” he said.
   “Kyo,” Epp was yelling, “Hector and Nyx have…”
   The voice grew distant as Kyo held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Epp was only a few hundred yards away. “Epp!” he yelled, ignoring the phone.
   “Kyo?” he heard Epp yell back.
   Kyo locked in on the direction and noticed, hidden and shaky through the trees, the form of a cathedral lit from below with flood lamps. He took a step, gaining speed, rushing through the trees, small bushes shattering as he passed until he stopped at the cathedral steps, Epp in front of him with his shirt torn and his face cut. Kyo didn’t bother asking.
   “They’re all up there,” Epp said. “I can’t get up, though, it’s…I can’t figure it out. It’s like—”
   “Epp, shut up and take the stairs,” Kyo said, leading the way up to the large gothic arched door.
   They walked into the cathedral, light stands and shadows, pillars and piles of pews, calcified limestone and dust. Epp looked around then looked up toward the ceiling, squinting into the darkness. His head flicked from one corner to the other as Kyo walked without hesitating into the center of the great open space.
   “Stairs are over here,” Epp shouted, his voice dampened as it struggled to carry through the stone structure.
   “Meet you up there,” Kyo said, flexing his knees.
   “Show off,” Epp called, turning and limping into a side doorway, his footsteps fading as he made his way up the stairs.
   Kyo bent his knees into a crouch, one palm flat on the ground, arching so his back was facing up he tensed his whole body, then leapt, legs straightening he shot up in the air, disappearing into the darkness above, the stones where he had been standing cracking and resettling from the force of his jump.
   
—–
   
   Matthew was staring, as he had been for almost an hour, at the steadily growing mob on the other side of the room. They were appearing more slowly now, one slipping into existence every few seconds instead of the constant rush of appearing bodies that had peaked about ten minutes ago.
   The portly man in the burgundy raincoat and half rotted face was looking about, his finger poised in the air and plucking up and down as he did a rough head count. He seemed to arrive at a satisfactory number because he turned and Matthew was certain the small eyes encased in thick flesh looked directly at him across the wide expanse of the room. “Well then,” the portly man said. “I think that just about does it.” He smiled the plastic smile of someone who is about to trot out a joke they came up with hours ago and have been saving for just the right moment. “Dinner is—”
   Wood erupted up from the floor in the center of the room as a figure hurtled up, his momentum lifting him a good four feet above the thick wooden beams. He paused at the top of his leap before his legs gracefully parted and he landed with a soft footfall, straddling the hole that was now underneath him.
   “Oh thank god,” Matthew expelled in a quick rush of breath as he recognized Kyo’s voice.
   “What on earth,” Kyo was bellowing, “is wrong with this place?! There are about four floors of nothing underneath this one.”
   The reactions from both ends of the room were rather the same as everyone began talking and whispering to one another, the great mass of people all realizing at once that something fundamental in their situation was now changed.
   Then silence, like a great rolling blanket, began to spread out from the furthest part of the room by the staircase. Those closest to the stairs hushed first and turned, then those in front of them noticed this silence and grew silent as well. It passed through all of them and this was enough to silence everyone on Matthew’s side of things.
   There was a wooden clump, growing in volume, coming up the stairs. Matthew watched as they rippled, heads and bodies moving and turning, and then they parted and he saw Epp walking through them. His jacket was missing, one of his sleeves was torn, and he was missing a button or two on his shirt, not to mention the blood caked on the side of his face. As he walked he turned here and there, looking over the faces in the mob, and for a brief moment Matthew saw them as they had been, testers like him, some of them most likely students of Epp, but then Epp was past them and the portly gentleman smiled, showing his teeth, and ran his tongue over his lips as he smelled Epp’s blood, and the moment was past. What sway Kyo and Epp’s arrival had created was starting to dissipate.
   Epp walked to where Kyo was standing in the middle of the room. He stopped and turned to stand next to Kyo, facing the mob.
   “You take the left side of the room and I’ll take the right?” Kyo asked.
   Epp laughed. Matthew couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other but he always remembered the sound of Epp’s laugh.
   “There’s got to be over a hundred of them,” Epp said. “I had my hands full with the few they sicced on me earlier and you appear to be bleeding as well. Besides, you could maybe get a hold of, what, five? Six? The rest would run right by you,” and Epp turned to look over his shoulder at his friends.
   “Then what? What’s the plan?” Kyo asked.
   “They aren’t interested in fighting. That won’t hold them. But I think they’re interested in feeding,” Epp said. He brought his face around again and scanned the rows of the mob, then turned and looked at Kyo, eyes clear, face calm. “Get them out of here.”
   Kyo didn’t respond at first, thinking this over. Then he opened his mouth to object strongly.
   “Kyo,” Epp said quietly, and Kyo stopped short with his mouth open. “Don’t bother. Nobody up here has the smallest chance of keeping all of them busy long enough except for myself.” Epp looked over the mob. Then one last time he looked back at Matthew and the others, then returned to Kyo. “I don’t think you’d quite be a big enough meal,” and he smiled a simple smile.
   “Go, Kyo,” Epp ordered softly. “Get them out of here.” Then Epp turned to face the mob, a small knife appearing in his hand. That was when Matthew’s memory became unreliable. It was as if time skipped and jumped at its own pace for awhile. Kyo dropped back to gather with Matthew and the rest. Kyo said something; Matthew was never clear on what exactly. “When the coast is clear we all move,” or, “Watch for my signal then run,” or something of that nature. It was all very blurry. There were only a few things Matthew remembered clearly. He remembered watching the mob across the room growing restless again. He remembered seeing the knife in Epp’s hand and Epp drawing the tip of the dagger down across his forearm, and the blood beginning to flow. After the first few drops hit the floor the mob broke. Matthew remembered that even after the first three reached him, Epp remained on his feet. But there were more after the first three, and then more after that, then more after that. And they tore Epp apart.
   He remembered being scared at how crazed they became, at how hungry they looked, and how one actually started running straight for Mary only to turn around in full stride, the feast over Epp’s body so enticing that he couldn’t even control his feet and he just had to pile on with glee to get even the slightest taste of Epictetus, former slave of the Roman Empire.
   Then Kyo was screaming something and Mary was tugging on his sleeve. Matthew remembered the fury of Kyo even as he led them past the still growing feeding frenzy, how when one of them crossed Kyo’s path Kyo gutted him, eyes deadly. And Matthew remembered seeing more than one of them turning on their own kind the mania was so complete, he saw the portly gentleman seizing upon a weaker looking woman and once blood had been drawn from the woman more joined in until a separate frenzy had started. And he heard the beams underneath him creaking and snapping.
   There was little else that stuck with Matthew while still inside the cathedral. Little else besides the fall. When they were on the main floor and flooding through the doorway he had turned back for the fall. He had heard the ceiling giving way and had turned around and seen Kyo’s face, a few feet from his own, Kyo refusing to turn and look, his dark black eyes staring straight ahead while behind him there was a blur, a tiny form that Matthew couldn’t understand until his eyes adjusted to the scope of what he was seeing and he realized that the little blur was hundreds of yards away at the far end of the cathedral. And when the first few pieces of the blur hit the ground there at first had been nothing, but then the sound reached his ears of wood reverberating off of stone and he knew that those were the floor beams and then the larger mass hit the ground and, again, at first there was nothing, and then the sound reached him and it was a crash of stone and flesh and metal and bone. Then the wave had come. A huge passing of energy that Matthew could have sworn was higher than the entire cathedral came rushing out from all directions and he felt it crash over him and turned to see it rushing off behind him like massive ripples on the surface of the world.
   Then they were in town and someone was testing a little girl and Matthew was wondering why they were bothering and then he realized why as he followed the tester to the mountaintop that he had left only a few hours ago.
   Standing there in the dark, time began to return to normal for him. He reached up and grabbed the lapels of his jacket and squeezed them close around his chest against the wind.
   “Can they follow us up?” someone near him asked, and as if to answer his question one of them crashed waist high onto a nearby ledge, its body half on and half off the mountain and immediately it began to lose ground, slipping backwards on the loose snow and ice even as it scrabbled at the rock face to try and grab a hold of something with rotted hands until finally it lost the battle and fell from sight.
   “It would appear not,” Kyo said from the other side of Matthew.
   Then three noises dominated the landscape.
   The wind blowing through the rocks.
   People all around dialing cell phones and calling anyone they could think of who wasn’t with them.
   And, somewhere in a nearby crowd, Matthew heard someone sobbing.
   
   
Part 8: Osmosis

   
   Matthew pinched the cigar between his fingers, feeling the tacky give of the outer leaves. Bringing it to his face he breathed in through his nose and let the earthy bitterness of the tobacco fill his head, the smell always making him feel at ease and somehow calling up memories of childhood games of football in the backyard when the leaves covered the ground and winter barely hung in the air.
   There was a sound, a hard thump and then the rattle of stones.
   He turned and walked up the mountain.
   There was a group of testers up on a rise, a lantern sat in the center of them warding off the dead of night. Matthew joined the circle, placing the cigar in his mouth, drawing air through it with a few laborious puffs before the tip burst into flames. He put his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to Mary.
   She was standing in front of a dry-erase board. Her outfit consisted of a light sundress and a loose knit sweater. The wind affected her and she frequently and automatically readjusted the sweater as the gusts roaring over the mountaintop pulled it back, but she didn’t seem aware of the cold. One bare arm was crooked at her side, a hand perched on her hip while the other flicked up and tugged a thick blond curl up over her ear and out of her face. Then her hand went down and her short frame became motionless again, staring at the dry-erase board.
   “It’s been almost twelve hours,” the tester standing next to Matthew said.
   Matthew nodded in agreement; he had been here when Mary had set up the dry-erase board a few hours after they had fled to the mountaintop from the cathedral. Other testers had joined her, wandered off, come back, but Mary had stayed rooted in place. Likewise there had been heated conversations, strenuous debates, and great gaps of silence, and Mary had remained standing in front of the board the entire time. Written across the top in black marker were the words, “What we know for certain.” Written underneath that was precious little.
   
—–
   
   Hector strode nervously across the hotel room and looked out the giant tinted window at the city of Las Vegas baking in the midmorning desert sun. He threw his arms out behind him and with a shrug of his shoulders his suit jacket slipped off. A roll of his head as he walked over to the thermostat and he had loosened his tie and popped the top button of his shirt. He turned the air conditioner on as high as it would go, then turned around and faced Nyx who was sitting on one of the beds, her hands splayed out on the comforter while she bounced up and down to test the mattress.
   “Come on,” Hector barked, “get up. Vacation’s over.”
   “Vacation?” Nyx asked, looking up at him upset. “You call running all over the planet for twelve hours a vacation?”
   Hector snapped his fingers at her. “Up,” he said. Nyx pouted but pushed off the bed and stood up. “Get on the phone; I want to get in touch with anyone we can talk to who knows anything. I want to know what’s going on.” He reached into the air and pulled out a laptop computer. Slapping it onto the desk next to the dresser he flipped open the screen and opened up a word document. His fingers moved over the keyboard and typed, “What we know,” across the top of the monitor. He hit enter and looked back at Nyx, who was looking down at her hip where her little purse was hanging, her hands rummaging around in it for her cell phone.
   Hector glared at her, opened his mouth to get her moving faster, but decided to walk into the bathroom instead. He left the door open and turned on the sink. Cupping his hands under the faucet he collected pools of water before splashing them over his face. There was a noise, like air rushing through the room. Hector, his face buried in his hands, assumed the air conditioner had finally kicked on.
   He finished with the sink and stepped out of the bathroom drying his hands with a towel. Nyx was standing with her hand on her purse but her eyes locked on the window as she stared off into the western desert.
   “Hector, something just went past—”
   “Nyx,” Hector shouted impatiently, having fully expected her to be on the phone and getting answers by the time he came out of the bathroom. “Come on,” he ordered, walking over to the desk he sat down and pulled his computer towards him.
   On the screen of the laptop the cursor blinked.
   
—–
   
   “Let’s go over it again,” Mary said. Her voice was soft, her mind completely focused on the dry-erase board, but the circle of people gathered around her all heard and reacted as if she had been shouting.
   “Where should we start this time?” one of them asked.
   “At the beginning,” Mary said simply. “What are they?”
   “They’re us, right?” Matthew asked tentatively.
   “I don’t think that’s entirely right,” Mary said.
   “They’re different,” a gravelly voice said, and Matthew turned to see that Kyo had joined their circle, his eyebrows pointing sharply down over dark pupils.
   “Are they?” Mary asked.
   “Yes,” Kyo answered. Then nobody said anything for a few seconds. Mary turned to look over her shoulder at Kyo.
   “What?” he asked.
   “Would you mind continuing that thought?”
   “What thought?” Kyo said. His face was the opposite of Mary’s. Hers was focused entirely on whatever she looked at, stubbornly determined to ignore all distractions, while Kyo’s focus was barely there, his mind constantly wandering to everything but the top of the mountain.
   “Why are they different?” Mary asked patiently.
   “I don’t know. I think once they start to rot they—”
   “I mean how do you know they’re different?”
   “Oh,” Kyo said. Then he turned to Matthew. “Slap me across the face,” Kyo ordered.
   “What?” Matthew asked, turning to Mary for help.
   Mary thought this over, then nodded. “Do it,” she said.
   Matthew paused, shrugged, then wound up and slapped Kyo across the face. Kyo’s neck was muscular, giving his head a more than sturdy foundation, so Matthew’s slap didn’t look like the most powerful thing in the world, but Kyo’s head still moved and his face winced.
   Kyo rubbed his cheek and turned to Mary. “When they touch me, it’s not like that. It’s like I’m made of stone or something. If Matthew had been one of them his hand would have bounced off and my skin wouldn’t even have moved. So they’re different.”
   “Okay,” Mary said, conceding this point.
   “I think it’s more important to know if it’s a difference of increments or of nature,” Kyo said.
   Mary took a deep breath, the last twelve hours hanging heavy on her head. “I don’t…” she closed her eyes tight and went over each of Kyo’s words, struggling to translate them into something more understandable. “What you mean is, are they completely different or are you just so much more powerful than them that they can’t have an effect on you? Like, would a thousand of them be able to hurt you? Or is it not a matter of numbers because you’re two completely different things? Right?”
   “Yup,” Kyo said.
   “Well, they did cut you after all,” she pointed to Kyo’s jacket where some stitching had repaired a rip. “So are they completely different? Or are they just further along somewhere on the same scale that governs us all?”
   Kyo looked down at the sleeve of his jacket. “Can’t we just say they’re different and leave it at that for right now? It gets so much more confusing if we acknowledge this,” he plucked at his stitched together sleeve.
   “We ignore nothing,” Mary said, turning back to the dry-erase board. “Now,” she said, “what are they?”
   Somewhere farther down the slope Matthew heard the now-familiar thump followed by the rattling of stones.
   
—–
   
   “You’re sure?” Nyx was saying into her cell phone. She listened, then put a hand over the mouthpiece and whispered to Hector. “He’s sure.” She took her hand away and resumed listening, chirping in with affirmations and agreements as the person on the other end of the line continued talking.
   “How is he sure?” Hector asked. Nyx didn’t hear him as she focused on the phone conversation. “Nyx,” Hector said, louder, making sure he got her attention. “How is he so sure?”
   “Why don’t you call him?” Nyx asked Hector.
   “No,” he said. “I’m not making any phone calls. Just ask him. How is he so sure?”
   Nyx’s eyes rolled angrily up to the ceiling. She puffed a breath out of her nose, then took the phone from her ear and pushed the button for speaker phone.
   “-are you guys?” the voice on the other end was saying.
   Hector backed a step away from the bed, shaking his head and waving his hands to indicate that he wasn’t going to be part of the conversation.
   “That’s not important,” Nyx said. “What’s important is how come you’re so sure?”
   “Because I went back,” the voice said. “I figured I could get some free energy. But there was none to be had. There’s no energy left in him, he’s just a sack of meat on the floor. Epp is dead.”
   Hector thought this over.
   
—–
   
   “So why are they different?” Mary asked.
   The circle was quiet. A few more testers joined the group.
   “They give up,” someone said.
   “They give up and they opt to wait out their days at the final resting place of their second choice,” another voice chimed in, adding to the first thought.
   “They give up, start to rot, and pass a point where they get hungry enough to feed on still-working testers,” Kyo said. He looked around the circle. “Right?” he asked. “That’s not something that you can do normally, is it? They have to rot away until they cross some sort of a line,” Kyo’s hand chopped down in the air to indicate the line, “before they can feed off of other testers. Right?” his eyes continued to look around the group. Nobody answered. Kyo sighed. “You,” he pointed at a red haired man across from him, “try to feed off of Matthew.”
   “What?” Matthew said.
   “Go on,” Kyo said.
   “No,” the redheaded man said.
   Kyo’s eyes became quizzical, no concern about how his request was received was in them, instead there was pure curiosity about his question. “No you won’t do it? Or no you can’t do it?”
   “Kyo,” Mary said impatiently. “Is this helping?”
   Kyo looked surprised to be rebuked. “I thought we were trying to figure them out. This is a hugely important question. If you are all capable of feeding off of each other but choose not to, then they’re just the same as you. If you all are unable entirely to feed off of each other, then when they start to rot something actually changes inside of them, maybe the hunger gets too strong or the pain too much or…I don’t know…something, and they become something entirely different. They become able to feed off of other testers. So, yes, this question is helping. Do you all opt not to eat each other out of common decency? Or do you not do it because you can’t do it?”
   Mary stared at Kyo, her soft face locked on his eyes. Then she turned to the redheaded tester. “What’s your name?”
   “Gus,” he said.
   “Gus, try to feed off of Matthew.”
   “No,” Gus said. His skin was pale and his dress was drab. He was utterly devoid of inflection and seemed to exist as plainly as possible, the only accent to his appearance being his red hair.
   Mary nodded, respecting his answer, and turned to face Matthew herself. Matthew looked back at her and there was an uncomfortable ripple of fear that ran up his groin as he watched her eyes on him.
   Mary’s face screwed up and she frowned as she contemplated Matthew. Then she stopped. “I see no way,” she said, and she turned back to Kyo. “I don’t think we can feed on each other.”
   “Okay,” Kyo said. “So they’re different.”
   Matthew, his fear now dissipating into nervous energy, spoke up, “That explains Kyo then, doesn’t it?”
   The circle turned to look at him. “Well he doesn’t have any energy, right?” Matthew glanced over at Kyo for confirmation. “Right?”
   “Never pushed a human in my life, no,” Kyo said. “Now, from what I understand, you receive energy from the humans you push, sort of a payment for making them reach beyond themselves.”
   “That sounds about right,” Matthew said.
   “Right. Okay, so, no. I have none of that.”
   “They lose energy and rot until they cross a line and can then eat our energy from testing,” Mary said, turning back to the dry-erase board, speaking out loud as she wrote down the last few thoughts. “Kyo has none of that, so when they try to feed on him they…they bounce off.”
   “Can they come back across the line the other way?” someone asked.
   “Do we care?” Kyo asked.
   There was another thump in the snow further down the mountain and the sound of something scrabbling against the rock.
   
—–

   “That’s four,” Nyx said. She looked up at Hector pleadingly, hoping that this would be enough. “That’s four of our kind who say that Epp is dead. Can we move on to something else now?”
   The past few hours had been spent with Nyx tracking down anyone she could who might know anything while Hector coached her on the phone. The Las Vegas sun was turning auburn as the afternoon began to roll away.
   Hector looked up from his laptop. “I want five,” he said, holding up his hand so his fingers splayed out. “I want five separate confirmations.”
   The air conditioner kicked on for another cycle and Hector felt the stale, cold air pelt his shirt, felt the small of his back where sweat was forming chill over.
   Nyx glowered at him, then turned back to her phone and started angrily dialing.
   
—–

   Mary was standing in front of her dry-erase board. Her hands were at her face, her fingers pressed against her eyes right at the bridge of her nose and she groaned as she rubbed her eyes.
   “So why are they so powerful?” someone asked from behind her. Mary looked tired as she brought her hands down and picked the marker up from the board again.
   “Don’t know,” she said softly. She closed her eyes again and something inside of her seemed to wilt. For a moment Matthew was sure she was going to walk away but she took a deep breath, regrouped, and spoke up. “Who has any ideas?”
   “I think—”
   “Mary,” someone shouted. Mary looked around the dry-erase board to see someone coming over to them from another summit. “Mary,” the new tester went on, “we’ve been calling everyone we can think of and getting them up to the mountaintops but our lists are all over the place.”
   “Okay,” Mary nodded. “Get word out that everyone who can needs to come around to where you’re set up and start to cross testers off that are accounted for as well as pick up a few names to start calling on their own.” She turned and faced her circle. “That means you, as well. Everyone you can think of needs to be accounted for. I want as firm a list as we can get of who is missing, who we have, who we need to find, where they were last seen, all of that.” She turned back to the tester who had interrupted. “You understand?”  The tester nodded. “Good,” Mary said. The tester stayed where she was. “Well? Get going,” Mary said. The tester jumped, startled, clearly expecting to be told more, then regrouped and picked a few people out of the circle, leading them away to where she had come from.
   Kyo watched them leave and then glanced restlessly around the mountaintop.
   “If they feed on our energy,” someone spoke up, answering Mary’s original question, “then I’m guessing they’ll be as strong as the energy they consume. If they devour eight testers they can take on the power of eight testers. Does that sound right?”
   “Nothing is right,” Mary said. “We just need to start somewhere and toss whatever gets proven wrong.” She finished writing the last thought on the board.
   “Do you think it’s quality or quantity that matters?”
   “Is this a philosophical point?” Mary asked. “Or is that a real question?”
   “I mean if they take down a powerful tester, do they take on that tester’s brand of power, do they become experts in what that tester was an expert in, or is it just a matter of consuming enough energy to grow strong?”
   “We’d better hope it’s the second,” Matthew said. Some people caught his meaning immediately and nodded, but some were puzzled. Matthew didn’t even notice these other people he was so sure his own fears were shared by everyone.
   “Matthew?” Mary said, and when Matthew looked up he finally realized that not everyone knew what he meant.
   “We just watched about two hundred of them feed on Epp,” his voice was bitter as he spoke. Mary’s marathon discussion had worn a lot of the past twenty hours out of his memory, had created a numbness that was welcome, but talking about the events directly caused everything to start crashing back in, so Matthew kept it brief. “If the quality of the tester matters, then we just watched two hundred of them become as powerful as Epp.”
   “And we’re sure Epp is…”
   “He is,” Kyo said.
   “About that,” Mary said, “from now on when you leave you take a companion with you. I don’t want you getting stuck out there and I don’t want you having to count on a phone call getting through to get back up here.”
   “Yes, mother,” Kyo said. His eyes were on the horizon and Matthew could tell he wasn’t listening.
   “You’re sure?” someone asked Kyo.
   “I went back. I wasn’t very comfortable there so I didn’t stick around, but Epp was there, and he was dead. I closed his eyes myself.”
   “Oh,” the tester said, his head dropping.
   “At any rate. I think I have a plan,” Kyo said. “And I’m going to go start now.”
   He was already walking away when Mary shouted after him. “Kyo? Kyo!”
   He turned. 
   “What is your plan?” she asked, astonished that anyone was thinking that far ahead.
   “I’m going to track them all down and kill them.”
   “That’s your plan?” Mary asked. “And just how long do you expect that to take?”
   “A few hundred years.”
   “Are you insane?”
   Kyo thought this over.
   “Kyo we won’t last that long up here. We have nobody to test. We’re going to start losing energy ourselves.”
   Kyo, uncomfortable with this obvious flaw being drawn out so quickly, bobbed his head. “I was thinking, if you rationed them out, that there would probably be enough mountain climbers who made it far enough up every year for you to get by.”
   There was another muffled thump somewhere down the mountain.
   “I think you’re missing the point, Kyo.”
   Kyo’s eyebrows arched.
   “We’re all up here,” Mary said. “I’m not sure anyone is going to climb mountains anymore.”
   Kyo didn’t react.
   “Kyo,” Mary said, exasperated. “None of us are down there. Nobody is going to decide to climb a mountain, or do anything really, with nobody to push them. Nobody is testing.”
   Kyo stared at Mary as this point sank in. Then he waved it off. “I don’t care. I’m restless. I’m going to go start on my plan. I’ll check in from time to time to see if you’ve come up with anything.”
   “Go,” Mary said, dismissing him from her presence and her mind. Kyo walked away. Mary relented slightly and turned to Matthew. “You go with him,” she ordered.
   “Me?!”
   “He needs one of us, Matthew. He doesn’t push. That means he can’t get back up here without a guide. Go with him. You’ll be safe as long as you stick close.”
   “Splendid,” Matthew said, leaving the circle and following Kyo down the mountain.
   Matthew caught up to him standing at the edge of a rock outcropping.
   “Kyo,” Matthew said, a little scared to be having to tell Kyo anything. “I have to go with you so—”
   “I know,” Kyo said and Matthew stopped talking. “You stay close, you do what I say,” Kyo was staring intently down the mountainside as he spoke.
   “Gotcha,” Matthew said.
   There was another thump, much louder this time, and Kyo began to run towards the noise. Matthew followed, the sound of rattling rocks growing in volume until they caught up to its source. Matthew looked down at the half-rotted thing clinging to the side of the mountain, struggling to claw its way up to a foothold. “Are they getting closer?” he asked Kyo.
   “I wouldn’t let yourself start thinking like that,” Kyo said. “You’ll get jumpy.” Kyo reached down and took hold of the thing’s hair.
   It erupted in glee, grabbing onto Kyo’s wrist and turning its head to try and sink its teeth into his skin only to have one tooth break off during the attempt. Then it began to panic as Kyo lifted it up by its hair until it was face to face with him. “Where are there more of you?” Kyo asked.
   The thing didn’t answer, it only scratched and pulled at Kyo’s hand to try and make him let go.
   Kyo sighed, began fumbling around in the thing’s jacket pockets. He found what he was looking for, then let the thing go. Matthew watched as the mountaintop rejected it, a strange sight, the thing’s feet seeming to land on a perfectly flat piece of rock, only it immediately began slipping back towards the edge. Even Kyo stopped what he was doing to watch as all manner of gravity and balance was ignored and the thing somehow fell sideways off the mountain.
   “That was odd,” Kyo said. He turned to Matthew. “I’m pretty sure you’re safe up here as long as no one invites them up.”
   “No kidding,” Matthew muttered, walking over to the edge to look down as the thing fell out of sight.
   Kyo flipped through the cell phone he had taken from its jacket and scanned the names. After a few moments the cell phone disappeared in his hands.
   “Anything?” Matthew asked, nervous, hands slipping into the pockets of his pants.
   “A few names,” Kyo said. “Although I hardly think these are the elite members of their ranks. They seem barely alive enough to know that we’re up here.” Another thump emphasized his point and they both watched a different thing land awkwardly on the side of the mountain, scrape and scrabble at the rocks and snow, then slide off into the oblivion of the Himalayan night.
   “Come on,” Kyo said. “We’ve got to start somewhere.”
   He wavered then disappeared off the mountaintop with Matthew shouting after him before following.
   Back up the slope, Mary’s circle was falling into a bout of silence. Mary had been standing at her board for hours straight. She resolutely capped her marker and placed it in the tray at the bottom of the board. “I’m taking a break,” she said, walking away.
   She made her way to the peak to the south and found a crowd of testers all milling about and talking at once with cell phones bleeping and ringing constantly. Her eyes were bleary and she had been focusing too hard since the cathedral so that everything began to swim and she found it hard to pay attention.
   “Mary,” someone said, and she saw a familiar face talking to her. Mary couldn’t place the name but it was one of the testers in charge of tracking people down. “The Andes are packed,” the tester was saying, “and the Rockies are starting to fill up.”
   “I can’t deal with that right now. Just let me give you the names I have in my phone. I need a rest.”
   “Okay,” the tester said, and they both took out their cell phones. A few buttons pushed and Mary transferred her address book. “I had most of those already,” the tester said, looking at the soft glow of her cell phone’s screen. “Some are new, though. Like this one. Who is Bartleby? That sounds familiar.”
   “Oh no,” Mary said, closing her eyes in a wince. “I forgot about Bartleby.”
   
—–

   Bartleby stood in the morgue dressed in black all alone. He had been standing by the door for an hour or so, arms folded, back against the wall with one foot up, staring across the room at the large metal drawers. It was quiet. He couldn’t stop thinking.
   Finally, mustering a brief moment of courage, he pushed off the wall and walked over to the drawer he had been eyeing. Sliding it open he was surprised at how frankly and head on he was able to unzip the body bag and stare down at what he had done, at the burnt skin of the dead body.
   He couldn’t remember much of the previous afternoon, not with any clarity, but he knew he had felt good destroying a bathroom in a bar and had wanted to hear people screaming. But things had gotten out of control. He could recognize that now. This was all a mistake. Epp had really screwed up. Epp should never have put so much onto his shoulders and should never have expected him to be able to handle things. He, Bartleby, had never agreed to any of this. It was Epp’s fault that this person was dead and it was Epp’s fault that he was abandoned by his friends. There had never been any chance of him doing anything but break under the pressure. And if Epp had ever thought differently then Epp was just wrong.
   Bartleby looked down at the body one last time, then zipped it up again and shut the drawer. There was an acrid taste in the back of his throat as stress seemed to be bubbling up his esophagus and there was a feeling like a steel band tightening across his chest that came and went.
   Bartleby thought about Epp again and his face tightened as his jaw clenched. His fists seized up in angry balls, so tight they shook. Then his body relaxed, the spasm of anger over, and all that was left until the next one was a vague sense of nausea and a sweet slick sensation in the back of his mind that he was right and he was just dying for someone to argue against him.
   
—–

   Matthew slumped lower on the bench. Behind him somewhere was the Sydney Opera House but he was too far gone to even pretend to notice it. He had bounced around behind Kyo for the past ten hours, feeling very much like an incidental piece of paper hurtling along in the backwash of a large tractor-trailer.
   The rate of travel that Kyo had kept up over the past near half-day had worn Matthew into a stupor. It didn’t help that Kyo seemed to forget that Matthew was supposed to be following him, so Matthew had turned around mid-sentence any number of times to realize with alarm that he was alone in a crowded city or desert wasteland, an open target to any of Hector’s things that might be around. Then Matthew’s cell phone would beep and Kyo, as an afterthought, would let him know where he had gone running off to.
   It was too much, the past thirty hours, the cathedral, the run, the sifting through of information on the mountaintop, manning the phones for a few hours, everyone reacting in strange ways to what nobody wanted to believe, and now running around after Kyo. Matthew slumped even lower, his feet stretched out in front of him, looking like a kid bored while waiting to go into the principal’s office. Matthew wasn’t sure at all what was going on any more and he hadn’t had a firm grasp of a thought in over a day.
   There was only mild alarm when he looked around to see that Kyo wasn’t there anymore. By now this seemed normal and Matthew was beyond caring. He had his bench. He was fine.
   He saw a man running up the pier towards where he was sitting. “Thank god,” the man said, and Matthew realized that he was a tester. “I haven’t seen anyone in over a day. What’s going on?”
   The man was dressed in what Matthew could only describe as jungle gear. Beige shorts and thick boots with thick socks and a button down shirt that was smeared with mud. “I’ve been out of touch for awhile and there are all sorts of crazy messages on my phone. And was that Kyo I saw you come here with?”
   Matthew looked up at the man. He breathed slowly in and out and refused to break eye contact. “You smell like dead leaves,” Matthew said.
   The man’s manner changed instantly, his face became pointed and his tone frank. “Where is he?” the man asked. “Hector wants us to find him and watch him.”
   There was a ripple in the air and two more forms appeared on either side of the man. Both were rotted, more skeleton than body.
   “You found one!” the thing on the right said, and it began to walk towards Matthew with hungry eyes.
   “I got this,” the man in the beige shorts said, putting a hand on the thing’s shoulder. It shrugged off his hand and then the thing on the left started advancing as well. “I said,” the man in the beige shorts spoke up, annoyed, “that I’ve got this,” and he stepped forward to stand between Matthew and the things. “Now just let me talk to him first.” The things seemed to think this over, not exactly agreeing to the new terms, but processing things too slowly to disagree.
   The man turned and looked down at Matthew sitting on the bench. “We want Kyo. That’s all. Can you understand that?”
   It was strange, Matthew wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion, or if his brain was unable to process the man’s safari outfit as being in any way menacing or if he just didn’t care anymore, but Matthew wasn’t very afraid.
   And when the man reached down for him Matthew reached up to meet him and, despite never having tried to use the time-tape before, he wrapped up the man’s arm in thick yellow caution tape. Which didn’t work in the slightest. Matthew was sure someone else had tried this who actually knew how to use the tape properly, but it had been his favorite trick of Epp’s and it came out without him really realizing what he was doing.
   The man grabbed at the tape and there was a second where it seemed like it was almost going to be a struggle, but that might have been because Matthew had managed to tie it tightly in a quick square knot, and ripping through tape wasn’t easy when it was tied to your arm. But a few seconds was all the struggle lasted before the man managed to rip the tape off. And with that out of the way the man turned back to Matthew.
   Then someone whistled a high, fast, warbling sort of whistle that got everyone’s attention and when they turned to look down the pier they saw Kyo standing there about twenty yards away.
   “Ah,” the man said, “so there you–” and his voice stumbled and faltered as he watched Kyo take one step forward then leap into the air so high he disappeared. The two things on either side of the man stared up into the sky with their mouths open.
   “Whichever one of us survives,” the man in beige shorts said, “has to fall on him hard and fast.”
   The two things turned to look at him, their mouths still open, no sign of understanding on their decayed faces.
   “Whichever one of us survives,” the man said, agitation and fear beginning to creep into his voice, his energy starting to key up so high that the only method he could think of for getting his point across was to repeat it word for word only louder, “has to fall on him hard and fast.”
   The things didn’t understand.
   “Whoever survives,” the man was in a blind panic now and was articulating with his hands to desperately get his point across, “has to fall—”
   Kyo dropped from the sky in a warrior’s stance, sword braced with two hands, and sliced straight through one of the things, landing in a crouch. During the process of standing up his sword drew up and cut through the second thing leaving him face to face with the man in beige.
   “You were saying?” Kyo asked. The man blinked.
   Kyo put his sword away, the blade disappearing at his side, and grabbed the man by his shoulder. He gave the man a once over, ignoring the struggling and speaking and attempts to fight back while he judged his height and weight. The fact that the man seemed completely regrown interested Kyo, who pinned him down and took off one boot, then the other, then peeled off his socks to reveal two rotted feet. Lastly, Kyo ran his hands over the man’s arm and plucked the remains of Matthew’s time tape off of him. He held the stretched strip of tape between his fingers and watched it wave in the light harbor breeze. Behind him a pair of seagulls squawked and floated in the air.
   The man was terrified and at this point even Matthew began to think that Kyo’s actions were a little odd as he watched Kyo throw the man to the ground and pin him down with one foot before staring down at the tape again, his eyes going off into nowhere.
   “Kyo?” Matthew said, perking up.
   Kyo looked down at him. “You know,” Kyo said slowly, “Gregor was an idiot. He was a moron. And he was incompetent. But one thing he wasn’t was stupid.”
   “If you say so,” Matthew said losing interest again.
   “We’re going back up to the mountains,” Kyo said. “And Jungle Jim here,” Kyo stooped down and picked the man in beige shorts up by his neck, “is coming with us.”
   “You want to bring him up to a mountaintop?” Matthew asked. “You realize that—”
   There was a feeling like strong wind blowing over him and Matthew stopped talking as everything around him seemed to rise up at breathtaking speed to a dizzying height before plummeting back down, leaving only his hair blowing oddly in the wind that was no longer there.
   “The fuck was that?” he asked, turning, wide-eyed, to look in the direction the strange wind had gone to see something the entire length of the horizon, like a massive tidal wave, receding into the distance. “Kyo?”
   Kyo didn’t answer.
   “Kyo, what was that?”
   “I don’t know,” Kyo said. “But we’re going to follow it. I want to see it again.” Then he walked a few feet to the north before disappearing. Matthew’s cell phone beeped and he jumped up and glanced at it before rippling and disappearing, following after Kyo.
   The man in the beige shorts sat up slowly, looking around before standing up and dusting his shirt off.
   “Forgot about you,” Kyo said, suddenly appearing next to him. The man jumped back before Kyo caught him by the shirt and then disappeared again, dragging the man with him.
   
—–

   Mary walked back across the mountaintop in the sterling blue morning. She had been at the communications area trying to get a hold of Bartleby again, but she hadn’t been able to reach him. She had taken a brief rest sometime around dawn and now felt refreshed and determined as she walked back over to her dry-erase board, the conversation there still going on with an ever-changing circle of testers. There was a moment when Mary wondered what she would do if she didn’t have her dry-erase board, or phone calls to make, where her mind would go if there was nothing to occupy it, and she got a sense of something awful lurking just at the corners of her mind, but she did have things to occupy it with, so she didn’t worry about it.
   The tester standing in front of the board handed over the marker without saying a word. Mary looked over the board. There was a lot more writing on it, but most of the words and sentences ended in question marks.
   “What’s this mean?” she asked, pointing to the word, “Wait?” written and underlined.
   “Well,” a tester began, “we’re all up here. Right? That’s bad news for us because we need humans to push or we start to…fade.” The tester chose the word carefully. “But what about them? They appear to feed on us. Are they able to feed directly on humans? Because if not then they’re just as screwed as we are. So we were wondering if we could just wait them out.”
   “Not all of us.”
   Mary turned and saw a tester she recognized as Gus speaking, his pale skin making his plain face shine in the wintry sunlight. Gus noticed that he had attracted a lot of attention with his comment, and he looked around, uncomfortable with everyone’s eyes on him, his short red hair glinting in the sun. “I’m not too happy with the idea that anything I do gets decided by them. Someone grabbed me off of a human I had already invested ten years in to bring me up here. And I’m not so sure I want to do anything but head back and finish what I started.”
   Mary looked him over. “That’s either very brave or very stupid.”
   “Not the first time I’ve been at that crossroads,” Gus said.
   Mary looked back at the board. “Either way, it would be nice to know if humans mean anything to them.”
   
—–

   Hector stood with his hands clasped behind his back and stared out the window at the lights blinking, flashing, and swirling on the Las Vegas strip.
   Nyx was seated at the desk looking at the laptop, clicking the keypad every now and then as she chomped on a piece of gum. “We don’t seem to know much,” she said.
   There was a knock on the door. Hector looked at her, worried.
   “I ordered room service,” she said. “Remember?”
   Hector’s eyes grew harder.
   “I’m hungry,” she said huffily.
   Hector shook his head. “But it’s a human. It’s not like you’ll fill up.”
   Nyx shrugged, already hopping up and headed over to the door. “So? I just needed a snack to tide me over.”
   “You’ll just be hungry again in an hour.”
   Hector flexed his fingers, then tilted his head, stretching his neck. He sat down at the computer and picked up where Nyx had been reading, his eyes scanning over everything they had come up with over the past day and half of being hotel shut-ins. “If we don’t get out ahead of this mess,” he said to himself as Nyx opened the door, “it’s going to be nothing but snacks for all of us.”
   “Here we are,” the waiter said, chipper and happy as he wheeled a cart into the room. “Now where would you like me to set this up?” he looked up expectantly at Nyx first, then Hector. “Ma'am?” he asked when nobody responded. “Sir?”
   Nyx slipped the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the outside of the door, then let it slam shut.
   
—–

   “These things aren’t exactly accurate, are they?” Kyo said, standing over a globe in a small local library.
   “What are we doing here?” Matthew asked. Kyo didn’t answer, only put a finger onto a spot on the globe somewhere in Eastern Europe. Matthew found himself looking over at the man in the beige shorts to see if he had any clue.
   Kyo lifted up the globe, trying to keep his first finger still, then placed the finger from his other hand awkwardly on the other side of the globe, the bronze semi-circle that rose up from the base of the globe sliding back down onto his hand making him almost lose his place. “Which way was it going?” he asked, looking at Matthew and then at the man in beige shorts.
   “Northwest?” the man said, not entirely sure why he was having a normal conversation.
   “Right,” Kyo said studying the globe again. “So it’s headed back.” He looked up. “And we hopped ahead of it…what…about a hundred miles before coming here? How long did it take to reach us? Ten minutes or so?”
   “About that, yes,” Matthew said.
   “So how fast is it going?”
   “Well it’s…if that was a hundred miles and it took ten minutes then it’s going…no…wait so if we waited ten minutes and it was traveling towards us…so that’s a thousand miles in eighty minutes—”
   “My god you’re terrible at math.”
   “Well I don’t see you answering the question!” Matthew shouted.
   “Was it moving at a constant speed?” the man in beige shorts said. “Because if its speed was changing as it moved then I think you have to use calculus.”
   Kyo turned to look at him. “That’s not helping.”
   “Sorry,” the man said.
   “He might be right,” Matthew said, willing to believe anything at this point.
   Kyo was whispering to himself, ignoring everyone now. “It was going about five hundred miles an hour,” he said after a few seconds. “And if I’m not mistaken, it was getting shorter in height.”
   “Kyo, I didn’t get the greatest look at it, and I actually completely missed it the second time around. What exactly were we—”
   “It was a wave. And we’re going back,” Kyo said. “Find someone to push. And you,” Kyo turned to the man in the beige shorts. He thought for a few seconds. “You’re not nearly scary enough. I have no use for you.” The man’s lips pursed in a determined effort not to show any fear on his face. “You have five seconds to get out of my sight.”
   “What happens if—”
   “Five,” Kyo started. “Four.”
   The man disappeared.
   Matthew watched all this. “You let him go?”
   “He knew about calculus,” Kyo said, turning away.
   “That’s where you draw the line?” Matthew spluttered.
   Kyo stared at the globe. “Maybe I don’t like lines so much right now. But we do need to find another one of their kind that’s a little squishier. Then we can go back.”
   
—–

   Nyx stared down at the hotel bed and ran a hand over the comforter, smoothing out a slight wrinkle. “We have so much stuff inside of us,” she said, a curious child.
   Hector stood up from the desk and walked over to the foot of the bed, looking at her handiwork. His face was tight with stress and Nyx found herself leaning in as she looked at him to try and get a glimpse of his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses. She gave up after a few seconds; the sunglasses never came off of Hector’s face and they were designed by him to fit perfectly so that no glimpse of what was underneath was ever seen.
   “Are you done playing?” Hector asked.
   “I guess,” Nyx said, looking back at the bed, moody now, “I’ve been on the phone for over a day straight, I think I deserve more of a break.”
   “We can take a break when we have more answers.”
   “It would help if I knew what you were most worried about.”
   “I don’t even know,” Hector said. The awkwardness of answering that question honestly bowed his head and his shoulders tensed under his shirt making his body draw in upon itself. He reached a hand out and with one finger gingerly moved the knee cap of the waiter’s skeleton where Nyx had assembled it on the bed, adjusting the bone ever so slightly so that it sat perfectly square between the femur and the tibia.
   “Too much happened too quickly,” he said, drawing his hand back and letting his eyes wander up until he was staring at the waiter’s grinning skull. “And everything was planned wrong. We should have had more people on Epp and Kyo and less people on the rest.” He shook his head. “Six of us to take on Epp. Gregor was way off…and I made the horrible mistake of letting an artist do my math.”
   “But it worked,” Nyx said. “Epp is gone.”
   “But Kyo became even more of an unknown.”
   Nyx’s phone rang, buzzing across the desk as its speaker played a song by The Sounds. Nyx walked across the room and picked it up. She spoke for a few minutes then told the person on the other end that she needed a second. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece she looked up at Hector.
   “This guy says he’s seen Kyo.”
   “Who?” Hector said, immediately attentive.
   “Jonathan,” Nyx said.
   Hector shook his head as this name meant nothing to him.
   “You know him,” Nyx said, her eyes casting to the ceiling as she tried to remember visual clues to help Hector out. “He’s always dressed like a…well like a dork. Shorts and boots, like he’s out hunting big game in Africa.”
   “Oh,” Hector said, beginning to remember. “Right. You know I think he actually was a big game hunter.”
   “That would explain a lot.”
   “What’s he have to say?”
   “He came in contact with Kyo and that Matthew guy down in Australia.”
   “He spotted them? Is he following them?”
   “No, he says Kyo killed the two guys he was down there searching with, then took him to a library or something, then let him go.”
   “He said Kyo let him go?”
   “Yup. And something about a wave, which, I have to tell you, Hector, sounded a lot like the thing I saw when we first—”
   “Kyo let him go?” Hector thought out loud, not listening. He came to a decision. “He’s lying,” Hector said. “Get rid of him politely and then I want an eye kept on him.”
   Hector turned and stared down at the bed while Nyx wrapped up the conversation, bubbly and friendly. She clicked off.
   “I’ve never seen you like this,” Nyx said.
   Hector stared down at the bones on the comforter. “Epp was an unknown,” he said, mostly to himself, “and he took any number of our people with him during his fall, while proving to be far more powerful than anyone ever suspected. Let’s just say I don’t like having another unknown out there.”
   “But look at the bright side,” Nyx chirped. “Kyo is the only unknown. Everyone else follows the rules, right? So in the end he’s just one guy.”
   A hint of a smile perked up the corners of Hector’s mouth as he let himself be placated. “I guess that’s right. As much as I hate him, there’s only one Kyo. Everyone else can be handled.”
   
—–

   “There he is,” said the first one, pointing a rotted hand across Broadway to where Bartleby was walking along, body listless in his black coat.
   “I guess I owe you a Coke,” the second one said. “I thought they were all gone up to the mountains.”
   “Don’t know why he’s here, but he is.”
   One of them smiled, the other one ran his tongue across his upper teeth as they watched pedestrians walk through Bartleby.
   “He seems a little out of it. You sure he’s one of them?”
   “What else would he be?”
   “I don’t know. He doesn’t look well, is all.”
   “As long as he doesn’t look Japanese I’m fine with it.”
   “Good point.”
   “Come on.”
   They walked across the street, staying south of Bartleby. They reached his side of the road and began creeping up on him from behind, their speed increasing as they drew closer and Bartleby showed no signs of hearing them.
   When they were within a few steps the first one jumped, his arm wrapping around Bartleby’s neck from behind as Bartleby’s eyes flew open in shock. The first one tightened his grip as Bartleby tried to pry the arm off his neck, his throat spasming from the pressure there, while the second one grabbed his other arm and pinned it back before Bartleby’s knees gave way and he fell forward, his neck forgotten as his free hand reached out to brace his fall, his arm wobbly with the weight of two more people and doing little to stop him from landing face first on the sidewalk. He felt dust and grit stick to the inside of his upper lip as his face was pressed to the ground.
   “Hold him,” one of them said, and Bartleby felt fingers dig into his upper arm.
   He screamed as he felt blood running over his skin.
   “Help me!” he shouted to the people walking all around him, his voice cracking. “Help me!”
   “They can’t hear you,” the other one said, getting Bartleby’s wrist under his knee, pinning his other arm down.
   Bartleby struggled, his muscles trying to move, his limbs trying to get free, his body writhing against the concrete while he screamed. He felt one of their hands on his back, felt the fingertips, hard like rocks, start to pierce his skin along his spine and then he tilted his head back as far as it would go and screamed as loud as he could.
   And the two things on top of him started screaming as well. Shrieking, high pitched screams, like panicked animals, and suddenly they were trying to get off of Bartleby as smoke began billowing from their clothes, filling the sidewalk, the skin on their hands turning to ash instantly as flames erupted all over their bodies.
   When Bartleby felt them fall off of him he scrambled up and spun around, walking backwards as his eyes took in the sight of the two burnt bodies lying on the sidewalk. His heel caught a rift in the concrete and he fell over backwards, sitting hard on the ground he kept scooting further and further back until he was pressed up against a building and he stopped moving.
   A spasm shook his body, then another one and then he was sobbing, indelicate, ugly tears ripping down his face as his gut lurched again and again and his whole body shook.
   
—–

   Matthew arrived back on the mountaintop. He turned and watched Kyo appear with one of the things over his shoulder.
   “I really can’t believe you talked me into this,” Matthew said.
   “I can’t believe it took you an hour to find someone to push.”
   “I need sleep,” Matthew said. “Can we talk about this in a bit?”
   “How tired can you be? All you did was push some kid off his skateboard and skin his knee.”
   “You’ve really never pushed, have you?” Matthew said, finding a nice piece of rock and lying down. “I didn’t skin his knee and I didn’t push him. What I did was make him get back on his skateboard.”
   Kyo was saying something but Matthew stopped paying attention and, his eyes closing by themselves, he fell asleep.
   When he woke up he heard Mary shouting.
   “I in no way see how this is helping, Kyo!”
   Matthew sat up. Kyo was standing a little ways away. The thing they had brought up to the mountaintop was chained to a rock next to him. It looked angry. Stuck in the snow behind it was a digital clock that was counting down. There were about four hours left in the countdown.
   Matthew stood up and groggily walked over to them.
   “It’s going to be fine, Mary,” Kyo was saying.
   “And you,” Mary said, wheeling on Matthew. “What were you thinking inviting that thing up here?”
   Matthew rubbed his eyes sleepily and didn’t say anything. Someone called Mary’s name. “I have to go take care of some things,” Mary said. “But we will be talking about this in more detail when I’m free.”
   “Absolutely,” Kyo said.
   Mary looked at him, studying his face. “Something else I do need to ask you now, though, is if you saw anything strange while you were down below.”
   “Like what?”
   “There are all sorts of phone calls coming in from people who saw some sort of wave go past them on the mountaintops.”
   Kyo shook his head. “We saw nothing like that.”
   The person shouted Mary’s name again, more urgently, and although Mary clearly had more questions, she settled for a curt, “We’re going to talk later,” and then walked off.
   “What is she so upset about?” Matthew asked.
   “When this clock is finished counting down I’m going to let him loose,” Kyo said, looking at the half rotted thing chained to the rock.
   “You’re going to what?” Matthew asked.
   “Don’t worry about it. It’s just like her dry-erase board only more hands on.” Kyo looked Matthew over. “That must have been some skinned knee. You’ve been out for sixteen or seventeen hours.”
   Matthew looked at the digital countdown, looked at the thing in chains, shook his head, and turned back to Kyo. “Forgetting all that for a moment, why did we just lie to Mary about the wave?”
   Kyo didn’t respond.
   “It was him, wasn’t it? It was Epp.”
   “We don’t know that. And I don’t want to get people’s hopes up.”
   “But it was him. That was the same thing I saw go blasting out of the cathedral in all directions. Like a big ripple in a pond. Only, we were in Australia, and it was heading north. So it’s already gone around the world and now it’s heading back?”
   Kyo didn’t answer again, he only looked around uncomfortably.
   “I mean, come on, Kyo. And you even worked out how fast it’s going, right?”
   “It’ll be back in Romania at around three in the morning. A few hours from now.”
   “So we tell everyone, right?”
   “I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up,” Kyo said again, stubbornly.
   “Why? What am I missing?”
   “The wave that left the cathedral, how high was it?”
   “It was huge, taller than the cathedral itself.”
   “And the wave that passed us in Sydney, how high was it?”
   “It was…it was much smaller.”
   “He’s losing energy.”
   “You don’t think he’ll make it all the way back?”
   Kyo only stared for a few seconds, the darkness all around him hiding his face. “What happened to this guy, Matthew?” he asked, turning to the thing in chains next to him.
   “He gave up.”
   “Yes, but then what happened? Keep going.”
   “He gave up. The life was too hard so he stopped testing.”
   “And?”
   “We went over all this,” Matthew said. “I think what we came up with was right. He stopped testing and he started rotting. And after a certain point he changed. Once he lost enough energy he crossed a line…” Matthew was making a chopping motion with his hand to indicate this line when he froze. His hand slowly lowered and he looked up at Kyo.
   “He’s losing energy,” Kyo said. “Even if he makes it back…I’m not sure what side of the line he’ll be on.”
   Matthew didn’t say anything.
   “We wait. And in a few hours when he’s due back in Romania, we head over there and we watch from a safe distance.”
   “Okay,” Matthew said. “I guess. Is that the best we’ve got?”
   “You come up with anything, you let me know. But while you were napping, that’s all I thought about, and I didn’t get very much further than waiting.”
   “Okay. And it’s due back in a few hours?”
   “He’s due back there at three in the morning.”
   “Three in the morning, right.” Mathew looked at his watch. “Wait, three in the morning here in Nepal? Or three in the morning in Romania at the cathedral?”
   “There’s a difference?” Kyo asked.
   
—–

   On the cold, damp limestone of the cathedral floor sat bodies and beams and joists. The land all around the cathedral moved as an ever shrinking circle of energy, like a reverse ripple in a pond of still water it drew tighter and tighter upon itself. One side of the circle reached the main entrance, and the rocks and steps undulated as the wave passed by, now barely three feet high.
   Tighter and tighter the circle closed in, more and more of it condensing so it fit inside the great open space of the nave, old pews and rubble from the roof collapse rippling as it passed, now barely a foot high.
   It converged on Epp’s body, barely six inches high when it crossed over his feet, all sides of the circle moving at once, the ripple only a few inches high traveling up his legs while the other side of the circle drew in on the top of his head.
   Only half an inch high it rippled up his chest and the stones above his head rattled and jumped as the wave moved past them like a nervous cat’s tail. It was tiny, barely visible as it disappeared below his skull. Then there was silence.
   Then his eyes opened.
   And in the great empty space of stone and wood his chest began moving up and down, the sound of his breathing loud in the stillness, and then everything was motion as his muscles, bones, shirt and suit started trying to knit themselves back together.
   
Part 9: Where Sarpedon’s Body Lay

   
   Kyo stepped into the snow on the heels of a young tester who had volunteered to be his invitation back to the mountaintop. When he had left an hour ago volunteers had been in short supply; nobody wanted to be the one who had to pass out after Kyo returned with his news.
   Kyo stared down at the rocks, his head tilted, his eyes so intense with thought they looked angry. Testers’ heads started turning, conversations stopped and most took a few hesitant steps in his direction in order to make sure they could hear whatever it was he was going to say.
   Kyo showed no sign of noticing any of this; he only stared, his eyebrows drawing down on his face, his hideous thick knit suit flapping absurdly in the wind, one thumb reaching up to scratch the thick bit of stubble along his chin.
   In the end the tester who had escorted him spoke up as he prepared a comfortable piece of snow to rest in. “He’s not there,” the tester said moments before a tremendous yawn cut off his words. When he had regained control of his mouth he closed his eyes. “Epp’s body wasn’t there,” he said, then fell into a deep sleep.
   Kyo only stood there thinking.
   “Well what does that mean?” someone shouted from the crowd.
   Mary, standing next to Matthew, snorted to herself and shook her head. “How long do you think we would have stood here waiting for him,” she pointed at Kyo with her eyes, “to say something?”
   “Would’ve been awhile,” Matthew said, his tone less judgmental than Mary’s, more like someone sharing an inside joke.
   Mary turned to walk away. She made it a few steps before being shaken from her thoughts by the sound of chains clanking and she jumped sideways with a yelp as she stepped too close to the rotted thing that Kyo had dragged up to the mountaintop a few hours earlier. The digital clock planted in the snow next to it was ticking down and both Mary and Matthew noticed that there were only minutes left on it.
   “Uh, Kyo,” Matthew shouted, his eyes never leaving the whir of LED’s that constituted the hundredths of seconds ticking away. There was no response.
   “Kyo!” Mary shouted. Matthew got the feeling that Mary did not have room for much more Kyo in her day.
   The clock continued its mad flashing dance as the minutes all vanished and suddenly there were nothing but seconds left.
   The thing struggled to lift its head under the weight of its chains and it eyed Mary’s calf with a toothy grin on its face.
   “Kyo!” Matthew shouted, and now the crowd that had gathered to watch Kyo’s return began to shift its focus to the clock ticking down. A few more people began shouting and Mary backed away as the seconds ticked down past ten.
   “Kyo!” Matthew yelled. Then more and more people began yelling, some of them walking over to him and trying to get in his face. As the final few seconds ticked away, Kyo lifted his head and, with eyes squinted nearly shut, stared across the snowy expanse of rock at Mary.
   The clock sat there blinking all zeros and nothing happened for a few thick, plodding seconds. Then the chains holding the thing down disappeared.
   The thing stood up slowly, wriggling its shoulders in its ragged coat, testing to see if it really was free. Then it sniffed the air all around and smiled. Matthew was tensed, waiting for it to pounce or jump at one of them, but the thing seemed to be unable to come to grips with its surrounding and for awhile stared around at all of them, grinning hungrily. Then it lunged at Mary, who was just out of range. Mary took a few quick steps back as the thing lost its footing in the loose snow and, falling onto one hand, it braced itself then launched forward like an animal, hands out in front to balance its shambling run, its toes pushing it forward with strong strides until it noticed that Mary was much further away than another tester who was off to its right and it veered, teeth bared, eyes peering out of its rotted face at its new target.
   “Kyo!,” Mary screamed, breaking the silence, and then action and noise erupted everywhere as the thing charged across the mountaintop, getting more and more familiar with the terrain, making its turns tighter and better, getting its feet under itself for powerful leaps forward as a handful of testers on the peak slowly began to be herded closer and closer to the edge of the mountain and Matthew found himself standing next to a breathless Mary and a thoughtful Gus, among others, with a thousand foot fall back to the rest of the world at his heels and the thing standing in front of them, rearing up to its full height, taking all of them in with a sweeping dead gaze.
   Then it leapt and Matthew’s little group broke and scattered but the thing knew enough to pick one target and stick with it and Matthew fell into a cower, his knees slamming into his chin while his arms locked over his head as the thing pounced.
   Then nothing happened.
   Matthew peeked out from behind his tuxedo jacket and saw the thing’s teeth, inches from his face. He jumped back and the thing’s teeth chomped down to take a bite at the air as it was pulled up short.
   “Easy there,” Kyo said, holding onto one end of a chain that was wrapped around the thing’s neck like a leash. The thing lunged again and Kyo’s feet slid an inch across the rock before he dug his heels in, looping another wrap around his forearm, tugging the chain taut across the thing’s neck.
   “Kyo, god damn you!” Matthew shouted, walking back towards where Mary and Gus were standing. He turned with assumed camaraderie to Mary, expecting her to tear into Kyo herself, but when Matthew looked he saw that she was whispering with Gus, her face absent of anger, Gus’s red hair and plain face nodding along as she spoke.
   When they stopped whispering Mary looked up at Kyo, their faces the exact opposite of what Matthew would have expected, with Kyo the one looking angry while Mary looked penitent.
   “You disappoint me,” Kyo said through gritted jaw, “but I honestly think if Epp were here that he’d be more pissed off than I am.” And the thing gave another lurch against its stainless steel chain and Kyo’s feet slipped another inch across the rocks before he braced himself and yanked the thing to a halt.
   “Can we have a minute?” Mary asked.
   “Then what?” Kyo said.
   “Then you can release it again.”
   “What?” Matthew said, now backing away from Kyo, the thing, Mary and Gus, everyone really.
   Kyo stared at her, then threw an empty hand down at the snow where another clock appeared with one minute already ticking away on its glowing red face.
   “And I want everyone else out of the way,” Mary said. “In case I’m wrong,” she added as an afterthought.
   “Behind me, kiddies,” Kyo shouted out. The testers who were gathered watching all shuffled nervously around to stand behind Kyo, Matthew falling into the crowd as well, a few people standing up on tiptoe to see better.
   “I think I’ll stay here, thank you,” Gus said.
   “You sure?” Mary asked, looking him up and down.
   “Ya,” Gus said.
   They both stood side by side, staring at the thing, their heads leaning towards each other as they began to whisper again, nodding and talking, correcting and thinking as the clock ticked down. Their nodding became more frequent and their whispers less and less as they came to a number of quick agreements and then the clock struck zero, the chains fell off, and the thing’s feet pushed off against the rock and it began hurtling across the mountaintop towards Mary and Gus.
   Mary and Gus split apart, both circling to get around to the side of the thing, which faltered as it watched them separate. “On me, on me, on me,” Mary said over and over again and the thing made up its mind and veered to chase her down. She stared as it charged, her head lowered as she concentrated, her hands, palms up, held loosely at her sides.
   The thing ran along the edge of a rock outcrop, splinters and broken sheets of stone rattling down the slope as its feet pounded their way forward. Mary stared, waited, and Matthew watched the hairs on the thing’s head began to raise off its skull and then Matthew looked down and saw Mary’s fingers snap one after the other and the entire mountain top lit up in first one, then another bolt of lightning that struck down in the thing’s path sending it skittering off balance as it ran. A few steps later it regained its footing and Matthew heard Mary whisper, “Shoot,” to herself as the pungent odor of ozone wafted through the air.
   The thing was rattled, its run was slowed but the lightning had missed and, with its balance back, it began to pick up speed as it ran towards Mary. But then Gus was behind it, a roll of tape in his hand which he tossed to Mary, who tossed it back to Gus, who tossed it back to Mary, as the thing became haphazardly entwined, its legs tripping up and one arm getting pinned behind its back as the tape randomly drew crisscrosses over its body.
   It paused again, and Matthew could see it straining before its pinned arm broke free, tape snapping and ripping in long elastic strips, and it turned again to look at Mary, only Gus was much closer now and was really working it over with the tape, parts of the thing completely hidden, strange things happening in the air all around as time and space were altered by the roll of caution tape.
   But then it got another hand out and Gus got too close and the thing landed a savage backhand, its entire body twisting to put power behind the stroke and Gus was knocked onto the ground, stunned.
   The thing turned one last time to look at Mary. It reached one hand up and, with effort, ripped its other hand free. Then both hands reached up and its fingers dug into the thick layers of yellow plastic coating its chest and it pulled, popping and crinkling and snapping sounds emanating from where it stood as it got the better of the tape, pieces of its shirt ripping off as well, and it became free.
   Mary watched all of this without wavering. More and more tape fell to the ground all around the thing as it panted hungrily through rotted lips. Mary extended one arm out in front of her, her elbow bent at a relaxed angle. And, with the thing stuck in one place long enough for her to get a bead on it, she snapped, the dry pop of her fingers sounding barely half a second before a great bolt of lightning ripped through the air and spiked through the thing like some great glowing nail being hammered home.
   The thing stumbled with a drunken lurch to one side, put a leg out in front to try and take a step forward, then collapsed over backwards.
   Mary looked down at the unconscious thing and her arm extended again, her fingers poised for another snap when Kyo stepped forward and with freakish dexterity lassoed the thing’s foot with a length of chain, tugging it across the mountaintop on its back, away from Mary. “I think he’s had enough for now,” Kyo said, “don’t you?”
   Mary looked up, dreamily, the fight slowly fading from her, her chest rising and falling as she took quick breath after breath. She pursed her lips and exhaled, trying to release her adrenaline through her mouth. Then she turned and walked over to where Gus was sitting up and feeling his jaw. Before she could even ask he held up a hand and nodded, letting her know he was fine.
   Mary turned and looked over the crowd that had been watching. She scanned the rows of eyes watching her, carefully looking over all the faces to see that they had been paying attention. “They’re very powerful…but they’re not invincible,” she said simply. Then she added, “We can fight them.”
   “Took you long enough,” Kyo muttered, stooping down and hoisting the thing up over his shoulder.
   “I want anyone who doesn’t have a task requiring immediate attention to gather around the dry-erase board in ten minutes,” Mary said. “Tell everyone. I want every trick, every tool, every little way anyone has ever come up with of interacting with this world up on that board by the end of the hour.”
   There were some questions, some people shouted a few things over each other, some groups broke off into separate conversations and a lot of people stood still as the crowd drifted and broke apart around them. The most common questions being shouted out, despite the past few minutes, were still about Epp.
   “He’ll find us,” Mary was saying, “or we’ll go out and find him. But to do that we’ve got to be able to survive out there. So lets just focus on the first thing and…Kyo?” she searched the crowd as she shouted his name. Kyo stopped, the thing still slung over his shoulder, and turned to look back at her, eyebrows raised. “Kyo, I’m assuming you’re going to start looking for Epp?”
   “Oh, absolutely,” Kyo shouted, waving over his shoulder as he turned and continued walking. “Not a problem.”
   Matthew was still trying to come to grips with what he had just watched when Kyo passed carrying the thing’s rotted body. “Come on,” Kyo said. Mathew followed after, walking in Kyo’s footsteps.
   “We’ll bring him over there,” Kyo said, pointing to a far off peak. Kyo’s form wavered with the thing over his shoulder and he flashed a few feet forward before tripping up and falling to his knees with an exasperated grunt.
   “You alright?”
   “This isn’t nearly as easy as it looks,” Kyo said, an annoyed scowl on his face, and he struggled to pick the thing up. “It’s hard to jump with an unconscious body over your shoulder.”
   “Can’t say I’ve ever tried it,” Matthew said, catching up to him.
   Kyo put the thing down on a bit of ledge sheltered from the wind. “I had to try and lead an unconscious Epp back home once,” he said. His face was stern as usual, but there was something rippling underneath and Matthew knew enough to stay quiet. Bit by bit recently the topic nobody had wanted to discuss had come up in the form of stories and tales. “But at the time he was rather closely bound to Isaac Newton.” Kyo smiled, remembering. “And even then the landing wasn’t the smoothest thing in the world.”
   Matthew watched Kyo get a hold of himself, the brief surfacing of emotion now fading as he turned back to the thing and tried to move quickly again, his form wavering, then stumbling.
   “You got him up here,” Matthew said, chuckling.
   “Up is easy,” Kyo said, happily diving into the conversation and letting Epp’s memory get washed away by the discussion of trivial nonsense. “Getting up to the mountaintops is a whole different type of jump. But traveling with one of you while you’re unconscious is like lugging a sack of rice through a bog.”
   Matthew thought about this. “Isn’t rice grown in a bog?”
   “Shut up, Matthew.”
   “Gotcha.”
   “And speaking of Epp, how much of our little theory did you tell to everyone else?” Kyo asked, kneeling down and gripping the thing’s chin between thumb and forefinger and lifting its head up to examine its eyes.
   “I don’t know,” Matthew said. “You started screaming all over the mountain about how you needed an escort because you were headed back to the cathedral and then you were off. I got a lot of questions, tried to answer them but wasn’t even sure what I knew, to be honest. Then you were back. That was it.”
   Kyo didn’t respond at first, he only continued examining the thing’s face until he seemed satisfied by what he saw there and, giving it a quick slap on the cheek, he stood up and forgot about it.
   “Anyone have anything helpful to say?” Kyo asked.
   “Not really.”
   Kyo had once again stopped listening, though. Instead he was looking over Matthew’s shoulder. “Wonder what he’s up to,” Kyo said to himself.
   Matthew turned around and saw Gus walking alone down an empty spine of rock away from the mountaintop.
   “You think he knows something about Epp?” Matthew said.
   “That guy?” Kyo said, laughing. “Gods no. It was an honest question, Matthew. I just wonder what he’s up to.”
   “You could ask him.”
   “Yeah, I could do that.” Kyo stared off at Gus disappearing over a ridge. “Anyway,” he said, turning back to Mathew, “I’m supposed to start looking for Epp. Now…you don’t happen to know where Epp might be, do you?”
   “Not really, no.”
   Kyo nodded and sighed. “Well I’m fresh out of ideas, then.” He smiled and started walking away. “Think I’ll go for a walk instead.”
   “Wait? What?” Matthew asked, perplexed, watching Kyo head off down the mountain.
   
—–

   The whine of a lawnmower somewhere in the distance mingled with the ever present buzz of insects in the surrounding area. The grass on the front lawn was the dappled yellow of Van Gogh sunlight, the green long since pressed out of it by the imposing heat of summer.
   A two story brown wood house stood set back from the road, the brambles and bushes of the wild popping up instantly where the hand of man stopped at the lawn’s edge. A car was parked in a detached garage that sat at the end of a driveway that came off of a road that led out to a highway.
   Inside the house, Zachery Tyler, Zach to his friends, was sitting on a couch upstairs flipping through the channels of an old television set and wondering what he was going to do with the rest of his weekend. His parents were upstate visiting with his mother’s sister and wouldn’t be back until that night. He debated calling up some of his friends, but none of them had real jobs for the summer whereas he was due at his father’s paint store in town no later than eight o’clock tomorrow morning. It seemed best that he find something more low key than what his buddies might be up to rather than suffer through another hung-over Monday morning smelling paint fumes. He didn’t quite know what that might be, but for now he felt safer just sitting back and flipping through the television channels. The air-conditioner was broken and the window was open to combat the stifling heat. Outside the sound of the lawnmower disappeared leaving only the buzzing of the insects hanging in the air. Far off the high-pitched honk of a diesel horn sounded as somewhere out in the prairie a train made its way along.
   Unnoticed by Zach, a thick length of strong rope was tied around his waist. The other end of the rope was strung out all throughout the room, sometimes drifting off into the rest of the house, as if it had been left to simply dangle and drag wherever he went.
   Gus, standing in the doorway to the room, equally unnoticed by Zach, sighed sadly, then reached down and picked up the rope. He began running it in lengths through his hands, making loops that collapsed neatly against his waist in a strange coil that seemed capable of holding any amount of rope without ever bulking up too large. Gus was five minutes into what was shaping up to be a lengthy process of untangling and coiling when a voice behind him spoke up.
   “You know, the rope is largely symbolic,” Kyo said.
   “I do not believe in short cuts, Kyo,” Gus said, continuing with singular determination to collect and organize his rope. “However symbolic, this rope was the commitment I made to Zachery here, and this rope is the one I’m going to use.”
   Gus had a strange drawl to his voice that Kyo couldn’t place and when he spoke longer sentences, Kyo was noticing, Gus had the habit of pausing with his whole body before speaking, as if every sentence coming out of his mouth had been labored over for centuries, then forgotten entirely in the split second before it was spoken.
   Kyo watched Gus patiently unknotting a particularly sticky piece of rope. “This is going to take awhile, isn’t it?”
   “You don’t need to be here, Kyo. I never asked for your help.”
   Kyo walked over to the couch and sat down, the couch doubling in appearance as a phantom couch reacted to Kyo’s weight while the couch Zach was sitting on didn’t move at all.
   “Sure thing,” Kyo said, turning to watch the television. “I’ll just leave. Walk away from Gus and his Mysterious Push of Doom.”
   Gus stopped what he was doing for a minute and turned to look over his shoulder at Kyo, confused.
   “I don’t know what it is I’m supposed to be doing, so I’m going to bother you until I figure it out,” Kyo said, responding to Gus’s look. Kyo held his hand in front of Zach’s remote causing Zach to click ineffectively over and over again, holding his hand up at an angle, then pushing the button very hard as if that would help before Kyo took his hand away and the television went back to responding to the remote control.
   “Looks more like you’re bored,” Gus said.
   “Maybe. Although bored isn’t quite right,” Kyo said, fingers drumming the arm of the couch as he turned to stare out the window. “Restless maybe? Look, I don’t like not knowing what to do. That’s all. So I saw you leave the mountain and I decided to see what was going on.”
   “Aren’t you supposed to be looking for Epp?”
   “Oh, right, let me just do that.” Kyo lifted up one of the couch cushions, then plopped it back down. “Well he’s not under there.” He looked up. “You think I should check the closet?”
   Gus shook his head and turned back to his work.
   Kyo, a little unnerved himself by his own attitude, regrouped and started again. “Look, either Epp’s okay, in which case he’ll find us. Or he’s not okay, in which case he won’t find us and there’s no telling where he is. Or he’s just gone, in which case nobody finds anyone. But those are the options and I don’t figure into any of them.”
   “You could at least try.”
   “I tried,” Kyo said, and the bitterness in his voice made Gus shift uncomfortably as he worked. “I was way too late getting to the cathedral to get a bearing on Epp. But I looked around, and then I started looking in the most likely spots Epp might be, and you know what? I realized rather quickly that this is Epp I’m trying to find. The guy’s two thousand years old. And he loved everything that humans do. He loved Buddhist temples and garage rock concerts and bush camps and ice fishing and salt mines and battlefields and distilleries and nude beaches. So after I popped through the first ten possible spots that came into my head and I had already traveled twice around the globe I realized that looking for Epp in all the usual places meant, essentially, looking everywhere on earth. I have the same odds of finding him using a methodical search that I do picking places at random. He could, quite literally, be in the coat closet in the hall. So I thought I maybe needed a better plan. Only I don’t have one.” He looked over at Gus. “So I decided to settle for a riddle instead.”
   “Riddle?” Gus asked, taking offense to the term.
   “Yes. Why does the mysterious Gus opt to come down here with the things in order to make Zachery here a better person?”
   “This is what I do, Kyo. No riddle about it,” Gus answered, taking another length of rope and looping it calmly over his arm, then settling it into the never-ending loop at his side.
   “You’re going to die, you know. I’m not going to stick around here forever.”
   “I didn’t ask you to.”
   “So that’s it then. This is creative self-destruction?”
   Gus shook his head, a blush of anger rising in his neck. “This is what I do, Kyo,” he repeated. “If I’m to die doing it, than that’s what will happen. But I’d rather die doing this than live doing anything else.”
   Kyo stood up and walked through Zach and past Gus. “This is fucking ridiculous,” he was saying under his breath.
   “Leaving already?” Gus asked.
   “No, not leaving,” Kyo said pacing angrily, “just going to poke around in the coat closet.”
   “You should check the one downstairs, too.”
   Kyo stared at Gus, flat faced for a moment, then burst out laughing. “What am I doing?” he asked wearily before walking back over to the couch and sitting down.
   Gus paused in his work, his body wavering slightly as he debated opening his mouth again. Finally he spoke. “I have to admit, this whole thing seems to have you rather rattled more than I’d expect.”
   “I haven’t been this lost in quite awhile,” Kyo looked up from the couch. Outside, the lawnmower started up again, its harsh distant roar mixing with the incessant buzz of the insects. “Not to mention, there’s only me out looking for him. They have who knows how many people looking for him. They’re going to find him first.”
   “Couldn’t you track one of them down? Try to get some idea of what they know?”
   “It’s hard to get any information out of them unless I happen to catch one of them on their way to go see Epp. What I need, really, is someone who’s just hanging where a bunch of them are around, just kind of watching and waiting.”
   “Well, I’m here. And you’re there. And everyone else is up on the mountains.”
   “Yes.”
   “So I guess that option isn’t about to happen.”
   
—–

   Bartleby sat at the bar next to the bowling alley in New York’s Port Authority bus terminal. He had wandered the city for the past few hours trying to figure out what he should do, trying to figure out what on earth was happening. He had turned his phone off a few hazy days ago and turned it back on only recently. He had pieced together some of what was going on from the texts and messages that had piled up, although he was lost on a lot of things, not to mention everyone sounded so angry on their messages, like he was doing something wrong by not being instantly available for whatever they needed. The sound of Mary, calmly leaving messages, then angrily leaving messages, then angry but trying to sound calm leaving messages, made him scared and a little nauseous and he felt even less like contacting someone now than he had before he had turned his phone back on.
   But he had wanted to talk to someone about something, anything, and had come to the Port Authority on the off chance that some newbies were hanging around. It had been a long shot, from what he was able to understand from the messages, that there was anyone anywhere but he decided to try. Having scanned the bar and seen nobody of his kind to say hi to, Bartleby had assumed form, sat down, and started talking to the bartender.
   And that’s what he was doing, a Diet Coke in front of him, the glass sweating beads onto the smooth bar, when he heard them.
   “Told you there’d be nobody here,” one of them said. “This place got picked clean days ago.”
   “Guess you were right,” the other one said.
   Bartleby pinned his smile to his face and stared at the brass beer taps while the bartender giggled and continued telling him about some band she was going to listen to that night and Bartleby nodded and watched in the brass as the two things behind him walked through a few paying customers.
   “Call Hector, tell him it’s empty here. No sign of Kyo. No sign of anyone.”
   “You sound testy,” the other one said. “Maybe you want to call him yourself? Give him a little what for?”
   “This is starting to suck,” the other one said. “Nothing here but bones and muscle. You know? This one has a body,” and he swatted at the back of the head of one of the drinkers sitting at the bar. “And this one has a body,” he swatted again, “and this one and this one.” Swat and swat. Bartleby was next in line and his hands gripped the edge of the bar as he watched in the brass while the bartender continued talking, completely oblivious to what was standing across the bar from her.
   “You know?” the one who had been doing the swatting said. And he stopped swatting, but while the other one dialed his phone he came and peered across the bar at the bartender, then at Bartleby, just taking in the scenery Bartleby was sure, but his fingers were growing hot where they were pinching the edge of the bar and there was nothing in his head but smile and nod and stay calm stay calm stay calm.
   “You want another soda?” the bartender was asking, and Bartleby wasn’t answering because he wasn’t sure what would happen if he opened his mouth. For that matter he wasn’t sure what would happen if he turned to look at the thing on his right, or if the thing swatted the back of his head, or if they caught on that he was only flesh and blood temporarily. All he knew was that he could still smell the disgusting odor of flesh roasted with burning clothes from his last run in with some of these things and why did the bartender have to ask him if he wanted a refill now?
   “Yes,” Bartleby managed to say, and his concentration was slipping and he could feel the bar getting hot under his fingers.
   “Were you drinking diet or regular coke?” the bartender asked.
   Bartleby wasn’t sure but he thought there was smoke starting to drift up from under his fingers and the thing next to him was sniffing the air.
   “Anyway, nobody’s here,” the first one said.
   “Yeah, let’s try out in the alley.”
   “Sounds good.”
   And then they were gone.
   Bartleby jumped off his stool, catching it just barely before it toppled over backwards onto the floor and walked then ran into the bathroom where he locked himself in a stall and found himself breathing uncomfortably fast for a few minutes before he managed to calm down.
   With every breath he took, the memory of charred flesh lingered in the back of his throat.
   
—–

   A few days later Gus stood as Zachery stared out the window at the night settling over the grassland to the east. Fireflies were glowing, their green flashes sprinkled over the landscape. Warm air was billowing through the screen like a furnace door; far off on the horizon heat lightning flashed silently.
   “Hello,” something shouted from the front door. “Anybody home?” Gus heard someone rapping on the door jamb, then heard footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned as two things walked into the room. One was mostly skeleton; the second was mostly whole with only an ace bandage wrapped firmly around one of his hands.
   “Didn’t believe it when I saw you today,” the nearly whole one said to Gus.
   Then Kyo was in the room and the mostly rotted one collapsed and the mostly whole one was up in the air, Kyo’s hand lifting him up by his neck. Kyo’s hand was tight enough on the mostly whole man’s throat that his mouth was open, guttural sounds choking out of it, his tongue swelling up through his lips.
   “You know who I am?” Kyo asked.
   The man tried to answer.
   “You come here again, you’re dead. Anyone else who wants to come here, has to come through me, you understand?”
   The thing made some noises.
   “Okay,” Kyo said, “now give me your cell phone.” He dropped the man to the ground where he gasped and held his throat tenderly then searched his pocket and handed over his cell phone before skittering back into the hallway, disappearing.
   Kyo clacked the buttons on the phone, searching through it before tossing it over onto the couch where it eventually disappeared.
   “Nothing,” he said.
   “So you’ve decided to stick around?” Gus asked.
   “Haven’t decided anything yet, but they don’t need to know that.”
   “I thought I saw something when we were in town today.”
   “Me too,” Kyo said. “It was only a matter of time.”
   “And what do you think is going to happen now?”
   “They’re going to leave us alone forever.”
   “That’s what I was hoping.”
   Kyo smiled. “You know, it does bother me a bit that you’re so damned sure that I’m going to stay here and protect you.”
   “Get over yourself, Kyo. I’d be crazy to be doing this with the notion that you’re going to protect me. Just how many of them do you think you could keep off of me? Five or six? More than that and, sure, you’ll be fine, but I’ll be dead.”
   “So what is it you’re counting on?”
   “I don’t know. All I know is that this,” and Gus looked at Zachary, “this is what we do. If we lose track of that, we lose track of everything.”
   Kyo’s eyes roamed over Zach, over Gus, then out to the deepening bruise of twilight outside.
   “No new ideas on how to find Epp?”
   “It’s Epp,” Kyo answered. “If he’s okay then he can take care of himself.”
   “What else would he be?”
   “I don’t know,” Kyo said. He looked down at the thing lying on the floor with a knife sticking out of its throat. “But if he’s not Epp I don’t think I want to be the one who finds him.”
   “I’m not sure I follow.”
   “Me either.” Kyo scratched the back of his head and changed the subject. “Look, are you for real? Or are you just doing this because you’re an idiot?”
   Gus smiled, the past few days spent with Kyo having done a lot to mellow his attitude towards him. “I made my choices Kyo. Same as all of us. I chose to serve them, and I intend to do so. I’ll not have those things deciding what I do and I certainly won’t have them overturning my choices for me.”
   “Your choices,” Kyo said with a bit of disdain. “I never quite got to make those.”
   “If you don’t mind me saying, that’s a bit of a lie. You cared enough about something other than yourself to wind up here. You lived a certain kind of life, walked a certain kind of path, you chose all the footsteps right up to those before you died. I’m of the mind that those last few choices are simply the tail end of a much longer train of decisions. You made your choices just the same as all of us.”
   “I never agreed to stick around here. That was sort of thrust upon me.”
   “Again,” Gus said, “you’d have to claim that your entire life was thrust upon you to negate the place you now stand as anything but where you were meant to be.”
   “Sure,” Kyo said, conceding without any real feeling in his voice, and again he flipped the conversation over. “So, what, you make little Timmy here–”
   “His name is Zachery.”
   “…Zachery into a better corn husker and everyone gets to be happy? That seem like a fitting use of your eternal rest?”
   “It doesn’t to you?”
   “Seems like a waste of time. The odds of him doing anything monumental with his life are barely present.”
   “Just as long as he becomes great at whatever he chooses, that’s what important.”
   “So if he wants to be a great rodeo clown, this will all be worthwhile? You’ll have risked your life and dragged me along for the ride for good reason?”
   “How far do you think you get in finding the cure for polio if you haven’t made significant advances in indoor plumbing? You think the sterilization needed is possible with hand pumps and wood fires? Yet few people bother to applaud the person who perfected solder, or who figured out how to make cheap copper piping, or who invented the elbow joint. Everything relies on everything else. Greatness anywhere is greatness everywhere. If he becomes a truly great rodeo clown, then, yes, I’ve done my job.”
   “You don’t,” Kyo rubbed the stubble on his chin, “you don’t exactly have a lot of cynicism in you, do you?”
   “And this upsets you?”
   Kyo didn’t answer.
   “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?” Gus smiled. “You can’t not protect something when you’ve come to identify with it, can you? Once you commit you even forget all about yourself, and that’s become tiresome for you? Ya?”
   “Shut up, Gus,” Kyo said, looking around the room. “And what is with that ‘Ya?’ I keep hearing you use that syllable with that funny accent, what is that? Dutch?”
   “Ya.”
   “What were you? A sailor or something?”
   Gus didn’t answer, only watched Kyo stare his hard stare, the thoughts rumbling behind his eyes practically audible. “No,” Kyo said. “Not a sailor. This is home for you, isn’t it?” Kyo looked out the window. “Not this house in particular, mind you, but the wide open grasslands, the prairies, all this crap. This is where you’re from. Dutch, hard working, no sarcasm, I’m guessing eighteen hundreds or thereabouts. Right?”
   Gus found himself smiling in spite of himself as Kyo’s mind carved out his identity.
   “You were a homesteader, weren’t you? You farmed this land way back when. But then what happened?”
   And Gus’s smile departed.
   “You get run off your land? Some dirty cattle rancher tried to run you off your claim? Now that would explain a lot.”
   “I don’t care to talk about that.”
   “Oh?” Kyo asked, getting away from himself a bit. “And why not?”
   “You want to tell me how you died?” Gus asked, and Kyo immediately shut down.
   “Fair enough,” Kyo nodded. There was an awkward silence, things had slid into uncomfortable areas for both men and for a shaky few moments a faint hint of anger hung in the air with the heat lightning in the distance. Then it faded.
   “So,” Kyo said. “What’re you going to do with Johnny here?”
   “Zachery.”
   “Zachery. You going to break his legs?”
   “I’m what you might call a purist. I intend, once I’ve studied him enough, to simply reach into his heart and push it down, then see from how dark a place he can bounce back from.”
   “You haven’t even started yet?”
   Gus shook his head. “No, I’ve only been doing research so far. Haven’t actually pushed yet.”
   Kyo turned back to Zach. “Always seemed a touch barbaric to me.”
   “That’s because you’ve never done it, no? It is how we bring out the best they have to offer.”
   “Nope, never pushed. Everything got decided for me in one instant lump, and I never had to draw energy like you. So I guess I can keep going without needing it.”
   “And what happens if you do push?” Gus was curious.
   “I’ve never tried.”
   “Because you can’t or because you won’t?”
   “I’m not real sure you want to be having this conversation with the one thing that’s keeping you alive right now.”
   “I suppose you have a point there.”
   Kyo squinted and looked out the window, then brushed past Gus to get a closer look. “That was fast,” he said.
   Gus joined him and looked out onto the rear lawn where two of them had just appeared.
   “I guess he didn’t listen,” Gus said.
   Kyo shook his head. “Those are two new ones.”
   Then another two forms appeared in the gathering darkness. At first these new two weren’t noticed by the other two on the lawn, but eventually they all saw each other and came together, each pair striding across the lawn, snippets of noise drifting up to the window when their talking become loud enough to hear, everyone gesticulating and waving their arms and pointing up at the house.
   “What are they doing?” Gus asked.
   “They’re arguing over who gets to eat you,” Kyo answered.
   Gus swallowed, nodded to himself for reassurance, then turned away from the window and focused back on Zach, who was lounging at the far window and talking on his cell phone.
   “Guess I’ll get ready for wave two,” Kyo said, and he slipped his jacket off before folding it neatly over the back of a chair.
   
—–

   “I want information and I want it now,” Hector was saying as he walked up and down the narrow patch of carpeting between two long rows of desks, all of which were full of his people manning phones.
   “I want to know what people are doing, I want to know who’s gathered where and who I haven’t heard from, I want to know where Kyo is, I want to know if anyone has made it onto a mountain, I want to know if any of them have come down. I want to know anything anyone knows and I want to know it as of yesterday.”
   Everyone at the desk was wearing a headset plugged into a phone and they were all half listening to Hector while they sat as comfortably as possible in their chairs and carried on their conversations, the hum of which mixed with ringing phones.
   “I want to know—”
   “That’s another phone call about something in the mid-west,” Nyx said, leaning back in her swivel chair, feet propped up on her desk while she chomped on a piece of gum.
   “One lone tester is nice and all,” Hector said, leaning down, placing his hands on her shoulder and speaking low at her ear, “but he won’t last long. What we need is hundreds, thousands, of testers out in the open. Anyone at the farm house stumbles onto a way to get that to happen, you let me know.”
   “It’s not just one tester,” Nyx said.
   “Two testers then, it doesn’t really matter,” Hector said, turning away and starting to walk down the aisle again. “What we need—”
   “It’s not two testers either,” Nyx said, her gloved hand draped lazily over her mouthpiece. “It’s one tester,” she held up her free hand with one finger extended, “and Kyo.” Another finger popped up.
   Hector stopped and looked back, Nyx’s face reflecting back at herself in his mirrored sunglasses.
   
—–

   “It looks like it’s really going to start coming down,” Zach said to his friend on the phone. “The wind’s kicked up like crazy here this past hour.” He walked across his empty living room, strips of cheap pine painted white lined the walls and a couch sat on top of an old area rug. The television was on with the sound muted, images flickering across in rapid succession during an advertising break.
   “Nah,” Zach was saying. “My parents are out again. Nobody’s here.”
   One of the things stumbled backwards through him as Kyo, arms full with another one, had to settle for a kick to its face.
   “It’s just me here alone,” Zach went on, turning away from the window and walking through Kyo struggling to keep three of the things occupied while Gus watched from the rear wall.
   Then Kyo got a good enough grip on the one struggling the most and, with Gus safe for the moment, he was able to concentrate, his blade appearing in his hand as first one then another of the things fell to the ground. The third he caught by the ankle as it was trying to crawl away and pulled it across the floor.
   Gus turned away as it died.
   The fourth had recovered from Kyo’s kick and was standing still, hand braced against the wall. Kyo started toward it and it broke to the left, bounding over the couch to the window, which doubled, one window remaining whole while a second ghostly window crashed to pieces as the thing jumped through it.
   Gus watched Kyo walk to the window, then saw his shoulders sag and heard him sigh. Something caught Gus’s eye and he looked out his own window to see two more things appear on the front lawn.
   “Kyo!” he yelled across the room. “There’s two more over here.”
   “There’s five more on this side,” Kyo said. Gus heard him breathing heavily through his nose. “Well that got real hard real quick.”
   Gus went back to looking out of his window, one finger hooked against the curtain, drawing it all the way back as the rain began to come down in hot violent sheets. The two things on the front lawn shrunk a bit as they huddled under the torrent of water, one of them flipping the collar of his shirt up to little effect. Gus watched them look over the house, then one of them spotted him and pointed and they began to walk towards him.
   Then Gus recoiled from the window, his head turning automatically, his eyes shut tight, a bright after image of a lightning bolt flashing across his eyelids and a clap of thunder sounding so loud he heard the panes of glass rattling in the window.
   “Oh my God!” Zach screamed into his cell phone. “That was right next to my house!”
   Gus blinked and looked across the room to Kyo’s window where two more bolts of lightning struck the lawn outside.
   “Kyo?” someone shouted from the hallway.
   “We’re in here, Mary,” Kyo shouted back, watching as Mary stepped into the living room. “Took you long enough,” he said.
   “Unless we are absolutely needed down here as many as possible are going to stay up top,” Mary said, joining Kyo at the window. “Everyone needs all the time to practice that they can get.”
   They both watched as five things retreated to the bushes at the edge of the lawn eying the house with caution.
   “Lightning is nice, but what happens if they make it inside?” Kyo asked.
   “We’ve worked out a few more tricks,” Mary answered.
   
—–

   “Hold, please?” Nyx said into her mouthpiece as she punched a button on her phone. She listened for a few seconds to the new call, “Hold please,” she said, and another button was hit. “Thank you for calling, how–” she started before getting interrupted, pausing, listening, then starting again. “Hold, please,” and she punched another button.
   “There’s more and more of our kind showing up at the farmhouse,” she called up to Hector from her chair as he walked past.
   “I know,” Hector said.
   “And more and more of their kind seem to be showing up as well.”
   Hector’s sunglasses were glaring at the wall at the end of the aisle.
   Nyx listened for a few more seconds, then her head tilted as she took in another piece of information and shunted it off to its proper location in her mind. “And someone else has seen Epp,” she said.
   “Splendid,” Hector said, walking to the wall where maps of the world and a number of countries were pinned up. “And is he with Elvis this time or is he alone?”
   “Alone,” Nyx said.
   Hector took a red push pin from a pile on a nearby desk and turned to face the maps again. “And where is Epp now, supposedly?”
   Nyx spoke a few questions into her mouthpiece, then nodded as she listened. She swiveled around in her chair. “Manhattan,” she shouted up at Hector, “34th Street PATH station.”
   “I’m not sure how this wonderful joke got started,” Hector said, putting the red push pin into the map on New York City, “but I’m getting sick of people ‘sighting’ Epp with nobody actually seeing him.” And he stepped back to look at the maps, red push pins stuck into hundreds of locations all over them.
   “Send someone to check it out,” he said to Nyx with little care in his voice.
   
—–

   Bartleby was following two of them down Park Avenue, a boy and a woman. He had been trailing them for awhile now for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of. Part of him was curious, part of him felt safer with his eyes on them rather than it possibly being the other way around. He had been in physical form for days now and still occasionally walked right into an oncoming pedestrian, bumping him back on the sidewalk, getting strange looks or swears as he continued on, never acknowledging the human he had just plowed into, his eyes only fixed on whatever things he was currently watching.
   The two he was following now had been making phone call after phone call to someone who was very busy, and had been exchanging all sorts of information, a lot of which Bartleby didn’t understand.
   Another phone call came in and one of them stopped and stood in the sidewalk, people passing through him as he took out his phone and began talking. Bartleby walked past, trying not to look, trying to act like just another one of the humans.
   “Come on,” the thing said. “Hector put a call out for someone to go down to the PATH station. He says someone saw Epp there.”
   Then the two things vanished and Bartleby stopped walking. Then he rippled and disappeared.
   
—–

   The PATH station was brightly lit by obtrusive white neon bulbs that ran up and down its three train tracks. The walls were filled with posters for musicals and the steel beams every few yards were thick with drab blue paint.
   Bartleby stood at one end of the platform trying to stay out of sight. The things he had followed were a few yards ahead of him. A few yards ahead of them, sitting on a wooden bench in the middle of the platform, was Epp.
   One of the things punched the other on the arm. “Holy shit it’s really him,” she said.
   “I don’t believe it,” the other one said, creeping sideways to get a better look down the platform. “He looks weak.”
   Bartleby, keeping back, walked quietly to the side as well and when he got a better look at Epp he found himself agreeing. Epp’s suit was crinkled and stained and his face was haggard. He looked tired, barely able to even support his own weight just sitting on a bench. Bartleby was unsure if he would be able to stand up.
   “He does look weak,” the female thing said. She looked around at the mostly empty platform. There was really only them, Epp, some people way at the other end and some guy dressed in black waiting for a train behind them. “What do you think?”
   The other one smiled. “He looks pretty beat up,” he said. “I think maybe we could take him.”
   But the other one had already started forward in a quick walk, which turned into a jog, which turned into a run as the first one’s footsteps slapped on the concrete and all either of them could think about was feeding.
   Bartleby shook his head. He whimpered, his face grimacing as he realized what he had to do, and trying not to watch he lifted one of his feet off the platform then tapped down hard. Two lines of deep glowing red shot out from where he was standing as the concrete blazed with heat, racing after the things and catching them a few yards from where Epp was sitting, their feet catching fire before the rest of them burst into flames and they fell, their bodies skidding forward across the floor.
   Epp glanced down as what was left of them came to a rest a few feet from him. Then he looked up at Bartleby who was walking towards him. Bartleby made a wide arc around the things’ bodies, turning his head away he refused to look at them as he held his breath and made his way past before coming around to stand in front of Epp.
   “Hello,” Bartleby said.
   “Your name is Bartleby,” Epp said. He looked down at the bodies. “How did you do that?” Then he became puzzled. “Can I do that?”
   “You don’t look so good.” Bartleby said.
   “I don’t feel so good.”
   “Well you were dead there for awhile. That can’t help.”
   “I remember that. Kind of. There are all sorts of chunks missing.”
   “Where have you been?”
   “Everywhere, I think.” Epp looked down again at the two bodies. “People keep trying to kill me.”
   Bartleby stared down, he could feel that the outsides of him were calm, his face was calm, his hands were calm, but just under the surface things were roiling with emotion. “Yes,” he said. “There are some strange things going on.”
   “Like what?” Epp looked up.
   “How much do you remember?”
   “I don’t know. I’m not really sure where to start.”
   Bartleby looked down. “I think I can probably catch you up. But we should get out of here; I’m not sure how safe it is. There are tons of those things in the city.”
   “Things,” Epp said softly, mouthing Bartleby’s word. “And what are they exactly?”
   “I…I’m not…let’s just get out of here and we’ll start nice and slow, okay?”
   Epp looked up at Bartleby, and as Bartleby watched a wave of something very unpleasant passed over Epp’s eyes before fading.
   “There’s something else,” Epp said.
   “I’m all ears.”
   Epp leaned down and began sliding one leg of his pants up. “My limp didn’t exactly heal the way I thought it would.” Epp slid his pant leg up until it revealed a large chunk of leg rotted away above and below his knee.
   Then Epp started breathing heavily, slow breaths at first, then faster as Epp struggled to keep something welling up inside of him under control. “You need to get out of here,” Epp said finally through his teeth.
   “Oh?” Bartleby asked.
   “I’m not kidding, Bartleby. There’s been trouble already. I keep running into trouble. I’m…hungry,” Epp found it hard to use the word in such a context.
   “Aw,” Bartleby said. “Is Epp having a little bit of trouble?”
   “You have no idea what this is like,” Epp said. “Just listen to me now, Bartleby, and—”
   “God you’re arrogant,” Bartleby said, reaching down and clamping a hand onto Epp’s shoulder. His hand was there for only a few seconds before Epp screamed and tried to wriggle away, smoke starting to drift up from his jacket.
   Bartleby smiled and let go. “If any of your kind touches me that’s what happens. So I think I’m safe from your hunger.”
   Epp was wincing, rubbing his shoulder. “How did that happen?”
   “You did this to me,” Bartleby said, a bit of anger rising up in the back of his throat.
   Epp looked up puzzled.
   “Never mind, for now; but believe me we’ll get to that. At the moment we just need to get out of here.”
   “Where are we going?”
   “We’re going to start with a crash course in all things Epp,” Bartleby said. “I know a good place to start. Now move.”
   Epp stood up to follow. “But where is everyone else?” he asked.
   
—–

   A young girl, her face mostly rotted away, was hovering upside down in the doorway to Zach’s living room. She was kicking her feet in the air, trying to get a grip on something, her arms flailing about trying to do the same.
   “See,” the tester holding her in place was saying, “I figured out that the electrons surrounding—”
   “Couldn’t care less,” Kyo said walking past him. “Just continue keeping them out. Mary!” he shouted.
   “I’m upstairs,” he heard her shouting.
   “We pick a room, right now,” he said, stepping into Zach’s parents’ room. “And that room becomes home base. Everything we know gets funneled into it. I’m sick of walking through the entire house trying to figure out what’s going on.” Kyo stepped into a corner of the room and shoved an intercom speaker into the wall.
   “How about here?” Mary said, only half listening, the other half of her looking out the window. She shook her head. “A bunch more just showed up.”
   Outside there was a group of them standing on the soaking wet lawn. The rain storm had weakened and showed signs of letting up entirely.
   “Don’t care right now,” Kyo said, looking around. “This room is fine. We both take a run through the house and get anyone who isn’t doing anything immediate up here now. I want them making phone calls and using the intercom.” Kyo pulled a dresser away from the wall and conjured up an intercom. “Everyone has had enough time to practice. We need them here now. From the Rockies, from the Andes, from the Alps, from everywhere. And I’m sick of peeking out of windows. We get someone up on the roof immediately and we get whatever else we need up there to protect them.”
   “Anything else?” Mary asked, a little sarcastically.
   “Get that thunderstorm back here.”
   “I’m trying,” Mary said.
   “Try harder.”
   
—–

   “Thank you for calling, please hold,” Nyx rattled off for the tenth time, her finger jabbing down at the phone.
   “Hector,” she yelled. “That’s a bunch more.”
   “I got six more calling in,” another voice shouted.
   “Five from me,” someone else chimed in.
   “What are they all doing there?” Hector asked, annoyed. “This is ridiculous. What we need is a way to draw them down from the mountains.”
   “Hector,” Nyx said, frustrated. “Everyone who calls in says more and more of them are showing up as well.”
   “But why?”
   “Does it matter?”
   Hector stopped pacing and stared at the wall.
   Nyx shouted from behind him. “It’s happening, and it’s happening now.”
   Hector shook off everything else and came around as quickly as he could. “You’re right. You’re right you’re right you’re right,” he continued saying as he studied the local map with the rural house circled on it.
   “Please hold,” Nyx said, punching another button, then she pushed the phone aside and yanked her headset off before standing up to go stand next to Hector.
   “Okay,” Hector said. “Okay,” he was talking to himself as he thought. He ran a finger along the map, then turned and slid a spare laptop over to him, looking up a webpage. He looked back at the map, then typed a few more things onto the laptop.
   “Okay,” he said one last time. “This is all way too all over the place right now. We need to regroup.”
   “It’s a fucking mess,” Nyx said. “And, like you just said, it’s all over the place. We’re having a hard time getting a hold of anyone who’s out there. They’re a little preoccupied.”
   “That’s okay,” Hector said. And he was typing a few quick lines out on the computer. He read them over, thought for a bit, changed a few words around. “I can get them back under control.”
   “How?”
   “I shall do what countless others before me have done in order to gather large numbers of people together,” Hector said absently, his fingers still typing. “I’m going to offer up free food and booze.”
   He moved back to the wall, his finger crinkling the paper as he ran it down the map. “Here,” he said, jabbing a finger at the map. “We go here. And send that message,” he pointed to the computer he had just been typing on, “to everyone who’s already at the house. Then we move out.”
   
—–

   Zach was digging into his parents’ liquor cabinet while he played Halo up in his bedroom. A glass of warm scotch was sitting on the arm of his chair.
   Unnoticed by Zach, Gus was standing over him while Kyo was kneeling to examine the body of a tester that was splayed out on the ground. He looked up at Mary and shook his head.
   Mary sighed sadly.
   “We need more people,” Kyo said.
   “They’re coming,” Mary answered.
   “We need more people,” Kyo repeated. Then the window crashed in and one of them was crouched on the floor.
   It looked up at Gus and lunged, Kyo reaching out and catching it before it got too far. Kyo looked over its body, then examined its face as the thing struggled.
   “What is it you look for?” Mary asked, watching Kyo’s examination.
   “I don’t know. I just know,” Kyo answered. The thing’s cell phone rang. Kyo rifled its pockets and pulled out the phone. Mary turned away, caught off guard, as Kyo snapped the thing’s neck.
   When she looked back, Kyo was staring down, puzzled, at the thing’s cell phone. “What does that mean?” Kyo asked as the cell phone disappeared in his hands.
   
—–

   “I don’t get it,” Nyx said.
   “You will,” Hector said, standing in the pitch black of night. The wind was blowing; a storm had just been through. He took out his phone and began sending messages.
   Nyx, her curiosity piqued, stood on tiptoe and looked over his shoulder. “Now watcha doing?”
   “I don’t want Kyo tracking us down before everyone has had a chance to dig in.”
   
—–

   “What did it say?” Mary asked.
   “Something about a snack.” Kyo said. “And it was from Hector.” Kyo thought for a few seconds, then his head began turning around, looking from one area of the house to the other.
   “What is it?”
   “It’s quiet,” he said.
   “Kyo!” someone yelled over the intercom. “North side!”
   “South!” another voice shouted.
   “Everywhere!”
   Kyo dipped his body then leapt up to the roof, landing in a crouch he began turning around. There were about ten of them strung out in a loose circle all around the house. When they saw him look out they began to disappear, one by one. Kyo started to take a step forward only to stop, then start again, then stop, his body jerking in stutter steps, over and over again until he gave up and stood there dumbly.
   “Where did they go?” Mary asked, as Kyo dropped back in through the ceiling.
   “I don’t know. Everywhere. They all jumped to different places all over the place, then again, then again.”
   “They ran away?” Gus asked.
   “The hell they did,” Kyo growled, turning away from the window and running into the room across the hall. “That was diversionary. They didn’t want me chasing them.” He looked out of a window on the other side of the house. “They’re gone,” he said, looking around with worry. “They’re all gone.”
   “Where?”
   “I don’t know,” he said. Then he stopped. “They’re regrouping. Hector’s coming out here and he’s regrouping everyone.”
   “Where?”
   “I don’t know!” Kyo shouted. “But he promised them a snack.” Kyo was walking through the house, checking in on the various rooms and sizing up the testers manning them as he went. “What does a snack mean?” he asked. “Don’t they feed on you?”
   “Feed, yes,” Mary said. “But I don’t think they’d call us a snack.”
   Kyo stomped his way back upstairs to Zach’s bedroom. “So what’s a snack for them?”
   Mary and Gus thought about this.
   Gus looked at Zach. Mary looked at Zach. Kyo looked at Zach.
   “Oh, I don’t like this at all,” Mary said.
   “Me either,” Kyo agreed. “This is bad.” He began snapping his fingers quickly while he spoke. “All right. Let’s think here. They can’t go far. They need to keep an eye on this place and they need to back up the ones who are doing the watching. Right?”
   “If you say so.”
   “I say so. So they’ll be local. Now chaos doesn’t help them anymore than it helps us. So they’re not just going to run around like crazy hoping for a snack. They’re going to look for a gathering. Somewhere a lot of humans are gathered and can be contained easily.”
   “Like a concert?” Gus asked.
   “Yes, a concert, a rally, a football game, anything. Does anyone know about anything like that happening nearby?”
   Mary and Gus began talking with the intercom buzzing along as everyone throughout the house began thinking and chattering.
   “Wait,” Kyo said. Nobody responded. “Wait!” he yelled. “Everyone shut up for a second!”
   Everyone quieted down. Kyo said nothing.
   “Well what were you going to say?”
   “Shut up!” he yelled. “Just shut up and listen.”
   Coming in through the window, faint and barely audible, was the sound of a train’s diesel horn blaring in the night.
   “Do we know if that’s a passenger line?” Kyo asked.
   
—–

   Hector stood between the railroad tracks in the darkness, watching the train hurtling towards him, its lights eerie and phantomlike as it rounded a curve.
   He swung a foot and the side of his Italian leather loafer kicked the stretch of track. A length of rail moved slightly, rocking up a bit, a few of the spikes giving way before it settled back into place. He swung his foot again and kicked harder, and this time the length of rail rocked up on its side, spikes rattling off and losing their grip, before it rolled back over on its thick heavy bottom and thunked back down. The train’s horn was screaming in the darkness and its lights were bearing down on him. He swung his foot one last time and tapped the stretch of rail with his toe, it rolled up, completely free now, and then toppled over, sliding off the tracks to bounce heavily down the embankment.
   Hector turned to face Nyx as the train, like a nightmare in the dark, hurtled up from behind him.
   Nyx watched as he mouthed something but then the train was rushing past them with metal screeching and then they were inside it and Nyx’s perspective got all screwed up so that she had the strange sensation that she was moving forward and the train was standing still as she slid through car after car, lights flickering, people screaming, everything tilting and rising up at horrible angles, and then it was past.
   “What did you say?” she asked Hector.
   “I said, ‘Soup’s on,’” Hector answered, looking behind her at the giant snake of twisted metal still crashing its way to a stop.
   The air was filled with the sounds of people screaming and the things cheering as they hopped, like insects from the grass, up onto various parts of the train wreck, metal shrieking as they tore open train cars and hopped down to enjoy their snack.
   “Start getting me some numbers on who is here,” Hector said to Nyx. “And you,” he shouted to one of his things that was making his way towards the carnage. “The bar car is the second to last one. Open her up and see what you can find.”
   
—–

   “I’m going out there,” Mary was saying.
   “We are spread way too thin as it is,” Kyo was yelling. “Until we get reinforcements we need—”
   “I don’t care,” Mary said stubbornly, and she turned and vanished.
   “Mother—” Kyo bit off a swear. A few more testers disappeared. He turned to everyone else, then stormed to the intercom and held down the button. “You all stay right here and you protect Gus, I’ll go after them. They have the option of moving. Gus does not. Stay. With. Gus.”
   Those in view nodded.
   “And I want them reacting to us for a change. They’re watching the house for sure. I want you to figure out a way to disrupt that.” He looked around. “And after Zach passes out, I want you to rearrange all the furniture throughout the house,” he added. He looked up. “Okay? Just…just do things.” Then he turned and vanished.
   
—–

   “You need to come with me now,” Mary was saying to two children, one of whom was bleeding above the eye, the other one was staring glassy eyed at the train wreck. “Hello? You two need to come with me. They’re not listening,” she looked at Kyo who had just shown up. “They’re not listening.”
   “You’re not visible,” Kyo said. He heard a crunch off to his left. Kyo lost all hope of getting the other testers who had come out here back to safety. “Mary listen to me, this is not safe.”
   Mary’s form rippled and the children turned, startled, to see a woman standing next to them. “Kids, you need to come with me, okay? There’s a house not too far from here and you need to get there. You’ll be safe there, okay?”
   “Mary,” Kyo started, but then there was a thump and a scream and his words became muffled.
   Mary turned back to see him fighting with two things as all around her the sounds of people yelling out drifted through the prairie grass.
   “Mary get the hell out of here!” Kyo yelled.
   Three more things appeared. They began spreading out and surrounding her. One of them jumped and Kyo rose to meet him, then another charged.
   The children grew scared as they watched the seemingly nice woman start to look frantically all around her, reacting to things that weren’t happening. Then she jumped back away from some attack they couldn’t see and with a thump she collapsed into the grass unconscious.
   “Mary!” Kyo was yelling. Four more things appeared.
   “Mary!” he yelled. And then he had a hold of her arms and he was safe, moving with her away from the train, only she slipped and fell out of his hands and he stopped and moved back. Struggling to gather her limp body up he got an arm up and then threw her body over his shoulder and tried to run again but he tripped and felt her skin sliding out of his hands as he fell onto his knees in the wet grass.
   “Mary,” he said. “Mary you’ve got to wake up now.”
   He tried to drag her along but one of the things grabbed her leg and he beat it off only to pull her a few more yards while three more things popped into place around them.
   There was a groan and Kyo turned to see a human lying in the grass near them, his leg twisted horribly.
   “Hello?!” the man shouted through dry lips. “Hello can anyone hear me?”
   “Mary,” Kyo shouted at her face, kneeling over her.
   Four more things.
   “My leg is broken,” the man groaned between sobs.
   “Mary?” Kyo said, huddling her up near him, trying to cover her with his arms.
   “Somebody help me?” the man shouted.
   Three more things.
   “Mary?”
   And the prairie grass whispered in the night.
   
Part 10: One Final Push

   
   Mary opened her eyes. She reached a hand up and felt her forehead and touched something sticky. When she drew it away there was a matte layer of red blood on her fingertips.
   She sat up and looked around, ungrounded fears sprouting up inside of her like weeds, and even though she saw the friendly surroundings of the Himalayan Mountains the fear inside of her kept growing and dividing and worming its way through her body.
   Then her fear found a home and she began to remember the last few minutes before she was knocked unconscious, the screams in the night and the sound of things feasting in the dark prairie grass.
   “Well good morning,” a voice next to her said, and she turned to see a tester looking at her with worry. “How are you feeling?”
   “I’m okay,” Mary said, but her words came out weak. “That was stupid,” she said, cursing herself as she started remembering again. “That was so stupid…how many others followed me out to the train?”
   “Five,” the tester next to her said. “And then Kyo went after you too of course.”
   “And how many made it back?” Mary asked, looking up at the face next to her framed by the startling blue of the afternoon sky. The tester didn’t answer, not immediately anyway, and Mary cursed herself again and looked down. “They shouldn’t have followed me,” she said, her face wincing up into a brief flare of displaced anger at the testers who had followed her before passing over into more anger at herself. “They weren’t supposed to follow me out there.” She pressed the heel of one palm against her eye, squashing down the few tears that had started rolling. “That was just stupid. I shouldn’t have done that.”
   “Kyo only barely managed to get you out, Mary. And even that…”
   “Well I obviously owe him some thanks for that.” She smeared away a few more tears then got control of herself with a deep breath through a sniffling nose and with a brave face she looked over the scattered testers on the mountaintop in search of Kyo’s hideous orange jacket. It was mostly empty; a majority of the forms were those testers who were sleeping off pushes from years, decades or even centuries ago. The only awake testers who were on the mountaintop were either those who desperately needed a rest from the fight, those who were needed up top to try and keep some base of communications going, or those who were deemed, by themselves or others, as incapable of surviving down below. “Or is Kyo back at Zach’s house?” Mary asked, her eyes going over an energetic conversation between three testers taking place a few yards away. “And what is going on down there?” she asked, more questions starting to appear on her face.
   But the tester standing next to her was giving her a strange look.
   “Mary, what is it that you think happened?” he asked.
   Mary stood up, dusting snow off of her dress. “I know what happened,” she said with the wooden integrity of someone discussing a topic that they’re quickly realizing they don’t want to discuss. “I’ll be able to deal with the ones who didn’t make it in time, but for now—”
   “Not them, Mary. You don’t understand what Kyo did?”
   “I’m sure he sliced his way through any number of those things to get me out. I told you, I need to thank him.”
   “No. No not at all,” the other tester said, running headlong into the awkward task of telling bad news to someone. “Mary, Kyo was having a difficult time getting you out…”
   Mary half tuned the man out as she stared at the back of one of the other testers standing on the mountaintop.
   “…you were surrounded and unconscious and they were closing in…”
   And Mary’s skin prickled all over as the tester across the way with his back to her began to look familiar and unfamiliar at the same time as he constantly adjusted his crisp white shirt uncomfortably.
   “…he couldn’t think of anything else to do to get you to safety…”
   And she looked down to see that the tester was wearing a rather boring pair of nice jeans, a plain pair of nondescript sneakers, and then he turned, running a finger under the collar of his well tailored shirt and the Japanese features of his face came into focus.
   “…so he pushed, Mary. There was a human next to you both with a broken leg and Kyo pushed him and then invited you up here himself.”
   And Kyo fidgeted with the waistline of his jeans.
   “…and he hasn’t been back down since, and of course nobody knows exactly what it means, but because things got so garbled when he came into being Kyo never had to push to get energy, he always existed outside of all of that and sort of coasted along on the sidelines, which is why the things were never able to touch him…”
   And now the tester talking to Mary stopped and looked Kyo up and down himself.
   “…but we’re guessing that that’s all over now.”
   Kyo ran a thumb over his chin before reaching up and, for the third time since Mary had been watching him, adjusting the tag in the back of his shirt so it would stop itching him.
   “We think he’s just like the rest of us now,” the tester finished.
   Kyo noticed Mary staring at him and his eyes caught hers across the mountain and then he smiled. “Good. You’re up. How are you feeling?”
   Mary didn’t respond.
   
—–

   The marble floors of the museum glistened out through doorways in all directions, creating a space that both echoed and swallowed sound. A tour passing through could seem shockingly loud, while a couple laughing together one gallery over seemed distant and cold.
   Bartleby led Epp along, past paintings and statues, through schools of art and eras of painters until they entered a side wing with a distinctly different flair from the rest of the museum.
   “What’s this?” Epp asked, limping his way up to the first painting hanging inside the doorway.
   “It’s a private collection. At first it was on loan to the museum, then it became so popular that a permanent agreement was reached.”
   “And, why exactly are we here?” Epp asked, limping to the next picture, his face turned up, his eyes taking it in as he walked slowly along.
   “You tell me,” Bartleby said.
   Epp continued on, his cane tapping across the marble floor as he took in one picture after the other. “I have no idea. But I like this collection. It’s…” and he turned and looked at the other paintings all around, taking a more overarching view of things. “It’s varied. I see early Japanese works, some great Dutch masters, that one is a Di Cavalcanti if I’m not mistaken.” Epp stopped and turned to look back at Bartleby. “But I don’t quite get why we’re here.”
   “Keep looking,” Bartleby said. He watched Epp, with good nature, obey. “What was the first man-made object to break the sound barrier?” Bartleby asked.
   “I…have no idea, Bartleby. Some sort of rocket I guess? Or the plane that Yeager flew. That would have to be it, right? The Mach 5?”
   Bartleby was managing to maintain an earnest face despite the inherent silliness he felt asking his questions, not to mention the awkwardness of Epp’s answers. “I don’t think that’s quite right,” he responded.
   
—–

   “You have to want something,” Mary was saying as she took a misstep on the mountaintop and had to stumble forward after Kyo to get her feet under her. She was following him around as he chatted and asked questions of the few testers who were still up top.
   “And Zach’s house is still secure?” Kyo was asking a tester seated at a card table with a number of phones scattered across it.
   The tester sat back and threw a hand tiredly up onto the table, using it to shift his weight uncomfortably in his chair. “The house is fine, Gus is fine, they stopped trying to break in not too long after you came up here. There’s only been a few attempts and they were weak efforts.”
   “They didn’t stop,” Kyo said, to himself at first, then repeating himself louder when he noticed people looking at him. “They didn’t stop. Hector has them back at the train regrouping. They’re organizing. They’re going to come back and when they do it’s going to be for real this time.”
   He stood still for a moment, thinking, then was about to turn and say something when he drew up short, almost colliding with Mary, who was following him too closely. “Can I help you?” Kyo asked.
   Mary, caught off guard, couldn’t think of anything to say.
   “Never mind,” Kyo said. “Look,” he turned back to the tester. “Everyone is still playing around down there, right? They’re figuring out new ways to…” his face drew up as he tried to think of smart sounding things from areas that he knew little about, “…conflagulate atoms and hyperdrive probability waves and crap like that?”
   “Some are getting good at creating electron shields through constant electromagnetic—”
   “I don’t care,” Kyo said. “Does it stop them?”
   “Yes,” the tester said. “It does a good enough job of keeping them out, but there are only a few who have the hang of it and they get tired after awhile. Everyone gets tired after awhile. The quantum tunnelers are getting sloppy with their probabilities, the weather freaks are trying their hardest to get that thunderstorm back but they’re having problems, the pulse friction guys are finding it harder and harder to keep up the molecular activity they need. Everyone is getting tired. And now that they’ve stopped coming it might be worse because everyone is still on their toes only nothing is happening. Everyone is getting weary and everyone is getting tired. Except, of course, for them.”
   “They’re getting tired too,” Kyo said.
   “How do you know that? We don’t seem to be making a dent, Kyo. We’ve lost a number of testers, but nobody has spotted a single one of them that went down and stayed down. We’re hitting them as hard as we can and it’s barely making them think twice.”
   “You’re just all good news, aren’t you?”
   “Not to mention that a number of our more creative types are useless. The thermodynamics people, for instance, need to be way too close to do their thing; close doesn’t work because if they manage to touch us it’s only a matter of seconds before they’re doing real bodily harm.”
   “Keeps coming, doesn’t it?”
   “There was of course, one clear advantage we had,” the tester said, looking Kyo up and down. “But he’s become one of us now.”
   Kyo gave the tester a big toothy grin.
   “Can I please talk to you?” Mary said.
   “I’m right here,” Kyo said. “Talk.”
   “Can I please talk to you alone?”
   “I’m not going to enjoy this, am I?”
   “Can we just please talk?”
   “Walk and talk, Mary. Walk and talk,” Kyo said, moving off towards a different ledge.
   “Why did you do it, Kyo?”
   “I didn’t really think about it, Mary. I just did it.”
   “But you…did you know what it would do to you?”
   “I guess. Again, I wasn’t really thinking about anything. There was a lot of screaming. I needed to get you out of there. I got you out of there. End of story.”
   “End of story?” Mary was appalled at Kyo’s flippancy. “Kyo, I owe you my life!”
   “I thought you owed your life to your little Jesus friend.”
   “Jesus isn’t the…stop changing the subject,” Mary said, realizing she was being baited. “I want to know why you saved me.”
   “I’m really not enjoying this,” Kyo said. “I saved you. That’s all there is to it. Can we please move on? We have far more important things to deal with.”
   “You don’t understand. I can’t possibly ever repay you for this.”
   “It wasn’t a business transaction, Mary. And you really need to stop having this conversation with me.”
   “I’m not comfortable with this level of obligation.”
   “You’re an idiot,” Kyo said. “Drop it. You do me a favor one day. We’re even.”
   “My choices,” Mary began with a waver in her voice, and Kyo squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a painful groan, dreading where she was headed, “both of them wound up spiraling downward, one into liquor, the other into petty squabbles that kept her well shielded from ever having to actually do anything with her existence. I watched those two people squander their lives; those two people who I loved enough to give my life for. I watched them become an alcoholic laughing stock and an embarrassing zealot and I was appalled at what I had sacrificed myself for. And I always thought that if they had known, if they had been allowed to see what I gave up so that they would have the chance to exist, if they only could—”
   “Point. Please for all the stars in the heavens reach a point!”
   “I don’t want to become them. I don’t want to throw away my own second chance. I owe you my life; I want to know how to repay you.”
   Kyo ran a hand down his face, tugging at his lower lip. “Just come on, we need to get to Zach’s house. Katie Packer is turning twenty-one tonight.”
   “What?” Mary asked, but when she looked at Kyo he wasn’t paying attention. Instead a smile was spread across his face, boyish and happy as the wind sent little ripples over his pristine white dress shirt.
   “What are you smiling at?”
   Kyo held up a wad of yen.
   “Kyo, newbies are the only ones who ever bother to actually express their energy in terms of cash. After awhile it gets a little old.”
   “This is all new to me,” Kyo said, looking over the edge of the ridge to the lower platform of snow and sloping rock below.
   “You’ve traveled before, though?”
   “Not like this. Before I was just bumming along through other people’s trails. That was like hopping boxcars. This…” and his smile spread, a warmth covering his face that Mary had never seen before. “This is just something else entirely.” And he held up his hand, the yen in between his fingers fluttering then disappearing as Kyo vanished as well, the sound of his laughter floating away on the wind.
   
—–

   Gus was standing in Zach’s bedroom. The rope at his hip led off into a bathroom. The sound of a shower running could be heard through the door.
   The house resembled a construction site at this point more than a residence. There were testers in all parts putting up all manner of devices, some for communication, some for protection, some for surveillance, some for reassurance. In the yard outside was a string of testers standing in a loose circle at the edge of the lawn, their heads constantly scanning the brush and weeds all around them. Inside the safety of that circle were hundreds of testers running about.
   “Can’t you talk him out of it?” Matthew was asking Gus.
   “No,” Gus said. “That’s not what I do.”
   “I know it’s not what you do but just this once I think maybe we can—”
   “No.”
   “What’s the problem, Matthew?” a new voice said, and both Gus and Matthew looked over to see Kyo standing by the window with Mary popping into existence a few seconds later.
   “Hey,” Matthew said. The intercom had been buzzing for awhile now with the news that Mary and Kyo were on their way back, and he had heard them visiting with other parts of the house. “You two finally made it up here, huh?”
   “Yes we did. Now what were you complaining about?” Kyo asked.
   “But are you…are you still stronger than they are?”
   “No idea. I think not, though. What are you complaining about?”
   “But you can still jump around and stuff, right?”
   “What am I, Batman? I’m just like you now. Only different.”
   “You always say that.”
   “He’s not sure what he’s capable of yet, Matthew, but we’re pretty sure he’s just a normal tester now,” Mary said.
   “Thank you ever so much for clearing that up. Now what were you complaining to Gus about?”
   “There’s a birthday party tonight,” Matthew said.
   “So I heard. Katie Packer is turning twenty-one.”
   “She’s having a party. A big deck party over at her house.”
   “Wonderful. Keg beer in big plastic Dixie cups and teenagers barfing into the bushes. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
   Everyone was looking at Kyo, most of them were glaring.
   “Well,” he said, “what’s the problem?”
   “It’s going to be appallingly difficult for us to keep Gus protected. Moving with him and Zach when Zach goes to work is hard enough,” Matthew said. “But a crowded scene in the dark with tons of humans around?”
   “Did we send anyone over there?”
   “No,” Matthew answered. “Not yet.”
   “You should have sent them over as soon as you knew about this party,” Mary said stepping into the conversation.
   “We didn’t really know what Zach was going to do until a few moments ago,” Gus said. “Technically he’s not allowed to go to the party as punishment for dipping into his parents’ liquor cabinet the other night, but,” and Gus plucked two thin lines up out of the ground, one leaping up much higher than the other, “it’s looking probable that he’s going to lie to them and sneak out. Pretend he’s going to a movie or something like that.”
   “A couple of testers are getting ready to go over to the Packers’ house to start setting up.”
   “Hector is bound to know what Zach’s social calendar looks like,” Kyo said. “Even if there was a slim chance that Zach was going to this party he’ll have people there watching the house.”
   “Kyo’s right,” Mary said. “We need more than a couple of testers to go over there. For that matter, I want to go over as well. And I’d like to see all the new tricks we have.”
   “Gladly,” Matthew said. “They’re getting ready in the front yard, we’d better get moving if we want to catch them.” He started to lead Mary out of the room, then stopped at the doorway. “Be sure and tell Kyo the rest,” he said. “I’ll fill Mary in.” Then Mary and Matthew disappeared.
   Kyo walked over to stand next to Gus, who was looking out the window.
   “What else is there?”
   “Zach is in love,” Gus said. “Or at least he thinks he is. Or, to put as fine a point as possible on it, he could find himself in love tonight if I interfere.”
   “Gus?” Kyo said.
   “Yes.”
   “Tonight you might need to start your push?”
   “Look,” Gus said, and he grabbed a clipboard from a nail on the wall and handed it to Kyo.
   Kyo began flipping through charts and photographs.
   “The girl he’s becoming a little crazy over doesn’t really like him. At this point it’s nothing, really, but if he sees her tonight, at a big warm summer evening party and nothing happens for the umpteenth time…I could make it the last straw.”
   Kyo continued flipping, his eyes running over the clipboard.
   “If I don’t do anything it’s almost a given that he’ll just forget about her. Zach’s family is taking a trip up to see family in the city in a day or so. According to my numbers that trip alone, as things currently stand, would be enough to ease things up and lessen the girl’s memory for him. But—”
   “But you break his heart tonight and it stays broken.”
   Gus nodded. “Until he fights his way back, yes.”
   “You really are a purist.”
   “And look,” Gus said, getting excited, coming over to Kyo and flipping to a few well-thumbed probability photos. “The break that I could make here would send him off into near limitless possibility. If I don’t make the break he seems to just coast along on roads that were laid down by his parents years ago.” Gus had turned to a photo of a much older Zach working in his father’s paint store. “But here,” and he flipped through some of the, currently, less-probable photos. “I mean, look at this one! He could actually go into space.”
   “It’s overrated.”
   “Plus,” Gus said, plowing over Kyo’s words, “his best friend kisses a girl tonight who he winds up marrying in a few years. The combination of his friend finding his wife at this party while he loses his perceived love forever…it could be monumental.”
   “Gus,” Kyo said, his tone somehow different from the current melody of conversation as he came in from a different angle. “Protecting you and Zach has been hard enough so far, the paint store alone was challenging, but we were able to set up there for a whole day before Zach went to work. We have mere hours to get ready for this party, it’s out in the open, and I’m near certain that, with Hector in charge, they’ll be far more organized and working in concert, instead of the rather ragged attempts to get at us that they’ve been employing. To top all of that off, you’re going to revisit your death tonight by pushing.”
   Gus nodded, as if he needed to explain nothing.
   “If Zach is strong enough, he could kill you.”
   Gus still didn’t answer.
   Kyo smiled. “I like it.”
   “You seem awfully chipper,” Gus said, confused, expecting more questions or a lecture of some kind.
   “It’s been a weird few days,” Kyo said, looking back down at the clipboard.
   Gus looked Kyo up and down. “It’s going to take awhile to get used to seeing you in normal clothes.” Gus shook his head and looked over Kyo’s plain white dress shirt. “You must be nervous.”
   “Not really.”
   “Kyo, those things can tear you apart now.”
   “We’ll see.”
   “I think you’re being overconfident. Your difference from us was a huge part of who you are.”
   “Who I am?” Kyo’s eyebrows drew down into angry slashes on his head. “I am Kyokutei, samurai of the Tsuwano Domain, avenger of my master’s death and terror of the Mitsukuni clan.” He turned to look at Gus and the dark emotion in his face made Gus stare down at the floor. “If you think I am ever going to stop fighting,” Kyo said, “you had better think again.”
   Kyo’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and glanced at it. “Huh,” he said.
   “What?”
   “Third time this guy’s tried to get a hold of me.”
   “Who is he?”
   “I’ll go find out, then I’ll let you know.” Kyo stepped back from the window and drew a few crumbled yen notes from his pocket. “Man, do I love this,” he said. Then the notes fluttered and his body disappeared, his laughter the only part of him remaining in the room.
   
—–

   “Italian,” Epp said, looking up at one of the larger paintings on the wall, a huge work depicting an ancient Roman festival. “Caravaggio.”
   “Good.” Bartleby replied.
   “Do I get an A?” Epp asked.
   “Not quite.”
   “Why are we here, Bartleby?”
   “We’re looking for the rest of you.”
   “And how long do I have to stay here?”
   Epp had only half of his attention on Bartleby, the other half was poking about as his eyes flickered around at the doorway and the vents and the other end of the gallery, at all the possible exits.
   The floor beneath Bartleby’s feet began to glow and two thin lines of bright radiant red crept out from where he was standing to draw a circle on the marble around Epp’s feet.
   Epp looked down. The lines were hissing and throwing off an occasional colorful burst of sparks. He looked back at Bartleby. “Your show,” he said, and went back to looking at the art.
   Bartleby studied him for a few moments, then the lines of hot glowing red receded back into his feet.
   “What is the human body’s largest organ?” Bartleby asked.
   “No idea,” Epp said without thinking as he moved on to another painting. “The liver?”
   Bartleby sighed and shook his head.
   
—–

   The water of the harbor was a multifaceted jewel of wavering orange as the lights from Sydney reflected off of the dark chop. Kyo moved along the brick walkway near the Opera House, the bridge across the water looming silent and large in the wee hours.
   “You know you could have at least called me back,” a familiar voice said. “It wasn’t very proper of you to make me call you so many times.”
   Kyo walked over to where Jonathan was sitting, looking ever the part of some historic explorer, khaki shorts over tanned calves over thick hiking boots.
   “All of your friends are trying to eat all of my friends,” Kyo said, approaching slowly, his ears pricked up. “I think social etiquette allows for me to make you do some chasing.”
   “You look different,” Jonathan said from where he was sitting on his bench, squinting at Kyo through the chilly Australian night.
   “I got a haircut,” Kyo said, brushing aside the statement.
   Jonathan squinted some more at Kyo, then gave up and sat back. “Well, about that whole, ‘My friends are eating your friends’ thing.”
   “Yes?”
   “I don’t want to do that anymore.”
   “Oh?”
   “Look, you have to understand, I was a rotted out shell. I had given up and clambered after my son and just wanted all of this to go away, I wasn’t really thinking too much and, well then I began to rot. And then Hector comes along and brings me back to health. I barely knew what was happening and then the next thing I know, here I am, in, what, my third round of existence, and this time the rules are that I have to eat other people? So, no. I just wanted you to know that there are a number of us who aren’t really thrilled with this, and that all of us aren’t at the farmhouse. And I’ll most likely relapse when I get hungry enough, but for now I’ve had enough of this, thank you very much.”
   “Where are the others?”
   “I don’t know. It’s not like we held a meeting. But I definitely got the feeling that not everyone was thrilled with all this.”
   “And what are you planning on doing? How long can you last without feeding?”
   “No idea.”
   “You going to try and work out a different arrangement? Are you trying to get in touch with others like you? You should be figuring out where you stand. How you fit into all of this.”
   “Oh, come off it. Nobody is going to listen to me and I don’t fit into all of this at all. I’m only one person.”
   “You lost me with that last part,” Kyo said.
   
—–

   “They’re here,” Mary said. “They’re definitely here.”
   The back deck of Katie Packer’s house was a large wooden structure, nice thick cedar overhanging a large backyard that fell away into brambles and a brook. The same basic incursion of wildlife that was trying to creep up on Zach’s house was here, only Katie’s mother had created an outdoor seating area of nicely raked gravel and benches which was where the line between lawn and the outdoors existed.
   Mary, Matthew and a few other testers were standing in the overgrown bramble of forsythias and low trees just on the other side of Mrs. Packer’s lovely little rock garden.
   “Yup,” Matthew agreed as the trees rustled, the late afternoon sunlight danced, and the smell of rotting leaves filled the air.
   There was a crashing sound, branches snapping and whipping and Matthew looked up to see a rotted thing dropping through the trees at them.
   Teeth bared and decayed sleeves rolled up it toppled down in a somewhat controlled fall through the branches before its body jarred to a stop, its knees buckling as it toppled face first onto some invisible platform a few feet above their heads.
   “I got him,” one of the other testers said.
   The thing drew up, confused, and seeing them all standing, their heads craned up to look at him just a few feet away, it raised an arm and thrust it forward. Matthew heard two fingers break as its hand slammed into the invisible barrier and then the thing was rolled over onto its side, wailing in pain.
   “Ow,” the tester holding it up said.
   “You all right?” Mary asked.
   “Yeah,” the tester said. “I just forgot for a second how strong they are.”
   “Can you hold him?” Mary asked, still looking up.
   “As long as electrons have magnetic fields.”
   “Yes or no will do.”
   “Yes, then. But holding back two of them would be a bit much.” Moving his hand slowly through the air the tester maneuvered the thing until it was no longer above them but was standing in the underbrush next to them. It reached its good hand up and slapped a palm up against the invisible barrier that it now knew was there. It looked like it was pushing against glass, but the thick slap of its rotted hand sounded more like it was banging against concrete. It slapped its palm once, then again, and Matthew realized that it was trying to get their attention. It slapped a third time and with one runny eye staring right at them it opened its mouth and let out a horrible shrieking scream.
   “Shit,” Matthew said, turning around to look up at the Packers’ deck. He heard a screen door open and a girl, Katie herself he guessed, stepped outside, a phone to her ear as she talked to a friend, her voice boisterous, her tone happy, her footsteps taking her back and forth in front of four rotted corpses that were standing on the deck with her.
   “Just stay calm and remember our roles,” Mary said, although Matthew noticed that her breath was slightly hitched as she drew it in and stared down the things on the deck.
   There was a racket from the other side of the house and two of the things turned to listen.
   “That’d be team two,” Mary said.
   Some noise in the brush on the opposite side indicated the arrival of the third group of testers.
   The things on the deck were sniffing at the air, slowly turning to look in all different directions.
   “It’s getting late,” Matthew said, looking around.
   “I know,” Mary said. “Hit them with some sound.”
   One of the testers stepped forward and everyone in their group moved to stand behind her. She placed two fingers into her mouth, a perky teenager attempting to hail a cab in the big city, then she drew a deep breath and blew. Matthew watched as the thing trapped next to them screamed and fell to the ground, covering its ears, kicking wildly at the invisible barrier, the broken sole of its shoe slapping against it again and again and when Matthew looked up at the house he could see the sound waves piling the air up in front of them into a thick band of force that seemed innocuous until it connected with one of the things and it began bleeding from its ears. With a scream barely audible over the whistle, the thing rippled and disappeared.
   The tester took her fingers out of her mouth before the sound waves reached the house. She caught her breath heavily, taking deep gasps through her mouth. “That’s one,” she said.
   “That’s one,” Mary agreed. The thing on the ground next to them stopped kicking, gave them all the finger, then wavered and disappeared as well. “And that’s two,” Mary said. There was a squawk and Mary paused to listen to something coming over her earpiece.
   “Okay,” she said. “We sit tight for a bit. One of the other groups is going to try some static.”
   They watched as one of the three remaining things slowly lifted off the ground, then there was a loud crackle and a spark arced between the metal border of the screen door and the thing’s hand. As it screamed out in pain it dropped to the ground. By the time it was on its feet the other two things were thinking better of sticking around and all three of them vanished at roughly the same time.
   “Okay,” Mary said. “Now we need to get this place ready for tonight.”
   
—–

   “This is getting old,” Epp said.
   “Don’t care,” Bartleby answered, taking a nervous nibble at a hangnail on his thumb.
   Epp limped along, looking over a wall of paintings that he had looked at any number of times before. He wasn’t concentrating on the pictures, though, and was only staring off blankly as he reached down and squeezed his leg as he moved, wincing in pain.
   “It hurt that badly?” Bartleby asked.
   “So much worse now,” Epp answered. Then he looked over at Bartleby and his face was sharp in the museum lighting. “But it’s nothing compared to the hunger.”
   “Go back to the paintings,” Bartleby tried.
   “How long do you think you can keep me here?” Epp asked.
   Bartleby didn’t answer, and although Epp was watching him carefully he couldn’t tell whether Bartleby was scared or ignoring him.
   “I’m not one of you anymore,” Epp said. “You have to accept that.”
   “I’m not one of you either,” Bartleby said. “And you have to answer for that.”
   “Me?”
   “You threw me to the farthest reaches of thought. You sent me as far away as you possibly could because I asked you to teach me something. What possessed you to do that?”
   “You pissed me off,” Epp said. Then he turned back to the wall.
   Bartleby stared at the back of his head, disappointment leaking out onto his face. “That doesn’t sound like Epp.”
   “Epp has died twice now,” Epp answered. “And he really doesn’t care anymore. All he wants is to eat.”
   “We seem to be getting further from Epp.”
   “We’re going to be here a while, then.”
   “What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and three legs at evening?” Bartleby asked.
   Epp didn’t turn back to look at him, he remained staring ahead at the large painting on the wall, but Bartleby thought he saw some sort of reaction in Epp’s shoulders.
   “That one actually sounds sort of familiar,” Epp said.
   “I guess that’s a start.”
   
—–

   “You said this would be easy,” one of the things said to Hector.
   “It hasn’t been?” Hector answered while maneuvering his large torso through a thin crowd. The train wreck was behind him in the distance, emergency and law enforcement crews still picking their way through it. Nyx was prancing along with Hector, sometimes beside him, sometimes in his wake when the crowd became too thick.
   The hundreds of half and partly rotted things that had formed nothing but chaos around Zach’s house only a day before were now gathered and organized, most of them currently situated at this camp, waiting to be told by Hector what to do next.
   “You never said anything about going hungry for this long,” the thing walking alongside Hector said.
   “You had a snack,” Hector answered, the aluminum wreck of the train still visible in the evening light.
   “Eating a human is like eating a tic-tac. That wasn’t exactly a five course meal.”
   Hector didn’t answer for a few moments, he only walked along, and as the thing walked with him it kept glancing sideways at his unmoving face, at his mirrored sunglasses, and the thing got the impression that it was irritating Hector.
   “So what happened at the girl’s house?” Hector asked, and the thing was glad the conversation had changed.
   “They showed up. And they hit us damned hard. That was something else you never said anything about. Nobody told us they could fight back.”
   “What did you think? They’d all just lie down and die for you?”
   “Well nobody told me how hard they’d hit. One of them whistled at us, whistled, and Murphy’s ears still haven’t stopped bleeding. And another one of my guys broke two fingers trying to punch through some sort of thick layer of air.”
   “They’re just using the same tricks we all know.”
   “Well they’re using them well and they’re doing them better than I ever could.”
   “That’s because they’ve studied more and you’re a useless waste of space. They are soft, if you get one hand on them your fingers will actually dig,” and Hector stopped talking, reached out and grabbed the thing’s arm and squeezed, “right into their skin.” The thing began to wriggle under Hector’s grip as it felt Hector’s fingers working their way into its bicep. “They are overripe tomatoes compared to you, and all you can do is sit here and whine.” Hector let go and the thing spun away from him. “What’s the matter with you? Are you too lazy to work for your dinner?”
   The thing rubbed its bicep and stared at Hector.
   “Besides,” Hector said, his tone moving towards pleasant, “now we know that they have to move Gus tonight. Zach’s going to this girl’s party, obviously. That means they have to split up. Which means they’ll be weaker somewhere. Which means that we can break through.” He turned to walk away, barking orders at Nyx as he went.
   
—–

   A few hours later, Mary stood on the deck of Katie Packer’s house. “We ready?” she asked.
   Their kind was everywhere, crowding the lawn, standing in the stream in the backyard. The house was filled with testers, the front yard had masses of them, and the driveway was row upon row.
   “I think so,” another tester answered her.
   “I agree,” Mary said. Then she heard the doorbell ring. There was some loud talking coming from the front of the house and some excited yells as Katie greeted friends loudly.
   “I guess the party is about to start, anyway.”
   “Has Gus left yet?” Mary asked.
   
—–

   Nyx stood next to Hector, her cell phone clipped to her ear, the dark woods all around her were barely being kept at bay by the light stands set up around Hector’s table. She and three others were doing their best to field all calls and information, relay it to Hector, then sort out his directions and get them to the proper people.
   “He’s moving,” Nyx said, shouting over one or two of the other operators.
   Hector heard her, glanced down at the table where a map of the neighborhood was laid out. “I want the caravan hit hard and fast.” He looked up at Nyx. “But they’ve shored up the family’s car well enough so if nobody sees any weakness early on then I want everyone pulling back until he gets to the party. That’s where they’ve had the least amount of time, that’s where they’ll be weakest.”
   
—–

   Zachary drove down the narrow tree lined road in his dad’s embarrassingly boxy car. He had picked up a few of his friends on the way, offering to drive for the night. The night was clear and the windows were open, but his passengers were fighting over control of his i-pod, constantly changing songs so that nothing got listened to for more than a few seconds.
   Zach’s other passengers were fighting as well. Kyo dropped through the roof, falling onto his back between the driver and passenger seat as a fist punched through from above, stretching out to reach his chest, which he was doing his best to lower further into the space between the bucket seats. There was a piercing shriek, a painful scream, and the fist was yanked backwards, out of the interior of the car.
   “Kyo?” Kyo heard someone yell. “That was the only one to get through the barriers. You all right?” Kyo pulled himself awkwardly up to a sitting position, embarrassed at how he had to struggle.
   “I’m fine,” he shouted, getting his footing and climbing back onto the top of the car. He stood with two other testers on the roof as the car wove through the winding blacktop.
   “You really should just stay inside from now on,” a tester standing on the hood of the car said.
   Kyo didn’t answer, he only stared at the road receding into the night behind them.
   “There it is,” someone up front said, looking ahead at Katie Packer’s house.
   
—–

   “The car went nowhere,” someone shouted to Hector.
   He turned, his face an angry frame around his mirrored sunglasses. “Speak clearly when you speak to me or don’t speak at all.”
   The thing faltered and then ground to a halt, scared to open its mouth again.
   Hector stared.
   “What he means,” Nyx said faithfully, “is did the car itself go nowhere, or did our attack on the car go nowhere?”
   “We attacked,” the thing said, “they beat our attack off. And now the car is at the party.” It glanced at Nyx, worried, hoping for some sign that it was back in Hector’s good graces.
   Nyx ignored it and looked at Hector herself.
   “Well?” she asked.
   “All hands on deck,” Hector said. His voice was calm now and soft, as if in acknowledgment that at this moment volume meant nothing. As if this moment were out of his hands. “Cry havoc. Damn the torpedoes. Open fire.” He looked at Nyx, then at the rest of the things all around him. “Charge. And things of that nature. I want everyone we’ve got throwing everything they’ve got at that house.”
   
—–

   A batch of teenage girls was talking next to the railing. A line was forming at the keg. Tiki torches were planted in the lawn along the gravel seating area.
   Kyo looked around with appreciation. “See?” he said. “Keg beer in plastic Dixie cups. Do I know my humans or do I—”
   There was a hollow booming sound that shook the windows on the house. The noise lingered in the air. The teenage girls kept chatting, the line by the keg kept moving, the tiki torches still flickered, but the hundreds of testers scattered throughout the scene were silent, looking around, trying to place the source of the noise.
   Then it sounded again and word began to filter back from the front yard that they were under attack.
   There was a harsh crackle, like an immense bug zapper going off, and the woods flickered with blue-white sparks.
   “Back yard, back yard!” Kyo heard someone screaming over his earpiece.
   He heard Mary whispering to herself and when he looked over she was staring up at the sky. A light breeze blew across the deck. Kyo looked up and saw that in the sky, higher up, the breeze was a gale force wind as numerous shadowy forms tried to drop in from above only to be buffeted away, their dark silhouettes blowing across a sea of stars.
   Then there was another loud booming noise and the woods burst into a wall of sparks and Mary began to call for help. Nearby testers gathered with her on the deck and began to manipulate the air.
   Kyo looked around with nothing to do.
   
—–

   Epp was standing in the middle of the gallery, the main lights of the museum were off as it had closed for the day and only the dim glow of the emergency lights still existed to illuminate the room.
   Epp wasn’t happy. “What do you want?” he asked.
   Bartleby thought this over. “Why did you do it?”
   “Do what?”
   “Why did you throw me so far out into the wild? Why did you send me to Mercury?”
   “You irritated me,” Epp said.
   “No. I don’t believe that. I mean, maybe I was irritating you, but you’ve been around for two-thousand years. I refuse to believe that me having a bit of a whine was enough to make you do that.”
   “What answer are you looking for?”
   “I want to know why you did it; you had to have a reason. You had to. You must have seen something; you must have known that I would make it back. There must have been a glimmer, or maybe I did well on one of your earlier assignments for me or maybe—”
   “I saw nothing. I never see anything.” He was hobbling forward, his cane making angry thumps against the floor as he began to yell. “You were nothing special. For god’s sake I am so sick of that mentality. That you have to be special to be special. The biggest anchor on the progress of all humanity is the notion that good comes with clear signs, that greatness can’t possibly exist within the confines of an ordinary existence. I saw nothing special in you, Bartleby. I only saw that you existed, and so you had a right to be better than you are. That is it, and that is why I did what I did. The only thing holding you back was you and I was sick of it!” Epp screamed the last few words, his face drawn down into a livid mask.
   Bartleby studied him, the anger not having had any effect. “That sounded a bit more like the Epp I know.”
   But Epp was looking elsewhere now, first at one painting, then another, then at nothing as his eyes ducked to some far off corner to give him time to think. “That was the riddle of the sphinx,” Epp said. “What walks on four legs, then two legs, then three legs? That’s the riddle of sphinx and the answer is man. Four legs in the morning at the beginning of his life when he’s a crawling baby, then two legs when he’s an adult, then three legs when he needs a cane to get about.” Epp was moving again, limping down the rows of paintings.
   Bartleby watched.
   “And the answer to your second question is skin. The largest organ on the human body is the skin.” He made his way back to the center of the room and was spinning now, looking at canvas after canvas, noticing a glimmer here, a hint there, something lurking in the background.
   “And the first manmade object to break the speed of sound was the tip of the first whip ever cracked.” And it slowly came together, Epp saw it easily now, moving from painting to painting, a face off to the side of a Renaissance world, a bowing head in a Dutch masterpiece, a centuries old Japanese print with a familiar smile sitting amongst the crowd in the background.
   “And,” he finished his review, finding the common thread that tied all of the works in the collection together, “I am in every single one of these paintings.”
   “I knew you’d see it eventually,” Bartleby said. “And,” he asked, taking a tentative step forward, “how do you feel?”
   “I’m remembering a lot more now. A lot more.” Epp nodded, looking over each painting again in turn, smiling as he took in the scenes of his past. “And I feel a lot more powerful.”
   “Yeah?” Bartleby asked.
   “Yes.” Epp said. Then he turned away from the paintings. He put a hand on his thigh and began gathering up his pant leg, tugging it up over his knee. He smiled at Bartleby who was looking down at Epp’s still-rotted limb. “But I’m still one of them, Bartleby. Nice try, though,” Epp said, beginning to limp his way forward.
   Bartleby unknowingly took a step backward as Epp came to stand in front of him.
   “But you’re whole again,” Bartleby said.
   “No,” Epp answered. “I just remembered how powerful I am again. I’m still one of them and I’m still hungry.” He placed a hand on Bartleby’s shoulder. The significance of this went unnoticed by Bartleby at first.
   “And I remembered something else,” Epp said.
   Bartleby looked at the hand on his shoulder, then at Epp, then back at his shoulder where he concentrated as hard as he could, smoke starting to waft up from his shirt. Epp’s hand started to smoke as well as a ring of red started to creep up his wrist. Then the ring receded back into Bartleby’s shoulder and Epp’s hand stopped smoking as Bartleby gasped in pain.
   “In the grand scheme of things, Bartleby, it’s not that hot on Mercury.”
   Bartleby’s knees gave way and he fell to the ground. Epp stood over him, then stepped over him, and then walked out the door.
   Bartleby got himself into a sitting position on the floor as he rubbed his shoulder. “Damn it,” he whispered.
   
—–

   “I think it’s time,” Gus said. He was calm, his attention focused entirely on Zach, who in turn was focused entirely on a girl across the room who was flirting with some random guy. “This is going to just kill him.”
   Kyo was only half listening, his phone was out and he was typing away at it. The sound of the fight outside, crackles and booms, the feel of the house shaking under his feet, the smell of warm ozone in the air, all went on without him.
   Kyo finished his message, then closed his phone and looked around, irritated. “I hate this,” he said through gritted teeth. “I haven’t stood still for this long since I don’t even know when.”
   His phone buzzed and he opened it, read a message, then went back to texting.
   “Who are you talking to?” Gus asked.
   “Nobody,” Kyo said absently as he typed. “Some math enthusiasts.” He finished his message again and again flipped the phone shut with irritation. “I just don’t like being useless.”
   “You’re fragile,” Gus said, taking a few last measurements on Zach.
   Kyo stared at Gus, his eyes answering for him.
   “It’s time,” Gus said again.
   “You be careful,” Kyo said. “We can protect you from them, but if you go too far on your push, this kid’ll be the end of you.”
   Gus nodded. “It is a far, far better rest,” he said with little emotion, as if the words had been running through his head all day. Then he raised a hand and reached out slowly towards Zach’s body. Zach was taking a drink, staring at the girl over his cup.
   Kyo thought he was able to actually see the boy’s eyes deepen as he heard Gus start to choke. Kyo turned to look at Gus now and saw him fall to his knees, his hands at his throat, struggling to draw in breath as he revisited his own death. There was a whining sound, like a hand being rubbed too fast over corduroy, and, as Kyo watched, a thick band of red rope burn raced across Gus’s neck.
   Kyo was about to step forward when there was an unfamiliar noise outside, then a strange bout of silence, then everything in the house went strange in a familiar wavy way. Kyo’s eyes closed, his head lowered and he shook his head. “Hello, Epp,” he said. Then he turned to walk outside.
   Out on the deck things seemed to have frozen. The party was still going but most of the testers and things on this side of the house were standing still, individuals instinctively creeping towards larger groups. And the silence was spreading around to the other side of the house.
   Kyo walked along the deck and looked out over the battlefield, over the wounded and the dead.
   There was another strange sound, and then a wave came rushing out of the woods, rippling the ground and rushing across everyone present, silencing most lingering conversations.
   “I recognize that,” Matthew said with relief. “I recognize that,” he said louder and walked to the edge of the deck to get a better look. More testers caught on and more people began crowding to the edge, more happy yells were heard across the lawn and some of the things took a hasty step back, then disappeared.
   “That’s Epp,” Mary said.
   “Sort of,” Bartleby said, and most of the testers on the deck turned to look at him. He waved off a number of questions and ducked around Mary, who was looking at him angrily.
   “Where have you been?” she said.
   “With him,” Bartleby said, looking out into the woods.
   “He’s too far gone, isn’t he?” Kyo asked.
   Bartleby nodded.
   “What?” Matthew said. “What does that mean? It’s Epp, right?”
   “It’s Epp,” Kyo said, “but he’s one of them.”
   Epp emerged from the woods and into the gravel garden. He looked around at everyone staring at him. He gave the ground an abrupt tap with his cane and another ripple billowed out from all around him. “If you’re wondering,” he said, “I can make those a lot more powerful, so why doesn’t everyone just settle down and pay attention.”
   Some of the things around him, picking up on what was going on, began to whisper to each other, and some fell into step behind Epp as he limped his way forward.
   “I’m hungry,” he said, and now the crowd began to really react as emotions began turning the other way, “and I don’t feel like dealing with any—”
   There was a piercing whistle and Matthew watched as compounded sound waves rippled their way towards Epp, who reached a tired hand up and brushed them out of the air. “And I don’t,” he said louder, “feel like dealing with any nonsense. I know everything all of you know, not to mention about a billion other things. So we’re just going to cut all of this nonsense now.” He reached a hand up and began to pat at a layer of thick air that was currently walling off a section of the lawn. He put his palm up against it and pushed, and the invisible wall fell over. “Now here’s how this is going to go…”
   Epp went on.
   Matthew stared down at the deck. “I can’t do this,” he said. He shook his head. “I really can’t do this. I’m done.” And he walked through the crowd and down the steps onto the lawn.
   Epp was still talking, slowly limping his way forward, dismantling the various barriers in his way as he walked onto the lawn. And Matthew thought he heard some people on the deck shouting after him, and he thought he saw some of the things that he passed turning to come after him, but then there was a warm glow all around him and he was standing with Epp inside a knee-high burning circle of fire.
   “Matthew,” Epp said, looking down at him, “what do you think you’re doing?”
   Up on the deck Bartleby elbowed people out of the way, then jumped over the railing and down onto the lawn to get closer to the fire he had created where he’d have more control. He brushed past a thing, which burst into flames, causing all the other things to keep their distance.
   “What the hell is that idiot doing?” Bartleby asked, struggling to keep Matthew safe, having protected him purely through instinct at first.
   “Matthew,” Epp said inside the flames. “Get out of the way.”
   “No,” Matthew said. His face looked sick and he wore a stubborn frown. “No, I’m done with this. Just fucking eat me or whatever the hell it is your kind does. I give up.”
   A crease spread across Epp’s forehead and for a moment he looked like his old self. “Where is your backbone, Matthew?”
   “Where’s yours?”
   “Matthew, you have no idea what this hunger is like.”
   “No. I don’t. And I don’t give a fuck either. I have no idea what is going on. I mean none. And I don’t care anymore. I give up.” He took another step forward and stood in front of Epp. “Kill me.”
   “What was it I ever saw in you?” Epp asked, disgusted. “How can you let yourself quit like this? You are nothing but a disappointment.”
   “And you are nothing but a disappointment to me,” Matthew said. “I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing. I’m not a weather guru, I’m not a math genius, and I’m not a god or a freaking ninja. I’m a nobody from Brooklyn. I loved my wife and I love my daughter and I like this place enough to stick around without either of them to try and do some good. But in the end I would never have made that choice if I hadn’t thought that you’d be there to help me. But that’s not about to happen, so I’m done. Because of you, I give up.”
   “Matthew, you don’t get to blame your actions on me,” Epp said, indignant. “I have nothing to do with how you live your life.”
   “You have everything to do with how I live my life. You are the entire reason I’m here. The entire reason half of these people behind me are here. What the hell did you think you were agreeing to by bringing us along? Where do you get off thinking that you can back out of our agreement?”
   “We never had an agreement.”
   “You were my teacher. And I’m still your student. But I guess not really, so fuck it. If you give up, I give up.”
   “Matthew I can