Page 79 of Spelunking Through Hell

“I said, she doesn’t belong to you. She belongs to me, and I belong to her, and that agreement predates any agreements she may have made with you in my absence.” Thomas shook his head. “We came to verify the extent of what you’d done. You’ve crossed quite a few lines that can’t be forgiven.”

“I don’t care for your forgiveness,” said Naga. He hissed, fangs fully extended. Then he lunged at Thomas.

Thomas, again, didn’t move, except to raise one hand and hold it, palm out, toward Naga. It wouldn’t do anything to stop the chargingsnake man—until it did. Naga froze, fangs retracting as he swayed in place, eyes going wide with surprise.

Thomas stayed exactly where he was, hand still raised. “I wanted to take you apart piece by piece,” he said. “I wanted to hear you scream, and that was before I knew the damage you had done to her mind. Be grateful that in all the time my wife’s fate was in your keeping, she never forgot how to be merciful. My own time was nowhere near so kind.”

I lowered my gun, still unfired, and slid it back into its holster as I walked back to join Thomas, looking unflinchingly at Naga. “Not that it’s going to matter much for you, but our association is at an end, and if I guess correctly, Ithaca’s going to be severing a few ties. No more deliveries for whoever comes after you. No more sheep to shear. Your university is going to curse your name for centuries—if it stands that long once word gets out about how much you knew, how many citizens of how many worlds your people left to rot in what should have been a private grave.”

Naga still hadn’t moved. A look of faint perplexity crossed his face, overshadowed by the blood trickling from the corners of his eyes.

“I suppose that since I was gone for so long, you forgot that I was a sorcerer,” said Thomas. “I’m an elementalist, to be specific. Fire. Oxygen burns. Every cell in your body contains it. They’re all remembering what it is to burn right now. Take comfort, however; you’ll be dead of heat stroke before you actually catch fire.”

Naga made a small sound, but still didn’t move.

“Goodbye, Naga,” I said, taking Thomas’ free hand. “I’d say ‘see you later,’ but that isn’t going to happen, and you won’t be here to see. So this is goodbye.”

Naga stayed where he was, frozen and burning alive at the same time. I can’t say he watched us go. I can’t say he was watching anything by that point.

His body hit the ground as we let ourselves out of the room. The sound of dry wood igniting followed a moment later as his dehydrated body finally stopped fighting the fire and burst into flame.

Office hours were technically still going on.

I shut the door behind us anyway.

Epilogue

“I think, if we just give her the space she needs, if we just stand beside her and keep her from falling down, I think... she’s going to be okay.”

—Laura Campbell

The kitchen of a large family compound in Portland, Oregon

We stepped out ofthe transit circle and were home, or close enough to home as to make no real difference, the three of us standing in the kitchen of the compound Kevin had designed and constructed after he and his sister decided to settle in Portland, Oregon, with their families. Sally looked around, gripping her spear tightly for security, before her eyes fell on the toaster. From there, she shifted her gaze to the fridge and made a sound of wordless delight, surging toward it like it was the only goal in the world worth pursuing.

I raised my eyebrows, watching as she opened the door, rooted quickly through the freezer contents, and produced a box of frozen blueberry waffles. “Sally, how the hell did you know those were in there?” I asked.

“You said James was here,” said Sally. “James would never stay in a house for more than about a week before there were blueberry Eggos on hand. It just wouldn’t happen.”

“So you believe me now.”

“I’m coming around to the idea that maybe you’re not completely dishonest,” said Sally, dropping two of the waffles into the toaster.

“Huh,” I said. “But good on you, remembering how to use the toaster. That’s the fastest non-yelling way I can think of.”

“Way to do what, cook waffles?” she asked. “Do you normally cook waffles by yelling at them?”

“No,” I said. “To attract company.”

Three tiny heads poked out of one of the doorways cut into the wall behind the counter, whiskers bobbing as they sniffed the air. I saw their eyes widen, and I pulled my hand out of Thomas’, stepping quickly forward.

“I invoke the Holy Ritual of If You Wake The House I Swear To God, Thomas, I Will Revoke Your Femurs,” I said, voice firm but low. “I need my clergy. Do any of you represent me, on either side of the divide?”

The mice simply stared, struck silent by the scene in front of them.

“I need you to find my clergy—doesn’t matter which mysteries—and bring them here,” I said. “We can’t stay long.”

“Okay, boss, the lady’s clearly off her gourd,” said Sally. “Those are mice.”

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