Page 102 of Aftermarket Afterlife

“Mary, Mary, quite contrary,” said a voice, distant and half-familiar, “what am I supposed to do with you?”

If I had a body, I could open my eyes. I did, seeing starry sky above me, blurred and indistinct. I blinked, repeatedly, until the stars became clear, and then I turned my head to look at the owner of the hand still pressed against my face.

The anima mundi looked back, unfazed by my sudden awareness.

“Hi,” I whispered.

“I told you that you reached too far,” she said. “I told you there were limits.”

“You also said I had your blessing,” I managed.

“I did, at that,” she said, and sighed. “You pushed yourself far beyond what I thought you would achieve.”

“So you’re impressed?”

“I didn’t saythat,” she replied. “You channeled more of my power than a simple spirit is meant to hold. I should have allowed you to disperse, to pass into the next stage of the afterlife as payment for the liberties you’d taken.”

“Payment for you or for me?”

“Instead, I called you back together, because Ididsay you had my blessing, and you acted in good faith. You took what steps you could.”

“So you fixed me?”

“I anchored you until you could fix yourself.”

I struggled to sit up, the muscles of my abdomen protesting. The anima mundi pulled back and watched me, but didn’t extend a hand to help.

“Can I go home now?” I asked.

“Are you sure you want to?”

I didn’t know how to feel about that question. I frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t come back together in an instant. It’s been six months as they measure time among the living.” She sounded so calm about that, like it was a perfectly reasonable thing to say. “Your family thinks the bomb discorporated you permanently.”

“Then I should go tell them otherwise.”

“Wait. Mary, this means they know they can survive without you.Youknow they can survive without you. Youcanchoose to move on, if that’s what you’re ready to do. The parasite is gone. Your family is at peace. There’s no unfinished business left for you.”

I paused. Move on? I had never really considered that an option. First, there had been my father, and then Alice, and after Alice, her children, until I was needed more than ever. But was I, really? If they were doing okay without me, couldn’t I go? Jane was right when she’d said that there would always be another excuse, another reason to stick around: if I didn’t go now, when would I? Would I, ever?

Did I want to haunt the living forever?

“A family is sort of like a house,” I said, slowly. “They have walls and roofs and closets full of things they’d rather not remember, skeletons in the attic and unspeakable horrors in the basement. And sometimes a house needs to be haunted, for the comfort of the people who live there. I don’t want to move on.

“I want to go home.”

“If that’s your wish,” said the anima mundi. “Remember the limits I’ve given you. Don’t try me.”

“I won’t,” I said.

“Close your eyes.”

I did. She tapped my forehead, and there was a feeling of all-consuming lightness, as if the last of some terrible and lingering contagion had been swept out of me by an unstoppable wave. The breeze stopped blowing, and when I opened my eyes, I was standing by the firepit. It was extinguished and charred, charcoal and ash, with no sign of my people.

I turned toward the house and started walking. I was going to have to get used to that.

I was halfway there when the door slammed open and Sarah ran out, crying, “Mary!” in a joyful voice. I opened my arms. She hurled herself into them, and I held her close, letting her weep against my shoulder.

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