Page 15 of Installment Immortality

“I can go wherever my kids are,” I said slowly. “That was your rule, right?”

“Our rule was that you could go wherever theycalledyou,” said the anima mundi. “For now, at your request, we will widen that to allow you to move between them according to your whim. You may have what you’ve requested. But this enhancement of your restrictions cannot last forever.”

“But for now, it’s like old times, and I can go wherever my kids are.”

The anima mundi nodded, looking intensely put-upon.

“I can work with that,” I said. Already, the outline of a plan was starting to form. “What resources can we have?”

“Excuse us?”

“You heard me. We’re going ghost hunter–hunting for you, we’re going to need some resources. Some sort of fancy map or something.”

“Oh, for…” The anima mundi pinched the bridge of their nose, then waved their hands in the air like they were protesting the entire conversation. Which, I’ll note, they started. “Before the Great Disruption, ghosts feared us properly. We’re the living spirit of this world, and your individual existence after death is purely upon our sufferance! You should be bowing down before us, not making insolent demands!”

“I’m pretty sure this is why gods are supposed to keep their distance,” I said. “You get a pantheon where the gods never show up at the village meetings, you get respect and mystery. Start showing up to discuss local politics and you get the Greeks in pretty short order.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning familiarity breeds contempt, or at least comfort, which starts with the same letter for a good reason. I can’t bowdown and quake in fear. If I did that, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye and ask you what you need. You want me to go to Boston and figure out who’s killing your ghosts? Fine, I can do that. I even know how I’m going to do it. But it’s going to take me a little while to get there, because I can’t do it alone.”

The anima mundi frowned. “Then you agree?”

“I agree,” I said. “For now, though, can you put me back where you found me? I need to talk to my family.”

The anima mundi nodded. “It is done,” they said, and it was, and I was gone. Again.

Four

“Everyone has their part to play in the story of the world. Some of those parts are tragedies. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but mine is not the hand that holds the pen.”

—Juniper Campbell

The kitchen of the Old Parrish Place, a crumbling farmhouse that (probably) isn’t haunted by evil spirits

THE ANIMA MUNDI WAS ASgood as their word: they put me back exactly where they’d found me, in the kitchen of the Old Parrish Place. They didn’t put me back exactlywhenthey’d found me; I don’t know if even they had that sort of power. I appeared, and the sky outside the windows was dark. There was a casserole dish of something layered and tomato-based on the stove, several large portions already missing, and the whole kitchen smelled of meat and cheese.

It was a scene I’d seen play out hundreds of times, in multiple different households. This could have been the Healy family home on the other side of the tree line, with Fran or Enid building the layers of their lasagna one lovingly placed noodle at a time. Or it could have been Evie in Portland, or Jane, although her lasagna had always used ground turkey and half the recommended quantity of cheese. There had even been lasagnanights in this house, before Thomas vanished, and knowing that they were happening again was restorative in a way I had never considered.

There was a basket of bread on the counter, already sliced and smelling strongly of garlic and butter. I picked it up, tucking it under my arm, and started for the dining room.

The Old Parrish Place was originally built by a farmer who truly believed he was going to make his fortune on the edge of the Galway Wood, raising a large family and harvesting the riches of the land. He designed his home accordingly. It was one of the first houses in Buckley with a formal dining room, or as formal as you could get in rural Michigan. It had doorways to the kitchenandthe family room. While I’d seen the family room itself undergo various transformations throughout the years, the dining room had always remained essentially the same, dominated by a massive oak table that pre-dated Thomas’s ownership of the house.

Sometimes papers and books would creep in to threaten the table’s dominion, but not tonight: tonight, the table had been cleared of everything except for dinner. Lasagna, a full bowl of salad, and large tumbler glasses of what looked like iced tea for Sally, milk for Alice and Thomas, and tomato juice for Sarah. A smaller table, sized for a dollhouse, had been set up where a centerpiece would normally go, with dollhouse-sized platters and serving dishes on it, each holding a portion of the night’s meal.

It was an impressive spread, especially for only four people. Thomas sat at the head of the table, with Alice at his right and Sally at his left, while Sarah sat at Alice’s right. Sarah was the first to notice me. She perked up as I stepped into the room, her expression brightening, but she didn’t turn my way.

There was probably a reason for that, and so I didn’t say anything as I finished walking over to the table and put the bread down in front of Alice. “You forgot this,” I said. “Also, you’reslowing down. You should have thrown a knife through my head before I cleared the doorway.”

“Sarah’s here,” said Alice serenely, taking a piece of bread and passing the basket to Thomas. She ripped the bread in half and leaned over to place part of it next to the tiny table. “If you were something hostile, she’d have picked up your thoughts and alerted us.”

“And if she couldn’t read my mind?”

“She’d still have been able to see you, and seeing you when she couldn’t read your mind woulddefinitelyhave led to her alerting us.” Alice finally turned in my direction, smiling so widely and warmly that I felt suddenly terrible for having been called away, even though I knew it wasn’t even a little bit my fault. “Welcome back. How was the anima mundi?”

“Obfuscatory and confusing, as always. I was just telling them they can’t keep talking to me and expect me, or probably any member of my family, to address them with deference and respect. Hard to respect things you know too well.”

“The mice manage it,” said Sally.

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