1: Deus Ex Machina

The earth shook under our feet, and between us and Airial and Holiday and Kit a chasm in the floor of the tomb opened—gaping darkness that looked like it could drop down into eternity. Arthur's body fell away into it, and so did much of the rubble and the tomb's door. More stones fell out of the walls, and more and more, until the walls disappeared, and in their place was the darkness of the catacombs beyond. I was knocked to the ground by the shaking—so was everyone else, until the only person standing was Jack. I was sprawled on the ground, then, but still watching him, as was everyone else—watching him, and being pummeled with rocks falling from the ceiling above us, and from the walls, and another chasm opened behind him, so close to him, and the sarcophagus was gone into it.

Simultaneously, all light in the room dimmed. It wasn't possible to say how—the torches on the walls, the candles, still burned. But they no longer seemed to create any light of their own. Instead, all light appeared to have been drawn inexorably into Gaudium Gladius. It burned cold, silver, with the glow of newly forged metal, but without giving any light. It was taking the light. It was a vacuum. Symbols appeared, burning across its surface in black the color of deep space and nothingness, writhing and disappearing just as quickly as they came. A sudden wind howled through the room, toward the sword, blowing the flowers off of the table and toying with the rest of the fires in the room. The wind swirled around the sword visibly, and through it all Jack stood, entranced. As the world shook and the wind howled and the sword glowed, he stared. He stared at the burning blade.

It's impossible to say how long it lasted. It felt like only a second, at the time, but looking back it seems longer—how could so much have happened in such a short time? Then, far away, I could hear the sound of bells. Was it midnight? Was that what it was? But I had no time to wonder, because suddenly the sword exploded with light—almost literally exploded. It burst forth from the blade, not silver, not gold, but white. Whiter than the hair of any ancient sage. White with the intensity of a burning star. White like lightning.

So bright—brighter than ever before I'd seen it, and I thought that maybe I'd said that every time I'd seen it light up, but this time I was sure that it would never be so intense again. It flooded the room until it was so light that nothing was visible but the light, and I thought I'd been blinded, or killed. There was no room, not walls, no alter, no Jack, and no sword. Only the brilliance.

But then, slowly, slowly, shapes took form before me once again. Walls appeared, and Jack, and the sword. It crackled, now, with energy and that intense white light danced over it. And then Jack, as if moving in a dream, and not of his own will, raised the sword above his head. Energy crackled out of it and up, and the ceiling exploded outward and outward and outward again until above us, so far away but so close, were the stars.

"This is the power of the Shekinah," Jack said. But I knew somehow, instinctively, that although the words had come from Jack's mouth, it was not Jack who had spoken them.

"This is my power," he said, and then crumpled to the ground, spent. I tried to move, to call out to him, but a voice in my ear stopped me cold.

"The night is young," it whispered, and I hazily got to my feet then, hypnotized, and turned to look for it. No image was forthcoming out of the darkness, but someone laughed softly, breathily, alluringly—a voice I'd never heard before, but still, doubtless, one of Her's. "But then, the night is ageless. Look up, Starry-eyes. Look up."

And I did, expecting to see the familiar stars. But what I saw instead made me gasp. Above me, around me, was a cloud of red—red, and green, and a strange, sickly yellow color. They bubbled out, around each other, dancing, billowing, expanding and contracting eternally. And through this hideous cloud of gases, stars shone. They were the same stars, but swimming in a broth of cosmic filth and waste, and it was so close to me, cloying me, clogging my nostrils and choking out all air, and suddenly I was so close that I could see that the roiling cloud was not gas, but blood. And those were not stars—they were cells. White blood cells? They pirouetted, spun, gyred through that soup of red, and I knew somehow that that night which felt like so long ago, when Gemma had spoken to Sidney and me, and beseeched us to look up at the mysteries of the heavens, this was what she had shown to Sidney. This was what Sidney had seen.

I gagged, moved without knowing what I was moving, no longer conscious of my own body and its blood—conscious only of this red that was and wasn't blood flowing through the universe, these stars that were and weren't stars, moving on their destined paths through endless night, and then there was that light again, white hot and almost alive, and then there was nothing.

"Do you know what it is, Starry-Eyes?"

"What?"

"It's endorphins."

"It's what?"

"The sword. Gaudium Gladius. When you touch it, your body releases endorphins. It makes whoever's got it feel righteous. Invincible. I thought of that myself."

"Gaudium Gladius…"

"That's what makes them want it. That's what keeps them coming back. It's a drug, Starry-Eyes. …I'm going to show you something, now. You probably won't remember this conversation, though. The human mind is so fragile. But what choice do I have? I work with what I've got."

"No choice, I suppose."

"Watch."

I looked down at my hands. What was I doing, again…?

"But you know how she can get—like at that Christmas party a couple years ago, when she insulted your dip in front of everyone."

Oh, right. Carl Mason, obnoxious coworker. I blinked across my desk at him, as he continued to talk. He was obnoxious, all right—and slimy, and remarkably weasel-like—but he had an honest face. The guileless eyes of a puppy. He meant well, at the moment. Still, something about the way he talked, held himself… it reminded me of someone else, although I'd never noticed it before. Someone… who?

"Anyway," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "The point is, they're doing well."

"Who are?" I wondered, and he gave me a look.

"The test subjects. The babies. They're developing normally. …I wish you'd give them some kind of experiment name, instead of a number."

"They have names. They're Susie," I said. "And Nicholas."

"Jesus Christ, what planet you on today? I mean as a… as a species."

"They're not a species."

"Subspecies."

"I don't know what they are."

"Well, you should. You made them."

"Well…"

"They need a name."

"Naming something… it changes it."

"Nah. It just changes what people think about it. That's the point. You need a good Public-Relations name."

"No, Carl, I don't think so," I said, pushing my chair away from my desk. I stood, and looked, disgusted, over the piles of paper on my desk—the growing piles—before turning away, to the window. I could still feel Carl's eyes on me.

"It was a good job," he said, after a while. "Doctor Shepard would've been proud."

I felt my shoulders tighten. How long? How long had it been?—and still that statement, John's death, felt like a fresh wound. One that Carl had just poured salt in.

"I mean that, George," he said.

"Well… Thanks. But it doesn't matter. The rest of the world still seems to think that this is a little too strange. …They'll see one day, when these kids are in Ivy-League schools, and beauty pageants, and beating World Olympic runners. They're everything any God could want for his creations."

"Including yourself."

"Don't say that," I commanded, whirling to face him. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," he said, grinning. "I know. I'm just kidding."

"Don't," I said again, leafing through the papers on my desk. Any important notices? "I'm not Victor Frankenstein.

"Epstein, Frankenstein… Einstein. All you 'steins are crazy."

"Shut up, Carl," I said. I wished he would leave. He wanted a good PR name? He was the PR disaster.

"Say," he said. "It's about lunchtime, right? Whaddya say? You wanna go get something to eat?"

I sighed, looked at my watch. 11:39. Close enough to lunch, although I wasn't hungry. And I didn't really want to eat with him.

"Sure," I told him.

"You wanna go out?" he asked, standing and opening my office door. "I heard that place—"

"Actually," I interrupted, "I have a lunch."

"Oh, yeah? Charlie packed you a lunch?"

"I packed my own lunch. Charlie has better things to do."

"Like take care of the kids?"

"Dear God," I muttered, opening the lounge door. "And you wonder why you're still a bachelor."

"Hey, he said. "She'll come. Someday she'll find me."

"Right," I muttered, digging into the refrigerator for my lunch. I peeked inside the bag, trying to remember just what I'd grabbed this morning. On top of the food I discovered a hastily scrawled message on my napkin—"I love you, sweety. Have a great day!—Charlie" I wished she wouldn't write on napkins. I always felt strange, wiping my dirty fingers on her sweet sentiments.

"Aww… How cute," Carl said, grabbing something from a vending machine. Sometimes I wanted to punch him. I was about to tell him so when there was a knock on the door.

"Who would knock?" Carl wondered.

"Janitor, maybe?" I asked, getting up to open the door. "Someone touring the facilities?" I pulled the door open, and there was the smiling face of Chad Sitwell, grad student from Hell—all neatly combed shining blonde hair, piercing, half-mad green eyes and white, even, a-bit-too-large teeth. And suddenly, looking at him felt like some half-remembered dream, some nightmare, and made me feel as though the world had just spun out from under my feet. Looking into Chad's face was like… was like…

"Dr. Epstein!" he cried. "Oh, I'm so glad I finally found you! I've been looking all over! You weren't in your office."

"N-no," I said nervously. "I was here. Eating lunch."

"We'll, I have something to show you! Oh, it's so exciting!"

"Hold on, now," I said. "What are you—"

But he was already dancing away down the hall, back toward my office.

"I hate that kid," I said, closing the door again. "If he wasn't the head of the department's son, I'd—"

"Oh, you'd what? You wouldn't hurt a fly."

"Flies… flies are useful."

"Whatever you say. You're right, though. The kid's a pain. Crazy, too. You should hear the rumors."

"I don't believe in rumors," I said.

"Oh, you would about that kid. I hear he's got these rats—"

"So? Rats are nice."

"It's not the rats," Carl said with a glint in his eye. "It's what he does to the rats."

"What he—"

But I didn't get to hear, because Chad came bursting back in the door, carrying a tangled mess of wires attached to several small nodes.

"Chad?" I asked, standing up again, surprised.

"Look," he said, breathless. "I made it myself."

"What… What is it?"

"Electricity," he said feverishly.

"What's it for?" I wondered.

"That's why I need your help," he said, rushing over to the table and dropping the apparatus onto it. He worked manically to untangle it.

"What do you need?" I asked, eager to give him whatever it would take to get him to leave.

He turned around and smiled brightly at me.

"Let me use your babies," he said.

"My babies?" I repeated stupidly, thinking of Brigid and Helen, my daughters, and wondering what he could possibly want to do to them.

"Yes," he said. "Susie. Nicholas. How are they? Where are they?"

"Oh," I replied, almost relieved. Then his request sunk in. "They're in 14A. They are, I've been informed, doing quite well. I haven't seen them today, myself, although after lunch—"

"I need them," Chad said.

"For… what purpose?" I asked.

"For this," he cried, waving the wires around as though they were some kind of electrical sword.

"And that is a…?" I asked.

"Electricity!" he cried. "It's for my thesis. I want to study the effects of electricity on the human body. There are so few studies on it. I want to know—"

"No," I said firmly.

"You have to let me, Dr. Epstein!" he begged. "Please. The world needs to know."

"No," I repeated. "Not on babies."

"Not just any babies. Susie and Nicholas. Super-babies!"

"No!" I repeated, disbelieving that this boy could be so… disturbed.

"It's for science, doctor! For my thesis. I have to!"

"There is no 'have to!'" I cried. "I am not going to let you attach electrical nodes to babies. You would probably kill them. And if you don't kill them, you will fry their frontal lobes. That is what electricity does to the human body. …At the very least, you would give them severe burns, and they're babies. They're people. I can't let you do it."

"But that's just it! They're not just babies. They're stronger than normal people, right? So they'll react differently, right? They'll survive. There aren't any studies on this sort of thing—I know it! I'd be breaking new ground. It's for my thesis, doctor. I have to. It's for science—for the betterment of the world. You have to let me."

"I have no obligation to allow you to kill children!" I yelled, flailing my arms in frustration. Chad cowered as though I'd hit him, and Carl was on me in a second, holding me back from whatever he'd thought me about to do.

"Please," Chad begged. "For science, doctor."

"No!" I cried, really pulling at Carl, now. "I'm not letting someone as clearly disturbed as you anywhere near those children! That's not science, it's… It's torture! You… you take your electrodes and get out of here!"

He—strangely—responded by whimpering like a puppy. He picked up his equipment, and slunk out of the room.

"It's for science, doctor," I heard him say outside the door. "I hope you understand." Then his footsteps retreated down the hall.

Carl let me go, and I leaned forward against the door, safe from him.

"Should we tell someone?" Carl wondered.

"What good would it do?"

"He's a sick kid."

"…The thought of him attaching those things to Susie and Nicholas…" I sighed. "Well… I don't want lunch now."

"Guess not. Hey, you sure we shouldn't've called security to get him or something?"

"No. He respects me, I think," I mumbled. "I think he'll leave. …I don't think he really wants to hurt anyone. I'm not sure if he realizes how it would be hurting those children. Chad's… He's not all there."

"Don't I know it," Carl chuckled. "Still. I think maybe you should have called security."

"Why does it matter?" It's not as though—" But in the middle of that thought, we heard a crash and a shriek from outside the lounge.

"Not as though…?" Carl repeated.

"Oh, god," I breathed, hurrying away from Carl and out the door.

In the hallway now, silence. No footsteps, no voices, no indication of what the crash had been. Carl came out of the lounge behind me a moment later.

"What are you just standing there for?" he demanded. "You know where he is—what he's doing!"

"No," I said dumbly. "He's not—"

"Let's not wait to find out who's right!" he shouted at me, and then took off running toward 14A. After another second of confusion I hurried after him.

The door was wide open—he hadn't even bothered to shut it. There was an office between the hallway and lab where Susie and Nicholas had been set up, and this was evidently where the nurse on duty had been when Chad had come through. Or perhaps she'd come in when she'd heard the door open. It was hard to say, now, because she had been tossed over the desk. Her head was thrown back, exposing the deep gash that blossomed across her throat like a poinsettia. The cut was deep enough that I could see her windpipe. Her blood was all over the desk, the chair, the floor, her papers, everything. Her eyes were still open, gazing up at the ceiling—but like a mannequin, unblinking, unmoving. Not alive.

"She's…" Carl started, about to state the obvious, then," He… But how?"

"She's gone," I said quickly, forcefully—but my insides were roiling. "But maybe he hasn't touched Susie and Nicholas, yet." I pushed past him, but he grabbed my shirt.

"Wait! Is it… is it worth it, to try and save them? He's dangerous, George. We're not fighters, either of us, and look at her. Let's lock him in there, and call security. You can always get more gametes from John's projects. It's too dangerous."

I just looked at him.

"They're children," I said. "Not projects. Children. Let me go."

He sighed, and did let me go.

"Just… wait, George. I think… I should tell you, first. I think this may be my fault, and I'm sorry."

"Hurry up, Carl," I said.

"I encourage him to do it," he confessed. "To experiment with electricity. I… It was a long time ago, George. He didn't say… didn't say he wanted to do it to people. I told him to pursue it. To go after his dreams."

"When was this?" I wondered.

"A few years ago. He was in one of my classes."

"It doesn't matter," I said. "We have to stop him now."

"Just be careful," he sighed, letting me go.

This time I ignored him, eased the lab door open and peeked inside.

It was quiet—just as the hall had been. It didn't even appear, as I stepped inside, that there was anyone there. Then, a flicker of movement caught my eye at the end of the lab. Chad. He turned toward me, grinning.

"What have you done?" I demanded lowly, half wanting to go over there a strangle him, half wanting to stay where I was, petrified of what he'd done to those children.

"I told you," he said. "I told you it wouldn't kill them. They're special."

"What have you done?" I repeated, taking the chance, crossing the lab toward him.

"It's for science, Doctor Epstein. Now we'll know what electricity can do to perfect human babies." He laughed madly. "Now we know!"

Susie and Nicholas were on the counter before him, laid out on a blanket, as if he'd been about to change them. The nodes were still on their heads, but the rest of Chad's machine was heaped off to the side. Susie's left foot twitched horribly, spasmodically, but other than that neither of them moved. Their eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling as the body of the nurse had. They were limp as rag dolls, and Nicholas was drooling. But they weren't dead. They weren't dead.

"You," I said. "You…"

Carl was behind me, now.

"You bastard," he supplied.

"You don't understand!" Chad said. "None of you—no one—understands! It's for the betterment of humankind. Now we know!"

I couldn't take my eyes away from Susie and Nicholas. I was responsible for this. I was.

"You're trying to make humankind better by killing people?" Carl growled.

"You said to follow my dreams. I'm following my dreams!" Chad said. "And anyway, who killed anyone? The babies are fine."

"That nurse is dead!" Carl shouted. I heard him only vaguely. I could do nothing, only stare at my two creations—so promising, before, and now so… empty.

"The nurse?" Chad asked. "She was in my way… But she's not important," he assured Carl. "Knowledge is important, doctor. Knowledge. And what we have here is knowledge." He moved toward the children once again. "We'll do all kinds of tests. Electricity. It's the spark of life, you know. It makes your heart beat. It's what allows you to think, to move. I'm onto something here, I'll have you know. Electricity. It's my thesis."

Chad started to laugh again, and Carl responded by doing something strange. He hauled off and slugged the boy. Chad dropped to the ground, temporarily silenced. Nonetheless, I could not move—could not take my eyes off of the catatonic children in front of me.

Suddenly, Carl's hand was on my shoulder. I jumped, startled, and then turned to look at him.

"It wasn't your fault," he said.

"It was my fault," I replied. "All of this… If only I'd… I'm responsible for these children. And that poor woman… Carl, what will we do? These poor children. And besides! People already think this project was immoral—trying to make a perfect person. But I… I didn't mean it to be. I…"

"I know," he said. "It's all right."

"It's not! What happens when this gets out? That I allowed some crazy kid to come in here and… and destroy their brains like this? I told him—told him—it would fry their little frontal lobes. God, Carl. Just look at them. What will the public think? I'll be crucified."

"No, you won't," he said, slowly smiling.

"Of course I will, I—"

"No," he said. "Because the public will never know."

I looked down at Susie and Nicholas again.

"How—" I started, but Carl interrupted.

"It was an experiment, George," he said conspiratorially.

"And sometimes, remember, experiments don't have good results. They fail. …The public would probably be willing to accept the fact that the children of two perfect humans aren't normal. It will make them feel better—less threatened. 'Gross developmental glitches,' you'll say, and they'll believe you—why not?"

"Gross developmental glitches," I repeated.

He smirked, nodded.

"No one has to know."

"And the nurse?" I wondered.

"He's the head of the department's son. …Maybe we can arrange some sort of accident."

"Carl?" I asked sharply, surprised at him.

"I'm only trying to save your hide, George. I'm in this with you. For better or worse. Just remember: Gross Developmental Glitches."

"Gross developmental glitches."

"I'm going to go call Chad's loving daddy down here," he said, stooping down and gathering the boy up. I shuddered involuntarily. "…Who knows?" he continued, walking away. "Maybe we'll get some money out of this, George."

I focused my attention back on the children as he left. After a painful second, I reached down and peeled one of the nodes off of Susie's temple. To my surprise, at the touch of my hand she responded—looked up at me, waved her arms at me. Joy and relief washed over me so intensely that for a second I could not breath. Again, to my surprise, Susie reacted by waving her arms, cooing, and—for the first time—smiling. Almost as if she was reacting to my own joy. As if she felt it, knew it…

Electricity.

"Do you see, now, Starry-Eyes?"

"Do I see?"

"I mean, does it all make sense, now?"

"It makes less sense now than it ever has," I said to Her through the thick blackness. "Why? Why did you show that to me?"

"You had to know, some time."

"I could have gone on without knowing," I said. "Is it… Is it really about revenge, then, after all? Is that all this really is?"

"Revenge?"

"Against Sachever. For whatever it was that he did to those children."

"I wouldn't call it revenge. Perhaps on some level. Do you want to continue this way, Alister?"

"What way?"

"They way you've been going. All the people you've killed. All the lives you've destroyed. And my invention—the Shekinah. Is it worth it, to take back a creation gone awry?"

"Yes," I said, remembering how it had felt—understanding, a little, finally, why I'd hated George Epstein so badly for so long. Why I'd hated Sachever. Why I'd hated Devas.

"Why do you hate them, Starry-Eyes?" she asked mockingly.

"Because," I growled, and suddenly I was back in the Temple, crumpled on the floor, my arms and hands were not my own—they twitched violently, as with some outside electrical current. Like Susie's foot. Like I had probably moved, myself, when I had been struck down in my ninth year. "That's not the way I made them!"

"You always—all of you—want to divide things into good and evil," she whispered into my ear. "But nothing is that simple. Nothing is ever so simple, Starry-Eyes. I hope you see that now. …Nothing." She laughed, and I could hear it echo. "And I've made you. You're better at this than Sachever was. …I drove him mad."

And then—I could feel it in the air—she was gone. Slowly the sounds of the real world came back—the sounds of Jack and Sachever fighting.

"I understand, now!" Sachever cried. "She showed me the way! It's not about me. It's not about the sword. I was selfish before—and that's why I lost to you. But I see now. It's not about me, or even about you. It's about love. It's about love winning. I'm going to beat you—for that! So that the world may go on in peace!"

"You're an idiot," Jack said. "It's not about you. It's not about love. It's about restoring balance to the world. It's about restoring true humans, real people, to their deserved place, and putting Devas back where they belong. They couldn't exist without us, but still they rule us with an iron grip! It isn't fair!"

"They're wiser than any human!" Sachever cried, and there was a clang of metal-on-metal. "They know true compassion."

Jack laughed derisively, and I stood up slowly, expecting many more bruises than I really had. I could see, now, Jack and Sachever were fighting, too close to the chasm for comfort. I couldn't tell who was winning. Airial, who had been unbound, stood tensely on the other side of it. Kit and Holiday also stood on the other side. How had they gotten there? How long had I been unconscious?

I stepped around the rubble, out of the dark corner that I'd ended up in. No one saw me. No one looked away from Jack and Sachever. What, I wondered momentarily, was I doing here? Was I here for a cause, truly? It was what I'd told myself before, but it seemed so different, now, knowing what I knew. What she'd shown me. So, then, was I here for myself? For my leader, Jack? I watched him fight with Sachever, but in a removed way, as though I was still looking back from the past, from the body of someone not nearly so committed to this battle as I.

Sachever swung his sword, a glittering, glowing arc, and Jack reached up to counter with a sword of his own—dull metal. Where had that come from? Gaudium Gladius cut into the metal—not all the way through, but definitely enough to do damage, to weaken Jack's assault on him. And, at the same time, Jack was that much closer to the lip of the rift in the floor he'd opened by bringing Gaudium Gladius to full power.

And still, I couldn't stop seeing in my head those babies—those first Devas, and the sickening twitching of that child's foot, and my own hands when I'd awakened only minutes before. What had she done to me? Why had she shown me? …And why should I trust it? I did. I did wholeheartedly, but I now had to ask myself why I should. Had she ever done anything to suggest to me that she wanted my continued well-being? Even that night in the car, I got the idea that she only wanted me alive so that she could continue to play with me, and…

And a memory came to me, something Thistle and I had talked about. Something she'd said…

"How did you find us?"

"It was Ambrose. I want you to know, he was a lot more for the cause, before… Well, before he had to kill anyone for it. A woman on the street mentioned it. Just some bag lady, ranting, I mean. Ambrose wanted revenge. He asked her where to go, and she told us."

Gemma had led Thistle to me.

Some day, I will repay you your kindness.

And then killed her.

She'd let me have that—had given it to me, let me taste Heaven for one brief, shining moment. And then she'd destroyed it—shattered that beautiful thing into a thousand sharp pieces and made me walk over them again and again, every time I saw Jack and Magdalena, or any other two people, or any sort of love at all.

Jack had not killed Thistle. Gemma had killed Thistle.

She'd invented the Shekinah, too. She was the Shekinah. What did that mean? Did it mean that she'd led Sachever, so long ago, to electrocute those children? Just so that she could put her energy line into use? Or just so that she could torture me, in another life, in another way?

Fate is a word that you couldn't possibly hope to understand. You have such a limited grasp of the idea. All of you.

Sachever said something that I couldn't hear, and I saw Jack's face contort with rage.

"It's justice!" he screamed, driving Sachever back, away from the edge, out of pure fury.

It's justice, I repeated to myself. Justice. We'll kill you, Sachever, for what you did to those children, once upon a time. For what you turned them into. We'll destroy your energy line, Gemma, Shekinah, for all your machinations, your manipulations. For every time you yanked us around like badly-made puppets. It's justice, to all the Devas, for not being what I wanted them to be in the past, and for holding me down in the now. It's justice.

"It's not justice!" Sachever declared, in his sweet, strong voice. "It's hatred! It's revenge, and destruction! It's not right!" And then it started again—all the light in the room seemed to be drawn into the sword, and Sachever seemed to be able to feel it. He closed his eyes, and raised the sword above his head, just as Jack had, before. There was no explosion, this time—just the… the energy, flowing through Sachever in a wave strong enough that even I could feel it. Not a feeling like putting the sword together had produced—no crackling electricity, no force, nothing like that. Just a wave of sweetness and light and love like warm sunshine on a spring afternoon—warmth and rebirth and a melting of cold. Not forceful, but strong all the same. Strong enough to melt glaciers, move mountains, tumble stars from the sky. Around Sachever and Gaudium Gladius appeared a column of golden light.

Get him now, Jack, I thought. Now, while he's still building his power. While his arms are up and his abdomen is exposed, and he's not paying attention. Now, before he gains the sword's true power, and it's too late.

But Jack did nothing, only remained half-crouched before Sachever, one hand raised to shield his eyes, the other still gripping his own pathetic sword loosely.

And then Sachever's eyes opened slowly, as though he was waking from a dream—a wonderful dream, where everyone lived in equality and harmony, and where people like Jack and me… we could exist, but happily.

…But the again, that was our dream, too, wasn't it?

Sachever brought the sword down slowly—not in a threatening way, but in a way that showed me that it was too late, now. My heart sank, and I knew it—whatever had been meant to happen between Sachever and the sword had happened.

Jack seemed not to see this. With a feral snarl, he charged Sachever once again. Sachever smiled serenely, barley had to move to block Jack's attack and stop him in his tracks, straining against Sachever's sword while Sachever himself seemed not even to be trying.

"Love always wins," Sachever said. "It's a shame that you can't see that. …It isn't too late, even now. Put aside your sword, and you can still end this peacefully."

"Never!" Jack growled, pushing even harder against Sachever—although it seemed hopeless.

"I'm sorry," Sachever said. And he meant it, too. It made my blood boil—did he pity us?—yet I remained rooted to the spot, unable to attack, able only to watch what was unfolding before me.

Sachever brought his other hand up to the hilt of the sword, and for the first time he pushed back. That strength, that warmth that had gathered around him pushed with him and Jack was forced back, back, until his heels were against the lip of the rift. He felt it, too, and turned to see if it was true. In that move he lost his balance and fell over the edge, and my heart dropped with him. Sachever's face changed—to shock, grief, and once again my anger flared over my fallen leader, over Sachever's purity.

But then, I realized that Sachever was looking down—down to the edge of that gaping maw, to the edge, where Jack's fingers still clung.

"Help me," came his voice after a second, a scared, wavering mewl. "L-Lory…" I started to move, then was stopped as Sachever kneeled down.

"Sachever!" Airial cried. "Don't!"

"No," he said, looking up at her. "No. What's the good of talking about love, if you don't act accordingly? What's the good of preaching compassion when you don't reach out to help a dying man?"

He stooped down, threw Gaudium Gladius to the side—although the glow did not fade from either of them—and reached over the side of the chasm.

"Take my hand," he said.

And Jack did.

I thought I would be sick.

Sachever pulled him up. I still don't know how—Sachever was so much smaller. Still just a boy, really. But the glow, the sword's glow—although the sword itself was to the side—never left his body. Sachever wore an aura of gold.

Jack crouched on the edge of the chasm after he was safely out and gasped. He wore a look of terror. Then, after a brief second of recovery, he laughed, and dove for the sword. Sachever looked surprised, but didn't move—it was too late. Jack had Gaudium Gladius.

"That was a stupid thing to do, Sachever," Jack said, and on some level I was disgusted by him. First he'd pleaded for help, and now he tried to turn Sachever's sword against him. And it was Sachever's sword, now—did Jack not see it, even now? I was vaguely disgusted with myself, too—for standing still, and watching like a spectator at a sports game. At the same time, I knew that it would always—for reasons Gemma had not quite explained—come down to Sachever and Jack. I would always be the one wronged, the second. The one who watched while Jack hit Sachever.

"Maybe it was stupid," Sachever said, smiling again. "But it was the right thing to do, and I believe that you'll do what you know is right, in your heart."

"I know what's in my heart," Jack said, laughing again. He swung the sword up, and charged Sachever. Sachever, taken by surprise, fell backward—but it was too late. Jack was too fast, already there, already…

It should have gone through his body. The sword should have pierced Sachever's abdomen just as it had pierced Sidney's, but it did not. It merely glanced off of his golden aura, and away, as though there were magnets of the same charge, repelled.

Jack's look of shock was almost painful to see. He'd believed that he was about to get rid of Sachever once and for all—hadn't seen the aura, or hadn't understood it.

But then, Sachever himself looked shocked, too. Perhaps he didn't understand either. I glanced over at Airial, to see if she was shocked, and found her gaze already on me. We locked eyes for a moment before she looked away, back at Sachever. I watched her for a moment longer before doing the same—things weren't going well for us. We weren't strong enough. It may very well be the last time I saw her.

I heard Jack cry out, and turned in time to see him drop Gaudium Gladius and clutch his hand in pain. The sword had burned him like it had burned me.

Sachever reached over and picked it up, that forgiving smile still on his lips.

"Love always wins," he said simply.

Jack started to back away, and suddenly, behind us, I heard someone shouting. The rubble shifted as I turned to look, and the white robed figure of a priest appeared—and behind him another and another. Priests and priestesses, all, flowing through the path they'd cleared in their fallen temple, like water. I too began to back up, away from them—they too wore those loving, forgiving expressions, as though they wanted nothing more than to embrace me, and tell me that everything would be all right, just as soon as they got these handcuffs on my wrists… Suddenly, Jack's shoulder bumped mine—we'd backed into each other. We both jumped, and then he sighed in semi-relief.

"What do we do?" I hissed. "We're surrounded." But the truth was, although the priests and priestesses were swarming around us, they seemed more interested in Sachever.

"Sachever!" Airial suddenly cried out, and I could see over the tops of priests' and priestesses' heads that the golden light had been extinguished and that he had fallen, exhausted, to the ground. The throng rushed to his aide.

"Now!" Jack said. "While they're distracted!"

"What about Holiday and Kit?" I protested.

"Leave them! Only the strong survive, Lory!"

Before I could say another word he was clamoring over the rubble. After a second of hesitation I followed.

"They're getting away!" someone shouted, and then I was over the rubble, running, following after Jack, but running. Always running.

Before I quite knew it we were out of the building—a fire exit—and tearing across the moonlit, snowy lawn. The van waited patiently ahead in the darkness, a single shadowy figure in the parking lot. I had a terrifying thought—what if it wouldn't start, ran out of gas? What then? Would we keep running like this forever?

It felt absurd standing there beside the van after all we'd been through that night, waiting while Jack unlocked the doors—why had he locked them to begin with? It took a painfully long time, but then we were inside, and the engine flared into life, and Jack peeled away, down the road.

I looked back through the side mirror at the ruined Temple behind us—ruined by its own power. …On the steps leading up to its doors stood an old woman. Even from that distance, I could see her blue eyes flash in the light of the moon.

She was smiling.

I hated her.

"You know," Jack said, when we were some distance away. "I still have the detonator." He dug it out of his pocket, tossed it to me. I caught it, said nothing.

"We're too far away for it to work," he said.

I depressed the button anyway. It didn't matter. The explosion had been long ago.

"Well…" he said. "So it didn't work. Next time, Lory. We'll get them next time."

I didn't want him to talk. I didn't want to hear about it.

"There is no next time, Jack," I said. "We lost. Can't you see that? We cheated and we still lost. It's over."

"I hate that kind of attitude, Lory," he said. "You've gotta… You've gotta think positive."

"There is no positive, Jack," I cried. "You went nuts back there! Killed Arthur, left Kit and Holiday to the wolves—"

"Hey now, I didn't see you going back for them."

I sank down in my seat, arms crossed over my chest. After a second I rolled my window down, threw out the detonator—what kind of stupid souvenir would that thing make?

Jack chuckled.

"You're just as bad as I am, Lory. We deserve each other."

"You attacked him," I said. "After he saved your life."

"You would've done the same."

"…You hit me."

"Payback," he countered. "for that time in the bar when you slugged me while that guy had a hold of my arms."

"How can we go home?" I asked. "Without Holiday and Arthur and Kit? What will the rest of the Newly Dead think?"

"…I haven't gotten that far, yet. Let's just think of how nice it'll be to get home and relax."

"Who cares?" I snapped. "We could sleep in the car. Thistle isn't there. Magdalena isn't there. The most important female in my life right now is one who likes to whisper existential nonsense in my ear at inopportune moments."

"Well," Jack said, "at least you've got a friend." He glanced over at me, smiled.

I looked at him for a moment—that familiar face that I still, somehow, felt that I was seeing—really seeing—for the first time.

"I'm sorry I hit you," he said.

"Yeah," I agreed after a moment. "I'm sorry I hit you, too."

Silence for a moment, and then our driveway was in sight. Jack pulled into it. Immediately the atmosphere in the car changed. Something… something wasn't right.

As we got closer to the house it became obvious. Red and blue flashing lights were visible through the trees.

"No…" Jack said.

"How did they…" I started to ask, and then trailed off.

The Seraphim.

"Shit," was all Jack said.

There were five cars, a S.W.A.T. van. Through the trees, I could make out a Seraphim leading Jethro and Gladiola out of the house in handcuffs. What this meant didn't quite sink in.

"Have they seen the headlights?" Jack wondered.

"Jack!" I said. "What do we do?" I searched his face, hoping he had an answer.

He turned to me and smiled, the lights of the squad cars reflecting off of his face, the whites of his eyes, his dark hair.

"There are other people out there like us, Lory," he said. "We'll just have to go find them."

"What?" I asked. "Just leave all of this behind? You own this house and this land."

"Nobody really owns land, Lory. All we've really got are ourselves. You said it yourself. There's nothing here for either of us."

"So we just… leave?"

It was too surreal—the timing of it all. Why had the Seraphim chosen this particular night, this particular time, the only time we'd been out for several days, to come haul us away to jail? It was almost as though it was fated—like it was meant to happen. Like we were meant to escape this end.

"Sure," Jack said.

"Where will we go?" I wondered, almost panicked. "They'll find us. One of the Newly Dead will tell them all about us. We'll have to… have to change our identities!"

"So?"

"So?" I couldn't think of anything to say to that. How could he brush it off so easily?

"Yeah, so? It's not like we don't have experience making fake papers. Think of it this way, Lory—you won't have to be illegal anymore."

"What about the explosives? Where could we possibly get more? We have to at least wait until they leave tonight and get what's left—"

"There's nothing left, Lory. Nothing. And they'll leave somebody here for a long time, I bet."

"But—"

"Look," he said, with a disarmingly calm smile. "It's either get the hell outta here, now," he said, "Or go to jail. For a long, long time."

"I guess there's not really a choice, then," I said, really thinking about going to jail, "is there?"

"Not really. Let's get out of here."

"Whatever you say, Jack," I muttered.

"Right," Jack Dandy said, laughing.

He threw the van into reverse and peeled out of the driveway. In a matter of moments we were hurtling back down the highway, toward some distant, brighter future. Or possibly a darker, hopeless one. It was hard to be sure, but I did know this—the world hadn't yet heard the last from either Alister Siderius or Jack Dandy.