Page 31 of Backpacking through Bedlam

I paused, frowning. “We already had this conversation,” I said. “You woke up, explained the Aeslin mice to Sally, and went back to sleep. You asked why I never moved back to the house where I grew up, so I could be closer to the woods.”

“And I asked how it was possible to be closer to the woods, since those trees are practically knocking on the back door already.”

“You really don’t remember?”

Thomas shook his head, eyes still open, and began pushing himself into a sitting position. I stepped quickly away, giving him the space to move. “I’m afraid not,” he said, apologetically. “I’ve never attempted that many dimensional transits in close succession before, and I’m afraid I’ve tapped my reserves a bit more than I expected to. It doesn’t help that they won’t refill as quickly now that we’re back on Earth.”

“Helen said the pneuma had continued to recover in the absence of the crossroads,” I said. “The world’s getting better.”

“Yes, but a creature in the process of healing doesn’t necessarily have strength to spare,” he said. “I can feel the ambient magic of the world, and I’ll rebuild my own over the next weeks, but it’s not the endless wellspring it was in some of the dimensions we passed through. It’s going to take time.”

“Good thing we’re staying here, then,” I said. “If we want to go to Portland, we’ll call the routewitches for a ride, like normal people.”

“What the hell’s a routewitch?” asked Sally.

“Okay, like seriously weird people who want to get to Oregon,” I amended. “I’d say we’d fly, but we need to go to Vegas first, get some new identities for the two of you. I wouldn’t even try to take you on a Greyhound right now.”

“Vegas?” asked Thomas.

“We have some new allies you need to meet,” I said. “The current family forger is Big Al, a Jink living in Sin City. He can set us up with papers for you and Sally. Things that won’t set off alarms in some ancient government database somewhere that thinks your visa expired fifty years ago and Sally needs to be returned to her parents.”

“Oh,” said Sally.

“Getting him to set Thomas up may be a challenge, but it won’t be worse than anything else we’ve done recently, so we’ll be fine.” Thomas gave me a puzzled look. “His family got caught in a Covenant purge. He hates the Covenant. Helping a traitor will probably appeal to him, after we convince him you’re not some sort of deep-cover agent.”

“Things are real complicated around you people,” said Sally.

Thomas took my arm, pulling himself to his feet, and smiled beatifically. “Yes,” he said. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Nine

“Take care of yourself, then your family, then the rest of the world. That’s the order that doesn’t break your heart.”

—Frances Brown

The old Parrish place, Buckley Township, Michigan

THE HOT WATER HELD out long enough for all three of us to shower—even though that shower lasted more than half an hour in Thomas’s case. I guess fifty years without running water leaves a man feeling pretty filthy. I dropped towels outside the door and kept myself busy changing the sheets on our bed and getting one of the guest rooms ready for Sally.

Cynthia and her people had kept the house clean enough to be livable, but there’s a gap between “livable” and “comfortable” that needed to be addressed. When the Covenant had been shopping for a place to shove their prodigal son, they’d been looking for something that fit a narrow list of requirements: location, affordability, and availability. They’d never looked at size, which was why a single bachelor had been shoved into a three-story house with seven bedrooms.

There was a time when I’d dreamt of filling them all, turning this house into the sort of vibrant, loving place I remembered from my early childhood, when Mama had been alive and Daddy had been brittle but unbroken. Those dreams were past, but the bedrooms remained. I left Kevin’s room untouched, and walked past the nursery we had prepared for Jane, opening the room we’d used for the Gucciards when they came to visit.

It was spotless if unwelcoming, with a queen-sized bed, a large wardrobe, and a window looking out on the Galway. Best view in Buckley. I stripped the bed, remade it with fresh sheets, and left the door open as an invitation.

Sally was still in the shower. I walked back to the bathroom and rapped lightly on the door.

“You drown in there?” I called.

“Shampoo is magic!” she yelled back.

Right. Not dead. I smiled. “Wait until you remember what conditioner is,” I said. “I’ve got a room ready for you; it’s the open door down the hall. Come out when you’re done.”

“Got it!” The water didn’t stop. Well, I did say the water heater was good, and if she wanted to risk getting frozen when the heat ran out, that was her decision. I couldn’t blame her. I’ve seen real magic, people pulling things out of thin air, doors between dimensions, things that should have been impossible. Very few of them have truly been able to compare to the miracle that is indoor plumbing.

I walked back down the hall to the bedroom I shared with Thomas, only feeling a little guilty about the fact that I had yet to call Mary and tell her we were home. She’d understand. Or she wouldn’t, and we’d deal with it. Either way.

I pushed open the door to find Thomas standing next to the remade bed, buttoning the cuffs of a shirt that still fit him as well as it had fifty years before. He looked up as I stepped inside, offering me a smile that made my heart drop toward my knees. I closed the door behind me.