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Now the fire raged all around Mary’s children. Some walked right into the flames just to know how living-world fire would feel. They could sense the intensity of the heat like a faint fever, but nothing more. Soon the living world had been burned away like so much chaff, revealing the treasures of the town of Eunice.
“Eternity will preserve what it will,” Mary told her children. “That which is worthy, that which is loved, will be blessed into Everlost.”
The little round gazebo in town hall park crossed. So did a statue erected to honor World War II veterans. A church with beautiful stained glass windows and a corner café were now a part of Everlost too. Not many homes crossed, but particular objects from them did. A stuffed animal here, a bicycle there. A clarinet, a rocking chair. Everlost was now littered with odds and ends resting on tiny deadspots and the occasional larger structure. And of course, there were the souls in transition.
When all the sleeping Interlights were gathered, they were laid on the benches of the church and counted. A hundred and seventy-eight in all.
Satisfied, Mary turned to Little Richard, whom she had taken on as her personal assistant. “Let every Afterlight go forth and find an object of desire,” she told him.
“Huh?”
She sighed. “Just tell everyone to pick one thing that’s crossed over—but only one. I will not condone greed.”
“Yes, Miss Mary.” Then he went out to spread the word.
Emergency vehicles had begun arriving from every direction in the living world, and the skinjackers abandoned their hosts, returning to Everlost. Each of them carried with them the smell of smoke and the exhaustion of the living bodies they had inhabited.
Moose was the only one who had not yet returned, but Mary was not too concerned. He was easily distracted. More than likely he was either scavenging for crossed objects, or watching the town burn.
Mary, always an insomnoid, looked out from the beautiful, freshly crossed gazebo at the wonderful ruins of Eunice that night. All her children had found deadspots around the center of town, and either slept, or were engaged in various activities. Only the church was off-limits, for it was full of Interlights.
Mary had assigned two Afterlights who seemed content to tell knock-knock jokes to each other, to be the sentinels of the church.
“When the rest of us leave, you will stay here to guard the ones who sleep,” Mary told them. “And when they awake, you will be in charge. But always remember that it is I who am in charge of you.” Then she had given them a volume of her newest book, penned by hand and painstakingly copied for them by a girl with perfect penmanship who Mary had chosen as her personal scribe.
“Read this,” Mary had told the two jokesters. “Read it daily and when these new souls awake, please have them read it too.”
This was a key part of Mary’s plan. In each place she went, in every location she tore free from the living world, she would leave a team of Afterlights to tend to the sleeping Interlights left behind. Then when they awoke they would have a town to call their own, and would be welcomed into Mary’s extended community.
Yet 178 new Afterlights was just a tiny drop in the bucket. There were more than six billion people in the living world, and one-fifth of those were young enough to be saved by Mary. Even if she did this every single day it would take thousands of years to complete the job. That simply wouldn’t do. The war she had spoken to Milos about simply had to happen: The living had to be turned against one another, but she was still not exactly sure how to bring that about.
As she stood, looking out from the gazebo, a wind blew in the living world, dragging the smoke from the smoldering town westward. Mary could feel her own westward pull as well, stronger now than ever before. The answer to everything lay in that direction, just ahead of her, just past the horizon. Somewhere out there was the center of this strange gravity, and when she found it, when she stood right in the middle of it, she would know exactly what to do.
As she pondered the days ahead, looking out at the smoke, and her Afterlights shining through it, she saw one Afterlight coming toward her. One who wore a helmet. Moose had finally returned, and hopefully with a good excuse as to what had taken him so long . . . but as he got closer, Mary could sense that something was very, very wrong.
* * *
It had been a pretty bad football accident that landed Mitchell “Moose” Moessner’s body comatose in a Pittsburgh convalescent hospital, paralyzed from the neck down. Wilted flowers attested to the fact that he was visited regularly, but no one was visiting him at the moment that Allie “the Outcast” Johnson put his physical self to rest. Unlike Milos, he had not suffered brain damage. In fact, Moose’s brain should have been functioning normally, and yet he had never come out of his coma. It made perfect sense to Allie; consciousness could not exist here while his consciousness was elsewhere.
Moose could have skinjacked his own body if he had chosen to . . . if he had, he would have woken as a quadriplegic with no hope of motion below the neck, and no hope of even breathing for himself. Still, he could have done it, reclaiming some version of his old life. Now, however, that was out of the question.
There were many things that Moose feared: hell, the scar wraith, but God help anyone who witnessed the fury of Mary Hightower. As far as Moose was concerned, her anger was the most frightening thing in the universe—and for the first time ever, he was glad he was wearing a helmet, because he truly believed her rage could make his head explode.
“How could I have been so stupid?” Mary seethed. “How could I have been so blind to not know the truth from the moment Milos lost his ability?”
“Maybe itch a coincidench?” Moose’s eyes were full of tears, but fortunately his face mask hid them, and Mary was not looking too closely.
“If you think that, then you’re a more of a fool than I thought you were.”
He had lost his ability to skinjack only minutes after crashing the tanker truck into the electrical station. And since then he had been hiding, afraid to come back.
Mary paced back and forth in the gazebo. “This is Allie’s doing—I’m sure of it—and it’s all Milos’s fault! He should have sent her down the moment she was captured instead of making her the blasted figurehead of the train. He brought this on all of us!”
“Not really,” said Moose, trying to defend him, because Milos was beyond any ability to defend himself. All of his attention was now on a deck of cards he had taken from one of the other kids. Milos spent all of his time shuffling it, and looking for one-eyed jacks.
“What I want to know is how she found your bodies,” Mary said. “She must have known your true names!”
“Not neshisharily . . . ,” said Moose.
