Zib, the students, learning at the hand of the master. Water runs through their hands and is transmuted into blood; dust is transmuted into air. Maybe he could have just . . . asked . . . and the ropes would have gone to wind and nothingness.
“We need to stop thinking like there are rules,” he says.
“These people are bonkers and I want my clothes,” says Dodger.
“Agreed,” says Roger. “The door’s this way. Come on.”
They cross the room with quick, economical steps. It’s remarkably easy to walk without looking at each other; they just keep swapping off whose eyes are closed, letting them both stay anchored in the present without risking seeing something they shouldn’t.
The door slams open just before they would have reached it, and there is Leigh Barrow, grinning like a skeleton, a bone saw in her hands. “Did you think you were going somewhere?” she asks, in a voice like oleander honey, like every poisoned poem the world has ever known. “Lay down. It’ll hurt less if you lay down.”
Dodger breaks away from her brother. Dodger, who has always attacked the world, who has approached every opportunity as the chance to challenge for dominance, and win. Her shoulder hits Leigh in the center of her chest, and then the two are falling, a writhing mass of limbs and deadly edges as Leigh waves her saw, trying to make contact with Dodger without cutting herself.
“Stop!” shouts Roger, and he doesn’t believe it will work, not here, not against the woman who has been the monster in the back of his mind since he was born, since she came to his house and threatened everything he’d ever known. He doesn’t believe it will work, and he’s still growing into the space of his own skin: in the face of his doubt, nothing happens. Leigh continues to thrash. Dodger, who was never his target, continues to fight.
“Run!” Dodger shrieks.
He knows she’s not asking him to abandon her: this request, made here and now, is a cry for help, for him to find a way to save them both. He still hesitates long enough for Leigh’s saw to draw first blood before he runs deeper into the silent compound, looking for an answer.
Nothing here is familiar. Everything here is familiar. The déjà vu that has defined his life haunts him in every hallway, even places where no one would ever take an infant. He’s seen this place before in other timelines, other attempts to manifest. It’s enough to make him wonder how many times they’ve supposedly “won,” only to follow Erin into the dark and die here, miles below the fields of golden corn.
Then a body is running toward him down the hall, and he skids to a stop bare seconds before he would have collided with a teenage girl whose hair carries surprisingly green undertones, like she grew from the corn herself. She makes a small squeaking noise when she sees that he’s naked, her cheeks flaring red, and tries to run past him.
He grabs her arm before he can. “Who are you?” he demands.
“Kimberley,” she says. “Please. I have to find my brother.”
Of course. “His is name is Timothy, right?” She nods, eyes wide. “I’m Roger. My sister, Dodger, is fighting a woman we thought was dead. I need to stop her. Can you help me?”
Her wide-eyed gaze turns wary. “You’re them. You’re the ones who stole the Doctrine.”
“No, honey, we’re not. We’re the ones who earned it, and we’re the ones who want to save you. Unless this is what you want your life to be?” He waves his free hand, indicating the tunnel around them. “If we get away, so do you. You’re just a kid. You deserve the chance to be something more than everything.”
“That’s what the other lady said, before she stole my candle.”
Other lady . . . “You saw Erin? You gave her a Hand of Glory?” God, when did all this start making sense? When did these become the building blocks of an ordinary conversation, on an ordinary day?
Kimberley nods tightly. Roger sighs.
“All right. Erin’s . . . going to do what Erin’s going to do. Right now, we need to save my sister. Can you help me?”
“Mr. Reed says when we’re the Doctrine, we won’t need anybody to help us.”
“Mr. Reed is wrong,” says Roger. “You’re always going to need people. Please. Let me need you now.”
“Okay,” she whispers. He lets go of her arm. She offers her hand and he takes