theorists have proposed the multiverse theory as an explanation, but scientists reject this, as there has not been any concrete proof that any contact between multiverses is possible at this juncture, much less evidence that matter can be removed from one universe and inserted into another.
Sloane looked up at Nero, who had been reading over her shoulder. “People here don’t know that you’ve figured out how to access another universe,” she said.
“It seemed prudent to be discreet until we understand the repercussions,” Nero said. “We can’t have just anyone trying to poke their way into another universe, after all.”
There was a section in the Peoria Chronicle called “Magical Oddities.” Most of the content sounded like something from the National Enquirer: people growing wings and tails, alien-abduction stories, disappearing vehicles (that later turned out to have been towed or stolen). But some of it seemed more believable: a mailbox launching into the sky like a rocket, a cat clawing its way out of a grave, another sighting of the Resurrectionist—this time in Iowa.
“So you’re an ‘I’ll tell you only what you need to know’ kind of guy, then.” Sloane set the newspaper down. Her fingers were gritty with ink. The light was beginning to fade from behind the headline letters, leaving her vision spotted. “How do I know you’re telling me enough?”
Nero sighed. “I know I owe you—all of you—an apology,” he said. “It’s inadequate, of course, but—I can’t emphasize enough how desperate we were after the Chosen One’s defeat. It was like . . . the world was ending.”
Sloane remembered the nights the five of them had thought the world was ending. There had been a few. The one after she and Albie returned from captivity was the worst of them, with Albie and Sloane in the hospital and Matt pacing the hall between their rooms, unable to sleep. Esther’s mother had been diagnosed with cancer just two days before. So they had wheeled Sloane into Albie’s room, and everyone had gotten drunk.
The feeling was what she remembered best. The exhaustion, but also the frantic need to escape, like she was fighting her way out of a straitjacket. There had to be a way out, a weakness they hadn’t discovered, an avenue they hadn’t explored—
They had never considered a parallel dimension. But if they had, she was sure that in her fevered state, she would have kidnapped someone to save the world.
“This Resurrectionist,” she said. “He’s powerful?”
Nero nodded. “Anyone can use a siphon and do something, but there’s plenty of variation in skill levels. I say skill, but skill really has little to do with it. Talent is perhaps more accurate,” he said. “Wrist siphons are the simplest. Throat siphons are expensive and require a natural affinity. The others suggest a high level of innate magical ability. Ear, eye, mouth. Chest.” He shrugged. “You can put one almost anywhere, though some are illegal because of the type of magic they produce.”
“Such as?”
“Ah, well. Placing one on the spine is said to render the wearer subject to another person’s control,” he said. “And placing one on the crotch causes horrific disfigurement.”
Sloane cringed. “People really will put anything down there, won’t they?”
Nero nodded sagely, but he was smiling. “In any case, siphons are difficult to master, and most people can’t wear more than two at once or they will fall into a coma,” he said. “The Resurrectionist wears five.”
Sloane let out a low whistle.
“His innate ability combined with his nature is . . . catastrophic,” Nero said darkly.
“What do you know about his nature?” She spoke with care, sensing a shift in Nero’s mood.
Nero was quiet. The sun was high above the edge of the skylights now, spilling into the stacks and shining between the books. It reached them even in the back room where they stood among the newspapers.
“My sister assisted the Chosen One,” Nero said. “One night, she was . . . taken. Tortured. And her body was left hovering over this building. It took days to figure out how to get her down so I could bury her.”
Sloane remembered the day they brought her brother’s body back from the Drain site. In a government-issued casket. It hadn’t fit in any room in the house, so they’d put it in the garage for the night before the funeral. She had gone there after her mother was asleep, just to sit with him. She hadn’t wanted him to be alone, as foolish as that was. She knew he wasn’t there anymore,