Текст книги "Everlost"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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“Macramé,” he said.

“Huh?” said Lief.

One day long ago, when Nick was home from school, too sick to do much of anything else, his grandmother gave him some twine, and showed him how to weave it together into fancy patterns. It was called macramé. He had made a hanging-plant holder that was probably still holding a big old spider plant in his living room.

“Lief! ” he said. “Twist around me some more.” And without waiting for Lief to respond, Nick grabbed him and made Lief twist around him again and again until the torque of their tangled ropes made them spin backward, like a rubber band that was wound too tight. But before they could spin too far, Nick said, “Just follow me—do what I do.”

Nick reached out and grabbed another kid.

“Hey!” complained the kid.

Nick ignored him and twisted the kid’s position so that high above their upside-down feet, their ropes tangled. Lief did the same to a kid next to him.

By now there were mumbles of kids around them taking notice. This wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill swinging—this had purpose and design. This was something new.

“What are you doing down there?” demanded the high-strung kid.

“Everybody!” Nick shouted. “Grab the people around you and start crossing your ropes. Get as tangled as you can!”

“Why?” the high-strung kid said.

Nick tried to think of something the high-strung kid would understand. As he was wearing a Boy Scout uniform, Nick figured he knew just the thing. “Ever make a lanyard at Boy Scout camp?” Nick asked. “You know—those plastic strings you weave together to make whistle chains, and stuff?

“Yeah …”

“You start with tons and tons of string, right? But when it’s done it’s really short, once all the strings are woven together.”

“Yeah …” said the kid, beginning to get it.

“And if we keep tangling and tying up our ropes like a lanyard, we’ll get higher and higher off the ground—and maybe if we’re high enough, we could reach that grate up there and—”

“—get out!” said the kid, finishing Nick’s thought.

“I don’t wanna get tangled,” whined some kid far off.

“Shut up!” said the high-strung Boy Scout. “I think it might work. Everybody do what he says. Start tangling yourselves!”

All it took was an order from their leader for every single kid to start tangling. It was a strange dance of kids weaving in and out of one another, grabbing hands, pulling, swinging, stitching their ropes together, and with each stitch made, the collection of hanging kids rose farther off the ground.

It took more than an hour, and when it was done, and there was not an inch of give left in their ropes, they had risen at least twenty feet. The result was hardly a lanyard, or even a macramé plant holder. Their ropes were a tangled mess, and the kids themselves were all tied up inside it like flies caught in the web of a large, psychotic spider. From where Nick hung, he could see the opening above them, so much closer now, only about ten feet away. If he were free from that blasted rope, he could climb up the tangle, and get out. If only there were rats to chew through these ropes.

He looked around him. None of the kids who had been near him before were near him now—he was faced with an entire new set of neighbors. In fact everyone was chatting; those who remembered their names were introducing themselves. This was more life than any of these kids had shown for years. Even the screamer, who had pouted ever since Allie forbid him to scream, was happily talking away. Still, while the tangle brought some much needed variety to their dangling existence, it hadn’t freed anyone. Nick had to think—there had to be more he could do. And then, among all the chatty voices he heard one kid ask:

“What time is it?”

Through the interwoven ropes, he saw the kid in pajamas who everyone called Hammerhead. An idea came to him, and it amazed Nick that no one in the chiming chamber had thought of this before, being so deep and docile in their upside-down ruts. But then, Nick himself hadn’t really been thinking outside the box until today, had he? There “wasn’t much slack left in Nick’s rope, but he pulled his way through the clog of kids, and got them to shift positions, enabling him to inch forward until finally he was just a few feet away from Hammerhead, who smiled at him, showing his pointy teeth. “This is more fun than a feeding frenzy!”

“Uh… right. Hey, how’d you like to help me out?”

“Sure. What do you want me to do?” It took Hammerhead less than five minutes to gnaw through Nick’s rope.

“There’s a problem in the chiming chamber,” a nervous crewman told the McGill.

The McGill sat forward in his throne. “What kind of problem?”

“Well… sir … they all seem to have gotten…tangled.”

“So untangle them.”

“Well…it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

Frustrated, the McGill came out on deck, and went over to the grate above the chiming chamber. He pulled it open, and looked down into the depths to see the situation for himself. His captives weren’t just tangled, they were talking.

They sounded…happy. This was entirely unacceptable.

“Do we have something vile to pour on them?”

“I’ll go check,” said the crewman, and he ran off.

The McGill looked down at the tangled mob of kids again. “They look very uncomfortable,” he said. Certainly they were talking now, but in time, they’d grow tired of this new situation, and realize how much more unpleasant this tangle was than simply hanging upside down.

“Pour something on them, then let them be,” the McGill told the crewman when he returned. “They’ll be miserable again soon enough.”

As he walked off, for an instant the McGill thought he caught a whiff of chocolate somewhere on the open deck, but decided it must have just been his imagination.

CHAPTER 22

Member of the Cabinet Nick had made it out, but there was nowhere on the Sulphur Queen for him to go.

Everywhere, at every staircase, every gangway, every hatchway was some Ugloid cleaning. True, the ship was full of dark corners in which to hide, but dark corners were useless to him, because he couldn’t douse his Afterlight glow. A corner was no longer dark once he was in it. He didn’t have a plan yet for getting off the ship, but maybe if he could find Allie they could work together.

By now she must know the ship better than he did. The problem was, he had no idea where she was, and he wasn’t in any position to go traipsing around the ship looking for her. In the end, he retreated back into the bowels of the ship.

Not the chiming chamber, but one of the treasure holds. It was the best place to hide, for no one dared to come down and disturb the McGill’s possessions. He would hide here until the night hours, when the crew was down below, engaged in games, or brawls, or whatever. Those were the hours when he could more easily sneak around the ship. Then he would search for Allie. But for now, he found himself a large oak cabinet. He slipped inside, pulled the doors tightly closed and waited.

The dragon’s hoard in the central treasure hold was a treacherous mountain of mismatched booty. Allie, who had been here several times hunting for books worth reading and other things to pass the time, knew she had seen an old-fashioned typewriter, she just wasn’t sure ‘where. The stuff in the chamber was a mixture of pure junk and treasure. The McGill did not discriminate; if an object crossed over, and he could get his hot little hands on it, it came onboard, and got dumped here. Jewels sat side by side with empty beer bottles.

The McGill was currently in his “war room,” planning a landing party to a Greensoul trap in Rockaway Point. As he was occupied, this gave Allie time to search. Climbing between the old filing cabinets and car tires, coat racks, and bed frames was no easy chore, and with no light but her own glow to guide her through the debris, it was rough going. She nearly got pinned beneath an airplane propeller, and flattened by an iron lung, but finally she found the typewriter beneath an old table. It was made of black dull metal. The keys were faded from many years of use before it had crossed over. A little emblem on its face said “Smith-Corona.”

Her grandmother had an old-fashioned typewriter like this one—she still used it.

“Words aren’t words unless you pound them out,” she used to say. Allie found a slip of paper among the mess, and figured out how to load it into the machine.

Typing, Allie discovered, was a lot like key-boarding, with none of the speed and five times the effort. She shuddered to think of people spending day after day plunging their fingers against the little circular keys, which sank down a whole inch before flinging up an iron arm to smack the ribbon and leave a single letter imprinted on the page. She was thankful she had only a short phrase to type, but even so, she made enough mistakes to slow her down. The little typing arms kept getting stuck together like too many people trying to fit through a door. It took her four attempts before she had typed her message perfectly, then she put the typewriter back where she found it, and went looking for scissors.

In the end she had to settle for the tiny scissors on a Swiss Army knife she had found on the floor. When she was done, she slipped the little piece of paper into her pocket. She was about to put down the Swiss Army knife when she heard the voice behind her.

“Admiring my treasure?”

She spun so fast, the Swiss Army knife flew from her hand and embedded itself in the McGill’s dangling eye. He pulled it out and dropped it to the floor. The wound healed instantaneously, as did all wounds in Everlost.

“Careful,” he said. “You’ll put out an eye with that thing.”

Allie gave him a weak little chuckle.

“If you’re trying to steal something, I wouldn’t if I were you,” he said.

“Anything you steal I will make you eat. It might not hurt but you’ll feel it sitting heavy in your stomach forever.”

“I’m not stealing,” Allie told him. “I’m just exploring.”

The McGill turned to look toward the door leading to the chiming chamber. “I’m surprised you’re not visiting your friends.’ “I don’t need to visit them,” she said. “You’ll free them soon enough.”

“Are you so sure of that? How do you know I’ll keep my word?”

“I don’t. But what choice do I have but to trust you?”

The McGill pulled his lips back in a smile, and reached a hand toward her. She grimaced, not wanting to feel his dry bloated touch, but instead her cheek was met by something soft. She looked down to see that his right hand was no longer covered in peeling scales, but instead in soft, mink-like fur. The fingertips still had sharpened yellow nails, but the hand itself was soft.

“As I said, I’ve been working on giving myself a soft touch.”

Allie still pulled away. “Don’t change yourself for me.”

“I’ll change myself anyway I like.”

“It’s still monstrous.”

“Good. That’s how I like it.”

The McGill looked around proudly at his treasure trove. “There are girls’ clothes in here. You could find something nicer to wear.”

“I can’t take off what I’m wearing. It’s what I died in.”

“You can wear something over it.”

Then the McGill spotted a big oak cabinet. “I think there might be something in here,” and with both hands he grabbed the handles and pulled it open ·wide.

Nick had heard the whole conversation between Allie and the McGill, and through it all he counted the seconds until the McGill would leave. When he heard the McGill mention the cabinet, his heart sank. It was just his luck wasn’t it? If the McGill opened the cabinet and saw him, he’d probably hurl the entire thing over the side with Nick still in it. Nick pulled his knees to his chest, tried desperately to hide behind a wedding dress that was hanging there, and closed his eyes.

The cabinet creaked open, and Allie, who was standing a few feet back, saw Nick immediately. She gasped. She couldn’t help it. The McGill, however, standing right in front of the cabinet, had a view of the wedding dress, and not the boy behind it. The McGill turned to Allie, obviously thinking her gasp was about the gown.

Allie forced her eyes away from Nick, so the McGill couldn’t follow her gaze.

The tip of Nick’s shoe was sticking out from under the dress, so Allie approached it, and fluffed the petticoat out a bit, pretending to admire the lacy fabric. It hid the tip of the shoe from view. Thankfully the dress was thick enough to hide Nick’s glow, and the cabinet had a strong camphor stench of mothballs, which overpowered any hint of chocolate in the air.

“I won’t be a monster’s bride,” Allie said, then she grabbed the doors of the cabinet and forced them closed, nearly catching the McGill’s hand in the process. The McGill glared at her. “Who said I’d ask you?” Then he stormed away.

Allie waited until she was sure he was gone, then waited twice that long again before she returned to the cabinet and pulled it open.

“What are you doing in here! Do you know how dangerous it is? If they find out you escaped—”

“They won’t find out. There are hundreds of kids in there—it’s not like they count us all the time.”

“If you’re caught, you’re history.”

“So I won’t get caught.”

Allie looked around. “Did Lief come with you? Is he hiding somewhere else?”

Nick shook his head. “He’s still in there with the others.” Then he smiled.

“It’s a mess in there, I got them all tangled up.”

“How is hiding in here any better than hanging in there?”

“I’m not staying in this cabinet. As soon as I can, I’m getting off this ship, and I’m bringing back help.”

“And exactly how are you going to do that?”

“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet.”

“I’m the one with the plan,” said Allie. “Escaping now will just screw things up!”

“We’ve been waiting on your ‘plan’ for weeks.”

Weeks, thought Allie. Has it been weeks? “The best plans take time,” she told him.

Nick took a moment to look her over, then said, “I think you like it with the McGill. You’ve got some kind of power over him, don’t you? I don’t know what it is, but you do, and you like it.”

Allie wanted to just grab him and shake him. It was an insulting suggestion. It was preposterous. It was true.

“I have a scheme to get us all out of here, if you just wait.”

“I’m not waiting anymore. And anyway, two schemes are better than one.”

Allie clenched her fists and growled, sounding more like the McGill than she cared to admit. “Even if you get off the ship, who do you think is going to help you?”

“Mary,” Nick said.

Allie laughed at that, and realized how loud her voice had gotten. She looked around to make sure they were still alone, then brought her voice down to an intense whisper. “She didn’t help us before, and she won’t help us now.”

“I can convince her to. I know I can.”

“You ‘re an idiot!”

“We’ll see who’s the idiot!”

As frustrating as this was, Allie did not want to stand around and argue. Every moment they spoke was another moment they were in danger of being caught.

“I can steal a lifeboat,” Nick said.

“Once they realize it’s gone, it won’t take long to figure out who took it. The McGill will punish Lief, and probably me, too.”

“We can cut Lief down—all three of us can go!”

Allie thought about it, but shook her head. “The McGill thinks I’m teaching him how to possess people. The second he realizes I’m gone, he’ll come after me.”

No, thought Allie. The best way to get Nick off the ship would be to do it secretly, and in such a way that there were no telltale signs that he had gone.

“How about this?” Allie said. “Tomorrow morning the McGill is sending out a landing party to check one of his Greensoul traps. If you can somehow get aboard that boat when it heads for shore …”

“Okay. That might work.”

“I’ll stay on deck, and try to keep anyone there distracted. But it’s up to you to find a way to hide on that boat.” Allie thought about it. “I’ll put some blankets in the boat—maybe you can hide beneath them.” Allie looked around again, and leaned closer to Nick. “If you get through to Mary, tell her that iF she wants to face the McGill, then she has to go to Atlantic City. There’s a gang there that can help her fight the McGill, if she can convince them to join forces.” Allie shut the doors to the cabinet, closing Nick in once more.

“Remember– tomorrow at dawn.”

“How will I know when it’s dawn?” said Nick from inside. She left Nick to work that one out for himself. She climbed up to the quarterdecks, then out into the open air. It was twilight, and the McGill was at the bow, watching the sun set over the land. He did this each day. The McGill was such an odd beast; reveling in his own putrescence, and yet taking joy from the beauty of a world he was no longer a part of.

Nick said they had been there for weeks, and Allie couldn’t deny it. For the life of her she had no feel for the time that had passed. Well, she had stalled long enough. Nick was right; it was time for action.

She quietly went to the McGill’s throne, dipped her hand into the spittoon and pulled out a fortune cookie. Gently she found a corner of the paper inside, and carefully pulled it out, crumbled it, and inserted the fake fortune that she had typed. Then she dropped the cookie back in the container, where it sat like a little time bomb, waiting for the McGill’s grubby, greedy claw.

At dawn the following day, the McGill and a crew of five left the Sulphur Queen on a lifeboat for a brief trip to Rockaway Point. Someone had left several blankets in the corner of the boat, and the McGill removed them, ordering they be thrown into the hold with the rest of his belongings. There was no need of them here. The boat was lowered to the water, the McGill ordered the motor started, and they were off.

No one paid much attention to the mooring rope tied to the lifeboat’s bow, which dragged in the water. Had they pulled that rope in, they would have found Nick, submerged beneath the waves, holding on with the rope wrapped around his arm twice as the boat powered its way to shore.

CHAPTER 23

Outrageous Fortune There was one flaw in Allie’s plan. She had no idea when the McGill would get to the particular fortune cookie she had planted. She thought she would have to add a few more to the mix to better her odds, but before she could, her whole situation changed.

Just before she planned to leave for the treasure hold to write more fortunes, Pinhead and four Ugloids broke into her room without knocking.

“He wants you on deck,” Pinhead said. “He wants you on deck now.”

This wasn’t unusual. The McGill called for people on a whim, as if all the clocks in Everlost were set by his personal schedule. This was the first time, however, that Pinhead had barged in without as much as knocking.

“What does he want?”

“You,” was all Pinhead said, and although he had been helpful to her in the past, he offered no hint of an explanation, not a wink, not a grin. “You’d better not keep him waiting.”

When Allie came to the throne deck, the McGill sat there, his claws clenched together, the look in his terrible eyes more terrible than usual. Next to the McGill stood a large Afterlight Allie hadn’t seen for a while. The one dressed in that ridiculous wrestler’s outfit.

“Good evening,” the McGill said.

“You wanted to see me?” said Allie.

“Yes. I would like to know steps eight through twelve.”

“Finish step seven,” Allie said, “and then I’ll let you know step eight.” Allie had really come up with a good one for step seven. As the McGill was so fond of bullying people around, Allie decided that the seventh step would be a seventy-two-hour vow of silence. So far the McGill couldn’t even make twenty-four. “You just spoke,” she said. “I guess you’ll have to start all over again.”

The McGill motioned to the wrestler kid. “Piledriver, you can bring it out now.”

Piledriver dutifully went into a side room, and came back rolling a barrel that he set in the center of the room.

“Are you putting me in there?” Allie asked. “Is that it? If you do you’ll never know the last four steps.”

The McGill nodded to Piledriver again, and he pried open the barrel. It was full of liquid—but there was also something else in the barrel – something that glowed—and once the lid was off, it rose out, dripping in slimy pickle juice.

The moment Allie saw who it was, she knew she was in serious, serious trouble.

It was the Haunter.

“You!” said the Haunter, the moment he saw Allie.

The McGill stood up. “I am the one who brought you here,” the McGill told the Haunter. “You will answer my questions.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll seal you back in that barrel.”

The Haunter held up his hand, and various loose objects began to fly around the room, striking the McGill.

“Stop that, or your next stop is the center of the Earth!” the McGill roared.

“Your skill at moving objects does not impress me, nor does it bother me. I bested you before, and if you fight me, I’ll do it again —and this time I’ll show no mercy.” Slowly the flying objects fell to the ground. “Good. Now you will answer my questions.”

The Haunter looked at him with hatred so strong it could have warped time. “What do you want to know?”

“Don’t believe a word he says!” Allie blurted out.

The McGill ignored her. “Tell me about this girl and her friends. Tell me what she knows.”

The Haunter laughed. “Her? She knows nothing! I offered to teach her, but she refused.”

“I didn’t need him!” Allie countered. “I was taught by someone else.”

“There is no one else who teaches the things I teach,” the Haunter said, arrogantly. “You knew nothing when you came to me, you know nothing now.”

“I know how to get inside people!” Allie told him. “I know how to skinjack.” She tried to sound strong and sure of herself, but her voice came out crackly and weak.

“It’s true,” said the McGill. “I saw her do it.”

The Haunter climbed out of the barrel and approached her, leaving a trail of salty brine where his moccasins fell. “It’s possible,” he said. “She does have an undeveloped skill to move objects, so it’s possible that she may also have the skill to skinjack.”

The McGill came closer to the two of them. “What I want to know is this: Can the skill be taught? Can she teach it to me?”

The Haunter didn’t bat an eye. “No, she cannot.”

The McGill pointed a crooked, sharp-nailed, furry finger at the Haunter. “Then you teach me how to skinjack.”

The Haunter shook his head. “It can’t be taught. Either you have the skill, or you don’t. You’ve been in Everlost long enough to know what your skills are. If you have not possessed the living by now, then you never will.”

Allie could feel the McGill’s anger like the heat of a furnace. “I see.” Like the heat at the center of the Earth.

“He’s lying!” Allie shouted. “He just wants to win you over, and get you to trust him, so he can betray you the moment you’re not looking! I’m the one who’s been helping you all this time. Who are you going to believe, him or me?”

The McGill looked at both of them, the Haunter on his left, Allie on his right.

“Who are you going to believe?” Allie asked again.

The McGill regarded Allie for a moment more, then turned to Piledriver, and the other crewmen present. “Seal him back in the barrel, then throw him overboard.”

“What?” the Haunter shouted.

“There is only room for ONE monster in Everlost,” the McGill growled.

The Haunter raised his hands, and objects began to fly once more—but although he had powerful magic, he was small and outnumbered. No shower of objects could save him from being shoved back in the barrel. “You will suffer,” the Haunter shouted. “I will find a way to make you suffer!” But soon all that came out were angry gurgles from within the barrel. Piledriver put the lid back on and hammered the nails back into place. Then he and Pinhead grabbed the barrel, and heaved it over the side. It disappeared beneath the waves without as much as a splash, sinking to the sea floor, and beyond. Thus, the Haunter met his destiny.

Once he was gone, Allie felt relief wash through her like a cleansing rain.

“There,” she said. “Now that that’s over with, you need to get on with step seven. No—don’t speak. You can start now. Seventy-two hours. I know you can do it.”

And the McGill didn’t speak. Instead he reached out and a crewman handed the McGill a paintbrush dripping with black paint.

“What are you doing?” Allie asked.

“What I should have done the moment you came on board.”

Then he painted the number 0001 on her blouse, and said:

“Chime her.”

The McGill had not felt his temper rage this powerfully for a very long time. He had forgotten how good it felt.

Anger!

Let it fill him. Let it rage like a dance of flames. Anger at her for her lies, anger at himself for allowing his feelings to cloud his judgment. Anger enough to cauterize any vulnerability, burning closed the wound she had left in his twisted heart by her deception. This girl had played him for a fool, but that was over.

With the addition of Allie to the chiming chamber, his collection was now complete. He went down below to watch. The crew had untangled them, and now they all swung free again. He watched as they turned Allie upside down, so that the 0001 on her shirt read 1000.

A brave man’s life is worth a thousand cowardly souls.

From the first time he read that fortune years ago, he knew what it meant. He could have his life back, in exchange for a thousand Afterlights. Souls were the currency with which he could buy back his life. Imagine it! Flesh and bone, blood and breath. For a short while, he had thought skinjacking would be better, but that option had never really existed, had it? No, there was only one way to return to the world of the living. This bargain: his life for a thousand souls.

Whether the bargain was with deity or demon, it didn’t matter to the McGill. All that mattered were the terms. Well, he had satisfied the terms. He had a thousand souls for payment. Now all he needed was a location to make the exchange.

So he returned to his throne room, and went straight to the spittoon. He reached in, pulled out a cookie, and smashed it against the arm of the throne, extracting the piece of paper. He held the fortune with anticipation for a moment, before gazing upon its words. The instant he saw the message, he knew what it meant, and for the first time in many years, the McGill was afraid … because the fortune said:

Your victory waits at the Piers of Defeat.

Ignoring all the warnings in his mind that told him it was a bad idea, the mighty McGill set the Sulphur Queen on a course toward Atlantic City.

PART FOUR A Thousand Souls Everlost CHAPTER 24

Nick’s Journey Over a treacherous bridge, and across the entire breadth of Brooklyn, Nick marched from Rockaway Point to Manhattan. He had no way of knowing that even as he crossed that first bridge, Allie was being chimed by the McGill.

His mission was clear, but by no means simple: Get help. More specifically, get help from Mary. That was the hard part, because Allie had already told him how Mary had refused to put her children at risk before. As much as it hurt Nick that Mary chose to leave him in a barrel, he admired the selflessness it implied. Her motto wasn’t “Leave no child behind,” it was “Put no child in danger.” It made getting help from her tricky.

Nick encountered no Afterlights on his trek toward Mary’s domain. Certainly there were many dead-spots on the way, and perhaps there were Afterlights hiding here and there, but he wasn’t looking for them. He was single-minded.

He marched down the center of Flatbush Avenue, cars and pedestrians passing through him. Unlike Allie he had no skill for connecting with the living world, and he found that the more he ignored that world, the more it slipped into shadow. The living world was as insubstantial to him as beams of light from a movie projector, and the living themselves were like the movie on the screen;

only important if he chose to watch. He could see how Mary had come to see Everlost as the real world. The true world. It would be easy to trick himself into believing the same thing—but did he want to do that?

For a moment he chose to focus on the “movie” of the living; a child and mother crossing the street to catch a bus; an old woman taking her time, and a cabbie who honked at her, only to get a rap on the hood from her cane. It made Nick laugh. Even if he was not a part of it, that world was charged with a vibrant spark that Everlost didn’t have. No, the living world could not be dismissed or ignored, and for the first time he began to wonder if perhaps Mary’s disregard for the living world was nothing more than envy.

As he neared Manhattan, his memory of a heart began to pound in anticipation.

What would Mary do when she saw him? Would she be reserved and dignified? Would she scold him for having left in the first place? He knew he still had feelings for her that could not be destroyed by barrel or beast, but did she have any real feelings toward him? He had thought to learn a skill from the Haunter—a skill Mary could use. Well, Nick had no new skills to offer her, but he had been changed. He was fearless – or if not truly fearless, then at least no longer fearful. By the time he got to Manhattan he was running and he didn’t stop until he reached her towers.

Mary knew something must be horribly wrong. She knew because of the look of anguish on Vari’s face. She’d never seen him look so bleak.

“Vari, what is it? What’s happened?”

“He’s back,” was all Vari said. Then he shuffled away, hanging his head low in a dejected defeat she didn’t quite understand. Before she could ask him anything else, she saw someone she thought she’d never see again, standing in her doorway.

“Nick?”

“Hi, Mary.”

There was more chocolate on his face now than before. As with many Afterlights, changes weren’t always the desired ones, but Mary didn’t care, because he was here, and beneath the chocolate there was a smile just for her.

It was rare that Mary lost herself, but this was one occasion where the control and poise she prided herself on flew out the window. She ran to Nick and hugged him tightly, not wanting to let him go. It was only now in this moment that Mary realized the fondness she had felt for him was more than that. It was love—something she had not felt in all her years in Everlost. It had been easier to suppress it when she thought he was lost, but now the emotion came in a wellspring, and she kissed him, giving herself over to the heady smell and rich taste of milk chocolate.