The Uzi screeched in protest as Sarah removed the empty mag. There was supposed to be a pin in the receiver to keep the bullets from falling onto the ground; however, the influx of mana from the Light had caused the part to subtly warp. It meant there was now a long scratch along what was once unblemished steel. "Fucking..." Sarah flipped the magazine around and inserted the spare that was clipped to the base. The cartridges were sticky and didn't want to slide home, so she slammed them with the flat of her palm until they finally agreed to cooperate.

At the same time that Sarah almost broke her wrist, thunder began to rumble through the increasingly tempestuous sky. The air currents were agitated for the same reason why Frosty had nearly come to life, and they were dragging along the storm, which Sarah had sensed earlier in the evening. Altogether, the noise was nearly enough to drown out the sirens, rapidly approaching from the north.

Sarah figured she had about three minutes until the police pulled into the parking lot. If she was still here when they arrived, Mannly would do his best to leave her holding the bag. Hell, that shifty bastard might even pull the 'scared kid' routine just so he could force it into her hands. It was hard to say; she suspected it'd come down to how much he valued his host. Sarah assumed he'd play it safe. The youth had been on Earth for over five years now, and most of her peers got possessive within two. If it'd let him keep living the high life, he wouldn't rock such a luxurious boat.

A thin film of ice broke around her hand as Sarah yanked on her car door. The Subaru's paint was normally an unobtrusive blue; however, the ice rink's rampaging mana had left a layer of pale rime spread across the azure frame. She prayed the brittle hoar frost hadn't wrecked the engine too. If she got arrested because her ride was less robust than her gun, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Come on," she muttered as she twisted the key in the ignition. "Don't you dare quit on me now." The pistons sputtered and then engaged with a wet hum. When Sarah was certain the Light hadn't turned her fuel tank into an IED, she pulled out onto the road.

The asphalt was dangerously slick for the initial three hundred feet. After she reached the intersection, though, the blacktop began to band. First, with what appeared to be a source of pure 'Water' mana and then a more conceptually mixed 'Earth.' Of the two, the latter was a bigger problem, since it caused alternating pillars of granite to pockmark the narrow boulevard. The former just made the shoulder wet.

Sarah activated her windshield wipers to better combat the spray. Through a wave of glistening droplets, the flashing lights of two police cruisers stood out against the starless horizon. Their distant sirens looked like tiny balls of tricolored lightning, pitched by angels on high. They were also positively humming as they raced each other to the bottom of the hill.

Sarah hoped the officers driving the cars wouldn't pancake themselves against the road's latest obstruction. To ensure she didn't join them in the morgue, she checked her speedometer's display. The little, orange needle was still under the legal limit. Unless the dispatcher had been able to I.D. her during the call, the patrol should just pass on by.

Her stolen shotgun shivered beneath the dashboard every time the blonde hit a pothole. Sarah put her hand on the barrel to prevent it from slipping beneath the brake while she watched the cops dip into her lane to avoid a patch of molten tar. It left the three vehicles uncomfortably close to one another when they finally crossed paths.

If either of the officers glanced in Sarah's direction, the parasite couldn't tell. Half of the streetlights were either inoperable or turned off, and there was a slight tint to their windows, which prevented her from peaking inside. All she could make out through the foggy glass were their vague silhouettes and the glow from an open laptop.

The air snapped with a sharp crack as a bolt of lightning ricocheted between the clouds. The deafening boom sent Sarah's heart into overdrive and her free hand shooting towards the wheel. She missed it by about three inches. Instead, her wrist slapped against the steering column and her forearm along the ring. Her Subaru swerved. Neither of the cops turned around, despite her close brush with the guardrail. If her near death experience hadn't grabbed their attention, she must not be on their radar. Not really. Certainly, no more than any other vehicle on the road.

And honestly, what were they even going to do if she happened to catch their eye? Turn around? Chase her down? Sarah laughed until her stomach hurt. No, she'd be ear-marked for a follow up once they'd gotten a handle on the current crisis. Since there was a decent chance her cover was already blown, Sarah was determined not to sweat it. 'Better,' she thought, 'to focus on the more pressing issues.'

Issues like chasing down Townsend before he could go to ground. The parasite had a sizeable lead on her, if Mannly had been telling the truth, and he'd apparently found a new host, which she'd have a hard time differentiating from Adam. If that wasn't bad enough, the Light's mana had done a real number on the city in general. It was hard to spot anything too egregious while her heartbeat was ringing in her ears; however, the more distance she put between herself and the rink, the easier it became to assess the damage.

In short? The weeping thorns spilling out from the underbrush were only a minor concern. A far bigger one was the knock the Light had dealt to the public's sense of safety. For two weeks, most of the nation had been skating by on the assumption that they could avoid all of this spooky bullshit by sticking their head in the sand. Then, the Network had grabbed them by the throat and strangled their dreams in the proverbial crib. It was enough to make you consider breaking out the benzos. Even though the mana surge had only lasted for a few minutes, the effects it had left behind were both ubiquitous and unavoidable. The level of danger the transformations represented didn't even factor into it: people were just plain scared.

As Sarah drove through the suburbs of downtown Bridgewater, it became increasingly obvious whenever she saw families fleeing their home. Where they thought they were going, she couldn't say. It wasn't like it'd be any safer up north. Provided a household made it past the edge of the [Regional Area], there was a good chance that events would simply repeat themselves once their neighbors hit a milestone of their own. Such was the nature of the beast.

Well, part of it, anyway. People comprised much of the rest. Hungry; hurting; desperate to get ahead. Sarah would say she'd seen it all before, but to be honest Deravan had been much worse. So far, no one was murdering their sibling in order to eat his corpse. Until a toddler rolled over and began gnawing upon his brother, it was hard to match the same level of misery. Deravan... Deravan had truly been a shithole by every metric save natural beauty. The beaches were terrific; the people inspired only terror. Once, Sarah had been part of that storm and cruel enough to navigate its currents; years later, she'd been deployed to Earth, and the decades of peace had filed away her edge. Townsend... Townsend had yet to finish that process. Hiding from a beating was still burned into his brain. It left Sarah increasingly certain he'd turtled up, the longer she went without a sighting.

The milky glow of her headlights played across the shuttered windows of a worn-down laundromat. The sign read, '24/7 service,' but the offer was either out of date or more ambitious than the owner himself. The building next to it, an unenfranchised diner named 'Folley's,' had closed at eleven. Sarah checked the doors to see if either lock had been picked, and then pressed her face up against the glass when the handles refused to budge.

The restaurant's interior was unoccupied from what little she could make out. There was a bar off to the side, and a tiny window leading into the kitchen, but neither was any livelier than the rest of the abandoned strip. If Townsend had broken in, he'd been far more circumspect than usual.

And that was a problem, because Sarah looked suspicious as hell skulking by the side of the curb. There were a pair of cops literally right down the block. All it'd take to create the world's most awkward conversation was for one of them to pack it in early. Meanwhile, searching for Townsend was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even if she got lucky, and caught the warspawn red-handed, there was no guarantee she'd be able to recognize the person she was looking at. It was just... she didn't want to give up. She didn't want to give the bastard a pass. Her vendetta had long since crossed the line into naked spite, but so what? Sarah wasn't acting like a crazed stalker because she was concerned about her image - she was doing it to murder Townsend. To fuck every piece of his scaley ass.

If only she could pin him down. Bit of a key phrase there. One which felt increasingly unlikely as the sound of sirens cut out and Sarah grew resigned to her shortcomings. It was late, she was tired and there was a point when even the most naked fury was smothered by exhaustion and ennui. Giving up wasn't how she wanted the night to end, but the blonde was used to disappointment. She'd even go so far as to call herself an expert.

A light drizzle chose that moment to precipitate across the lane. The rain was gentle, and lacked the poetic timing to wait until the clouds were directly above her head; however, Sarah could still feel the weight of the water's presence baring down on her all the same. It was nearly paralyzing. Returning to the comfort of her car would have been the simplest thing in the world, yet she chose to loiter by the bike-rack and watch the curtain inch closer to her refuge.

The dust-strewn concrete darkened to a muddy brown along a line you could have traced with a ruler. When it was less than a pace away, Sarah felt her phone vibrate and reached down to check the display. The screen read, '617-883-9250.' She wished it was a robo-call, instead. You could ignore a telemarketer without having to feel guilty; if Sarah blew her grandmother off, she was definitely going to hell.

Her finger swiped at the flashing, green button. Amelia Hauser didn't wait for the call to connect before she started talking. "-arah?! Sarah is that you?! Please tell me this piece of junk is finally working again!"

A couple of raindrops splattered against the toe of Sarah's boot. The flattened beads spread across the leather in a scintillating smear before slipping down towards the sole. "...Yeah, it's working. I'm here. Is something wrong? You sound pretty frantic."

If she'd been in a better headspace, the old woman might have picked up on the listlessness in her granddaughter's voice. Since the Light had just finished dragging half the state into Narnia, her tone didn't quite register. "Of course, I'm frantic!" Amelia complained, frustrated by her carrier's incompetence. "I've been trying to get through to you for the past twenty minutes! Apparently, all of the lines have been clogged because the network was never designed to accommodate seven million people at once!"

Sarah glanced at an approaching haze of pink gas. She made a moue of understanding and rubbed the back of her neck. "You're right; that makes a lot of sense. Sorry, I'm not handling this very well. Can we start over?"

Her grandmother paused. Sarah could feel the woman's gaze narrow into a shrewd slit. "Sarah, have you been taking your pills?"

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The blonde flushed. She may have missed a couple of doses while stressing the Offal Sea. "For the most part. I've been talking to my doctor about trying to lower the dosage. Why?"

"Because you sound like you need them. Rectify that. I'll wait."

Lexapro didn't work as fast as the old woman imagined. Sarah didn't want to point out the flaw in her logic, though. It seemed too whingy. Besides, it wasn't like her cabinet was even accessible at the moment. Fuck, depending on where those bullets had landed, it might not be intact.

She shuffled closer to the diner's neon pipework. The cloud of semi-sentient mana slowly drifted past. Each curl of the billowing smoke smelled like opportunity, and Sarah could hear it imploring her to inhale its fumes as it beckoned her to come a little closer.

Sarah ignored the insidious whispers. The esoteric elements had always given her a bad vibe whenever they'd been addressed during training. "Sorry, but I'm kind of in the middle of something at the moment. Ducking out isn't super feasible."

Her grandmother assumed the worst. "Are you hurt? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

Sarah huffed, the laugh unexpectedly bitter. "You know, you're the second person to ask me that tonight?" She shook her head. "I'm fine. The light show isn't the problem."

The old woman wasn't reassured. "What's wrong, then? I'm worried about you, Sarah."

The parasite paced in front of the abandoned plaza, so the overhang could protect her from the rain. She considered remaining silent, but there wasn't much reason to avoid the broad strokes of her day. Finally, she just spit it out. "There was a break in," she explained, the deception writing itself. "Earlier tonight. Before... all of this." Sarah waved her hand at the eldritch phenomena cluttering up the road. "I think it might have been a robbery? Or one of those doomsday cults? Anyway, the guy tried to get through the door with a shotgun. I'm not hurt, but it's left me a little shaken."

Her grandmother sucked in a breath. "Oh my god! Are you at the station?"

"No. I tried to call it in, but nobody got hit. With everything else going on..." She trailed off. "Well, the police have worse things to worry about." Sarah leaned against the diner's locked door. "I'm actually on the road, right now. It didn't feel safe to stick around, so I decided to take a drive."

"Have you at least pulled over?" Amelia asked.

Sarah snorted. She pressed her back against the cool pane and let the evening's chill sooth her mana-strained scales. "Before I answered your call? Of course, I'm not an idiot."

A liar, maybe, but not an idiot. Her grandmother offered some inane platitude, and the parasite responded in kind. The exchange was familiar. Rote. It was the sort of call and response that Sarah could have performed in her sleep. She'd certainly done it often enough growing up in their lavish bungalow.

A sick shudder rolled through her throat before settling on the back of her tongue. Sarah struggled not to gag from the weight of her own self-disgust. "Hey, not to cut you off, but do you think it'd be okay if I crashed at your place tonight. I don't want to be alone if I can help it."

Her grandmother didn't hesitate to throw open her door. "You know you're always welcome. Are you going to wait until the roads clear?"

The smog ran into a racoon and forced itself into the animal's throat. Its fur briefly turned purple and then returned to its usual brown. "It's probably not as bad as the news is making it out. I'll be there in less than an hour."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The trip actually took seventy-five minutes. Amelia didn't hold the delay against her, though. The old woman had always considered Sarah to be a conscientious child, and if the blonde said that she'd been held up by traffic, her grandmother was inclined to believe her. A less forgiving soul might have called her faith unduly credulous. Sarah knew it had merely been finessed. Honed. The warspawn had spent over ten years residing beneath her roof, and most of those halcyon days had been spent crafting a very specific reputation. The fact that it endured two decades later said more about her skill than Amelia's gullibility.

A sharp chirp rang out over the property as Sarah locked her car. Her grandmother, a fairly short woman with an ashen bob, was hovering by the edge of the porch. She seemed tense - impatient even. Sarah got the impression that Amelia would have run down the ivy-covered steps if only her hip could take it.

The parasite decided to save her another trip to the emergency room and met her by the wooden railing. "I take it you got my message?" Sarah asked as she embraced the frail woman's shoulders.

Amelia frowned. "If that's what you want to call it. 'Highway sucks - might be late.' There's barely enough there for a tweet." She brushed her hands over Sarah's blouse as if to make sure she was truly unharmed. When her skittish inspection failed to reveal any bloodstains, the old woman took a step back and led the two inside.

Sarah gently closed the door with her foot. "You didn't have to stay up. It must be almost midnight. I'd have been fine slipping in on my own."

"Says the woman who was nearly robbed. And really, am I supposed to let you steal in like a thief in the night? Don't be ridiculous." She puttered around the cramped foyer, toying with the hatrack and the artistic swirls of the umbrella stand. Half of the rosewood curls were currently occupied by steel and canvas while two more remained dusty from disuse.

Sarah scowled at the neglect. Her gaze slowly shifted towards the Persian hall runner leading up the winding staircase. Streaks of dirt marred the colorful fabric as well as the varnished hardwood in front of the closet. Even the wallpaper was looking a little waxy. Sarah suspected the jade petals hadn't seen a scrub brush in weeks. "What about Maria?" Sarah asked her. "Don't you think she could've handled it?"

Amelia grunted disagreeably. "Maria's on 'vacation.' Has been since the third. I'd hold it against her, but it's not like she doesn't have the time saved up."

Sarah couldn't conceal her dismay. "The hospital didn't send you a replacement?"

"Some woman named Jenny was supposed to stop by." Amelia twisted her nose in an aristocratic snort. "Obviously, she never made it. I'd send them a complaint, but I'm pretty sure they have bigger problems than a geriatric with a broken hip. Besides, she's not even a member of their staff: they outsourced all of their live-in care to some company up in Montreal."

It was a struggle not to curse. "You still should have told me. Work's been slow since the beginning of covid. I could have handled my responsibilities from your kitchen until she got back."

Amelia waved the offer off. "I know how much you enjoy your space. We'd get on each other's nerves after a couple of days, and then spend every evening until Christmas dancing around the damage. I'll not have it. Better to just wait the whole mess out."

Yeah, except this 'mess' wasn't going anywhere, the Light of the World had seen to that. Sarah fought the urge to say as much while the local mana battered her tendrils. Despite the fact that it carried hints of 'Gold' and 'Success,' the blonde thought it tasted like futility. "At least let me clean the place up. I can't stand the idea of you living in all of this filth."

"In the morning," Amelia acquiesced. "The grime will keep. In the meantime, let me show you to your room. I think you'll like what I've done with the place."

Sarah followed her grandmother through the cased opening, which separated the parlor from the front hall. All across the embossed molding were the familiar, creeping vines, she'd used to measure herself as a child. Not vertically, as most parents might have imagined, but rather laterally along their flowering whirls.

She paused to run her fingers over the engravings before ducking beneath the arch. Near the base of the braided couch, Amelia watched her granddaughter with an air of faint approval. "I've been meaning to ask: how has Boston been? I never got used to living with all that smog."

"It's been fine," Sarah replied, glancing up from the time-worn relief. "The city's introduced a lot of initiatives to reduce local emissions. The air quality's like night and day compared to what you experienced in the eighties. Maybe even literally."

"Mmmm. Do they still make you take the subway if you want to get anywhere?" Amelia limped past a crystal vase, set beside a large bay window.

"I drove here, didn't I?" Sarah deflected a few more disparaging comments, disguised as casual conversation. The old woman had never been fond of the urban sprawl, and she kept dropping hints that Sarah should move somewhere less low-class. Not back home, necessarily, but certainly to a town with a lower crime rate. Wayland, perhaps. Nothing horrible ever happened in Wayland.

"Ah, there we go," Amelia muttered as she crammed a wrought iron key into its matching lock. "I haven't been back here since Maria moved in, so let me know if the bedding needs to be changed." The heavy door swung open to reveal an ivory rug with traceries dyed seafoam and pine. At the back of the room, there was a transom looking out onto the expansive lawn, and below it Sarah could spy two glass panes leading out onto a small balcony. If her memory was correct, there should be a four-foot gap between the ledge and the garden. It used to be less, but she hadn't enjoyed her bedroom being accessible from the yard.

She turned away. Sarah let her eyes play over the marbled vanity and the bookshelf full of sun-stained paperbacks. She had always preferred to buy her textbooks, rather than borrow them for class, so barring a bit of reading material she'd taken with her to college, nearly all of the novels remained right where she'd left them. "You've kept everything the same?" Sarah asked, touched by her grandmother's care.

"For the most part. I had to install a stair lift after the accident, so I had the electrician redo the wiring while he was at it. I hate the way that infernal machine clashes with the decor, but at least the lights don't flicker, anymore." Amelia hit the switch and stared at the crystal dome occluding their vibrant glow. "Come to think of it, when was the last time you were in here? Normally, you insist on sleeping in the guest room, whenever you spend the night."

"Not since I quit my job," Sarah answered woodenly. "Maybe right after high school? I'm not sure. I was really busy, once I'd earned my degree."

Amelia hummed. "And afterwards it didn't feel like the right fit?" Sarah was unable to suppress a flinch. Her grandmother seemed vaguely amused. "Don't look so surprised - I was the same way when I moved back in with my parents. During my youth, I must have lived and died to burn my bra, then - once all of that 'free love' schlock failed to work out - I couldn't stand the crap I had plastered across my walls. I probably filled three garbage bags throwing it all away.

Sarah squirmed, her discomfort obvious, despite the layers of sinew and skin concealing her writhing form. "I don't think you've ever told me that story."

Amelia shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. You also didn't need to hear it. You were always a very practical child. Extremely down to earth. I never had to worry about you running off just so you could chase a pretty smile. Your mother was the same way. I guess we all learned a valuable lesson from my own poor example." The old woman noticed her granddaughter's unease. "Do you still hate talking about her?"

"Sorry," Sarah apologized. "I know you'd appreciate someone with whom you can reminisce."

Amelia huffed forbearingly. "Well, you lost your parents while you were young. It's only natural their deaths would leave a mark."

Sarah remained silent. The strange mix of hateful yearning and callous disregard, which had characterized her youth, made it hard to have an opinion on the matter. The idea of family had been too new, and too impermanent, for the parasite to cling to her guardians in the way she now wished she had. Instead, it was Amelia who had inherited those feelings, along with Sarah's more atavistic obsession. Thomas and Lisa Fields were just a pair of faces, she'd flayed herself to mirror and ape. "Do you think they'd approve?"

"Of you?" Amelia asked.

Sarah nodded with a touch of hesitance. "I was very cognizant of their expectations growing up. Or at least... what I imagined their expectations would have been, had they lived. I want to believe that I've moved past seeking their affection, but in truth, I fear I've merely shifted focus. Become less material." She shuffled her feet. "Do you think people can truly change?"

"Intrinsically?" Her grandmother bit her lip. "Perhaps a little. It's easy to fall into a rut, and life is long enough to let you dig a deep one. There are a number of bad habits I've failed to kick, despite knowing I'd be better off without them. Constantly tinkering with this old house, for one. Never getting married would be another."

Sarah winced at the mental image. "I can't imagine you dating."

"It doesn't paint a pleasant picture, does it?" The old woman chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd disagree. I may feel young, but I own a mirror for a reason." She glanced pointedly at the pane hanging next to Sarah's closet. "To return to your original question: yes, I think your parents would have approved. They both understood how life can come at you fast, and that you might have to make the best of an otherwise bad hand. Neither were without their flaws. It'd be rather strange if they expected you to break the pattern."

The blonde let her shoulders sink. "Then, why doesn't it feel sufficient?"

Her grandmother raised an eyebrow. "Should it? There's a reason why there's a gap between your head and your heart. Sometimes it takes a little while for what you know in one to make its way to the other." She stared out the window at the dark pall, illuminated by Boston's skyline. "But why don't you sleep on it? Maybe you'll get lucky, and the insight will have finished the trip by morning."