No amount of prying from Will or Glory clarified events at all. As far as Glory could tell, all involved parties had been living a true, complete, separate life, with no obvious inconsistencies except that they happened simultaneously, with no time to do both. The snake who maybe was or wasn’t Phoenix insisted that he was a groundskeeper in Arcadia.

He had no skill with magic more destructive than a garden hose, and looked rather taken aback at the idea of casting such powerful fire magic. Meanwhile, his maybe-cronies had recounted tales of daring and larceny with internal consistency and fine detail, and they were deeply concerned for the well-being of someone who may or may not have ever existed.

The circle of logic and paradox went nowhere, until Glory finally said “I have a solution,” though he didn’t sound happy about it. He had called a loose huddle of his companions, away from the prying eyes of whoever it really was that was held captive.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Will, who from experience knew Glory was likely to enact it, even if he bitched the whole time.

“I can call in a favor from my brother,” said Glory.

“I thought you didn’t want to rely on angels more,” asked Will, aware he was missing some key details.

“He’s not an angel.” Glory said with finality. “Just the opposite, actually.”

Will made an educated guess about what that meant, which was close enough to reality.

Glory sent Virgil, Dio, and Rex away to handle food and lodging, but had Will remain in case his soul-reading abilities would prove newly useful. The angel used a piece of chalk to write a complex sigil on the concrete wall of the guardhouse, insisting on its importance to the mildly worried guards.

The symbol, which resembled to Will something between a squid and a fountain pen, pulsed with bruise-purple light.

“Perish,” Glory said, his tone identical to one someone might use to call someone they’re mildly disappointed with. “Perish the Thought. I invoke ye.”

“Glory, my esteemed brother,” said a voice from beyond the wall. It was suave and deep and very, very smug, like an oil slick that had just won a landslide victory against a defenseless coral reef. “What do you require of me?”

Glory groused slightly. “I need your skills at memory magic. I have a gentleman who seems to have had his mind tampered with severely, and you’re the only one I know that’s talented enough to tell me exactly how.”

Perish the Thought, if that was his name, oozed from the wall like graffiti brought to life. To Will, he looked like a squid that had been stuffed into an overcoat, but he could see a dark reflection of Glory’s crown and eye in place of a squid’s fins. “That’s quite the favor, dear brother of mine. What do you offer in return?”

“I don’t have the time or patience for a guessing game right now. Tell me what you want for your services.”

“A guarded memory, given at great cost,” Perish said serenely.

“Fine, take one of my memories. Heaven knows I have enough.”

“Not yours,” Perish said, clearly enjoying himself. He pointed to Will with one flopping tentacle. “Wilson must supply it. His experiences are bound to be alien and delectable.”

“Fuck you,” said Glory and Will simultaneously. Will followed up with “but fine, do it. Make it quick.”

Perish looked at Will with something resembling respect. “My my, Wilson. It takes courage to let a demon probe your mind. I expected more of a fight.”

“Don’t call me Wilson,” said Will. “Just do it.”

“Very well. You may feel a slight pinch.” Perish said, placing the tips of two tentacles against Will’s forehead and chest.

The feeling of Perish editing Will’s brain was cold and crushing, like he was soaking in a rainstorm. Just as soon as it overwhelmed him, the feeling passed, and Perish withdrew.

Will opened his eyes, then realized they had been shut tight. “Is that it? I don’t feel any different,” he said flatly. He actually felt slightly like he’d just been given a shot, or had his blood drawn, but that wasn’t what he considered important.

“You shouldn’t,” said Perish. “It was a precise strike. I’m many things, but I’m not sloppy.”

“What did you even take?” asked Will dumbly.

“If I told you, it would hardly be taken, now would it? Just like how you can’t know how much you don’t know you can't remember how much you’ve forgotten. Don’t hurt yourself trying to fill a gap you won’t ever find.”

“Are you like this with everyone?” Will asked snappishly.

“Yes!” said Glory and Perish, united in this one respect.

Perish luxuriated in his hypothetical triumph as Glory explained the situation in more detail, and as he began examining the minds of each prisoner in turn. In fact, he held one arm to each of their foreheads, examining them all simultaneously.

“So how have you been?” Perish asked conversationally, still probing minds.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“I think this is a bad time for small talk,” said Glory coolly.

“You always think it’s a bad time for small talk,” replied Perish. “It’s almost as if you don’t like spending time with your dear old Big Bro.”

“We’re twins,” Glory said patiently. “We’re exactly the same age.”

“And yet you still fall for the bait,” said Perish, the mirth reserved only for siblings creeping into his voice. “Invariably, without fail.”

Glory slumped against one wall, which struck Will as strange. He very rarely interacted with any physical barrier except to subvert it. Glory had more than once looked tired to Will, but it was another thing entirely to see him both tired and annoyed.

“I’ve been fine,” the angel said, finally. He sounded almost defeated, like he was conceding at a game. “Saving the world. You know…” he gesticulated vaguely, “the usual.”

“That always was your nature,” Perish agrees, and though it’s not phrased as an insult or critique, it’s not not phrased as one either.

“I’m an angel,” said Glory. “That is by definition my nature.”

“You presume that to be an angel is to be good, instead of that by being good, you are an angel,” says Perish. “Did not our fathers fight so valiantly to alter that unalterable law?”

“And yet here you are, cavorting through the minds of other beings like a burglar.”

“And yet here you are, relying on my services.”

Glory had no response to that, and so said nothing.

“I think you are a good person,” Perish said, “for all my duplicitous words mean.”

Glory, who does not breathe, mimicked the sound of taking in and letting out a deep breath. “Thank you. For helping.”

“You’re welcome,” says Perish. “I’m about to do something that will reduce mortal eyes to insensate jelly, so I recommend vacating the room.”

Glory repeated the uncharacteristic gesture of leaning against a wall outside, staring at the sigil Perish had come from. “You’re curious about him,” he says to Will calmly.

“Yeah, well,” Will says. “He’s not what I expected a demon to be like.”

“And I’m not really what you expected an angel to be like,” says Glory, sounding a bit proud of himself. “He and I are brothers, twins. We’re also banes, which is more complicated. Every angel has a bane; a demon they are bound to, and likewise for demons. The relationship is metaphysical, and an impossible one to break. Every angel must learn to live with their bane, and so must every demon. You can imagine this is no easy task, but we manage.”

“Are most banes blood relatives?” Will asked, though he’s not actually sure either Glory or Perish have blood in a meaningful sense.

“No, it’s actually very rare,” replied Glory. “He isn’t my only brother either. His side of the family is more… fecund. But most of them would be half-siblings, at any rate.”

“For both demons and angels, their bane is their closest relationship," Glory continued, "even if it’s adversarial. They may be hated foes, or rivals, or collaborators, or—”

“Lovers,” Perish cut in, appearing from the wall again. Glory slapped him back, but he only laughed and reappeared slightly further away.

“Don’t scare him,” Glory snapped.

“It’s true,” said Perish defensively. “Our fathers are banes, after all.”

“What do you want?” Glory asked. “Other than to be unpleasant.”

“I have results,” said Perish. “Come back in so I may explain.”

“What have you found?” Glory asked once back inside. Will was beginning to suspect the demon just liked making them shuffle back and forth.

“Everything!” Perish said excitedly. “Or, close enough. Each of these minds has had huge parts of their pasts completely fabricated with incredible detail, with their original memories slotted in seamlessly below it. It’s like adding a room in the middle of a house, furniture and all, instantly, without breaking or moving anything, and without leaving a trace on anything else.”

“And who can do something like that?” Glory asked.

“I don’t know!” said Perish excitedly. He paused, waiting for someone to snark at him, but Glory and Will just stared. “It has to be someone incredibly, impossibly skilled at mind manipulation. A genius of such high caliber he would be famous the world over, but who does not appear to exist.”

“So what’s actually true,” asked Will. “About their stories?”

“The groundskeeper, the snake, is really a groundskeeper. As far as I can tell, he’s taken the place of someone none of the others can steadily remember, an unwitting perfect replacement. So that means there is some presumably-meddled-with gangster somewhere, slotted out of his role and left adrift. A terrible fate, to be sure.” Perish says this all with a sanguine curiosity, like he’s a virologist and it’s a new and interesting form of disease.

“And so we’re left with no leads at all?” Glory asked annoyedly. “Just a bunch of tormented strangers?”

“Well, no,” said Perish. “Again, the skill required to pull off something like this limits the options severely. It’s someone who is very secretive, who probably actively suppresses knowledge of their existence. An invisible hand of great, terrible power, working to some unknown goal.”

“Great,” said Glory. “Now tell us where that invisible hand lives.”

“Well, that’s easy,” said Perish. “Each of their fabricated memories originate from a dungeon in the northern lands. Mad Jotunn’s Tomb, it’s called.”

“That’s quite a ways away,” Glory said, unsatisfied.

“How long ago were these false memories added?” asked Will.

“A few weeks,” said Perish firmly. “Enough time to head south and make their way anywhere.”

“There’s a piece we’re missing here,” said Glory, almost muttering. “But I don’t know what it could be.”

“As interesting as that may be,” said Perish, “my end of the bargain is done. Examining so many brains at once is exhausting. Good luck, Big Bro.”

Perish the Thought sank back into the wall, and then he was gone. The bodies of each of the men he had been examining were each deeply sleeping. Will was unsure what to make of the whole situation.

“I guess we should follow any lead we can get,” said Will, trying to claw up some enthusiasm.

“I guess we should,” said Glory. “And I guess we’ll need cold-weather gear.”

“Can you even get cold?” Will asks.

“Of course I can,” said Glory defensively. “I find negative two-hundred seventy-three point-fifteen degrees Celsius quite nippy indeed.”