Whately tells me Monica is asleep in one of the bunks outside. She’s still on suspension and now she’s under review for getting involved when she was off duty. Tyler thinks it’ll blow over soon.

But Tyler’s in trouble too and has to leave for Washington D.C. tomorrow to brief the director. She’s on the phone with one of her superiors right now.

The hospital has all the kids that haven’t been returned yet to their families. Dr. Linn is sleeping in the bunk below Monica here in the RV too, worn out from being up all night counseling the victims and their families.

Whately gets a funny look on his face as he tells me that but grins sheepishly and shakes his head when I ask what’s up. He says that Stacy helped Dr. Linn work with the kids to keep them calm and get their information. Most of them are home already with their families. He says Stacy’s been by lots of times, checking in on everybody. She brought breakfast earlier and promised lunch. It turns out that one of her students was in that church. Her name was one of the few published in the paper that morning. She’s being hailed a hero and all the local news channels want to interview her. Stacy being Stacy, she’s agreed to them all even while explaining to them that she really didn’t do much. She tells anybody who will listen that the FBI did all the heavy lifting while refusing to name names, thank God.

It turns out the church had been abducting and collecting them for weeks, but when Lansky and the Wild Specters stopped being able to supply them, they had to speed things up. Exploders grabbed lots of kids, most within the last few days, and most of them from their own congregation. Police from neighboring towns were closing in and would’ve been making arrests if Willamette’s sheriff hadn’t been actively intervening. Warrants had been issued despite his efforts and would’ve been carried out as soon as the next day. If there had been a next day.

It all spoke to that idea Tyler had about the Exploders not expecting to have a future. What the hell were they trying to summon that the fucking wire dragon ended up being the consolation prize?

Candace is home with her kids. Whately doesn’t expect her to allow them out of her sight any time soon. I'm to call her as soon as I can to let her know I'm okay. Craig hasn’t shown up anywhere and is presumed dead in the church. Efforts are being made to gather up any human remains for DNA testing.

Whately tells me that I was grazed in the head and shoulder, shot in the arm, twice in the leg, and they pulled three slugs from the back of my vest and one from the front. My middle is wrapped in bandages because I have four cracked ribs.

“Head?” I say.

“You don’t remember?” says Whately.

“No,” I say. I put my hand to my scalp above my right temple and find a bandage. It is throbbing a bit, now that I think about it. “I don’t remember the one I got in the front either.”

“Well, a lot was going on,” says Whately. “Sometimes people don’t know they’ve been shot. I remember hearing a story years ago about this guy who got a sudden headache as he left home one morning for work. Found a little blood on his head but nothing seemed too out of order? He went to work. Years later, man, he bumps his head opening a kitchen cabinet and nearly passes out from the pain. He goes to the doctor and they pull a small caliber slug from his head.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, I mean, don’t quote me on it, but that’s pretty much how the story went if I remember right. It was crazy in there, Ben. Don’t feel bad you don’t remember it all. You know they used to use noise as an anesthetic?”

“What?”

“Yeah,” says the big nurse with a grin. “Sailor had to get a tooth pulled they beat a drum right by his ear when the surgeon pulled it. Shocked the pain right outta there.”

“No way.”

“Look it up,” says Whately.

There’s a knock on the wall. I don’t have a door to the bedroom. It’s a hanging curtain and it’s pulled closed.

Whately whisks it aside and Dr. Linn's standing there yawning, trying to favor me with a smile at the same time. She’s got a little bit of bedhead going on too. She looks adorable.

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead!” she says. She’s wearing a tweed blazer over a slightly rumpled cream-colored silk blouse and tan slacks.

“Morning, doc,” I say. “Sorry I’ve been out of it. I hear you’ve been helping kids again.”

She snorts. “If I ever get shot into Swiss cheese I hope I’m half as hospitable,” she says.

“Hey, I’ve been unconscious this whole time,” I say. “If you’ve been subjected to any hospitality here within these humble walls it’s entirely due to my friends.”

I have friends.

I’ve never made them easily. I’m not sure why. Maybe I’m hard to get to know. My shyness and reserve don’t help, I know. It occurs to me that maybe I don’t make friends. I didn’t make any of these lately. I met them when I was in need and they made me a friend. All I had to do was let them.

I tear up a little at the thought.

Dr. Linn squats by the bed and takes my hand. “You’ve got good people looking after you,” she says. “Good friends. I hope I’m one.” There’s something in her eyes and for a moment I feel a little thrill of fear.

There’s this look that women can do….

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Okay, let me clarify. It’s entirely possible that men can do it too. I know I’ve never been accused of doing it and I don’t think I’ll ever experience it from a guy since I don’t swing that way, but anyway.

There’s a look. It’s like there’s too much light in their eyes and there’s a plea mixed with a demand. They aren't just beautiful in that moment, but the attraction is gravitational. There are only two responses to that look. Either kiss them or run.

This look that Dr. Linn’s giving me now isn’t quite that but it's in the neighborhood. There's no plea or demand, but all the light is there and I feel a pull. It’s a polite question.

It’s got my heart going a bit faster. She’s a beautiful woman. Truly. I don’t know how to answer her.

“You proposing, doc?” comes Monica’s voice.

Dr. Linn blushes and laughs while Whately brays laughter.

The psychologist lets go of my hand and stands, smiling. “Agent Ochoa,” she says. “Of course not, I—.”

“Just busting your balls, doc,” says Monica, chewing her gum, poking her fake sunglasses up farther on her nose. “You get a good nap?”

“Yes, thanks,” says Dr. Linn.

“Great. Well, folks, Tyler and I need the room. Cal wants to talk to Ben before she goes to Washington and now’s a good time. That okay, Gerry?” asks Monica.

“Yep, he’s good to go,” says Whately. “Speaking of going. You’ll probably have to soon. We gave you some fluids earlier. When you go, use the crutches.” He points to a pair of metal crutches leaning against the wall behind him. “Oh, and there’s breakfast in the fridge. Maybe Mo’ll heat it up for you.”

Monica snorts. She stands aside and lets Linn and Whately out. We're now alone and she looks around, seeming a little awkward. I’ve never seen Monica look awkward before. I would've said she was incapable of it. Frankly, I think you could drop her stark naked in Mogadishu and she’d be perfectly at home.

“Got to get some folding chairs or something in here,” she says under her breath and ends up sitting on the corner of my bed.

She doesn’t say anything. She won’t look at me.

Tyler comes in a minute later and leans against the wall. Her hair is maybe six inches shorter, just brushing her shoulders. I’m not sure it looks as good but maybe I need time to get used to it. There’s a bandage on the top of her head like a white yarmulke and, yes, there’s a spray of freckles across her face, some of them larger than others. They suit her. “You okay, Ben?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Considering. Though maybe that’s the pain meds working. I assume they gave me a bunch. I hope you’ve had your fair share, yourself.”

Tyler smiles and waves that away. “It's not bad.”

I blink. Yeah, right.

Her face turns serious. “I need you to tell me everything that happened in that church. Did Gerry tell you what Amir’s been finding? About that goop?”

I nod. “What did I say about Otter at the time? I don’t remember,” I say.

“Otter?” says Monica. “Was he there?”

“Nothing then,” I say. “I know I said something about the Specters.”

“Just that they were there,” says Tyler. “We didn’t see any until they arrived after the Epsilons did.”

So I explain where I saw Otter and what happened to him, then all the rest. We agree that Otter must’ve made a weapons delivery with some of his men. There was an old pickup out back of the church with stolen plates on it. Whatever happened to Otter probably happened to whoever he brought with him first.

“That’s the same green goop Fonteneau talks about in his journal?” asks Tyler. “You saw it injected into his neck?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She takes out her phone and shows me a close-up picture of that green junk. It looks a little like moss made of sick, shining green razor blades. “Like this?” she says.

“I think so. I didn’t get that close to it. Smells like yeast gone way wrong.”

Tyler nods. “The good pastor took some pictures with his phone and uploaded them to his journal. We have experts at the bureau analyzing them. Ben, don’t talk to anybody about any of this, okay? We’re keeping it well under our hats, telling the press the bare minimum.”

“Any idea what that shit is?” I ask.

Tyler shakes her head. “I’ve never seen or heard of anything like it. I took a picture of that rune that Fonteneau drew too. I know enough to recognize it as a summoning rune—.”

“Summoning?” I ask. “Summon what?”

“You’re from another world, just like that dragon,” says Monica. “But you’re from one close by and came through a portal. There are other things from farther away and, if you know how, you can yank them through to here and make them do what you want.”

“Those things the Epsilons were riding?” says Tyler.

“The ones that squished through windows way too small for them or their riders? Yeah, okay. Summoned,” I say.

“We didn’t see those either,” says Monica.

Tyler says, “Anyway, I knew it was a summoning rune. They all have common elements. But I’ve never seen one like that before. There's no records we have of anybody using candles either, though that might've been an affectation. Cosmetic." She shrugs. "There are other things too that Fonteneau mentions in his journals. Things his wife can do….”

Monica says, “We think this is a ninth sponsor. A new one. Iota.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s big, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Tyler. “Very. A new sponsor hasn’t appeared in over a hundred years. It’s the main reason I’m being called to D.C.”

They both have some questions for me and I fill them in as best I can, including how I pulled my luck, focussing on the negative aethings, to kill the dragon. Throughout the whole thing, Monica is distant, even abrupt.

There’s a tap on the wall. A fingernail, which doesn’t seem like Whately’s style. I thought everybody had left.

Monica stands and says, “I’ll deal with it.” And she stands, dodging around the curtain without getting a look at who’s there.

Tyler sits and sighs. “She’s upset with you,” she says in a low tone designed not to carry from the room. “Give her some time.”

“I don’t understand. What did I do?”

“You scared her,” she says. “Those aethings. They only show your personal outcomes?"

I nod.

"So, when you pulled on the negative ones, you were hurting yourself. Put yourself at risk. You got hurt and she got scared and Special Agent Monica Ochoa of the Paranormal Assessment Unit does not like to be scared. She—.”

The curtain hisses on its rails. Dr. Linn is there looking contrite. Monica seems exasperated.

Monica says, “We can’t get the door open.”

Dr. Linn nods.

“A good thing too,” says Monica. “You’d better take a look at this.”

Tyler helps me up and hands me my crutches. She’s being very nice. She should be, I guess. I’ve got her blood in my veins now, after all.

I hobble out.

The windows are all dark and the lights are on. I thought it was afternoon.

“Where are we?” I ask.

Monica snorts. “Amir drove us out to this park,” she says. “Lovely place. Parked us right by the lake and this cute little church. The hospital is, like, ten minutes from here.”

I duck down as a shadow passes the windshield of the cab.

“Amir,” I say. “Did you happen to apply the parking brake?”

The shadow reappears in the window. it's a fish. Looking at us.

“What’s a parking brake?” says Amir.

Dr. Linn says, “How much air do we have?”

Monica says, “We can’t have been here very long. Tyler and I got here about, what, a half an hour ago?”

I take out my phone. I’ve got bars. I’m about to punch nine-one-one when it rings in my hand.

It’s Myra.

“Ben, what the hell? I’ve been trying to reach you. Look, two nights ago all your stocks took a complete dump and one of the banks we use went under. Criminal indictments and bankruptcy! We’re still okay. I mean, some of the money was insured and there’s lots more—. Are you listening to me? Where are you?”

“Myra, I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re all feeling a bit… under water right now after everything. You know?”