I pulled out a chair for Mr. Elbock. “Sit.”

He did, and he kept his eyes on me the whole time.

I sat on the edge of the chair on the opposite side of the table.

Storn was the first to speak. He spoke softly, staring me in the eyes as he did so. It made him seem like a storm bound in human form.

“You said you would take me to my wife.”

“And I am,” I answered, “but first,” I sighed, “there are some things you need to know.”

His reply? A silent, tight-lipped stare.

I spent a moment searching for the right words, and found them. Storn interrupted me the instant I opened my mouth.

“You’re going to tell me my wife is one of those giant snakes, aren’t you?”

It was a very matter-of-fact interruption.

“I guess that’s one way to break the ice,” I muttered. “How did you know?” I asked.

“I heard Ilzee and Kirk talking about it the other day,” he said. “They were trying to be rational about it. They refused to let themselves break. They talked about the footage, and then some calls came in, and there was some talk about what the early signs were that you or someone you loved was maybe possibly being turned into a vessel for an archdemon. The most notable sign? The changes always started with the victim thinking that they were dead. That’s when I knew.” He shook his head slightly. “Ms. Rambone spent her last hours of her life trying to convince anyone who was still watching that people kept their sense of self when they became Norms. If that’s even half true, I can only imagine the theological bullshit that’s been going through your head lately,” he added.

Storn couldn’t hide the tears glinting in the corner of his eyes.

“But then… it got her. It got her just like it gets everyone else. The poor woman descended into rambling and fear like everyone else. I think it might be the first time a demon’s stolen a soul on live television.” His lips bent themselves out of shape. “It… did not inspire confidence.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

“To rip you a new asshole, and to see what’s left of my wife, even if it’s only just to say goodbye.” His eyes glistened. “They actually thought I was nuts, you know?”

“Who did?”

Storn swallowed and cleared his throat. “I came here on one of the buses, after my attempt to drive here had ended… poorly.” A manic tint stained his eye. “And while nearly everyone around me was praying their heart out for the Angel to save them, I was on my way to go visit my wife, or what was left of her—monster, demon, tragedy… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, Storn,” I said, “I’m so, so sorr—”

“—Save your apologies,” he said. “You ‘apologized’ six days ago, when you promised to let me know if anything abnormal came up on the MRI. And, you know what?” He scrunched his shoulders. “You didn’t.”

I didn’t bother to ask if he’d be willing to accept the fact that these were extenuating circumstances. I don’t think I had that right.

“I know you’ve been flakey in the past, Howle, but this…” He shook his head. “This is beyond the pale.”

“Ilzee was right,” I said, figuring I might as well just be out with it. “The transformees keep their sense of self, even when they become wyrms.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he said, after staring at me for a moment.

Pushing off the table, I rose to my feet. “Well then, gird yourself.”

He rose, too. “Genneth, soldiers had to rescue me from my car because I’d gotten stuck in a car vending machine hiding from the beasteaten zombies that are now roaming the city streets. Consider me well-girded.”

“Point taken,” I said.

And off we went.

It wasn’t long before we reached the sepia-colored quarantine barrier with its wasp-colored warning tape. It was kind of funny, in a way. The barrier was a remnant of that quaint time, several days ago, when the “worst case scenario” was staff getting stuck in a spore-filled room.

I waved us through, opening the door in the barrier with a swipe of my hand chip across the console’s scanner.

“What happened here?” Storn asked.

“When we realized what was happening to her,” I explained, “I asked her if she’d be willing to undergo exploratory surgery. The hope was that if we got a look inside her, we could better figure out her condition, perhaps even find a way to reverse it. So, they went in, and opened her up, but the surgeons cut something they shouldn’t have. The operating theater was inundated with infectious spores. Merritt, Dr. Cassius Arbond, and two of his colleagues were all sealed inside the operating theater under quarantine protocol. Cassius became a transformee. The other two surgeons died.”

I decided to spare Storn the gory details about how Merritt (and, presumably, Cassius, too) had eaten Dr. Mistwalker and Dr. Nesbitt’s bodies.

As we walked down the hall, I heard sounds that reminded me of brass players practicing their instruments. Of course, there were no earthly horns or trombones that could make the eerie reverberations I was hearing. Chorale-like gestures melted in sumptuous chromaticism as the voices slid from tone to tone.

“What’s that sound?” Storn whispered.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“It’s how they speak.”

Andalon stood up ahead with her back to us and her hands clasped together at her chest, watching in respectful silence.

I led Mr. Elbock through the plastic quarantine tunnel sticking out from the operating theater’s glass double doors.

“Wait,” I said, pausing in place.

Storn looked at me. “What is it?”

Looking at the airlock the plastic tunnel formed in front of the shattered glass doors, I’d realized the airlock’s walls were… drooping. They’d lost much of their turgor, though not enough to keep them from vibrating from the sound of the wyrmsong, which had only grown louder with our approach.

A thin drift of spores hovered in front of the doors, looking like motes of dust in a shaft of sunlight. When I squinted, I could make out small holes the spores must have melted into the plastic. As for the glass, the doors were still just as shattered as it had been when I’d last paid Merritt and Cassius a visit, though I noticed that many of the shards on the floor had gotten significantly smaller, like melted ice, only without any water.

“Genneth?” Storn said, concerned.

“The spores have burned them away,” I muttered.

“What?” he said.

I looked him in the eyes. “Don’t let the spores touch you.”

“I’m already dying,” he quipped.

“Well… they’ll make it worse,” I said.

Turning ahead, as I looked through the doorway, I could see the two large—and now, long-since dried—stains where Dr. Mistwalker and Nesbitt’s blood had pooled on the floor of the operating theater. Behind it trailed the end of the wyrm’s tail, scaled in deep blue.

Cassius.

The walls of the operating theater were covered in gaping holes, exposing half-eaten circuitry. Cracks shot through the paint on the walls, damaged by the ionizing radiation Cassius and Merritt had produced when they’d metabolized the machinery’s metallic components.

I looked over my shoulder at Storn.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked him.

Storn opened his mouth to speak, but then he just closed his lips and nodded.

Turning forward, I crept ahead, toward the airlock.

“Merritt?” I said. “There’s someone here to see you.” I projected my voice as loudly as I could, and let my hazmat suit’s built-in speakers do the rest.

The instant I spoke, the wyrmsong stopped, as if I’d just stabbed it in the heart. A couple seconds later, I heard the smooth sound of brushing scales. Little wisps of spore-clouds curled over the floor.

Merritt came into view.

“Be careful, Merritt,” I warned, “don’t get too close.”

The Mrs. Elbock I’d known was gone. In her place was a creature from the legends beyond legend. She was sheathed in dark green. Beneath the operating theater’s lights, her scales gleamed like a boa constrictor’s.

Specifically, the ones that hadn’t been eaten.

“Structural iridescence,” Brand would have called it.

Two black horns grew from the back of her jawless dragon’s-head, tipped in stubby finger-like branches. The mane that trailed down her back and neck, was narrow and grassy, and the color of mold on bread. Her claws folded were drops of curled midnight, even blacker as her horns. Her three pairs of solid gold eyes blinked irregularly, betraying the wyrm’s anxiety, as did the trembling of her head.

No, I reminded myself, not “the wyrm”. Merritt.

She must have spotted Storn, because she ducked out of sight barely a second later, by which I mean she turned and stuck her forepart—head, neck, arms, and the beginning of her “torso”—out of sight while leaving the rest of her lengthy wyrm-body sticking out, in plain view of the doorway.

It was almost funny.

Storn shoved me out of the way and walked up to the hole-ridden airlock.

“Merritt…” he said.

The only response was a nervous twitch from the green wyrm-body sticking out through the doorway. A moment after that, the tail started trying to figure out how to pull away, with little success.

There was a loud, woody echo as Storn stamped the base of his cane on the floor. “Dammit, Merritt!” He didn’t bother to hold back his tears as he yelled. “Come here!” he said. “I came all this way to see you, and I’m going to see you. ”

Slowly, Merritt shuffled back into view. It started with her making a U-turn of her body as she turned around and stuck her head back in view of the door, only for her to lose confidence halfway through and pull away a moment later. The air shook with a deep, resonant cooing sound, which was followed, albeit hesitantly, by a softer reply. A moment later, Cassius’ blue-scaled tail swept out from the background and toward Merritt, gently tapping at her flank.

By this point, I was lost in tears, but, even so, I couldn’t help but smile. Prodding someone like that was absolutely something Cassius would do.

Finally, Merritt slithered back into view, pulling the rear end of her body out of the way. She held her hands at her chest, claws interwoven, stooping her head and neck down to get closer to Storn’s eye-level—a powerfully human gesture, especially considering it was coming from a wyrm.

Store’s mouth hung open. I think he’d finally understood that, despite appearances to the contrary, the creature in front of him was still very much the wife he knew and loved, foibles and all.

His next words were as broken as the glass beneath our feet.

“Honey, why didn’t you tell me?” he said. “Why’d…” His voice broke. “Angel, Merritt, you, the kids, we’ve… we’ve just wanted you to come home.” Body teetering, Storn leaned forward on his cane and reached out to her. “We were…” But he shook his head. “No, no.” He stuck out his palm, as if to say, ‘stop’. “I’m not upset with you,” he said, “I…” Glancing down, his tears dripped onto the floor. “I love you, Merritt. I love you, no matter what you are. You’re the strongest woman the world has ever known.” Coughing, Storn looked back, shooting a glare at me. “I just wish this idiot hadn’t kept me in the dark for so long.”

Then, reaching out with a claw, Merritt spoke. She spoke softly, her tones warm and resonant. Thin sheets of spores drifted down from her snout. It was beautiful, deadly, utterly alien, and completely incomprehensible.

Andalon, I thought asked, do you know what she’s saying?

“Not really,” she answers, “but… she’s sad-happy, Mr. Genneth. Really, really sad-happy.”

As usual, Andalon had her way with words.

“I’m sorry for not being here, honey,” Storn said, “I—”

—Storn’s coughing intensified as the spores from Merritt’s “words” drifted into the tunnel.

Merritt’s golden eyes widened as she saw her spores eat away at the airlock. Realizing this, Merritt backed away, shaking her head to toss off any loose spores.

“Mr. Genneth!” Andalon yelled.

I know, I thought-said, I know!

Storn fell to his knees. I rushed toward him as Merritt slunk away. I grunted as I mustered some plexuses around my arms, lower back, and legs, to boost my strength, and to give me some extra leverage as I bent down to pulled Storn out of the airlock, away from the thickening cloud of spores.

Wait, I thought, thickening?

Looking up, I saw Merritt twitch, staring at me with terrifying intensity. Tapping her claws at her chest, she pointed at me. Merritt was agitated; her breathing had increased, thickening the tide of spores she was spewing into the air.

“She’s scared-sad!” Andalon said.

Merritt kept making the same gesture over and over again, tapping her claw on her chest and then pointing at me.

“Merritt!” I yelled. “You have to calm down! Your spores are melting through the walls!”

Everything around us was starting to sizzle and bubble.

Stepping away, I pulled Storn out of the transparent plastic tunnel and into the hallway. No longer holding anything back, I used my psychokinesis to lift Storn off the floor. Patches of his clothes were dissolving where the spores had made contact. Mr. Elbock stared at me with a nameless expression as I sat him down, but that was instantly forgotten as we set off in a tottering, three-legged race toward the sepia-colored barrier further down the tunnel, the sound of Merritt’s mournful wyrmsong echoing at our backs.

Storn slipped from my grasp as I burst through the barrier door. He fell onto his hands and knees in the larger corridor, gasping for breath.

“Help!” I yelled. “Help!!”