“Ha. You just don’t like to imagine yourself as limited,” says Ravi dryly.
“Oh, pah,” she says. “I’m a scientist. Transnormal phenomena are simply phenomena that we do not yet understand. Even now the scientific community in our dimension is dissatisfied with our explanations for, oh, I don’t know, why humans need sleep, or why it rains frogs. But everything everywhere has a scientific explanation, whether or not we know what it is. We’ll have to come up with better labels than ‘Limited’ and ‘Unlimited’ eventually. But—there’s Limited and there’s limited, my dear. When I appeared through the portal belonging to LD387’s me, where they have these frogless Monets, she actually fainted. She’d left her portal open, so she had to have known one of us might show up, but even she, it turns out, doesn’t entirely believe in the multiverse, or in transdimensional travel. Even now that I’ve met her! I gather her family considers her some sort of madwoman in the attic, to the extent that she almost believes it herself. She’s not certain I wasn’t a hallucination. They’ve got her taking medication.”
“Hm,” says Ravi. “Well. Is the frogless art any good?”
“It’s simple, but sublime. I think it’s lovely.”
“Then yes, if you can. Get me anything. I like making Buckley’s head spin.”
“I don’t see why you have to lie to him about where all these paintings come from,” the first Mrs. Thrash says. “You who can be so snotty about the provenance of the art in your own house. It’s not like they’re stolen, or pillaged in a war. You’re spending a fortune of your own money to import them and it’s only going to mislead the art historians of the future. Not to mention the dimensional archaeologists. Someday there will be dimensional archaeologists, you know.”
“First of all, I’m keeping records,” says Ravi in a scoffing tone. “Secondly, how can you suggest I reveal the secret just moments after you criticized others for revealing the secret? It could cause a lot of trouble if I told Buckley. What if he was indiscreet? We’ve got plenty of people in this dimension who’d take advantage.”
“Well, I don’t understand what you get out of it, Ravi.”
“It’s a game,” Ravi says, “and I’m winning. I get to plant transdimensional art all over the world and no one knows its provenance, except for you and me. And Kiran’s friend, who’s listening at the bottom of the steps.”
Oh hell.
“Ravi!” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “Is that why the door never slammed?”
“My best guess, anyway,” says Ravi.
“And presumably why you switched me to English. You wanted this person to overhear. Honestly, Ravi. Is this one male or female? I assume this is another of your conquests?”
“Oh, don’t be so haughty,” says Ravi. “You know it’s not like that.”
“You could be doing more with your time and your talents,” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “When’s the last time you picked up a paintbrush? You were so talented.”
“Mum,” says Ravi impatiently, like the word is a small explosion. Then he finds his pleasant voice again. “You’d like her. What do you say? Want to meet a new friend who probably thinks we’re both delusional?”
“Or,” says the first Mrs. Thrash, “that I’m the delusional one and you just come up here to keep me company and humor my delusions.”
These are exactly the two possible conclusions Jane has come to. Transdimensional art-dealing. Alternate versions of house-boarding pirates. Kermit in love with Miss Piggy?
Jane takes a panicked step back from the door and immediately encounters Jasper, because he’s standing behind her feet. “Blaaaaaaaa!” she whispers frantically, windmilling her arms to prevent herself from stepping on him or falling on her back. “Jasper,” she whispers. “Stick your head in the door and pretend it’s all your doing!”
Jasper looks down his long nose at her in contempt.
And Jane supposes that when it comes down to it, she does want to know whether Ravi is delusional, or simply loves his mother that much. She stays in the doorway.
Ravi descends the stairs most of the way and sticks his head down to look at her. His grin, when he spots her, is triumphant. “I waited forever in the corridor for you to catch up,” he says. “Well?” His face contains both amusement and a kind of warning. “Care to meet my mother?”
“Fine,” Jane says, trying not to show how flustered she is.
“Let the dog in,” Ravi says.
Jane does so, then allows the heavy door to swing shut behind her. Ravi comes the rest of the way down the steps, saying, “Silly old dog.” He picks Jasper up and carries him, indignant and squirming, back up the stairs. Jasper is not made for carrying and he glares at Jane over Ravi’s shoulder. “Come see your pals,” Ravi tells him.
Jane follows, trying not to find Ravi attractive. It’s probably why he picked up the dog in the first place. Ravi is the type to know that his Adorable Quotient increases steeply when Carrying a Dog.
“I know you won’t tell anyone what you’re about to see,” Ravi tells Jane quietly as they climb. “Except for Kiran and Octavian. They already know, and Patrick and Ivy, and the Vanders family knows some of it too, though Mrs. Vanders wants as little to do with it as possible. She thinks my mother is upsetting the natural balance of the universe.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’ve been wanting you to meet my mother,” Ravi says.
“Why?”
He’s not facing her, but she knows the sound of his grin. “You remind me of her. You say what you think, without apology.”
“I remind you of your mother, and you’ve been hitting on me since you met me. That’s lovely, Ravi.”
“I assure you, that’s for other reasons.”
“That’s what Oedipus said too.”
“Mum,” says Ravi in a voice suddenly resonant and strong, stepping off the stairs into the room above her. “Allow me to introduce our eavesdropper. Janie, this is my mum.”
Jane emerges into a room tall and square, full of dappled light from small windows in every wall. With a stove, fridge, cabinets, and counters, it appears to be a kitchen. On a table lies Ravi’s bowl of fruit and a Monet lily pad painting both familiar and unusual.
The first Mrs. Thrash is a tall, dark-skinned woman, stately, with smooth black hair neatly tucked into a knot at the nape of her neck. She wears simple black slacks, a fuzzy gray turtleneck sweater, and an aspect of utter normality.
“It’s impertinent to listen at doors,” she says, even as she shakes Jane’s hand firmly.
“I’m sorry,” Jane says.
“Are you? I wouldn’t be,” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “Some of my most rewarding experiences have come from sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Jane is standing near a window. Enormous wind chimes hang on a bracket outside, and it occurs to her that she’s been hearing their sweet tinkling ever since she stuck her foot in the door. Looking out, she can see into the west attics, quite a distance away. Then a soft yipping noise comes from the floor above them.
“I apologize for my miniature velociraptors,” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “It’s time for their second breakfast. Maybe you’d like to come up and meet them? It might help you accept the existence of the multiverse.”
“Er,” Jane says, with a quick confused glance at Ravi, who seems amused. “Okay.”
The first Mrs. Thrash begins a march up a second metal spiral staircase. “Don’t be frightened of them,” she says. “They’re from an Unlimited Dimension that’s bred them to be quite small and friendly to humans, and anyway, their portrayal in that dreadful movie was entirely unrealistic. Pinky likes to comb my hair gently with his enlarged claw.”
“I see,” Jane says, coughing.
“Ravi doesn’t like it when I import animals,” adds the first Mrs. Thrash. “He doesn’t like me to import anything but art.”
“With good reason,” Ravi says, starting up the stairs and motioning for Jane to follow.
“It’s because of the time I tried to bring him and Kiran two sparkle ponies from a high-level Unlimited Dimension and the poor things went mad and exploded.”