Eureka helped Cat to her feet. Cat’s heels sank into a puddle—then both of her feet lifted off the floor. It lasted just a second. Cat looked down at her feet, then at Eureka, then down again. She held out her arms and furrowed her brow and made herself levitate, this time for longer, a full foot off the floor.
She touched her bee braids and giggled a laugh that didn’t sound like Cat. “That bitch turned me into a witch.” She gazed at Eureka with wide eyes. “You know, this is the first thing in a long time that actually feels right?”
“Sit down.” Solon’s voice spoke through the robot. “Watch closely. Prepare to have your minds blown.”
They gathered around the fire pit with the waterfall tumbling and the skulls eavesdropping, just as they had when Solon welcomed them to the Bitter Cloud. Ovid presided in Solon’s place, holding his old, empty broken glass.
Solon’s features wavered, then twisted gruesomely, like the robot’s face was made of clay. William whimpered in Eureka’s lap. Then Ovid’s nose tapered. Its lips swelled. Its cheeks grew longer.
“Poet?” Cat leaned forward shakily.
The Poet within the robot seemed to size up Cat’s new do approvingly, then he twisted out of recognition as another face filled the orichalcum void.
Seyma’s features sharpened and squashed as if someone had pressed her face against a sheet of glass. She grimaced and was pulled away, replaced by the thin, old lips of Starling, then, more rapidly, by the dark grimace of Critias, the wizened ruthlessness of Chora, and, finally, by the cold hatred in Albion’s eyes. He struggled to speak through the robot, but couldn’t. Eureka got the gist of what he wanted to say.
At last, their father surfaced.
“Daddy—” Claire cried in the voice she used when she was having a nightmare.
Dad was gone, replaced by Solon.
“You will encounter all of them eventually,” Solon’s voice said. “For now, while they are learning to be ghosts, I control a great percentage of the robot’s drive. I will sow seeds of resistance from inside, but as the others mature they will have their own agenda. We must make our move soon, while I can still be your primary guide.”
Eureka rose. “Let’s go.”
“Sit,” he said. “First I must show you the way.” Again Ovid’s features softened. This time, they became a screen on which a waterfall appeared. A projection of white water streamed down the robot’s forehead. In the center of its face a strange bubble vibrated. It took Eureka a moment to recognize it was her thunderstone shield. A small version of Ovid appeared beneath the shield, its body arced in a gorgeous dive as it balanced the shield on its shoulders.
At the end of the waterfall, Ovid’s screenlike face became bright white and bubbly. Soon, the bubbles cleared and the water turned a deep turquoise. Then Ovid was swimming, a strong and rapid breaststroke, the shield strapped to its back with an orichalcum band.
A version of Eureka was inside the version of the shield. It was like watching a movie of herself in a dream. Someone sat beside her, but the image was too small to see who it was.
The vision faded from Ovid’s blank face. Solon’s sculpted features returned.
So the waterfall was how Eureka would get to the Marais. She looked down at her crystal teardrop and prayed her thunderstone still worked.
“Ovid is adept at open-sea swimming,” Solon’s voice said, “but within these caves the currents are capricious. The angles of the tunnel-like flumes that lead to the outside world are deadly sharp. Your journey will be smoother once you clear them.”
“How do I do that?” Eureka asked.
“How do we do that,” Ander corrected her. “You must time your departure between three and four in the morning, when the moon draws the tides high, and the flumes’ currents flow toward the egress of the caves. You already practiced how to enter the waterfall when you fetched the orchid. Do it again. Filiz will join you; I always promised I would take her with me. All others who wish to accompany you must run with you into the fall. And then, like love itself, Ovid will lead you where you need to go.”