“I’m sorry.”
“Even in bits and scraps, I can remember how much I loved the Archives. The purity of the conversations, people from all of history judging each other on nothing but our minds. Even little as I recall now, I wouldn’t want to give that up. But I wish I could get my … guest … in the same place for one conversation. I’d have a few choice words for her.” She handed me an envelope and a single sheet of densely written paper, eyes averted.
She’d filled the bin beside the desk with crumpled stationary. I wondered when in the night those memories had come back, how quickly she’d risen. “If you want to add to this at any point, let me know. I have plenty of texts memorized; I’ve room for more.”
I read the letter over later, in the safety of the guest bedroom. I didn’t show it to Neko or Audrey, or tell them what it was. It was intimate, explicit—and honest about being half of a correspondence that could never be reciprocated. It loved, it mourned, and it promised to move on. Trumbull was not one to sacrifice her possibilities here and now for the sake of a lifetime pining, and she expected the same of Saujing. I folded it and put it back in the envelope.
“Are you looking forward to going home?” asked Neko.
“Oh yes,” I said. Apologetically, to Audrey: “I’ll miss you and Caleb and Dawson, and I’ll come out as often as I can. But I miss Mama Rei and Anna and Kevin. And the store. And the hills and the fog, and being able to see the mountains from the beach.” And I missed what was, still, a place of healing for me. I wanted very much to see Innsmouth reborn, and the walls of Miskatonic cracked open. And I would. But I still needed more of what San Francisco had to offer.
“I miss them too,” said Neko. “But I was thinking. You’re looking for these mist-blooded people, to try and bring them back to Innsmouth. Someone’s going to have to travel to meet them. I could help.”
“Is that what you want?” I asked. “Even after everything that’s happened, you still want to keep traveling?”
“I kind of hope my next trip will involve fewer desperate midnight raids. And better food that we haven’t cooked ourselves. But yes, it’s what I want.”
I hesitated, but chose bluntness. “Traveling who knows where, looking like you do. It won’t be easy.”
She propped her elbows on the windowsill. The night was clear, and the waxing moon gave enough light for people other than me to see by. “Barbed wire keeps you in one place. I’m not going to do that to myself, even to stay safe. I won’t go alone—you’ll need someone who can show off more of what Innsmouth has to offer, in any case. But I can help.”
“Yes,” I said. “You can.”
My family had grown, and I wanted to keep them all safe. But it wasn’t my place to deny them the rain.
*
Spector saw us off at the airport. Charlie sat and read while we waited for the plane, carefully not looking up. Neko pressed her nose to the glass, watching the great mechanical birds wander their paved nests. Before the camps, this would have been impossible: the cross-country trip requiring days by train. Now a government check or Innsmouth gold could purchase a flight. The Yith, at home, were supposed to have flying machines available for any who cared to see distant lands and the tops of clouds; I wondered whether Trumbull could say how they compared to ours.
Spector took a drag on his cigarette. The air was thick with smoke and the plane would be the same; I breathed shallowly and reached through the confluence for hints of other, easier breaths. “I don’t know whether to apologize for bringing you out here,” he said.
I looked at him in surprise. “Don’t. It’s been a hard month, but we’ve gotten a lot that we needed from it. Or … is there something I should know?”
He shook his head. “No. I was hoping you’d get some use out of the trip; I suppose I just hadn’t bargained on how much.” He pressed the stub into an ashtray; his fingers twitched as if seeking something else to hold. He glanced at me sideways and lit another cigarette. “I wanted to remind them that I could be useful—and that you could too. I didn’t consider Barlow, though. He doesn’t agree on either count, but when I left he was caught up in a different project entirely.” He lowered his voice. “I’m more worried than I was before about what a body snatcher could do—on either side. Seeing the trick in action has that effect, I guess. It’s dangerous, and I hope Miss Harris manages to draw them off. If she does, though, they won’t forget that you had something to do with that. They weren’t there with us. They won’t understand what happened, and they’ll want to keep an eye on you.”
I laughed bitterly, and suffered through the coughing that followed. “Somehow I don’t think we can avoid that, no matter what happens.” I thought of Ephraim’s journal, and swallowed. “Fear is going to have its way, regardless. In some ways, it doesn’t matter who has an ability like that, or even if anyone does. Once people are on guard for it … they’ll find what they’re looking for.”
“I see that. The past few days I’ve caught myself watching people, trying to see whether anyone walks like an inhuman monster. Or a Russian, or a fugitive Nazi. Like someone who isn’t used to their body.” He shook his head. “Witch hunts. Always a good distraction from real problems.”
“And we both know where they’ll look, when they want to find witches.”
He sighed. “Some of these people, I don’t think they see a middle ground between perfect loyalty to us, and perfect loyalty to someone else. You’ve got people speaking up for you—that’s the best I can offer. That, and trying to find more chances for you to prove yourself.” Before I could respond, he added, “And yes, I know that’s a mixed blessing.”
I suspected he knew that from experience. Clearly he still needed to prove himself, and his loyalty, regularly. It seemed unlikely that either of us would ever be allowed to stop.
EPILOGUE
In San Francisco, the nightmares changed.
I hadn’t slept easy for twenty years, and had resigned myself to mixing these latest troubles with my more practiced unconscious ruminations. Perhaps I would see the camp guards wielding Ngalthr’s ritual knife on my mother as she died, or flee from burning desert prison into cold vacuum.