Sparks. How was I going to deal with him?
The answer was in my arms. I looked down at Megan, that perfect face, those beautiful lips. I’d been right to have faith in the Epics. I’d just chosen the wrong one.
Her eyes opened, and she saw me. “I don’t feel like killing you,” she whispered.
“More wonderful words have never been spoken,” I said back.
She stared at me, then groaned, closing her eyes again. “Oh hell. The secret is the power of love. I’m going to be sick.”
“Actually, I think it’s something else,” I said.
She looked at me. I was suddenly made conscious that she was very, very naked, and I was nearly naked as well. She followed my eyes, then shrugged. I blushed and put her down, then moved to find something for her to wear. As I stood, however, clothing appeared on her-the standard jeans and shirt, shadows of clothing from another dimension. Good enough for now, I supposed.
“What is the secret, then?” she asked, sitting up and running her hand through her hair. “Every other time I’ve reincarnated, I’ve been bad when I first came back. Unable to remember myself, violent, destructive. This time … I feel nothing. What changed?”
I looked her in the eyes. “Was that building already on fire when you ran into it?”
She pursed her lips. “Yeah,” she admitted. “It was stupid. You don’t need to tell me it was. I knew you probably weren’t in there, not for real. But I thought-maybe you were, and I couldn’t risk that you might be.…” She shivered visibly.
“How afraid of the fire were you?”
“More than you can possibly know,” she whispered.
I smiled. “And that,” I said, gathering her into my arms again, “is the secret.”
Epilogue
About five hours later I sat on top of what had once been a low building in Babilar, warming my hands at a cookfire. The building now rose some twenty stories over the once-submerged street below.
Not a single building had collapsed as the waters left. “It’s the roots,” Megan said, settling down next to me and handing me a bowl of soup. She wore real clothing now, which was kind of unfortunate, but likely more practical, as it had gotten really cold in the city all of a sudden. “Those roots are tough stuff, tougher than any plant has a right to be. They’re literally holding the buildings up.” She shook her head as if amazed.
“Dawnslight didn’t want his utopia to fall if he did,” I said, stirring my soup. “The fruit?”
“Still glowing,” Megan said. “The city will survive. He was warming the water somehow to keep the place from getting too cold, though. He’s going to have to find another way to deal with that.”
Other people moved about us. The people of Babilar were banding together in what they saw as a crisis, and we were just two more refugees. If any who passed saw something different about me, recognized me from one of the fights, they didn’t say anything. At least, nothing more than a few hushed whispers to their companions.
“So,” Megan said, “this theory of yours …”
“It has to be fear,” I said, exhausted. How long had it been since I’d had any sleep? “I faced down the waters, and then was immune to Regalia trying to make me an Epic. You rushed into a burning building to save me, despite your terror, and you awoke free from the corruption. Epics are afraid, at their core. It’s how we beat them.”
“Maybe,” Megan said, uncertain. Sparks. How was it that someone could look so good simply stirring soup? And while wearing clothing a size too big, her face red from the chill? I smiled, then noticed she was staring at me too.
That seemed to be a very good sign.
“The theory makes sense,” I said, blushing. “It’s like oatmeal on pancakes.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me, then tried her soup. “You know,” she said, “you’re not actually bad at metaphors …”
“Thanks!”
“… because most of the things you say are similes. Those are really what you’re bad at.”
I nodded thoughtfully, then pointed my spoon at her. “Nerd.”
She smiled and drank her soup.
As good as it was to be with her, I found the taste of my soup bitter. I couldn’t laugh. Not after what had happened. We ate in silence, and as Megan stood she put a hand on my shoulder.
“If either of them had been told,” she said softly, “the cost they would have to pay to save the city, do you doubt they’d have agreed to it in a heartbeat?”
I reluctantly shook my head.
“Val and Exel died as part of an important fight,” Megan said. “And we’ll stop it from consuming others. Somehow.”
I nodded. I hadn’t confronted her about Sam yet. There would be time for that eventually.
She went looking for a refill. I stared at my bowl. Sadness gnawed at me, but I didn’t give it free rein.
I was too busy planning.
A moment later I picked out a voice from those around us. I stood, lowering my bowl, then pushed my way past two chatting Babilarans.
“He’s a goofy-looking fellow,” Mizzy was saying. “Tallish. Terrible fashion sense …” Then she saw me, her eyes opening wide. “Um … he has some good attributes too.…”
I grabbed her in a hug. “You heard the broadcast.”
“Yeaaaah,” she said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I asked some people to broadcast a message to you and Tia, hoping you’d pick it up on your radio and … You didn’t hear it?”
She shook her head, which was annoying. I’d wracked my brain trying to come up with a way to make sure Prof didn’t get to her. I’d thought the radio idea would be a good one. After all, we’d been able to use the shortwave to reach Abraham in Newcago.
Missouri held up a small slip of paper and showed it to me. Fortune cookie paper. Missouri, it read, hide. Hide now.
“When did you find this?” I asked.
“Last night,” she said. “Right before dawn. About a hundred of them said that. Creeped me out, I’ll tell ya. Figured I should do what it said. Why? You look sad.”
I’d have to tell her about the others. Sparks. I opened my mouth to explain, but at that moment Megan returned.
The two of them locked gazes.
“Uh, could we not shoot one another?” I said, nervous. “For now? Pretty please?”
Mizzy looked away from Megan pointedly. “We’ll see. Here. I think this one is for you, maybe?” She held up another slip of paper. “It was the only one that was different.”
I hesitantly took the paper.
Dream good dreams, Steelslayer, it read.
“Do you know what it means?” Mizzy asked.
“It means,” I said, folding the paper in my hand, “that we have a lot of work to do.”