"I'd like to at least wash my face before we go," Rachel said.
"The bathroom's through there," I said, pointing the way. Then I withdrew from the room, to allow her some privacy.
"She's so beautiful," I whispered to Galilee when he'd followed me out. "You're a very lucky man."
Galilee didn't reply. He had his eyes cast toward the ceiling, as though he were preparing himself for what lay above.
"What do you want from her?" I asked him.
"To be forgiven, I suppose. No. More than that." He looked at me. "I want to come home, Eddie. I want to bring the love of my life back to L'Enfant, and live here happily ever after." Now it was me who didn't reply. "You don't believe in happily ever after?" he said.
"For us?"
"For anybody."
"But we're not anybody, are we? We're the Barbarossas. The rules are different for us."
"Are they?" he said, his gaze opaque. "I'm not so sure. It seems to me we're driven by the same stupid things that drive everyone else. We're no better than the Gearys. We should be, but we're not. We're just as petty, we're just as confused. It's time we started to think about the future."
"This is strange, coming from you."
"I want to have children with Rachel."
"I wouldn't do that," I said. "Half-breeds are no use to anybody."
He laid his hand on my shoulder. "That's what I used to believe. Anyway what kind of father would I make? That's what I said to myself. But it's time, Eddie." He smiled, beautifully. "I want to fill this old house with kids. And I want them to learn about all the miraculous shit we take for granted."
"I don't think there's much that's miraculous left in this place," I said. "If there ever was."
"It's still here," he said. "It's everywhere around us. It's in our blood. It's in the ground. And it's up there, with her."
"Maybe."
He caught hold of my chin, and shook it. "Look at you. Be happy. I'm home."
So, up we went, the three of us. Through the dark, quiet house, up the stairs, to Cesaria's chambers. She wasn't there, however. As I went from room to room, knocking lightly, then pushing the doors open, the realization slowly grew that of course she wasn't there. She'd gone up one more flight, to the skyroom. The circle was closing, quickly now. The place where all this had begun-where I'd been granted the first visions-was demanding our attendance.
As we turned from the empty bedroom, I heard the click of claws on the floorboard, and saw Cesaria's favorite quill-pig. Tansy, scuttling out from under the bed. I went down on my haunches and cautiously picked the creature up. She was quite happy to be in my arms-and for some reason I found her presence there reassuring.
"Where are we going now?" Galilee said as I passed him and Rachel on my way out of the bedroom.
"Up to the dome," I said.
He looked at me anxiously. "What's she doing up there?"
"I guess we're going to find out," I replied, and led the way, along the passage and up the narrow stairs. Tansy grew more agitated as we went; a sure sign that my instincts were correct, and that Cesaria was indeed awaiting us in the room above.
I paused at the door, and turned back to the lovers.
"Have you ever been in here?" I asked Galilee.
"No…"
"Well, if we get separated-" I said.
"Wait. What are you talking about: separated? It's not that big a room."
"It's not a room, Galilee," I said. "It may be that from the outside, but once you get in there, it's another world. It's her world."
He looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"So what should we expect?" Rachel said.
"I'm afraid whatever I tell you, it's probably going to be something different. Just go with the flow. Let it happen. And don't be afraid of it."
"She's not afraid of much," Galilee said, offering Rachel a little smile.
"And as I said, if we get separated-"
"We'll go on without you," Galilee said. "Agreed?"
"Agreed."
With the quill-pig still nestling in the crook of my arm, I turned to the door, and reaching down-somewhat tentatively, I will admit-for the handle, I opened it. There was a sliver of me dared imagine being here would work another miracle upon me. If the first visit had healed my broken body, what might a second do? It was all very well for Galilee to extol the virtue of half-breeds, but I'd found no special glory in that condition; quite the contrary. Was it possible that stepping back into the heart of Cesaria's world I might be cured of my hybrid state? Might be made wholly divine?
That tantalizing possibility made me braver than I might otherwise have been. With just one backward glance, to be sure that I still had Rachel and Galilee in tow, I strode on into.the room. At first glance it seemed to be quite empty, but I knew how misleading such impressions could be. Cesaria was here, I was certain of it. And if she was here, then so was the court of visions and transformations that attended upon her. It was just a question of waiting for them to appear.
"Nice room," I heard Galilee say behind me.
There was an ironic edge to the remark, no doubt; he obviously thought I'd overestimated the miraculous nature of the place. I didn't offer any kind of defense. I just held my breath. A few seconds passed. The quill-pig had quieted in my arms. Curious, I thought. I let the held breath go, albeit slowly. Still nothing.
"Are you sure-" Galilee began.
"Hush."
It was not me who silenced him, it was Rachel. I heard her footsteps behind me, and from the corner of my eye saw her walking on past me into the room. She'd left Galilee's side. In other circumstances I might have glanced back over my shoulder and called him a coward, but the moment was too fraught for me to risk the distraction. I kept my gaze fixed on Rachel as she wandered toward the center of the room. That hush of hers had come because she'd heard something; but what? All I could hear was the sound of our breathing, and the padding of Rachel's soles on the bare boards. Still, she was clearly attending to some sound or other. She cocked her head slightly, as if she wasn't quite sure whether she was really hearing this sound or not. And now, as she listened, I caught what she was straining to hear. It was the softest of sounds: a sibilant murmuring, so quiet I might have assumed it was the hum of my blood, had it not also been audible to Rachel.
She looked down at her feet. I followed her gaze, and saw that a subtle change had overtaken the boards. The cracks were being erased, and the details of each board, the grain and the knotholes, were shifting. Rachel could obviously feel the effect of this shift against the tips of her toes: the flow of the motion was toward her, out of the heart of the room.
Now I put the sound I was hearing together with the shifting of the boards: the wood was becoming sand; sand blown by a gentle but insistent breeze.
Rachel glanced back toward me. To judge by her expression she wasn't so much alarmed by what was happening as entertained.
"Look," she said. Then, to Galilee, "It's okay, honey." She reached out toward him, and he came to join her, sliding an anxious glance in my direction as he did so. The wind was getting stronger; the boards had now disappeared completely. There was only sand beneath our feet now, its grains glittering as they rolled on their way.
I watched him reach out to take hold of her hand, wondering what place this was, creeping up upon us. The walls across the room had melted away into a gray-blue haze; and I cast my eyes heavenward to see that the dome had also faded from view. There were stars up there, where there'd been a solid vault of timber and plaster. The dark between them was deepening, and their pinpricks growing brighter, even as I watched. For a few giddying heartbeats it seemed I was falling toward them. I returned my gaze to Rachel and Galilee before the illusion caught hold of me; and as I did so the lovers' fingers intertwined.