Chapter 34

Isisand I are riding in a limo, and I'm giddy with excitement.

"Again, props to you," Isis says. "I can't believe Eduardo was behind it all—and you're the only one who figured it out."

Something about what she says feels wrong, but I let it go because what really matters is that we're on the way to finally heal Mom. I look out at the city as Isis showers me with compliments. If Manhattan could pass for a small outskirt of Gomorrah, that's not the case for Brooklyn.

We get stuck in traffic twice, but eventually, the limo reaches JFK airport and drops us off among the hordes of people rushing to their flights. We navigate our way to a secret door guarded by wards; no human could ever go this way. Opening it, we slip into an underground labyrinth of corridors leading to the hub—an enormous circular room with reflective floors, a fairly typical setup as far as these things go. The circumference of the hub is peppered with gates, each colorful plasma warp point leading to a different Otherland. Hubs like this give the Cognizant access to countless universes, each as different from each other as Earth is from Gomorrah.

"My world is this way." I point at the turquoise gate opposite us.

"I've been to Gomorrah," Isis says. "Who hasn't?"

"Let me guess." I head for the gate. "Earth Club?"

"Hey, everyone goes there," she says defensively.

Sure, everybody from this backward place. There are much better clubs for us natives.

Catching up with me, Isis sashays into the gate first. I follow, as usual finding it fascinating how the front of me disappears into the shimmer of the gate as I walk into it.

We cross the gate's threshold, and we're not underground anymore, nor are we on Earth.

We're on top of a proper-sized skyscraper on Gomorrah.

I inhale the familiar ozone-scented air and smile. Isis looks at me like I'm crazy. I shrug and head for the elevator. As usual, the time here doesn't match New York on Earth. It was daytime there, yet here it's night, a time when the differences between the two worlds are the most telling.

I look up. There's no moon on Gomorrah, and I'm glad. That thing always looks ready to crash into Earth in some horrible cataclysm. Instead, we have a majestic nebula. The yellows and reds of its interstellar dust and gases form long trails that look like fire falling from the sky.

"I wonder if ancient Cognizant blabbed to humans about this sky," Isis says, falling into step next to me. "It looks exactly like fire and brimstone about to rain down on us."

"Who knows," I say, glancing down at the city sprawled below us.

The world of Gomorrah has only one city, a mega-metropolis that shares its name. It's larger than the entirety of the North American continent. The tallest building on Earth would look like a one-story suburban house here. The scale is staggering, even for those of us who grew up here. On a cloudy day, there's no skyline at all, as the tops of most buildings disappear into the clouds.

We take the elevator down to ground level and exit through the lobby onto the street. Immediately, I spot an orc, an elf, and a dwarf staggering drunkenly from some bar.

"Ahhh." I exhale. "Home sweet home."

Isis grins. "No place like it."

"I still haven't gotten acclimated to the homogenous human crowds in New York," I say.

She nods at a life-sized hologram of a supermodel beamed toward us by the nearest storefront. "Do you miss that also?"

"That's propaganda I could do without," I say and lead the way to a parking lot on the corner.

"Finally, normal-looking cars," I say as we approach. "The cars on Earth remind me of horse-drawn buggies."

"Yeah, these look like sleek spaceships." Isis looks around. "Hey, I smell food."

She's right. And this isn't just food—it's safe food. There's no such thing as foodborne illness here. I sniff the air, salivating at the thought of eating something that's not a banana, and the mouthwatering aroma of manna fills my nostrils.

I point at a vehicle Earth humans would probably describe as a flying saucer. "It's the Gomorrah version of a food truck. You've got to try it."

I get us each two packets of mannaand rip into mine on the spot, moaning in pleasure as the flavor explodes over my starved taste buds.

After the first bite, Isis digs in with equal gusto. "If it were possible to have an orgasm from eating, this would do it," she says with her mouth full. "How many calories are in this thing?"

I hand her the second packet. "Don't worry. You can't gain weight from manna."

After I've had my fill, I remember our very important mission and get us a car. As we ride to the hospital, Isis gapes at our surroundings like the tourist she is.

"Everything looks like a set from Ghost in the Shell," she says, "or Blade Runner."

I grin. "Don't you think the orcs and elves break the cyberpunk vibe?"

She laughs, and we chatter the rest of the way about Felix's favorite topic, the cross-Otherland "borrowing" of creative ideas, including movies, video games, and books. Isis finds it as amusing as I do that there's Pac-Man and Mary Poppins on both Gomorrah and Earth—only in the Gomorran version, Mary Poppins is a vampire.

When the car stops at the hospital, we hurry into the intensive care unit.

"Miss Spade," calls a voice so high it borders on ultrasonic. "I need to talk to you."

I will myself to slow down and smile at the billing administrator—or Horseshoe Bat as I call her, in part because she seems batty and in part because her face reminds me of the Earth creature.

"I'll pay whatever I owe," I tell her preemptively.

"Good." She looks disappointed not to have to give me a lecture. "If you could step into my office—"

"Look, lady, my time is valuable," Isis says. "Get out of our way or I'll heal all your patients, and there go your profits."

"You're a healer?" Horseshoe Bat bats her eyelashes at Isis. "Maybe we—"

"Out of the way," Isis growls.

Horseshoe Bat retreats.

I locate Dr. Xipil in the unit and apprise him of what Isis is here to do. He grabs a few colleagues, and we meet in Mom's room.

Mom looks the same. Machines maintain all her basic bodily functions, and her brain activity is flat.

Dr. Xipil shifts his weight uneasily. "Do you want us to unplug her first?"

"Too risky," Isis says. "Let me do my thing first."

He glances at her hands and shuffles back a step or two. "Go ahead."

Isis shoots Mom with an arc of golden energy.

I hold my breath.

Mom's brain activity goes from flat to frantic.

My breath whooshes out. It's all I can do to not rush over to her as she gasps and flails, clearly bothered by the breathing apparatus.

Maintaining her focus, Isis speaks over her shoulder. "Now you take your crap out. Quick."

The medical staff scurry to comply as Isis keeps a steady stream of healing energy directed at Mom.

When the last machine is disconnected, Mom's eyes blink open, and she gives me a tender smile.

"Mom," I say, my voice choked. "How are you doing?"

"I feel great," she says, looking around. "Where am I?"

"You're at the hospital," I say, wiping a tear with my sleeve. I tug more fabric discreetly into my palm so I can make another pass at my nose. "There's been an accident and—"

That's when I notice it.

Pom.

Or, more precisely, the lack of Pom on my wrist.

Hold on. Pom is never missing from my wrist. Not unless I'm dreaming.

The world around me freezes.

Of course. This isn't actually happening. It's a fantasy. It's what might've happened if Eduardo had turned out to be the killer, as I thought.

Unable to stand the disappointment, I shut out Mom's beatific face and will myself to my dream palace.