Despite Margaret's assertion that she was the "atheist hellspawn of the closeted faggot that fooled Pel into marriage," Jules had, in fact, always been open to the possibility that god might exist, just like she had always been open to the possibility that throwing salt over one's shoulder might ward off bad luck, or that ending the legal separation of the business activities of commercial and investment banks might not have caused the Great Economic Crash of 1906. Like these other possibilities, Jules' openness to god was very much real, to be sure, albeit small. Very small. Like, amoeba's-bunghole small. But it was there: a little hole. To rule out the abstract theoretical possibility (not probability, just possibility) would be a totally irrational rejection of empiricism itself. It was just like she'd told Margaret: "Just cut someone's head off in front of me, crush their skull to a pulp, and then have the Angel miraculously restore them to life within five seconds, and then I'll totally believe that the basket of formerly state-mandated mental disorders you call a religion isn't complete bullshit."

So, firmly grounded in reality and reason, yes, but still open to new evidence.

But not anymore.

The latest revelation had pushed her past the point of no return.

On her and Rayph's way back to the room, they'd crossed paths with—and were nearly discovered by—a half-wyrm, though Jules' quick thinking and her brother's good eyes had found them a table to hide beneath. It had been harrowing from beginning to end, Jules, with her body pinned between her brother's and the wall, both of them trembling in fear, desperately yearning for fate to deal her a hand better than becoming wyrm chow. Jules couldn't believe they'd managed to avoid getting seen, just like she couldn't believe what her mother had to show her when she and Rayph finally got back to the room.

Pel had been waiting for them, console in hand.

Jules stared at the video paused on the screen as if the console was a newborn hellspawn.

"You've got to be kidding me…" she groaned.

Jessica. Fucking. Eigenhat.

"Is that really her?" Rayph asked.

"That's Jessica Eigenhat," Jules said, flatly.

Granted, she looked like shit, and was turning into worse-than-shit, but there was no doubt about it. That tiny, tiny possibility of god (that had never stood a chance in the first place)? It was dead, now and forever. Even if it turned out there was a god, Jules would stand against it—or whatever pronouns it wanted to use for itself. It was one thing to allow for the Green Death. Was it unspeakably evil and awful? Yes. But, at least it was even-handed. But now, that bully Jessica Eigenhat was turning into one of the wyrms, and for Jules, that was just a step too far. It was like a bad joke, and she wanted nothing to do with it.

Julette Dana Howle had to draw the line somewhere.

"You have to talk to her," her mother said.

Jules looked up and gave her mother her patented are-you-nuts?!™ face. "Did you not hear anything I told you? They're eating people!"

"I know!" Pel said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "I saw it myself!"

"You saw them eat zombies, Mom," Jules said. "Zombies don't beg for their lives. And they weren't just eating, they were training, too. They were using those powers of theirs to play with their food, like a cat with a mouse."

"Keep playing the video," Pel said.

Begrudgingly, Jules complied. Rayph skittered up behind her on the carpet, raising his head over her shoulder to get a look.

They watched the footage.

"There," Pel said, "there! Listen!"

"Fuck you!" Jessica said. "I already went through this bullshit once before! I know what's real, and what isn't!"

"I'm showing you the truth," Verune said.

"No, you're not!" Jessica thrashed against her progressing transformation. "You're fucking hallucinating," she said, "and I should know, it happened to me!" She locked eyes with the other changelings. "Listen to me, I thought I was going crazy, but then I realized: it wasn't fucking real! It was all in my head! Our thoughts have power, damn it! They make us see what isn't there!" Jessica pointed a claw at her face. "This is real! This is what we are, and it isn't changing!"

Jules watched in astonishment as Verune ordered his half-wyrms to take Jessica away. They bound her with their invisible ties, hovering her through the air as they took her out.

"Verune views her as a threat." Pel said. "You should—"

"—Mom, we just went out now, and we barely made it back. And if they've taken Jessica away and locked her up, what do you think they'll do to us if they find us?"

"Jules, don't you see?" Pel said, as if it was obvious.

"No, I don't," Jules replied, because it wasn't.

"Think about what we've found!" Pel said. "Verune says they eat the zombies because the zombies are demons and the changelings are becoming divine beasts."

"I think they're all nuts," Jules said.

"I agree with Jules," Rayph chimed

"Well, I don't!" Pel said, only to pale, and then lower her head in shame. "I mean… I didn't." Her shoulders fell.

She coughed.

"Mom?" Jules asked.

"Honey, I don't know what to think anymore."

Jules could tell her mother was genuinely scared, and that was the most terrifying part of all.

"I'm not like your father, Jules." Pel's voice broke. "I… I need something to plant my feet on, otherwise… I… —what am I supposed to do, what am I supposed to be, how am I to know what's right and what's wrong?! Oh, Angel…" She wept. "I need to know what's true, Jules, it matters to me. I don't know who's right anymore, Scripture, Verune, your father…" Pel interwove her fingers. "Oh Hallowed Beast, give me strength, I'm not strong enough to step into the dark. I need a guardian, someone to look to, an ideal to chase." She shook her fists. "And I don't have one anymore, and I'm not okay with that! It's not okay! I need to know, Jules, I need it. As your mother, I need to know what to do, so that I can do it. Without that… I'm nothing." Her voice died in a whimper.

Jules cried. "Fuck scripture! Mom, you're the strongest person I know. You don't need ideals, you just need to be you. You already have it in you. I have faith in that. I have faith in you! In who you are!"

"Me too!" Rayph said.

And Pel smiled. It was a broken smile—the smile of a lost soul—but it was still a smile, and as a smile, it was the most beautiful smile Jules had ever seen.

"I wish your father was here, to see what a wonderful person you've become."

There was a long pause. Rayph looked especially pensive.

"Maybe Jessica will want to help," Rayph suggested. "Maybe she can help us get out."

Both Pel and Jules turned to stare at him.

Jules sighed. "I hate it when he has ideas," she grumbled, only to add, in a half-hearted mumble, "especially when they're good ones."

— — —

Like most good ideas, Rayph's suggestion turned out to be easier said than done. It had been a while since their mother had recorded the video of Jessica getting taken away, which meant that when it came to tracking down where the wyrms had taken little miss Eigenhat, there was no obvious trail for Jules to follow.

Jules spent the first few minutes of the search prowling stealthily through the halls around the Great Nave's second and third floor, trying to figure out where the hell Jessica had been taken.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

It wasn't going well.

As usual, Jules blamed her grandmother. Margaret turned out to be responsible for enough shit that it was a safe bet that she would be behind even the most seemingly unrelated nonsense—anti-vaccine nonsense, racist nonsense, sexy blackmail nonsense—but in this case, her involvement was as direct and as it was blatant. Had Margaret not been entrapping her mother in conversation—or whatever-the-fuckery it was—her mother might have been able to follow the wyrms that had taken Jessica and would have therefore had a better idea of where she was. Unfortunately, all Jules had to go on was the tail end of the video, which showed Jessica being carried down the corridor to the left of the Moon Door.

This meant my daughter had really only one available option: process of elimination.

The everyman's algorithm.

Jules crept up to the next door down the hall. All the other rooms here had been clerical quarters, so this next one was probably just more of the same, but… she wanted to be sure.

Taking ginger steps across the carpet, Jules reached for the cold bronze doorknob and turned it ever so slowly, pulling just enough to crack the door open by a hair.

She peered through.

Jules bit her lip, trying not to scream. It seemed one of the wyrms had decided to eat their meals in private.

Jules released her grip on the doorknob and darted away with a shudder.

Well, fuck.

She'd gone up and down the hallway, but no luck. This meant Jessica wasn't being held nearby, and that meant only one thing: Jessica was being confined somewhere in the Melted Palace's labyrinthine depths.

Groaning quietly, Jules readied herself to explore the inner reaches. But right as she set out, a pair of solos emerged from the ambient wyrm polyphony. She froze, sparks running down her spine.

She could hear scales brushing against marble. And the sounds were getting louder.

Shit shit shit.

In this life-or-death moment, Jules decided to try her luck. Scampering down the hall, she turned onto the landing of the nearest set of stairs and clambered up to the landing at the halfway-point, where the steps doubled back and rose to the next floor up.

Snakes can't go up stairs, right?

As she took shelter on the stairs, Jules saw how the stained glass windows on the wall were gleaming like gems, lit up by the sunset. It was a beautiful sight, and for a moment, it held Jules' attention. The windows depicted the Lass' translation into Paradise, flanked below by chasms rented into Southmarch plain, and above by a flock of hummingbirds—iridescent in their reds, magentas, and emerald greens.

For a moment, she felt at peace. But then the sound of the approaching wyrms speaking jolted her back to reality. Pursuing her lips tight, Jules held her breath and ducked low, while chanting a mantra in her mind.

Please don't climb stairs. Please don't climb stairs…

She pressed herself up against the railing, trying to make herself as small as possible. The metal dug through her samue, pressing cold against her forearm, shoulder, and back.

Below, the half-wyrms were slithering through the hallway. Jules peered through the gaps in the railing's twisted iron bars, watching their shadows move.

And then one of them spoke.

"So, what was up with the girl you took down to the wine cellar?" the wyrm said.

Jules strained herself doubly, to make sense of their words, and to ignore the incessant pounding of her pulse at her temples.

Girl?

She really, really hoped they meant Jessica.

"I heard Verune did something neat with water from the fountains," the other wyrm said.

"Oh yeah, it was really impressive," the other replied. "I hope someone will teach me how to do that."

The wyrms stopped. The first one spoke up again.

"But I heard she was ranting and raving."

"Yeah," the second replied, "it, uh, wasn't very becoming for a divine beast."

Jules bit her lip.

Holy fucking shit. It was Jessica! They were talking about Jessica!

Wine cellar, the wine cellar. That's where she was.

Now, all she needed to do was get there without becoming wyrm chow.

There was a pause.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," the first said.

"Maybe Hell corrupted her somehow?" the other one said.

"Nah, I bet it was just a really bad zombie. Maybe an atheist, or an apostate," the other replied. "I've heard they don't taste as good as more traditional sinners. But I've yet to try any myself, so, who knows?"

"But, what if—"

"—No, I trust his Holiness. Beast's teeth, he's a time-traveler. It's like with the Guardians of Time; when someone travels through time, you listen to them."

"You read too much sci-fi," the second said.

"Guardians is a TV show," the first answered. "And it's one of the best."

A moment later, they slithered off, arguing about what made for good television. It was only as their argument started to get noisy that Jules finally let go of her breath. She panted heavily, and coughed a little. Her legs ached as she got up out of her crouched position. Maybe, she even felt a little feverish.

Or is it just in my head? she wondered.

Clenching her fists, Jules shook her head, muttering to herself, "Stay focused."

Then she darted down the staircase, bound for the wine cellar.

By one of those coincidences that made the world go round, it just so happened that Jules already knew where the wine cellar was. That was my personal contribution to this particular episode of my daughter's life.

It was effectively mandatory that every elementary school class in the greater Elpeck area would, at some point, go on a field trip to the Melted Palace, and my kids were no exception. As Jules' trip was the first time our firstborn child would ever go on such a major event, Pel and I made quite a big deal about it (Pel for the religious aspects, me for the historical aspects). We'd both done all the legwork needed to ensure that I would tag along on the educational adventure as a docent to help corral the kids and teach them a thing or two about the history of our great city. Now, as Jules would forever point out to me after the fact, one thing had led to another, and I'd sort of ended up taking over the whole tour. Jules and the rest of the students under my care got the experience of a lifetime. I showed them parts of the Melted Palace that weren't on the tour, and gave their budding minds as many anecdotes as they could carry.

And you know what one of those parts was?

The wine cellar.

I'll never forget the way Jules hid at the back of the group, cringing every time I said her name.

Ahh… parenting.

The point is, my daughter never let me forget that particular indiscretion of mine, and because of that, she hadn't forgotten it, either, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

Like most jaunty episodes of childhood trauma, Jules knew the way to the wine cellar like the back of her hand; it was in the Melted Palace's bowels, down beneath the crust of two millennia of history. The route was a bit more meandering than usual, on account of having to duck in cover several times on the way there, to avoid passing wyrms or the cultists that served them.

Much to Jules' dismay, the sickly sweet stench that came with the wyrms thickened the closer she got to her destination. Even through her face mask, she could almost taste it. At one point, she stared in horror at the oddly beautiful scene of the spores capering in the halls' lambent lights. The sight stopped her in her tracks. In between heavy breaths, she used her sleeves to dust off her skirt and blouse, terrified some of the spores had gotten stuck to the cloth.

She fought a nascent panic attack.

Maybe she wasn't as ready to die as she thought she was.

Unfortunately, she still had a ways to go before she got to the wine cellar. Continuing her descent, Jules sighed with relief as she reached the basement, evident by the sudden change in the walls themselves. Though the Melted Palace had been built at the height of the Second Empire—late 18th century construction—it stood upon a far older substratum. Two thousand years ago, the Sword Chamber—now on the ground floor—had been the highest point of the Great Temple of ancient Elpeck, pitched atop a hill overlooking the days of yore. Though the city and the land had grown up around it in the intervening years, the old roots still remained. The smooth, fine walls of the upper floors gave way to agèd, chthonic brickwork. In places, the brick had flaked off, like pieces of flint.

The wine cellar was all the way down in the second basement. Modern stairs—shiny, clunky corrugated metal—stood as an alternative to the ancient originals. The old staircase was a square stairwell, tightly wound and carved by hand. Depressions marred the middle of the steps—as if they were made of wax, and that wax had partially melted—but, as Jules knew, that was just a sign of its age. Footsteps eroded rock as surely as water would.

Jules took care not to clomp her feet on the metal steps. The squeaks, clank, and groans that issued forth from her every step spiked her pulse.

She couldn't help but pictures changelings around every corridor—predators, waiting for a victim to come stumbling their way.

It didn't help that the second basement's naked, flesh-toned halls left barely a foot of clearance over Jules' head. Compared to the hallways on the upper floors, it was downright claustrophobic. The stones in the hallways' arched vaulting were blocky, almost cubic. Black cables ran along the floor and walls, providing electricity to depths, powering everything from the LEDs mounted on the walls and ceiling to the climate-controlling air conditioning that hummed in the background. The air conditioning snaked through the metal tubes that ran along the ceilings, above the metal walkway that paved the floor down the middle. The walkway gave visitors something to walk on that wasn't age-old stone.

Ever since her first encounter with them on that misbegotten field trip, Jules couldn't shake the thought that the walls looked like teeth that had been mortared together, worn smooth by the passage of time. It was eerie enough that you had to fight the urge not to want to touch them. The staff had long since picked up on this, and conservation workers had put small black up on the walls at regular intervals, bearing warnings reminding the public not to touch.

Then, over the air conditioning's rattling hum, Jules heard someone muttering in the distance.

Following the path and the mumbled words and her own memories, Jules made her way forward, turning left at the next cross-corridor intersection. Directly ahead, the hall ended in an entryway dug into the wall. Instead of a door, the entryway was topped by a broad, protruding lintel stone. The entrance let down into the far corner of the cellar. Jules could see all the cellar's contents spread out before her.

Jules stuck her head through the opening, just as I had done when I'd told the kids about the wine cellar's history.

Just as I'll now tell you.

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