I let his spirit rise to the fore. In an instant, even as Merritt happily slithered toward me, I found myself watching the Count of Seasweep—scion of House Athelmarch—staring at the transformees feasting on the fungus creature mush, decked out in full armor.

He was staring at Karl, not that Karl looked like Karl anymore.

"Is that…?"

Yes, I thought-said. "That's Karl."

He'd fully transformed into a forest-green wyrm. He lay coiled off to the side of the massive wyrm-tree at the center of the garage. Ibrahim, Yuth, and several other transformees in the shadow of the tree's boughs, feasting on the mounds of kibble nearby, and their changes were advancing accordingly.

The last vestiges of their humanity were disappearing before my eyes.

Ibrahim's face had been completely lost in a wyrm snout. The rich song tones coming from Dr. Rathpalla's snout-holes were a bittersweet cocktail of relief, loss, pleasure, and disorientation.

Geoffrey stared at Karl in shock. "Karl…?"

But just as I was about to tell Geoffrey that there was no use, because Karl couldn't see him, the world proved me wrong, and not just once, but twice.

Merritt twisted her head like a screwdriver and stopped in place and stared while Karl looked up, head and neck shooting up like a jack-in-the-box, banging the underside of his horned head on one of the wyrm-tree's branches, shaking spores free from the head at the branch's tip.

Karl groaned in deep harmonies. He reached up to rub his head, only for his claws to graze his neck. Then, with a shake of his head, he turned around to face me with wicked speed.

Karl made a sound that I couldn't understand, and I told him as much.

Then, he pointed a claw-tip at Geoffrey, and that was when I realized both Karl and Merritt could see Geoffrey.

Geoffrey turned to me in surprise, palming his hand on his short, dark hair. "Genneth, can he…?"

I nodded.

"Andalon told me wyrms could share their ghosts through their song. I've seen it first-hand, myself, in my experiences with the self-help group," I said. I ran the back of my finger along my throat. "I guess the recent changes to my voice were enough to bridge the gap."

Ibrahim, Yuth, and the others watched with worried interest as Karl pushed off the ruined mosaic floor and slithered toward Geoffrey and I. Geoffrey's legs trembled, but he stood his ground, staring as if transfixed. His face was a stew of potent emotions: an almost brotherly affection mixed with a reflexive antipathy toward what his unlikely protégé had become.

Karl bent his neck down to clutched his head in his claws and shook it in dismay. He sang erratically, with anger, fear, and longing, puffing out spores. I couldn't understand any of the specifics, but Karl's emotions came across as clear as glass, and just as sharp.

Geoffrey felt them, too.

"What's he saying?" His cloak rippled as he turned back and forth between Karl and I. "Dr. Howle?"

"I'm sorry." I shook my head. "I don't understand him."

"Where is—"

"—I don't know," I replied.

Clenching his fist, Geoffrey shook his arm and then lightly bit on the tip of his thumb before looking me straight in the eyes with a sudden jerk of his neck.

There was a gleam in his eye.

"I know," he said, "tell Karl to shape the spores into letters and words, as Letty had."

Karl's six eyes widened at that. He must have heard it. But when he tried to do as Geoffrey suggested, he riled up the spore clouds with so many churning letters and symbols that, even for another wyrm, it was impossible to figure out what he meant.

"Karl, slow down!" Geoffrey said. "I can't follow this!"

Karl didn't take that well. Roaring in frustration, he lunged to the side and slammed his claws on the hood of a half-melted sedan, leaving dents in the metal. Spores shivered in the air under the force of the sound. The vibrations made parts of broken vehicles and fragments of shattered tile and concrete twitch and dance across the floor .

All the other wyrms turned to Karl and slithered forward, but then Ibrahim tooted a commanding-sounding-something and stuck out his arm, and everyone stayed where they were.

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Geoffrey turned to me, fraught and dismayed, his fingernails pressed deep into his palms.

"Genneth, please," he said, "Karl is like a younger brother to me. I…" He glanced back at the forest-green wyrm. "…I can't stand to see him like this. Isn't there something you can do?"

I nodded.

"Andalon told me I can give my spirits to other wyrms. I could give your soul to Karl, if that is what you wish," I said, adding, "I admit, I don't know the full details of how it works, but… I'd absolutely be willing to try."

Geoffrey nodded and bowed. "I'd be forever in your debt."

The other wyrms watched us. I didn't know how much they'd seen or heard, but they all bobbed their heads in agreement, so they must have understood what I intended to do.

Dr. Rathpalla slithered over to Karl and called out to him in earnest.

Karl looked up, glanced at the psychiatric wyrm, and then at the neuropsychiatric wyrm (me), and then angrily tooted something back at Ibrahim, who then replied in that kind, but in what sounded like a wyrm-speak equivalent to that chiding manner of his he showed whenever he proffered constructive criticism. They exchanged a couple more phrases, successively less heated until, at last, Ibrahim turned to me and beckoned with a wave of his claws.

I turned to Karl, who closed his eyes and nodded.

"Here goes nothing…" I muttered.

Slithering up to Karl, I placed my hand on his flank. There was a tickle as my body sent roots into his and his into mine, and then everything went black.

— — —

Unless you were willing to monopolize it and dominate like Archibald Sheen at the start of the Prelatory, a successful wyrm-link (physical or not) required teamwork. Without either a degree of cooperation between the wyrms involved, or a single, extremely strong-minded participant, the push and pull of the interacting wills would destabilize the shared mental space and prevent it from settling into any particular form.

Going in, my first instinct was to manifest one of my mind-offices and have us appear there, but I knew I'd have to change plans as soon as I got my first taste of Karl's pungent emotions.

Gosh, he was really hurting. And not just that: he was angry. But… at Geoffrey?

Obviously, something had happened to the young man during his stay with the other transformees, so I decided to let Karl take the lead.

The several seconds of nothingness finally gave way to daylight, and gold and green. A breeze carried scents of corn, husks, and earth as it tousled my hair and coat.

Blinking, I looked around.

We were on a farm, next to a cornfield. An old-fashioned stone farmhouse stood off to the side, along with a barn, granary, and other agrarian amenities.

I heard a horse trot and whinny in the distance.

Karl stood in front of me, dressed in green jerkin, brown tunic, and breeches. To me, at least, his breeches and leg-stockings looked a lot more comfortable than the antique military outfit he'd been wearing when he and the other crusaders had arrived in the modern era.

I, of course, was my good old neuropsychiatric self.

But the idyllic surroundings belied Karl's mood. His face was taut with anger, worry, and hurt, with his lips pinched tight at the edges.

The young man clenched his fists and yelled. "What did you do to Geoffrey?!"

A vicious wind buffeted me.

"What do you mean, what did I do to him?" I asked.

"I saw him—his spirit—next to you. He flickered in and out like a candle flame. He looked hurt!"

The flickering made sense. My voice had only just begun to change, after all. The wyrmsong I'd be broadcasting would be far from high quality.

"Karl, that's because my voice has just started to change," I said. "And Geoffrey wasn't in pain, he was—"

"—K-Karl…?"

Geoffrey appeared at my side. Gone were his breastplate and greaves. Instead, he was dressed how he'd been in his memories of rescuing Harmon: green breeches, white hose, and a dark blue doublet, though without the hat, and with the same long cloak that he wore in battle.

Karl gave the Count a tight-lipped stare, but the young man's inner turmoil refused to stay put. Tears trickled down his cheeks; he shook his head, as if fighting against himself. After several seconds of silence, Karl's heartache eventually won out, and he ran up to Count Athelmarch and hugged him, deeply, sobbing openly.

At first, Geoffrey was stunned; he didn't know what to do, and I knew it, because he let me know it. He was being totally open with me, allowing me to tap into his thoughts and feelings in real time. I felt his keen relief at seeing the young man in one piece, as he'd known him, and his just-as-keen heartbreak at Karl's dismay.

Until now, I don't think Geoffrey had truly grasped just how important he really was to the young man. The knowledge humbled him, and he ached with regret that he hadn't noticed it until now. Yes, he knew the boy had been fond of him. But this? No, nothing like this.

I think it was because I kept thinking about Harmon, Geoffrey thought. Seeing Karl, I felt the Angel had blessed me with an opportunity to make amends for my failure to protect my brother.

Hesitantly at first, but then with greater resolve, Geoffrey responded to Karl's embrace, gently wrapping his arms around him and pressing his hand onto the young man's back.

He was finally seeing Karl as a man in his own right.

Then, swallowing hard, Geoffrey turned to face me. The aura of self-assurance I'd come to expect from the Count of Seasweep was nowhere to be seen.

He was asking me for guidance, though not in words.

I nodded.

"I'm…" he sighed. "I'm glad to see you, too, Karl."

I sighed as well, relieved that things hadn't taken a turn for the worse. For a moment there, I'd been worried. Karl had been very angry out in the Thick World.

The harsh winds had died away, letting me notice the tickle of thrumming sounds passing by my ears. I looked up to see a pair of hummingbirds fly by, darting after one another.

Karl released Geoffrey and stepped back. His face was red and puffy, covered in trails of tears. Sniffling, he brushed his curly bangs off his forehead and wiped the mucus on his sleeve, and although Geoffrey was smiling at him—happy to be happy, for once—there was no denying that there was tension beneath Karl's surface emotions.

The young man gave his hero a stern stare, lips pursed and eyebrows raised.

The smile on Geoffrey's face gradually fell apart as he realized what was happening.

"Karl… what's wrong?" he asked.

Karl took a deep breath and a step back, and then looked Geoffrey in the eyes.

"Why did you use darkpox against the Mewnees?" he asked.

Fricassee me!

The situation had just hit the proverbial fan.

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