Sleep didn't come easily for Pelbrum, which was awful, because she was exhausted. Jules had been pushing for them to take Jessica up on her offer of assistance and leave right then and there, but Pel had insisted they get some rest before they made their escape.

If she was going to die, she didn't want it to be for a stupid, easily preventable reason—not that she told the kids that.

The sound of the alarm ringing on her PortaCon jolted her awake. Rayph groaned and Jules groaned louder as their mother rubbed the thin layer of sleep from her eyes and shook the kids awake. Rayph had fallen asleep on the bed, beside his mother; Jules had taken a pillow and spent the night on the rug.

Considering the circumstances, Jules looked almost offensively comfortable, like a cat curled up in front of the fireplace.

"Get up, both of you," Pel said.

The kids coughed as they woke up. Both of them were still wearing their samue, as they had been for the past four days. The last time they'd bathed had been at Margaret's place. Pel hadn't changed her clothes since then, either, and was still stuck in the same simple short-sleeved yellow top, brown skirt lounge-wear she'd put on at the time.

Jules groaned again, blinking her eyes. "It's time already?"

"Yes."

Pel felt worse than before. She pursed her lips tightly, keeping her mouth closed up as she stifled a coughing fit as best as she could. She didn't feel drop-over-dead terrible, but her limbs were heavy and tired. A dull ache simmered in them. The discomfort was most intense in her upper chest and neck, which felt like they'd had pepper dusted all across their insides.

The one consolation was that she'd lost any sense of smell, though the stabbing repetition of her console's alarm was making that tidbit rather difficult to appreciate.

Bending over, Pel picked up her console to silence the alarm, only to immediately regret it.

"Ugh…"

Her knees hadn't liked that. Her lower back protested vigorously.

No rest for the weary.

"Mom, here."

Pel looked to see Jules had handed the console to her. Grabbing it, Pel tapped it on and then coughed and gasped as she saw the lone notification waiting for her on the screen:

Missed Call - Genneth (Video)

Her heart skipped a beat.

She covered her mouth with her hand.

"Mom," Rayph said, "what's wrong?"

"It's… your father."

Jules's eyes widened. "Dad?"

"I…" Pel's finger hovered over the screen, stuck in terror between knowledge and ignorance.

"C'mon, play it!"

Rayph scooted up beside her .

She tapped the screen twice. The video started to play, without even giving her time to hold her breath.

Pel didn't need to tell the kids that she'd been afraid of what they'd see. They already knew. As my head and shoulders popped onto the screen, Pel didn't know whether to be happy or terrified that, at least at first glance, I still looked like me.

"I'm coming. Pel, Jules, Rayph: I'm coming to get you. I swear it. I love you forever."

She saw me point at my lucky bowtie.

"Keep a look out for my bow-tie, in case I'm no longer…"

Her grip on her mouth tightened. Tears flowed.

Though the minutely scaled, dark violet patches on my chest and the edges of my face could have been dismissed as really good make-up, there was no way Pel could call my wickedly clawed three-fingered hands anything but monstrous.

"I love you all so very, very much," I said.

And then the video froze, for it had reached its end.

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"Whoa," Rayph said, pointing excitedly at the screen, "look at that! Is that Dad's tail?"

Of course Rayph would think it was cool.

Pel nearly broke down right then and there, and was about to throw her arms around the kids and hug them tight, when she recoiled and staggered back.

She didn't know if further close contact would accelerate the progression of their infections, and wasn't willing to risk it, so she shook and sobbed and clutched her icon of the Angel in her hand, tugging at the necklace's chain as she folded her body inward. Then, with a shudder, she dropped the console on the bed, took a deep breath, rushed through the door to the room's private bathroom, turned on the sink and washed away the tears, black ooze, and stinging green from her face and dried herself with the last remaining unused washcloth. She grabbed the edges of the white porcelain sink, squeezed them tight, and then, with a gasp, stared her reflection in the mirror dead in its black-shot eyes as she muttered under her breath: "they're going to make it."

Then she shook herself out and stepped back into the room.

"Mom…?" Jules asked, her voice curling with worry.

"It's gonna be okay, honey. It's gonna be okay."

Pel said it as much for herself as for the kids.

Without a second to lose, she picked the console back up and dialed up my number.

"What are you doing?" Rayph asked.

"Calling your father."

She pulled out a chair and sat down.

Unfortunately, I didn't pick up.

Pel sighed in frustration. "Dammit, Genneth." She slapped her hand down on the small tabletop beside her.

"He's not picking up?" Rayph asked.

"Maybe he's working on his music again?" Jules suggested.

Pel laughed. Yes, a cough split the laugh in half, but that didn't make the laugh any less genuinely. "Sweetie, for all the problems your father has, trust me, he's not that bad. Besides, it would be too stressful for him to compose now. You know how he gets."

"Maybe it's a wyrm thing?" Rayph said.

"I'll guess we'll just leave a message." Pel sighed again. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," she added, under her breath.

Pressing the icon on the screen, she started to record the message. Thankfully, since she'd already had her freakout in the bathroom, it wasn't that much of a struggle to hold back tears.

Even so, it was hard to keep her lips from contorting into a scribble.

"Genneth," she said, trying not to laugh or weep, "remember what we talked about. Please answer your calls. I appreciate your efforts to make things feel normal by not answering my call right now, but this really isn't a good time for that, don't you think?"

Jules snorted like a hog.

Pel looked her in the eyes. "We have to have our standards."

She smirked, and then resumed speaking. "We're leaving Genneth. I don't know if we'll make it, but, if we do…"

Now came the tough part. During the time she'd spent worrying instead sleeping, Pel had been thinking of what to do and where to go if and when they succeeded in breaking out. She needed to tell me where to rendezvous with them in a way that neither Verune, her mother, or the rest of the cultists could understand, and though she'd eventually succeeded in finding such a means, she'd have preferred one that hadn't threatened to break her heart.

With a trembling voice, Pel started to sing in three-four time, to the beat of a waltz.

And a one and a two and a three.

"Would you… will you… a-waltz, with me? Oh please… it is… a dream of mine; to dance… with a… good man in hand; to show… him what… he means to me."

Then she tapped the screen to end the recording and gave up the fight, covering her mouth and sobbing all over again.

Jules and Rayph ran up to embrace their mother. She panicked.

"Wait, no! What if—"

—Jules coughed. "We're already sick, Mom. Neither of us are going to let that stop us from loving you." She looked at her little brother. "Right, twerp?"

Rayph nodded.

Pel eagerly returned their embrace with sunshine in her heart.

"Why does love have to be so hard?" she muttered.

With a sniffle, wiping the tears from her eyes, Pel rose from her seat.

"What was the song for?" Jules asked. She made a good show of being diplomatic about it.

"It's so your father knows where to find us."

"Why not just tell him?" Jules asked.

"That's what I tried, sweetheart."

"Well, you can try again, can't you?"

Pel shook her head. "No. I'm not going to take our consoles with us."

Rayph sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his mother. "Why not?"

"Your grandmother has our numbers, and she's not going to be happy about us leaving. I would not put it past her to use the FindMe app to track our consoles."

"Can't you just uninstall the app?" Rayph asked.

"It wouldn't do squat." Pel shook her head again. "I tried that back when your father and I were dating, but it didn't stop her from following us."

Walking over to the door, Pel slipped on her shoes. She'd slept with her stockings on, so all that was left to do was put on her shoes, get her kids' consoles, along with their face-masks and her purse, and they'd be ready to go.

She grabbed her purse and slung it around her arm.

"Where are you going now?" Rayph asked.

"To find any extra food and water before we go, and try to figure out the best route to take. Now, Jules, Rayph…" Pel bit her lips. "Listen to me, Jules?" She looked our daughter in the eyes. "Do you remember where the Bealsthilller Theater is?"

"Yeah. Is that where we're—"

"—If something happens," Pel said, "or I tell you to run, head for the Bealsthiller. Do you understand me?"

Though Rayph nodded, Jules didn't.

"What do you mean, if—"

"—Jules!" Pel snapped. She reiterated herself: "If I tell you to run, you run. To the Bealsthiller Theater. Do. You. Understand?"

Jules coughed a little, then swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Pel's lips quivered. "I want you to know that if you don't get yourself and your brother over to that theater and find someplace safe to hide, you're gonna be totally grounded when this is over." She put on a false front of strength, with a smile to match.

Jules clenched her fists.

Pel saw a shard of light glimmer in our daughter's eye.

"Don't joke about something like that," Jules muttered.

"If I'm not back in ten minutes, leave without me." Pel glanced at her console on the table. Then, putting on a face-mask, Pel opened the door and stepped out of the room before either Jules or Rayph could say anything to stop her.

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