If there was one thing my wife hated—and, for the record, there were many things my wife hated—it was surprises. On the other hand, her mother loved them.

I suspected this had a lot to do with her dislike of them, for as bad as Margaret was, her surprises were even worse.

Surprises like this one.

Margaret had an almost preternatural inability to mind her own business. She lived to poke, prod, and cajole, especially when you told her not to.

"By the Angel…" Pel muttered.

"Oh, fuck," John said, "Margaret…" He stared at her with a look that could only be described as guilty.

The inky serpent Margaret had become sat in the middle of the hallway, as if squirted into place, flanked by wyrms on either side, one fully changed, scaled in dark gray, the other still half-and-half.

Pel's mother was almost fully inhuman. Her two-layered coil could have wound around a dining room table. Her night-black scales seemed to barely contain the muscles that now rippled over her body. She held her arms crossed at her chest, and tapped her elbow with a claw-tip. Only her head bore any resemblance to the mother Pel had known all her life, but even that likeness was fading. Margaret's face had begun to extrude into a snout, and her nose was nearly melted away. Jagged spikes capped the back of her head, and fibrous mane ran down her back and neck, as white and lightless as Sun-bleached straw.

"How many people have you eaten to get like this, ma?" Pel asked.

"So much for grandma's diet…" Jules said.

"Jules, honey," Margaret said, in a voice pulled from a nightmare, "I'm going to take my time eating you, and when I'm finished, that mouth of yours is finally going to get what's coming to it. I'm thinking of making it a cow's anus. Wouldn't that be swell?"

The half-wyrm next to Margaret stared at her in horror. "You… you'd do that to your granddaughter?" he asked.

"Believe me," Margaret replied, "if you had a grandchild as ungrateful as her, you'd do it in a heartbeat." She turned back to face the girls, and then added, "But this isn't about you, Jules. The adults are talking" Margaret slithered a little bit closer and reared up tall, scraping her spikes against the hallway's arched ceiling. "I can't believe it's come to this, Pel," she said, with a shake of her head. "Well, I mean, I can; this is obviously Genneth's doing. Pelly, I could give you everything you ever wanted. Paradise is right around the corner. But you reject it." She shook her head again. "I don't even care that you're rejecting me; you should have been born a boy, you know how I feel about uppity women. No, Pel, this isn't about me," she gestured at herself with a claw, "this is about God. You're supposed to be the smart one! Do you even grasp the magnitude of what you're doing? It's blasphemy! You're spitting in the Angel's face!" Margaret waved a claw in angry disappointment. "Why, if your father were here, he'd be sick to his stomach. Granted, he'd be sick to his stomach that you were still with that idiot husband of yours—"

—And with that, Pel couldn't take it anymore. The shriek from the alarm bells only magnified her rage.

"Shut up…" she said, quietly at first.

Margaret twisted her head, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "What?"

But Jules had heard it. Our daughter's mouth and eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "Holy shit…" she whispered.

Pel took a deep breath, making her mask warm and wet against her face. Then she yelled. "I said shut up!"

Margaret reared back in surprise. "What did you just say to me?" The words came out like a low growl from a pipe organ.

Pel didn't bother fighting back her tears. She put her hand on Jules' shoulder.

"Mom, I have a wonderful daughter. She's smart as a whip, and daring, and brave, and…" She looked our little girl in the eyes, "I'm proud of her beyond words. I wish I had her gift of gab, and…" Pel coughed. Her voice cracked. "I wish she'd had a chance to live her own life and make her mark on the world, and I wish I could live to see that."

"Mom…" Jules said.

She was crying, too.

"And, as for my husband…" Pel cleared her throat. "Yes, he has his flaws, and, yeah, he can be an idiot sometimes, but… he's always going to be there for us, even if he happens to screw it up in the process. He's as sweet as a good morning, Ma, and he's the only man I'll ever love." Briefly, she bit her lip. "…even if he's turned into a wyrm."

Margaret blinked.

"What…?"

A burning computer wouldn't have had half as much trouble processing this information as my mother-in-law was having.

Pel grinned. "You heard me. He's one of you, an atheist among the divine."

"You lie!" Margaret huffed out spores in fury. "The Hallowed Beast would never bestow our glory on that sniveling, good-for-nothing dork!"

"Check my console if you don't believe me," Pel said. "I left it in our room. He left a videophone message with us. See for yourself."

Pel felt like she was coming down the slope of a tall hill. Everything was moving so quickly.

"And, Ma—pardon my language," she added, briefly glancing back at the kids, "but… you're a piece of shit, not to mention a terrible mother and grandmother."

Margaret stared at her daughter, and then sighed. "I didn't want to enjoy this, but… I guess I'll have to."

She cracked her knuckles and slithered forward.

Suddenly, Henrichy stumbled out in front of Pel and the kids and stepped in between the opposing groups.

He glanced back at the kids, and then turned to Margaret. "Look, Margaret, I did like you asked! I tempted them with escape, and they tried to flee, just like you said they would!"

And just like that, any remaining shred of respect Pel had for the host of John Henrichy Tonight went out the window. She could hardly remember what she saw in him in the first place.

Maybe it was just that he said things that made her feel safe, and proud.

"Oh, fuck you, John!" Pel said.

Jules' lips made an O behind her semi-transparent face-mask.

Margaret shook her head.

"John," she said, "you know I love you, but… well, you're not very smart, you know that?" She sighed, spore currents curling in the air. "Why do the handsome ones always have to be so dull?"

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John's eyes and mouth popped and blinked, in an excellent impersonation of a very confused little fish, and before he could even think to look away, Margaret leaned forward and opened her mouth. Her cheeks split open on either side, cracking through all of her face and a good deal of her neck. Then, bringing her head down, she swallowed John Henrichy in a single, massive gulp, gun and all.

For the first few seconds, the fake journalist was an angry lump in Margaret's throat, struggling against the inevitable. But his motions quickly stilled as Margaret absorbed his body mass. Then her transformation topped itself off, and Margaret lost the final vestiges of the humanity she'd never cared for in the first place. Her snout puffed out all the way, opening up with many holes, turning her face as black as night. Two more wyrms' eyes took their place at either side of her head.

And then she reared up and roared.

It was at this point that Jules pointedly directed her gaze down the hallway at their left. Glancing in that direction, Pel saw a wyrm she recognized as a distorted version of Jules' tormentor from school, the young Miss Eigenhat. She was not in a good mood, as the angry-eyed half of the ripped-apart wyrm she held in her claw could have told you.

She'd been waiting off the side for a while, though nobody but Jules had noticed.

"Jessica…?" Jules said, in a way that made it clear she was inviting Jessica to act.

Snarling, Jessica sprung, launching herself at Margaret like a rocket, propelling herself forward with her powers. Miss Eigenhat dragged the world in her wake, pulling the furniture up off the hallway's floor and ripping the banners off the walls. She tackled Margaret and her lackeys with thunderbolt force, scattering the latter and slamming into my mother-in-law with the force of a Munine bullet train. The impact blasted through the outer wall, flipping heads over tails. As Margaret flopped onto the sidewalk, Jessica floated up, and back, and, raising her head, trumpeted out a wordless song that sent shivers down Pel's spine.

Nearby, the wyrms that Jessica had knocked down the hall quickly recovered. They slithered toward Pel and the kids, launching psychokinesis and spores.

"Stop them!" the half-wyrm yelled.

The full wyrm trumpeted a question.

"All of them!" the half-wyrm replied.

As Pel looked around, not knowing what to do, the impossible happened: the two monsters ignored her and the kids. Instead, the wyrm slithered out of the opening in the wall, while the half-wyrm other slid down the hall, inundating the hallway beyond with spores.

Outside, Margaret launched herself at Jessica with a roar.

Her face turned black as night.

"What's going on!?" Jules asked.

"Illusions of you!" Jessica said, as she wrestled with Margaret. "Run!" She stuck her head up from behind Margaret's flank. "Quickly!"

The two wyrms ripped through the pavement as they tore into one another. Their bodies slammed into the Melted Palace and flattened parking meters.

She must have used Verune's trick, Pel thought. The one Jules had told her about. But, instead of using her voice to make the others see themselves as divine beasts, Jessica had made them believe in illusions, in a perfect distraction.

Pel could hardly believe it; then again, she was used to believing in things she couldn't see.

She tugged at the kids' arms. "C'mon!"

They ran toward the door.

"Why are we—"

But Pel interrupted Jules: "—C'mon!"

The half-wyrm had said, "All of them," after all.

Pel was willing to bet that meant Jessica's illusions were copies of Jules, and Rayph, and herself, which would explain why the half-wyrm had turned down the hallway instead of attacking them. He must have mistaken the real thing—the three of them, standing there, frozen in terror—for one of the illusions.

Margaret and her lackeys were cutting off the obvious escape routes first. Going out through the opening in the wall would be the obvious thing to do, and the wyrm lackey was now blasting away at the opening with its spores, to stop it from being used.

The wyrm snarled and gave chase as Pel turned around the corner.

"Shit," she said, "they know we didn't go through the hole!"

Jules yelled. "Mom!"

Running down the short antechamber, Pel flung open the door and briefly held it there briefly, letting Jules and Rayph through.

"Go!"

She followed after them, just as a cone of spore-breath exploded through the opening. Stumbling, she fell down the steps, scraping her knee on the sidewalk. Whipping her head back in terror, Pel pushed herself to her feet, only to look up and see the spore current turn upwards and curl off to the side, away from her and her family. Behind and above, Jessica trumpeted, but any relief Pel felt was dashed to pieces as Margaret seized the opportunity and tackled her, pinning Miss Eigenhat against the Melted Palace's side.

"Jessica!" Pel said.

Jules yelled. "Mom!"

Ignoring the ache in her leg and the burning pain stinging into her kneecap, Pel grabbed our daughter's offered hand and set off in a run.

The car was just up ahead.

"Jules, Rayph," she panted, "get in the—"

The clacks of their shoes on the pavement drowned in the sound of a tremendous crash thundering behind them.

Rayph glanced back, and then gasped and screamed.

Wyrmsong's otherworldly sounds vibrated through the air.

Pel looked up and back. Margaret had dragged Jessica over the Melted Palace's side and slammed her into the pavement, forming a sinkhole that raised up the surrounding sidewalk. That had been half of the crash; the rest came from another wyrm bursting through the side entrance. The new arrival soared over the street, undulating its body. It kept its head pointed downward, looking about, twitching its head this way and that.

Angel's breath, was it seeing through Jessica's illusions?

Margaret floated up and joined it, braying hate.

An insight flashed in Pel's mind.

She couldn't let the kids into the car!

She reached out and grabbed the kids by their arms.

Jules whipped around and nearly stumbled. "Why are you—"

"Run!" Pel yelled.

There was a look of horror in Jules' eyes. Horror, pain, fear. But then she nodded, grabbed her brother by the arm, and ran off with him, across the street and down an alley.

Pel wished she had the time to tell them what was going on, but she didn't.

Though Pel knew Jessica had tricked the other wyrms into seeing copies of the three of them, she had no idea if that included illusory copies of her car. Without that piece of information, it didn't matter how many illusions there were. Once the wyrms saw the car starting up, it was game over.

In the split seconds as Pel ran up to her car, swiped her hand across the sensor by the door handle, flung the door open, and thrusted herself into the driver's seat, she realized there was a strong possibility she was about to die. But the thought of dying didn't bother her nearly as much as she thought it would have. Staring death in the face, watching it swimming through the air bursting out of the broken entryway and slithering onto the sidewalk, Pel realized her only concern was about the ones she loved, and that was a great comfort. Her faith had always been a struggle to remember to put others before herself, so it gladdened her that, in the end, love was able to triumph.

Sitting down, Pel waved her hand over the ignition and started up the engine. Years of habit guided her on autopilot. Pel pulled the stick shift into drive, and then reached to close the door, only to stop as Margaret drew in air through her many snout pores and descended toward the car.

For a brief moment, Pel stared at the open driver's-side door beside her, and it gave her an idea. It wasn't the best idea; the best idea would have had more than a 50/50 chance of success. But she had faith. She had faith in the God she no longer understood. She had faith in her family, and the hope of being together one last time.

For the first and last time in her life, Pel prayed the people around her were misogynists. Everyone except her mother; she knew her mother would underestimate her.

Not knowing whether Jessica's illusions included filling the car with an illusory Pel, my wife kept the window-tinting on, hoping it would be enough to fool the wyrms.

Then Pel pushed her foot down on the accelerator. Hard.

In the span of a breath, the Pirouette's wheels revved from zero to sixty. The car screeched in protest, and as speed took hold, Pel turned to the open door and threw herself out onto the street, right over the smell of burning rubber.

It was utterly insane, and liable to get her killed. But then, so was driving in a car with flying fungus serpents on your tail. Pel slammed into the edge of the sidewalk, belly first, busting a rib against the unyielding stone.

She screamed in pain.

But she persisted, pushing up off the sidewalk's grainy stone with her palms. The half-wyrm slithering down the street stared her in the eyes. Pel thought about freezing in place, but it hurt too much. It was either press on or collapse.

So she pressed on. With closed eyes, she staggered and ran.

Even if death was about to claim her, she'd rather not see it coming.

But then the heartbeats turned into seconds, and the impact of her shoes' soles on the road shuddering up through her legs made her open her eyes and dare to look.

The Pirouette barreled down the street, and the wyrms followed.

Pel kept on running. She followed her children's footsteps down the sidewalk, and then turned down the side street leading into the Old Theater District.

A moment later, there was a sound of bubbling and a terrific explosion.

And Pel laughed. It hurt like Hell, but she laughed all the same.

Only a sexist asshat would think a housewife wouldn't be willing to jump out of a moving car if the need arose.

Thanks, jerks.

It was like dealing with her brothers all over again.

Then she ran, and kept running. She ran like a madwoman; her fear was electric. Her heart hammered in her chest, raring to break another one of her ribs. People thronged in the street, devotees of the Last Church, perhaps.

Actually, she thought, it's probably catering.

Any worries Pel had that they soon-to-be meals might give her away faded as she watched their aimless, blanked-eyed wandering.

The crowds thinned as she reached the Old Theater District: a hollow block of cobbled stone surrounded by antique marquees and dead neon lights. Pel kept feeling the contours of the cobblestone knocking against the underside of her feet even after she stepped onto the smooth stone pavement around the Bealsthiller's ticket kiosk.

Then, pushing open one of the brass-inlaid doors, staggering into the musty dark, gasping for breath, Pel got down on the floor—knees against the shallow, patterned, wall-to-wall carpeting, and prayed.

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