rendered his friend brain dead. This was a nasty trap, set to erase Marla entirely if anyone tried to restore her memory.
Bradley gritted his imaginary teeth. He was the greatest psychic in this reality, probably, or at least the greatest one who wasn’t hopelessly insane. Mental landscapes were malleable, expandable, manipulable , and he gestured, opening a sinkhole beneath the stillness. The dark waters roiled, and then swirled, and a whirlpool began to twist. He gestured again, and opened another hole, and again, until three maelstroms swirled, and the level of water began to recede all over Marla’s mind.
As the waters fell, shapes were revealed. A mountain of gold. A mountain of ice. A mountain of glass. The Whitcroft-Ivory building, a landmark in Marla’s former home city of Felport. A castle carved in obsidian, with jagged towers brushing the belly of the sky. The waters continued to swirl away, and smaller structures were revealed: a tree house, a train car, a trailer (even more dilapidated than the one she currently inhabited), a bookshop, the forbidding walls of the Blackwing Institute, a forest, a pier, Marla’s old apartment building. Her inundated mental landscape gradually became the city it should have been all along, a hodgepodge of places metaphorical and remembered. Figures flitted and dashed and moved in that landscape, and fires burned, and armies clashed, and candles glowed, and musicians played, and porch swings swayed. Some of the images he recognized from experiences he’d had with Marla, or stories she’d told, but most things, he didn’t. In fact, he began to feel like an invader, and so as the last of the waters trickled away, he closed up the sinkholes (he’d drained the waters to sunless reservoirs in the depths of her mind). He took the gleaming core of her consciousness and set it in the sky, making it a sun to dry the last of the puddles and illuminate the memories below. He could sense her mental imbalance shift into accord.
Bradley departed her mind, opening his eyes, and fell over on the carpet. He was so thoroughly drenched with sweat he might have been submerged in those dark waters himself.
Marla groaned and sat up on the bed. She looked down at him, then nudged him with her foot. “Shit. Bradley. Shit. Shit . You gave me back all my memories.”
“Good,” he croaked.
“Yeah. Good. Great . Except there were a couple of memories I’d deliberately sealed off myself, years and years ago, and now I’m having to cope with those, too, damn it. And I remember things about being a goddess, things that were always closed to my mortal mind before. Holy Hell, Bradley. I remember everything. I remember every... little... thing.”
“What can I say,” he said. “I’m the best I am at what I do.”
“You’re too good. I remember every conversation I’ve ever had. Every line of every book. Every scrap of knowledge, every overheard snatch of song, every whisper, and when you can see everything, the connections are so clear. Just a second.” She leaned over the bed and vomited on the carpet, then just held herself still, her hair a lank curtain hiding her face. “Okay. I think that’s all the barfing I’ve got in me right now. Did you know I killed my one true love when I was a young mercenary sorcerer? I didn’t, either, until you uncovered the memory. Ha. I hung out with his eternal spirit just a few months back in the underworld, too. Daniel. The god part of me hid that from the mortal part. I’m all intermingled now.”
Bradley watched the puddle of her vomit spread. It was getting too close to him, so he sat up, though it took an effort. “Sounds like we have some catching up to do.”
“First, tell me this—how did you find me?” Marla said.
“Well, it was complicated, but –”
“Did Elsie Jarrow help you?”
“Uh. Yeah. Wow. How’d you make that leap?”
“She visited me in the diner a while back. I didn’t recognize her at the time, of course,
Bradley gritted his imaginary teeth. He was the greatest psychic in this reality, probably, or at least the greatest one who wasn’t hopelessly insane. Mental landscapes were malleable, expandable, manipulable , and he gestured, opening a sinkhole beneath the stillness. The dark waters roiled, and then swirled, and a whirlpool began to twist. He gestured again, and opened another hole, and again, until three maelstroms swirled, and the level of water began to recede all over Marla’s mind.
As the waters fell, shapes were revealed. A mountain of gold. A mountain of ice. A mountain of glass. The Whitcroft-Ivory building, a landmark in Marla’s former home city of Felport. A castle carved in obsidian, with jagged towers brushing the belly of the sky. The waters continued to swirl away, and smaller structures were revealed: a tree house, a train car, a trailer (even more dilapidated than the one she currently inhabited), a bookshop, the forbidding walls of the Blackwing Institute, a forest, a pier, Marla’s old apartment building. Her inundated mental landscape gradually became the city it should have been all along, a hodgepodge of places metaphorical and remembered. Figures flitted and dashed and moved in that landscape, and fires burned, and armies clashed, and candles glowed, and musicians played, and porch swings swayed. Some of the images he recognized from experiences he’d had with Marla, or stories she’d told, but most things, he didn’t. In fact, he began to feel like an invader, and so as the last of the waters trickled away, he closed up the sinkholes (he’d drained the waters to sunless reservoirs in the depths of her mind). He took the gleaming core of her consciousness and set it in the sky, making it a sun to dry the last of the puddles and illuminate the memories below. He could sense her mental imbalance shift into accord.
Bradley departed her mind, opening his eyes, and fell over on the carpet. He was so thoroughly drenched with sweat he might have been submerged in those dark waters himself.
Marla groaned and sat up on the bed. She looked down at him, then nudged him with her foot. “Shit. Bradley. Shit. Shit . You gave me back all my memories.”
“Good,” he croaked.
“Yeah. Good. Great . Except there were a couple of memories I’d deliberately sealed off myself, years and years ago, and now I’m having to cope with those, too, damn it. And I remember things about being a goddess, things that were always closed to my mortal mind before. Holy Hell, Bradley. I remember everything. I remember every... little... thing.”
“What can I say,” he said. “I’m the best I am at what I do.”
“You’re too good. I remember every conversation I’ve ever had. Every line of every book. Every scrap of knowledge, every overheard snatch of song, every whisper, and when you can see everything, the connections are so clear. Just a second.” She leaned over the bed and vomited on the carpet, then just held herself still, her hair a lank curtain hiding her face. “Okay. I think that’s all the barfing I’ve got in me right now. Did you know I killed my one true love when I was a young mercenary sorcerer? I didn’t, either, until you uncovered the memory. Ha. I hung out with his eternal spirit just a few months back in the underworld, too. Daniel. The god part of me hid that from the mortal part. I’m all intermingled now.”
Bradley watched the puddle of her vomit spread. It was getting too close to him, so he sat up, though it took an effort. “Sounds like we have some catching up to do.”
“First, tell me this—how did you find me?” Marla said.
“Well, it was complicated, but –”
“Did Elsie Jarrow help you?”
“Uh. Yeah. Wow. How’d you make that leap?”
“She visited me in the diner a while back. I didn’t recognize her at the time, of course,
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