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“You don’t have to apologize,” Persephone said. “You shouldn’t have lied to him, but I should’ve given you a chance to tell

him yourself.”

“Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be around, so you can let Ruben know...” John didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence.

“Let him know what happened. As for you—us—let Hannah know that I explicitly want you to handle things—”

“John.”

“—PR narrative, financials—”

“John.”

“—any way you wish. I don’t want to leave you in the lurch, considering. It hadn’t occurred to me or my business manager to

create a will, but—”

“John. Shut up. Please. I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“Thank—”

“John.”

He shut his mouth.

Persephone bit her lip. “You were right about me. I—”

“Wait, Persephone. You don’t have to pick up if you don’t want to. You shouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,

especially when it comes to people. Trust me, I know. And I wasn’t telling you for your own good. I was just...”

“Angry.”

“Being mean.” He paused. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I accept your apology. Listen, John, I know you think you need to go to this place, your house. But what if it’s a mistake?

I just... I don’t have a good feeling.”

“I don’t think any of that matters.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Fine. But if—”

“ When —”

“—we find my House, you can’t come in. I mean it, I don’t want you to.” Whatever happened, it felt imperative that John keep

the Grey Man as far from Persephone as possible.

“You know,” she whispered. “I realize...”

The world fell underwater.

But then John’s head fell forward and everything—image, sound—came rushing in, and he could see more clearly the seat beneath

his thighs. He was less opaque then he’d ever been. He braced his hand against the seat and the nothingness jolted him. John

was fading in every way.

Persephone craned her neck to see through the rear window. She leapt from the car and shouted into the night—“Ruben! Ruben!”—only

to jump back in seconds later.

The world disappeared again before bobbing back to the surface.

John did his best to focus on the tiny yellow and green lights on the dashboard, on the burnt-sienna bricks of the Dairy Queen, tried to cling to anything that was here and now .

He tried to press the fronts of his faded knees against the driver’s seat.

But they went through. He tried to push against

the seat, the doors, but his hands passed through all of it. He could sit, as he had when he’d first arrived, but he could

no longer interact with the world in the same way.

Persephone’s mobile rang again with its beautiful symphony. He leaned back. If these were to be his last real moments, he’d

rather spend them doing something other than panicking.

“Persephone, what music is this?”

“Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake No. 29. It’s a ballet.”

He closed his eyes. “What’s happening in the scene?”

“The prince and Odette drown themselves.”

John didn’t like the music quite as much as he had before.

The mobile stopped and rang again. It continued, this ringing and stopping, ringing and stopping, throwing them into an exquisitely

scored loop, time itself turning over in a circle.

Persephone picked up her mobile. “I’m calling Ruben!”

But there was no use in her anguishing over something none of them could control.

“Persephone...” John’s voice was muted. He tried again. “ Persephone .”

Her mobile was pressed to her ear.

Is this it? he thought.

Her eyes widened as she stared back at him.

Is this how it ends?

25

Ruben’s phone sounded from somewhere... from beneath the driver’s seat.

It was in the car.

Ruben’s cell was in the car.

“Dammit!” Persephone threw down her own phone and looked at John. She looked across the highway, across the four lanes and the concrete median that separated them, to the Tex-Mex restaurant. She could run, could grab Ruben and bring him back, tuna-melt-induced vomit or diarrhea be damned.

But John didn’t have enough time. The fades weren’t happening all at once, but in short bursts, and by the time Ruben got

here, John would be gone.

It was all on her.

But her hair was just the beginning. Who knew what it had already cost her, in ways currently invisible? It wasn’t an issue

of vanity—it was her health, her career, her becoming her ideal— the Idea . It was everything. And anyway, this whole system—God or the Universe or whoever—they had it all figured, had to have known

how it would play out from the start. She didn’t make the rules. None of them did.

John’s eyes were closed. He looked calm, almost as if he were waiting for death. He’s already dead. Whatever happens next, there’s nothing you can do.

But there was, wasn’t there? Because he was still here . She could buy him enough time to find the right water towers, to find his way back into the Grey House.

Persephone threw herself into the back seat.

“What... are you doing?” John’s eyes cracked open, but just barely.

“I’m helping you.”

“No...”

“Shut up, John. Just shut up.”

She did her best to make out where, exactly, his feet and legs were positioned.

She aligned her back with his and placed her arms within his, too.

But it was so hard to tell where he really was; his edges brushstroked up and away from him, making nearly indistinguishable where he ended and the space around him began.

She shut her eyes and tried to still herself, tried to recall the things Christine had said the few times she’d explained meditation.

She focused on her breathing and tried to keep her mind clear.

There was something sacred about the Overlays, about cleaving off a piece of yourself to share with someone else.

That she knew now just how much she cared about John made giving him her energy all the more urgent.

She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

26

It was too late. Somehow, perhaps in the way all living things know, John understood this.

He knew what Persephone was trying to do, knew by the buzz-breeze whispering through him. And he knew it wasn’t working. The

amount of energy required to sustain him at this point would be asking too much of her. If he could speak he’d tell her to

stop, tell her not to waste energy on something dead and dying. He wondered, wryly, how Hannah would spin this once Persephone

and Ruben told her. He didn’t doubt she’d whip it into the most poignant story of the week, perhaps even the month.

“ Again? ” Ruben’s voice.

The opening and closing of the car door.

That damned Swan Lake No. 29.

“Persephone, I’ve got this. Let me do it.”

“No.” When Persephone spoke, the vibrations amplified in his chest, buzzed through to his fingertips, his toes.

“You’re really pale. You have to stop.”

Persephone remained in the Overlay, but Ruben was right. John recognized her weakness through her voice, through her faltering

energy. With everything he could muster, he threw himself across the back seat.

He opened his eyes a crack. It had only felt like he’d thrown himself across the back seat.

Really, he’d just fallen over. But he’d effectively ended the Overlay.

Persephone was leaned back, eyes closed.

And he was still here. He was still here.

With each passing second, he felt himself grow stronger, as if her energy was still coursing its way through.

He couldn’t know how much she’d given him, but it was enough. Too much.

“The Grey House,” John said to Ruben.

Ruben swiped furiously over the screen of his mobile. “I’m narrowing it down to the top three. No science behind it, just...”

He frowned as he tapped away. “The way it works is, you get to this moment and you choose three options and none of them work

until you get to the third one but that’s right when you run out of time.” He revved the engine and threw the car into reverse.

“So that third option doesn’t pan out exactly but it works out anyway. Somehow.” He punched the gas, and the car’s tires squealed

as he sent the vehicle barreling into the intersection through the red light. “Maybe we go unorthodox and the first pair of

towers work out. Grey House with plenty of time to spare. Either way, we will get you there.”

“Look at him,” said Persephone. “He’s in no shape to face down anything.”

John felt his presence firming up, gelatin after mixing. Still a bit wobbly, but able to sit up on its own.

Persephone’s mobile rang again, and Ruben reached over and glanced at the screen before handing her the mobile. “It says Mama .”

Persephone sighed wearily, accepted the call, and lifted the phone to her ear. She crouched forward, hugging herself, looking

about as exhausted as John had ever seen her. “I’m not understanding,” she said. “What bags? He’s doing—tell him to stop.

Oh God, Parker... Don’t go anywhere. Let me talk to him, Mama—let me talk to him.” She sounded as if she wanted to shout

but couldn’t manage it.

Something was wrong. Had Parker’s criminal friends done something despite having been paid?

“Don’t let him, Mama. I’m—I’m—” She dropped her hand onto her lap.

The car slowed just a fraction, and through the rearview mirror John caught Ruben’s gaze. His eyes were wide and strained,

and John understood.

There was only time for one, either the Grey House or Parker.

John or Parker, which is to say it was either John or Persephone.

It wasn’t much of a choice, but a choice it was, nonetheless.

27

Persephone staggered up the dirt drive, struggling to keep to a straight line thanks to the Overlay and the fact that the

universe was coming down over her shoulders. Had he planned it the whole time? The Everything Is Going to Be OK smile. The

same smile he gave her so many years ago, when he was led away by security, when he’d taken the fall for her. In the hotel

tonight, when they hugged goodbye .

Had Parker’s bags already been packed?

Mama was wailing inside. Persephone made it up the short steps, yanked open the screen door, and smacked the front door with