Ritual Magic

of
feeling—
feeling both vast and weightless, universal and utterly particular to this room, this moment, these people. Every one of whom she loved. Every one of whom had woken up this morning on the wrong side of perfect, just like Rule, just like her, each of them capable of annoying, delighting, or disappointing her; capable of heroism, misunderstanding, quarreling, laughing, or sitting stubbornly on some stupidity he or she refused to abandon. All of them so different, and so connected.
    The feeling ebbed, then passed. She thought:
Love? Karonski?
And of course that was ridiculous, but even as she shook her head at herself, she knew that it could be both ridiculous and true. This . . . all this, the room, the people here, the odd little pairs and groups they’d formed, the ways each was finding to connect to the others . . . this was what she fought for. For these people, yes. And for moments like this, punctuated by coffee or tea, with a baby on one man’s shoulder and a saint humming over by the fireplace . . . everyone gathered together to work toward their common goal. She fought for them, and for people she’d never met and never would, people who deserved a chance to make their own moments, built from their own flawed choices, with the people they found.
    If everyone is here,
a crystalline voice announced in her head,
we should begin.

THIRTY-THREE

    J UDGING by the sudden silence in the room, that had been a Sam-to-everyone communication. Judging by their expressions, they’d been as startled as Lily was. Even Grandmother’s eyebrows shot up.
    Lily hadn’t known Sam could do something like this—talk to all of them when he was about thirty miles away keeping a telepathic eye on Nettie. “I want some coffee first.”
    Attempt to do two things at once. I have serious matters to impart, but wish to know what you have learned before I do so. Abel Karonski, you may begin.
    “Fine,” Karonski said. “First I want to bring everyone up-to-date on the victims, because that’s where we’ve been focused, now that we know how they’re all connected. We’re up to three hundred and twelve. They aren’t all in San Diego. Debrett’s cousins, for example . . .”
    Lily listened with half an ear as she headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything that was new to her, though the others probably hadn’t heard it in detail. Debrett’s cousins, for example, were in bad shape, though not comatose like their parents. The one in Belize was being flown back here. The other was being treated in Denver. But they’d found more, so many more—Debrett’s coach in high school, who’d moved to Albuquerque and had thought he was going crazy; people he’d served with in the Marines; friends from college and from church. Many of them were only slightly affected, like the ones at the pipe company, but some were more seriously messed up.
    Two of the victims had died. Barbara Lennox had slid from a coma into death; records showed she’d been Debrett’s first grade teacher. And a man in San Francisco who’d gone to grade school with Debrett had been killed in an auto accident right about the time someone slit Debrett’s throat. He’d suddenly and inexplicably lost control of the car. Not drunk, not on drugs, no obvious medical condition. Lily figured he’d suddenly forgotten how to drive.
    In the kitchen, Toby was turning the crank on a gadget that peeled, cored, and sliced apples. Julia stood at the restaurant-style range stirring something under Carl’s supervision. She flashed Lily a quick smile. Lily filled two heavy mugs with coffee, knowing Rule would want one, too. She’d rewrapped her wrist before they left, and it didn’t hurt at all to carry a mug in that hand. Maybe her left hand wouldn’t be out of commission too much longer.
    She got back just as the others were seating themselves at the big table. Isen had a pad and pen ready. One of his more unexpected skills was shorthand.
    Rule took the mug with a smile. Lily sat and pulled out her own notebook. Isen’s notes would be more complete, but she still wanted her own.
    Karonski was finishing his summary about the victims. “Those affected the worst seem to be the ones who either knew Alan Debrett as kids or who had a strong emotional connection, like his aunt and uncle, though there are exceptions, like the former teacher who died early this morning. We don’t yet know if there was another, deeper connection between her and