Searing heat penetrated my flesh, from the inside and out. I gasped and wheezed, sucking in air that again carried oxygen, my lungs again serving the function of feeding it to living cells and not just some ritual and pointless pumping of gases.
The girls must have carried me all the way up from the dock. I could hear them in the kitchen clinking pots and, laughing. Writhing and flexing my reclaimed body, I rolled off the sofa with a thump.
I lurched to my feet just as Ellen came rushing into the living room carrying a dish rag. I staggered into her, latching onto her shoulder to steady myself. But the warmth of her body burned me and I pulled away, collapsing back to the floor.
“Oh my God! Your hands are freezing. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, my voice croaking. “I just got back in the Deeps. Takes me a while to adjust to the heat. I need some water. Please?”
She rushed back into the kitchen, dodging around Urszula who stood pressed against the door frame, smirking.
A wave of dizziness made me swoon and groan. Somehow, involuntarily, that groan acquired melody. Like a dog imitating a siren, I wailed a string of notes that should have sounded flat or sharp if they hadn’t resonated so perfectly with my soul.
Urszula joined in, her pitch quavery at first, but quickly locking into a sort of harmony.
“You guys … what the heck?” Ellen hustled back, sloshing an overly full glass of water onto the carpet. “You giving me a concert?”
“It’s … from the Deeps,” I said. “It’s what they do … in the Deeps.”
“Riversong,” said Urszula. “It has been a long time since I have summoned it. Good to know it is still inside me.”
“That sounded so weird. Like … Middle Eastern or Ethiopian or something. But … that place can’t be all bad. I mean … if folks have time for singing.”
“How long have I been gone?”
“I don’t know … a couple hours, I guess,” said Ellen. “You missed lunch. But there’s some extra chowder in the pot. I can dish you out a bowl.”
“Sure. But first … I need to cool down.” I guzzled half the glass she had given me and poured the rest over my head.
“Jeez. Would you like some ibuprofen?”
“It’s not a fever. It’s just part of the transition. Bodies are different … in the Deeps.”
“Hmm. Maybe some wet cloth … and some ice.”
The girls fetched some towels and a tray of ice cubes from the kitchen and fashioned cold packs that they stuffed under my shirt.
“You do realize it’s not even warm in here. I mean … I’m wearing a sweater.”
“It’s all relative,” I said. “Just takes a little time to adjust.”
“Some texts came in on your phone, by the way. I didn’t bother to check. That’s your business. But there’s plenty of chowder left, in case you want some.”
“Umm. Sure. Guess I should try and eat.” I picked the iPhone off the end table, and thumbed it on. There were two messages, both from Wendell.
The first one read: ‘Holiday’s over. Back to work. Call me for the details.’
The second message acknowledged my absence.
‘My familiar informs me you ain’t all here. Call, soon as you get back.’
