“There were colors outside the visual spectrum,” Priya managed to say. “But I could still see them. I can’t stop seeing them now.”

“Vodka and loud music,” Patricia called out from Laurence’s death grip. “Stat. It’s an essential part of her recovery process.”

They rushed Priya to Benders Bar & Grill. There was some talk of going to the ER instead, but Patricia nixed it, and nobody wanted to argue with the person who’d saved all their asses.

“But how did you do it?” Anya kept asking. “What did you do?”

“I used my sonic screwdriver.”

“No, really. What did you do?”

“I reversed the polarity of the neutron flow.”

“Stop giving Doctor Who answers! Tell me the truth!”

“It was sort of a wibbly wobbly,” Patricia said, fully teasing Anya now.

Booze really was medicinal, after a near-death experience. Holding a drink in both hands and letting it corrode the topmost layer of his mouth and throat, Laurence felt a spiritual relationship with Bushmills.

Priya, too, seemed to be pretty much back to normal as soon as she had a couple swigs of vodka and heard the sound system blasting “Cum On Feel The Noize.” She started dancing on her stool and making jokes about heavy-metal hair and body shots. Laurence made sure the liquor kept coming, so Priya would get her recommended dosage. Whatever she’d experienced during her time outside of our universe, she seemed to be rinsing it out of her mind, and maybe if they were lucky, the whole evening would feel like a weird blur to her when she woke with a hangover. As a strategy for scrambling someone’s short-term memories, it didn’t seem bad.

Everybody kept toasting Patricia and buying her drinks and laughing at her dumb jokes, as if they were ultraconscious that she’d pulled their fat out of the fire. When Patricia went to the ladies’, Sougata leaned over and said to Laurence, “Seriously, where did you find her? She is amazing. She’s like the weirdest genius I’ve ever met, and that’s actually saying something.” Tanaa and Anya both chimed in. But at the same time, Laurence noticed that none of his friends would quite look at Patricia, and they kept talking past her rather than to her. These people hated superstition, but they were treating his friend like a bad-luck charm.

Patricia watched Priya like a freaking hawk and touched her hand every now and then, as if her touch had healing properties. Which it probably did. Patricia paid no attention to the rest of them, even Laurence. Patricia might be an antisocial weirdo who wandered at three in the morning talking to rats, but she had unlimited gentleness for people when they needed it. Patricia’s black hair was swept back, and her face had a beaconlike quality to it that went along with the intentness of her gaze.