Kaylin set the basket down on a battered but clean table—a small one, meant to seat two, or perhaps three in a pinch. It was very similar to the first table Kaylin could call her own. That table, along with the apartment, had been destroyed in the explosion of the arcane bomb. Which had in turn given energy to hatch Hope.

But the destruction had led, in the end, to Kaylin’s current home: Helen, a sentient building.

“I don’t see anyone else here,” she said, as Mrs. Erickson set about putting food into cupboards. There was too much of it, but she’d offered Kaylin a meal, and Kaylin had the vaguely guilty feeling she was eating Mrs. Erickson’s food budget. It wasn’t a thought that would have occurred to her a year ago, but she’d now spent some time figuring out what a budget was, and how to stay within it. More or less.

But she’d lived hand to mouth for years, and when it came right down to it, she had trouble walking away from people in need—they reminded her of who she’d been for half her life, and she was accustomed to having nothing anyway. She just...didn’t want to take things away from an elderly woman if it wasn’t necessary.

“The ghosts aren’t in the kitchen yet,” Mrs. Erickson replied. “They’re a bit shy.” Something fell in the distance. “And sometimes a bit petulant.”

“Are they like Amaldi and Darreno?”

Mrs. Erickson shook her head. “Amaldi and Darreno are outside ghosts. They don’t really have a home—I think they’ve come to terms with that. My friends are indoor ghosts. They can’t leave this house.”

“Is that why you stay here?”

“No. This is my home. I was born in it. It’s not large and it’s not fancy—but it’s served us all well.” She hesitated. “Help me cut those vegetables?”

Kaylin nodded. She was handed what Mrs. Erickson no doubt thought of as a knife; it was so dull Kaylin could have done a better job cutting things with her baton. “Do you have a sharpening stone?” she asked, grimacing.

“Not as such, but I don’t generally need a sharp knife. And sometimes the children get a bit unruly, so sharp knives might be a bit of a hazard.”

“They’re ghosts, right?”

“Yes, dear.”

“How can sharp knives be a problem?” Another crash sounded, this one closer. “Never mind. Forget I asked the question.”