“You did not cross into Everlost,” Milos told him. “You are the Chocolate Ogre; you have always been here.” There was a distinct possibility that it was true, but the Ogre only believed it once in a while.

Milos was certainly clever—there was no doubting that. He was very good at planning exciting excursions for the Afterlights in his care. “Angels of Life,” he called them. Their excursions made special places—and people, too—cross into Everlost.

This did not sit well with the Ogre. There was a powerful sense in him that these excursions were wrong.

One day as they sat in the crossed bank building that they called home, the Ogre brought his concerns to Milos. “You’re killing people,” the Ogre pointed out. “Even if it’s for their own good, I don’t think you should be doing it.”

Milos dismissed his concerns as if he were a small child. “Words like ‘killing’ and ‘dying’ are living-world lies. The living fear crossing because they do not know we are waiting here for them, to save them from the light.” Milos looked out over his Afterlights. “Do you think any of them are sorry to be here? And when the souls we have reaped awake, do you think they will despair, and despise us for having cared enough to bring them into Everlost? No!”

Well, that remained to be seen. There would be no way to gauge their gratitude until they awoke. So far the souls they had reaped were sleeping out their hibernations in the bank vault. According to Milos, they belonged in a vault, because they were treasures. Gifts for Mary, if and when they found her.

The thought of Mary made the Ogre flutter a bit inside, as it always did—but now he knew the feeling was just the devotion all good and true Afterlights had for the girl sent to Everlost to care for them. At least he thought that was it. He wasn’t really certain about anything except the knowledge that he was uncertain.

As for Mary, they were no closer to finding her. There had been no further sign of the Neons and every time it was mentioned, it was a reminder to everyone of how badly Milos had screwed up.

“My mistakes only make me stronger,” Milos said whenever it came up. “Stronger and more determined to make a better world for Mary when she awakes. It is like they say, ‘We burn from our mistakes,’ and now I burn with more determination than before.”

Once in a while Milos would send Moose and Squirrel out alone for smaller missions—the ones that didn’t involve people, just real estate. So far Moose and Squirrel had caused a coffee shop, a bowling alley, and a post office to cross. The post office had been an accident. Now, however, they received a daily supply of dead letters to read, and some were highly entertaining.