Then a thought occurred to her; a marvelous thought that would give Nick a purpose and a reason to be something more than just one among many in her world.

“Finders have told me they’re reading my books as far west as Chicago now,” Mary told Vari. “Which means there must be children in other cities in need of care and guidance, don’t you think?”

Vari stopped playing. “You’re thinking of leaving here?”

Mary shook her head. “No. But that doesn’t mean I can’t send someone out there. Someone I can train, and teach everything I know. That person can set up an outpost in an unexplored city. Chicago, perhaps.”

“Who would you send?”

“I was thinking about Nick. Of course it will take years to train him properly—ten, maybe twenty—but there’s no great hurry.”

Vari came up beside her, looked toward the hazy horizon, then turned to her.

“I can do it,” he said. “And it won’t take years to train me, either.”

She turned to him and smiled. “That’s sweet of you to offer.”

“But I can do it,” he insisted. “I might be little, but the kids respect me, don’t they? Even the older ones.”

Again she smiled warmly. “Vari, what would this place be without you and your violin? I’d always want you here, playing for us.”

“‘Us,’” Vari echoed. “I see.”

She kissed him on top of the head. “Now, why don’t you play something else. Something cheerful.”

Vari began to play an upbeat tune, but somehow there seemed to be an edge to the music that was dark and undefinable.

There was no question in Allie’s mind that she was getting out. She had no desire to spend eternity caught in an endless loop, no matter how pleasant it might be. But she was also smart enough to know not to leave until she got what she had come for in the first place.

Information.

Not “Miss Mary” information, but the real deal.

“I want to know about all the things Mary won’t talk about!”

Allie said it loudly and fearlessly on what was commonly called the “teen floor,” since that’s where the older kids in Mary’s domain liked to congregate. No one seemed to react, but a kid playing Ping-Pong lost his concentration, and sent the ball flying across the room.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me, and don’t think that by ignoring me you can make me go away.”

Like the younger kids, these kids were also caught in repetition, but it didn’t take as much to jostle them out of their stupor. There seemed to be a few fourteen-year-olds here, some thirteen, maybe some twelve-year-olds who eternally wanted to be older. All told, there were maybe thirty of these older kids in Mary’s domain—which was only about one-tenth of the population. She wondered if there were simply fewer older kids who got lost on their way to the light, or if most older kids simply didn’t stay here with Mary for very long. Nick had said Mary was writing a book on the subject. Allie wondered if there was a subject Mary wasn’t writing a book on.