She knelt to retrieve her fallen mail.

Then she noticed that her apartment was not dark.

Nor were the lights on.

She closed the Thaumaturgist, set it on the table by the door along with the bills and letters, and took a deep breath. Then she looked up.

“I don’t believe you.”

“You do, though,” the goddess said. “On some level.” She stood by the counter of Tara’s kitchen-living-dining room, holding a knife. She looked precisely like Tara, only she glowed, and her jacket wasn’t torn. “I made you a snack.” She pointed to a bowl.

“Carrots.”

“Simple, I grant, but you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to do things with matter. Given how vigorously you people invent fables about machines that fly and boxes that talk, you’d expect opening a refrigerator door or picking up a kitchen knife to be easier. Every activity on this plane involves so many counterbalancing forces and microscopic, hells, quantum interactions; I would have made you cookies but I never can remember how the proteins denature. Besides, you should eat healthier.”

“You pull that stunt, then lecture me on my life choices?”

“The man was hurting his friends. He would have hurt his children next. In many ways he has already. He was scared, and alone, and do you think Shale breaking his arm would have helped?”

“So you broke his mind instead.”

“I offered him perspective. You people get so closed up inside those little brains. Their structure changes in response to thought, you know, like your muscles respond to use. The used parts bulk up. Bad training develops uneven strength; it takes time and painful work to balance unbalanced muscles.”

“Or a shortcut that deprives someone of all agency.”

“Trust me, this guy needed help. I did no permanent damage, just gave him short-term access to better cognitive machinery, superior theory of mind. What he does with the memory of that is up to him. Have a carrot.”

Tara grabbed the bowl from the counter. She’d had a late, fried dinner, and her stomach was growling. The carrot crunched. She didn’t remember having carrots in her fridge, but she thought better of raising the point. “You could have asked before you used my soul to save his.”

The divine light dimmed, which Tara chose to read as embarrassment. “Here.” The goddess held out one hand, and a spark took shape. “Repayment with interest. I wish I could offer you more, but I’m close to the wire as it is.”

“What about Justice? Not to mention that fat chunk of soulstuff Kos gave you last year?”