“Hey, wait—” Mollie stepped into the barn, grabbed the Louis XIV chair, and popped back to the hospital before Franny could finish his sentence. “—a second.”

Billy Ray blinked at the chair. “What. The hell. Is that?”

“This is my condition for helping you. You don’t like it, you can go to hell.”

But Franny knew. She could see it in his eyes. He looked genuinely sad for her. She didn’t like it. “Was this somebody you cared about?”

“He is somebody I care about.” Mollie lugged the chair to the side of Baba Yaga’s hospital bed. “Change him back.”

The Russian woman blinked at her. “This is your condition? You thought I would do this and then you would do your part?”

The goddamned tears had come back. Everything turned blurry. “Change him back. Make him a person again!”

The hag shook her wrinkly head.

“Change him back RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

Franny tried to interject. “Mollie—”

“I can’t,” said the Russian woman.

“You will. Turn Ffodor back right fucking now or I swear to God I will dump your leathery old ass into the Pacific Ocean a thousand miles from the middle of nowhere.”

“Mollie.” Franny took her arm. He tried to pull her aside but she wasn’t about to let go of Ffodor. “She didn’t say she wouldn’t. She said she can’t.”

Mollie rounded on him. “Of course she can. She has to.” She wept openly now. “You have to turn him back.”

“I can’t.”

Billy Ray said, “I think she’s telling you it’s one-way, kid.”

No. No. No.

Mollie lifted the heavy chair, shook it at Baba Yaga. Sorrow made her strong. “You have to turn him back so that I can apologize to him.”

Baba Yaga closed her eyes. Shook her head.

“Ffodor has to hear it.” Somewhere a dam burst, a dam she’d built a long time ago, and now a rushing cataract swept away the last of her self-control. She convulsed, struggling to speak through the wracking sobs. “He has … to hear … my apology. Make him a human again … so he can hear it and … forgive me … and I can stop … I can stop feeling like this. It hurts so much…” She fell to her knees, blinded by tears. Her nose was running and her upper lip tasted like snot.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please turn Ffodor back so I can tell him I’m sorry. The world is ending and I can’t die without his forgiveness.”

Baba Yaga stated, in a voice like a mausoleum door slamming shut: “Your Ffodor is dead.”

“No. He needs to know I’m sorry.” Mollie slumped lower on the linoleum floor. Wrapped her arms around the chair legs. Laid her head on the cushion. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.”