I was struck by the way Ronnie’s mouth gaped open. The way the lines of that sunken face radiated out from a soundless and surprising ecstasy. A pale green powder on the dry lips contained evidence of vomit, in how it continued down the chin. Yet she had died in the throes of an overwhelming joy. That unnerved me more than agony.

Poison? Taken internally or carried by the air? If in the air, I was already compromised. Contaminated. Dead.

I felt fine. No different than when I had entered the tunnel. But I distrusted her condition. Something about the way salamanders received damage, through their skin. Rates of decay. I tried to do the math. Dead yesterday or dead five years ago while Hellmouth Jack and I wasted time on top of the mountain? Some date uncertain in-between. But nothing about the contrast in mummification and freshness made sense no matter the timing.

Didn’t much like the idea of walking around the body and ignoring it. Put on latex gloves from Shovel Pig, did a search as fast as I could without missing something. Nothing much in her pockets besides ID. No weapons.

So light. Her body was so light, like a canvas frame. Tiny veins had ruptured all over her hands and arms. The smell I couldn’t place. As if dust motes had sparked and burned while afloat. So the air around her had a char of pinpricks. A whispering, charred scent. Couldn’t describe it any other way.

A shadow of my original fears swallowed me. Biological weapons. Ronnie following Silvina into something she didn’t understand, any more than I understood it.

Well, I would know soon enough if I was sick.

I found the hummingbird pinned under her. As if it’d come loose from a pocket or Ronnie had been holding it when she succumbed and fell. Twisted wire. One tiny wing bent. But still glossy black. Stirring a fatal sense of beauty. Old friend. Comrade come back to me.

I saw now that the darkness of the steps beneath Ronnie meant she’d bled out, though I could find no wound. I knelt in her dried blood and took the hummingbird away from her. I could not leave it behind.

That Ronnie had gotten the hummingbird from her brother seemed certain. Whether Ronnie had come here because she remained part of Silvina’s inner circle seemed less certain. Thought of “Hillman” and his bible of numbers. Of how it didn’t matter which Vilcapampa they’d served. Both had wound up dead.

I stood there on the steps, stooped, overcome by so many emotions. It was hard not to cry over something.

But then I took a step forward, and another. Heavy steps, as if the hummingbird weighed me down. Or something did. My boots thick, awkward, made of solid metal.

Each step upward was easier than the last.