Except Bryant was a bastard, and this young woman—maybe she was terrible, too, but Yaya couldn’t know. Bryant had instigated, made it clear that he had some seedy underbelly, and though Yaya hadn’t had the tenacity to uncover it, she’d seen his eyes when he approached. That was not his first time threatening a woman in his house at night, keeping her sandwiched between his body and a locked door.

Yaya still felt his hand at her chest, and she opened her cleft to rub the sensation away. It was time she and Magenta let him go.

Torso teeth spread wide, and Magenta’s arms lapped at both sides as if bracing a doorframe. Yaya thought again of the bird, but what slid from her insides fell dry this time, a hard lump coated in strawberry jam. It thudded softly on the bathroom tiles.

The husk of Bryant’s brain.

Yaya had grasped his head in her bare hands and cracked open his skull against his bathroom floor. Magenta then took over, opening the egg, gathering

the yolk, drawing it into their organic cooker. The brain had lived inside Yaya’s chest since then and offered a constant supply of whatever the hell made the stones go away. She had spent the last three days with a clear and unburdened mind. Digestion didn’t end until today.

Connie’s brain could give another three days. Maybe more if Magenta adapted to make it last longer. She could do that. She could anything.

“She’ll never miss it,” Yaya said, turning back to Connie. She couldn’t say whether Bryant’s brain had been conscious inside her. Had he felt hers and Magenta’s shared nerves? He didn’t deserve the pleasure. Connie, though?

If Doc hadn’t wanted this, she should have brought that guy from the Jumpies lot or someone like him. His kind filled the city. Yaya would go hunting herself when the stones went away and she could think straight.

Magenta reached for the tub again, and this time Yaya let her. Tentacle tips scratched at Connie’s coat sleeve. Its fabric snagged on Magenta’s barbs and tore away. Her sweater sleeve had bunched up inside, revealing her forearm.

Nothing would stop Magenta this time.

“I’m sorry,” Yaya whispered. “I’m really—”

Connie’s skin burned Magenta, like dry ice, a chewing cold that cut Yaya’s words into a clenched-teeth scream. Eeeeeeee rang in her head, Magenta screaming, too. Only Connie lay silent, the morphine keeping her oblivious to anguish as her skin went stovetop hot under Magenta’s touch.

Red tentacle fused to Connie’s flesh. Not stuck against each other, but mixing and merging, earth absorbing water to make mud.