“Stop being a sensayer!”

Thisbe’s nose wrinkled at the discourtesy of interruption. “Even if you stop, you won’t be able to keep yourself from talking to people about religion. You won’t be able to stop doing what Julia’s made you so good at doing.” She smirked. “Cato would say it’s like a retrovirus. The virus pumps its RNA into a cell and the cell keeps pumping out more virus every chance it has, until it dies. It doesn’t even know it’s doing it.”

Sobs came too fast for Carlyle to speak.

“There really is no escape for you, is there?” Thisbe pressed. “The network you helped Julia create is everywhere now, and Madame, and Danaë, and Dominic are everywhere. Anywhere you go they can find you, send an agent, and teach them what to say to get you back. You’re just going to keep luring in more and more victims. You can’t stop it.”

“I can stop it.”

“You can’t. It’s not like you can run when the poison is inside you.”

“I can stop it.”

“How?”

“Like this!” Carlyle snatched the knife from Thisbe’s hands, and leapt to her feet.

“Carlyle—”

“Don’t try to stop me! It’s the only way to protect you. To protect Bridger. To protect everyone!” Carlyle lifted the knife toward her own throat. “You’re right! As long as I live I’ll draw everyone around me toward Julia. It has to end! God won’t forgive me. God shouldn’t forgive me, but at least this way it’ll be over. At least this way God knows I’m doing what’s best for everyone.” Tears swelled to a river on her cheeks, but a smile broke through them. “I’m sorry, Thisbe. I liked getting to know you, and really did intend to help you, all of you. It’s best this way. Bridger will be safe, your bash’, your secret will be safe, everyone. Even me.”

Carlyle closed her eyes and thrust at her throat with the full force of both trembling hands. Smooth as a diving fish, the edgeless trick blade collapsed into the hollow handle with a pathetic squeak.

Slowly, softly, a laugh rose from the depths of Thisbe, swelling like a downpour as a vicious smile bloomed across her cheeks.

“Thisbe, what?” Carlyle stared uncomprehending, testing the knife again and watching the fake blade slide in and out of the trick hilt.

Thisbe raised her hands, applauding clumsily as the fervor of her laughter made her arms weak. “Beautiful performance! I should have let you squirm longer, shouldn’t I? Pleaded with you not to do it. I could have gotten at least two more farewell declarations out of you.”

Carlyle’s jaw quivered. “I don’t understand.”

“Drop it.”

Thisbe snapped her fingers, and the knife tumbled from Carlyle’s hands, her whole frame weakening as despair’s soft trembling turned to crippling terror.

“Thisbe, what… what’s happening?”

Thisbe rose to her feet, her laughter subsiding into a darker smile. “You’re starting to realize, aren’t you?”

Trembling took the sensayer’s legs. She staggered, collapsed into the grass. “What have you done to me?”