Bryson stared at him until they both burst out laughing. Maybe life would go on after all.

“Come on,” Bryson said. “Helga and her alliance of superheroes are waiting for us in the next room. She called it a briefing. That’s right. A briefing.”

“Sounds serious.”

Bryson pulled out his horrific British accent again. “Quite extraordinary, my dear chap. Perhaps she’ll serve some biscuits and tea.”

“What’s up with this accent all of a sudden? You sound like an old lady from Monty Python.” The comedy group had been dead for decades, but were probably more popular than ever in the Sleep nostalgia cinemas.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. The summit’s in London, remember? London’s in England? They have British accents there? Try to keep up. Now come on, let’s go.”

Michael slowly got to his feet. Something smelled terrible. It didn’t take long to figure out what it was. Himself.

“Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes—I swear I haven’t showered in a week. I gotta wash off this stink.”

Bryson looked awfully grateful.

5

They crowded into one room, about fourteen people in all. Most of them hadn’t been introduced to Michael yet, though their faces had become familiar enough. Helga stood in front of the window, where early-morning sunlight showed that the mist and fog had finally burned away. Walter, as always, was right by her side, actually looking as if he didn’t want to kill someone today. Gabby was there, and she awkwardly met Michael’s eyes when he entered. He gave her his best smile, trying to show that he didn’t hold anything against her.

Trust no one, he thought, almost as if Jackson Porter were sneaking back into his mind and trying to send him a message. Trust no one ever again.

What a way to live.

“Michael,” Helga began, summoning his attention and embarrassing him. “Bryson. Gabby. We’re all glad you’re here, safe for the moment. There’s no possible way we could find the words to express our condolences on the loss of Sarah. I’m truly sorry. But like I’ve said—”

Michael finished for her. “There’s always hope.” At that moment, he actually felt it a little.

Helga responded with the sincerest of nods. She was his Helga, he had no doubt, no matter what secondary voices might argue in his mind. The thought made him feel a little better.

“Truer words were never spoken,” his nanny said. “There’s always hope. Always. You just never know what life—or death—might bring. I think we’ve all seen that the world is a little more complicated than we ever could have imagined.”

Helga paused, as if for a moment of silence, then started talking again.