She found them in the middle of the main chamber of the cavern, drones illuminating the cave with soft light. Ampersand was fastening translucent bulbous devices into the back of Enola’s head, or at least she figured that they might have been translucent at one point in time—now they were smudged with a substance that looked like tar. The bulbs sticking out of the back of his head reminded her of the egg sacs of spiders.

Enola made a futile move to get away, but Ampersand caught him. He had a pile of the substance she had seen in the other room, the strange skin-like stuff he had been using as his honeycombs, and he was melting it into strips that looked like wide, thick belts. He took one of the strips, and she could feel the heat off it as he welded it to the floor, keeping Enola’s legs tucked under his body. This was only the last of several of these belts that Ampersand had put in place to keep Enola restrained.

“I have begun a transfusion.”

“What are you transfusing from?” she asked, keeping her distance.

“Myself. He has altered his chemical makeup to pump emotional nullifiers and hallucinogens into his brain along with basic glucose and other elements needed to stay alive.”

“He’s altered his brain . . . why?”

Ampersand kept his focus on his task, moving from Enola’s head to whatever was under the “wing” of his back, seeming to rip parts out of him, reshape them, and jam them back in like lawn darts. “I can only speculate. I assume this particular mixture is intended to keep his intelligence levels high while keeping certain sensitivities low or nonexistent.”

He pulled at something on Enola’s neck, rougher, angrier than Cora had ever seen him handle anything. Enola bleated out another couple of squalling noises before falling silent. But given the rigidness of his body, the way he was still trembling and struggling, he was obviously still conscious.

“Where would Obelus go?”

“I do not know. If he has indeed recovered his memories, he will not want to be found.”

Cora gawped at the sheer impossibility of the situation, unable to tear her eyes from Enola. “We are in over our heads. We need help.”

“No.”

“You cannot handle this and hunt for Obelus at the same time!”

“No.”

“I’m scared. I’m worried for you, and . . . there’s no way you can handle both Enola and Obelus, and I can’t help you. We need outside help before Obelus—”

“I cannot allow it.”

“Is there something you aren’t telling me? Yes, I agree, it would suck to pony up to all the secrets and lies, but the alternative—”

“The alternative is death.” At this, he looked right at her with the entirety of his focus.

“How . . .”

“This incident would be the justification Esperas needs to have me euthanized.”

“What?” she breathed. “He couldn’t possibly . . .”