Well, okay then. I typed the code and unlocked the phone. I discovered twenty-three missed calls and fourteen missed texts. Half of them appeared to be threats—although I didn’t bother attempting to read them. Just looking at them was giving me a headache. The letters were scrambled, backward, upside down, imaginary.

The rest of the texts were the code.

I called her back. She answered before the first ring finished.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON, SLEVIN?” said my voice, but angrier than I had ever heard it. “WHY AM I YOU?”

I didn’t even know where to begin processing the question. Just the thought of it made me dizzy.

“Uhhhhhhhh,” I said, thought-provokingly.

“You’re a witch, aren’t you? This is some kind of witchcraft. ISN’T IT?”

“Wha—? No! Are you serious?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Slevin. You did this before. I know you did.”

“What, back at the school?”

“No! I mean, yes, that, too. But I’m talking about back when we were kids.”

Huh?

“My whole life, I thought I was crazy,” said Wynonna/Ezra—Wynezra? “I saw a fucking psychiatrist because of that shit. You did it before, and now you’re doing it again BECAUSE YOU’RE A WITCH!”

“What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t you dare lie to—Ohhhhhhh my god.”

I didn’t know what was happening on the other line, but it sounded excruciating. Maybe even lethal. Mildly alarming, considering that she was me.

“Whoa, are you okay?” I said. “Am I okay?”

“What an excellent question!” said Wynezra. “One of us is clearly not okay because I’m currently rocking a GIANT. RAGING. BONER!”

Oh.

“Why?” said Wynonna. “Why do I have a boner? Is this some pervy Viagra thing?”

In a situation where I literally had no clue what was going on, it was kind of refreshing to be asked a question that I did know the answer to. I latched onto it for dear life, like Leo and Kate on that floating door amidst the wreckage of the Titanic. It had a disturbingly calming effect on me.

“It’s called morning wood,” I said, matter-of-factly. “And it’s a normal male anatomical function.”

“Oh my goddddddd,” she whined. “I’m not sure what’s worse, your gross morning wood, or the fact that you make me sound like a total dweeb.”

“Where are you?”

“In a bathroom?” she said, like she wasn’t sure. “I’m trying to figure out how to pee, but this thing won’t go down!”

“Wait, what? Are you touching my—”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Slevin. I don’t want to touch this thing, and I won’t if I don’t have to. But I have to pee so bad I’m gonna die. How do you make it go down?!”

“You’re asking the great unanswered question of mankind,” I said. “Be sure to tell us when you figure it out.”