The Gathering

Calling Through

XXVIII. The Walk Back

They took the long route to the Witch-house. They needed time to process before rejoining the others.

The streets of Arkham bore their usual mixture. Academic bustle and small-town quiet. Late afternoon sun cast long shadows from the Georgian rooflines. The air smelled of cut grass and distant river water.

"What did you sense?" Kamadan asked. Once they were clear of Fischer's building.

Kash walked in silence for half a block before answering.

"He's telling the truth. At least, the truth as he understands it. The grief is real. Ten years old. Never properly processed. Built into everything he's done since. His wife and daughter died. He's been running from that ever since."

"And the transmissions? The voices he claims to have received?"

"Also real. Or at least, he genuinely believes he received them. The signature doesn't match fabrication or delusion. It matches..."

She searched for the right word.

"Receptivity. Like he was tuned to a frequency and didn't know it."

"A conduit."

"Exactly. Whatever influenced him, it used his grief as an antenna. The loss opened something in him. Something else came through."

They passed the campus gates. Students flowed around them. Like water around stones. Kamadan's bearing drew a few curious glances. His height. His deliberate posture. But no one approached.

"The encrypted files concern me most," he said. "The timestamp matches the day his family died. Someone installed that partition before he even began his work. Before the voices started. Before any of it."

"Which means his grief didn't cause this. His grief was used by something that was already watching."

"Something that knew what would happen to his family before it occurred."

The implication hung between them. Neither spoke for a full block.

"The others need to know," Kash finally said. "All of it. The files. The timeline. The hand in the photograph."

"Agreed. Emma's analysis will help. Her approach to evidence is rigorous."

"That's one word for it."

Kash allowed herself a small smile.

"Do you think Fischer will be all right?"

"No."

Kamadan's honesty was gentle.

"I think he has been profoundly not all right for ten years. Discovering the truth of his situation will make things worse before they improve. But I also think he has the capacity to integrate this knowledge. Given time and support."

"We should include him. In whatever comes next."

"The Gang grows?"

"The Gang acknowledges connections it didn't know it had."

Kash adjusted her jacket against the late afternoon chill. The fabric was cool under her fingers.

"He's been part of this all along. He just didn't know it."

They walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. Two people who had witnessed something important. Still learning how to carry its weight.

XXIX. Kitchen Preparations

The Witch-house kitchen had settled into a rhythm of domestic activity. Almost normal. If one ignored the basement full of personalized studios. And the seven displaced people attempting to make sense of their situation.

Alice Payne stood at the counter. Methodically slicing vegetables. The precise movements of someone who had learned to cook in an era before food processors. Her Victorian dress had been exchanged for more practical clothing. Trousers and a blouse that Sarah had located in one of the upstairs wardrobes. But her bearing remained unchanged. She moved through each task. Consulting invisible instructions. Occasionally pausing with that distant expression. Her other phases contributing opinions.

"The carrots should be thinner," she murmured to no one visible. "Yes, I know. But this timeline prefers uniformity."

Lora Wilds worked beside her. Preparing a simple stew from ingredients they'd found in the well-stocked pantry. The domesticity was deliberate. A grounding ritual after the emotional weight of the studio discoveries. Her hands moved with practiced ease. Decades of farm cooking encoded in muscle memory. The pot steamed gently. The kitchen smelled of onions and herbs.

Mia sat at the kitchen table. Phone in hand. Forehead creased. She hadn't spoken for several minutes. Scrolling through screens with increasing intensity.

"What's up, sis?" Lora asked without turning her head. Attention still on the pot.

"This is my number," Mia said. Her voice had gone flat. The tone of suppressing something significant. She held up the device. Displaying the settings screen.

"Of course." Lora glanced over her shoulder. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Mia's expression shifted. Chin lifting. Eyes narrowing. "Gosh, did you hear me? You know my phone number, yes? Name it."

Lora recited the digits automatically. She'd known her sister's number for three decades.

Mia nodded. "So I am right. This is my number. We are who knows where. But my number is the same. The same carrier. The same account. Still connected."

"Connected to what?"

"That's what I'm testing."

Mia's fingers moved across the screen.

"We're in Arkham. But not our Arkham. Not the one where we lived and performed and grew old without aging. Emma said this house exists in adjacent space. The basement proves physics doesn't apply normally here. So where are we, really? And what still works?"

Lora set down her spoon and turned fully. "What are you doing? Whom are you calling?"

"Jennie. My youngest granddaughter. She's looking after our house in Hollow Path while—"

Mia held up a hand to forestall interruption. The phone was already ringing.

Alice had stopped cutting. Her attention shifting to the conversation. With the particular stillness of monitoring something across her phases.

The call connected.

"Grandma?" Jennie's voice emerged from the speaker. Young. Cheerful. Utterly normal. Both Wilds sisters knew it intimately. "Are you fine? It's all right here. The workers did harvest the rest of the corn. Everything is clean and nice."

Mia's face went white. Her hand trembled. She set the phone on the table. Switching to speaker mode with fingers that had lost their grip.

Lora moved immediately. Taking the phone with a steadiness that cost her visible effort. Her knuckles whitened around the device. Her voice, when she spoke, was controlled.

"Jennie, it's Lora. Your grandma's in the kitchen. The milk boiled over. So everything's fine there?"

"Sure, sure, Great-Aunt Lora." Jennie's voice carried a note of concern now. "Are you really fine? You sound... I don't know. Different."

"We're just tired after all the voyage. Long drive. You know how it is." Lora managed a convincing laugh. "We'll call later. Thanks for looking after everything."

"Of course, Great-Aunt." The smile was audible in Jennie's response. "The cats miss you. Marmalade keeps sitting on Grandma Mia's chair and meowing at the door. Take care, OK?"

"Sure thing. Love to your mother."

"Will do. Bye!"

The call ended. Silence filled the kitchen. The stew bubbled on the stove. Unattended.

Mia sat motionless. Her hands lay flat on the table. Pressing down. Confirming the surface was solid.

"I checked this morning," she said quietly. "Searched online. There is no Hollow Path in this Arkham's geography. No Hollow Path anywhere in Massachusetts. I tried three different mapping services. Our farm doesn't exist here. Our hamlet doesn't exist here."

"But Jennie—" Lora started.

"Jennie is real. The farm is real. The corn harvest is real. Marmalade is real. That ridiculous orange monster who only tolerates me."

Mia's voice cracked.

"They're all real. They're just not here. And somehow my phone still reaches them."

Alice set down her knife and approached the table. "May I?" She gestured toward the phone.

Mia nodded.

Alice picked up the device. Examined it with that slightly unfocused gaze. Looking at something beyond the physical object.

"The call went through," she said after a moment. "I can see it. The connection. It didn't follow normal paths. The signal reached... sideways. Into another arrangement of what is."

"Another timeline?" Lora asked.

"Another phase. Another version of here and now. That includes your Hollow Path and your Jennie and your ridiculous orange cat."

Alice returned the phone to the table.

"You reached through whatever separates this space from the one you came from. The connection held because you expected it to hold. You dialed a number you knew. Calling a person you loved. And the reality in between couldn't refuse you."

"That's not how phones work," Mia said. Her voice had gone thin.

"That's not how phones work in normal space," Alice agreed. "But we are not in normal space. We are in a house that exists adjacent to conventional reality. In a city that has always been a threshold. The rules here are different. Some things that should be impossible simply require... sufficient intent."