The night was clear, and looking back at the Church, I saw its ancient metal smokestacks outlined against the stars. I pushed the scooter, focusing on what the Interlocutor had just said. What must be seen? Despite her pain and weakness, she seemed to know exactly what she was doing. That was more than I could say for myself.
“Your friends,” the Interlocutor said, “your friends call me it. To them, I am a thing.”
“To be honest,” I said wearily, “you take some getting used to.” I decided to change the subject. “Where are we going? And when we were inside, how’d you know the dritch was approaching?”
“I hear,” said the Interlocutor. “I want to get you into the dark.” Before I could ask why, she unfurled a shuddering tentacle, pointing straight up, past the trees and the far-off glow of the
