“The connections between my dark matter components are already strengthening, channeling through the hub of the black tree, magnified by my Alterants, each one of whom is set up in her own Reality, in these same coordinates. The soulikens are strong in these Alterants of mine, just as I knew they would be. Our genetic makeup is almost perfectly compatible. Any one of them could have done what I have done in the Thirteenth, if only they’d been given the opportunity.”

Her voice grew quiet. “The Chi’karda is flowing, my friends, flowing on a scale I doubt you could scarcely comprehend. Soon the dark matter will be linked, and the Blade will do its slicing.”

Dark matter. Alterants. Soulikens. Chi’karda. Blade. Jane’s words bounced around inside Tick’s mind, trying to sort themselves into something that made sense. But it wasn’t working. He felt completely confused and out of his league. Jane was up to something monstrous.

Mistress Jane finally looked away from Tick, taking in each of his friends one by one with her mad gaze. Then she settled back on him. “I don’t expect you to comprehend the workings of the Blade of Shattered Hope. Just know this, and know it well so you can spread the word: the Blade is a series of dark matter components, linked by my Alterants to create the greatest flow of Chi’karda since the beginning of time and space. And when I tap into that power and give the order to sever the Fifth Reality, the dark matter will consume the Fifth like a black hole. The Fifth will cease to exist—along with every man, woman, child, beast, insect, and plant living there. That is what you are about to witness.”

Tick couldn’t hold back anymore. “How can you do something like this? You’re always spewing this garbage about wanting to do good, but now you suddenly think it’s okay to kill billions of people?”

“Yes, Atticus, you’re absolutely correct.”

She turned and motioned to the closest screen, where moving images had now appeared in the spinner’s projected circle. A woman sat huddled on another odd black sculpture—this one had a solid top and bottom connected by dozens of curved, twisty rods. The lady was dirty and appeared to be terrified and hungry, but Tick could tell she was an Alterant of Jane. He remembered his time with the “real” Jane at Chu’s mountainous palace. This lady had the same black hair, the same eyes, the same face.

Tick looked at the other screens and saw similar video feeds. More Alterants, more black sculptures. Each woman had her own unique attributes, but there was enough there to see that all of them were Jane’s inter-Reality twins. In one of the video feeds, the image shook, as if the person holding the camera was doing some kind of jig. The Alterant was screaming uncontrollably, trying to free herself from the chains binding her to the dark black object below her. Then the other video feeds started to shake as well, one by one, worsening every time Tick looked at a new screen.

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Jane said, “about walking softly and kindly as I try to achieve my dream of a Utopian Reality. I’ll tread lightly no longer. The people of the Fifth will die, yes, but it is for the good of mankind. In the long run, we will all be eternally grateful for their sacrifice.”

Master George’s whole body trembled with rage. “How could even your twisted, sickened mind stretch a tragedy of such proportions to something that will achieve good? You’ve lost your soul, Jane.”

Jane’s hand whipped out again, her palm facing George. But she paused, then slowly withdrew it back into her robe. “Yes, you may be right. But if I’m willing to sacrifice billions of lives, wouldn’t it be logical for me to also be willing to sacrifice my soul? I don’t care what guilt I must endure, what internal torment I must suffer for the rest of my life. Only one thing matters, and I will see it achieved.”

“Why are those places shaking?” Paul blurted out, pointing to the screens. Every image now showed a world that seemed to be suffering from massive earthquakes. The Jane Alterants jerked about, still chained to the black sculptures that had toppled over on their sides.

“The Chi’karda is building, that’s why,” Jane answered, her voice so calm it made Tick mad. “Each Reality will see its own effects from the Blade’s purge of the Fifth, but in the end, they’ll suffer minimal damage. And all of my Alterants will survive to move on to the next phase of my plan. All except for the one in the Fifth, of course.”

Tick was filled with turmoil. Though he didn’t entirely understand what was going on, he felt an overwhelming responsibility to do something, to at least try something. He looked down into his lap, where his hands were clasped, squeezing them together so hard his fingers drained of blood. Maybe, if he could just reach for a trickle of Chi’karda . . . experiment a little . . .

“It’s time for me to bend the Blade to my will,” Jane announced. “Move from your chairs and die, as will Atticus’s family. Frazier’s watching. Remember to keep your eyes on the spinners. If your abilities to spread the message of what you witness today aren’t sufficient, there’ll be no reason for me to keep you alive.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned sharply and walked away, back to a spot before the black tree.

Tick barely saw her go. He was still looking down, concentrating on his hands. He didn’t know exactly why, but it helped to have a spot for his eyes to focus on as he mentally probed his mind and heart and body, searching for a spark of Chi’karda. Something small, he told himself, something Jane won’t be able to sense . . .

“This can’t be for real,” Sofia said next to him, though he barely heard her over the sounds of the humming tree and through his efforts to think. “She can’t possibly do something like this.”

“She’s doing it,” Paul said. “Look at her. She’s a nut job.”

Tick finally closed his eyes, squeezing his mind as he tried to latch onto that mysterious something within him. He pictured Jane, focusing on his hatred of her. He pictured his family. He tried to think about what his heart must look like, pumping blood to his veins. It always started there, the warmth—

There. He could feel it. A spark. A little surge of heat. Like a flickering flame.

Just as he’d done before in his basement, Tick reached for the warmth, mentally grasping it with unseen hands. He didn’t fully comprehend how he was doing it, but he threw all his energy into doing it anyway.