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It was after the third lightning bolt that I noticed much
of Tom’s torso was missing, a growing number of large,
smoking holes remarking upon its departure. The secret-
eater’s face deteriorated as well, including the glaring eyes
that had caused me so much pain.
My second sister stood in the doorway of the chapel,
feeding fire to the smoldering god through two automatic
rifles. She had returned, wearing the body of a heavily armed
officer. What a splendid thing, she was! Tom’s folklorist
rapidly flew apart, and the antlered god began to lose his
grip upon the corpse of this world. Searching for a new
handhold, I could feel Tom reaching into me again, hoping
my secret might anchor him better than Joshua Link’s
rapidly deteriorating skin. As his power closed around me,
something unexpected came loose in his grip—something
that did not want to be touched.
Tom howled like never he had, tumbling backward into
his own idols, the relics crashing down around him. “I had no
idea!” He laughed as a new fire washed over him, consuming
what was left of his folklorist. “I bet they don’t even know!
How could they! What a game this will be, indeed! And for
all the bother they’ve caused me, I’ll be keeping the secret
to myself!”
I had no inkling what the god was carrying on about, but
my chance would not wait long. Still aflame and bubbling, I
rose and slowly made my way to the burning, bullet-ridden
deity. Just before my father destroyed what remained of
the god, Tom whispered through the smoke, hurting me
more than his lightning ever could. “And as for you, child.
She’s your mother in the same way that I am a professor of
folklore. She’ll show you to hell before she’s done. You’re
like the lightning, Vincent. Just a toy.”

190 | Mark Anzalone