“Sarah never metamorphosized at all,” I said. “I’d notice if she grew wings or an ovipositor or something.”
“Our metamorphosis is internal,” said Mark. “Cuckoo children don’t turn into giant wasps when they hit puberty. They simply . . . well, change their minds.”
Slow-growing horror filled the pit of my stomach. “When she hurt herself in New York,” I said. “That’s what made it happen, isn’t it?”
Mark nodded. “She pushed so hard that her mind, which had healed up completely around the missing pieces, finally understood that it was supposed to transform. It contracted, losing most of its ability to form coherent thought, and then it expanded, growing in potential, growing in strength. She entered her first instar years later than most of her kin and entered her second instar inside of the week. She was well on her way to becoming the strongest of us. Becoming something we only know exists because of the information in our heads, the information passed down from our ancestors. She was becoming a Queen.”
A life lived around Aeslin mice can make capital letters pretty easy to hear. “What’s a Queen? Are you saying that Sarah’s going to become your leader or something?”
“No. We don’t have ‘leaders,’ as such. We’re too solitary. We can’t stand each other long enough to give or receive orders. I think maybe we did have leaders, back on Johrlar. That feels right, somehow. It feels like an evolutionary inevitability. But here, in exile, we prefer to stick to ourselves. Queens don’t lead. Queens are powerful. They have the kind of strength someone like me can only dream of. They—”
Mark stopped mid-sentence, eyes going gray, like they had frosted over. He began to shake.
I knew, immediately, what had to be happening. I whirled, and there was Heloise, still cuffed to the table where we’d left her, eyes now open and solid, blazing white, staring at us with the kind of hatred that starts wars.
There wasn’t time to think about what I was going to do next. I ran across the barn to the cabinet where we kept the actual gardening and yard supplies, jerking it open and grabbing the big can of Raid. Then I ran to Heloise’s side, shaking the can with every step. I aimed it right between her eyes.
She shrank back, the glow in her eyes dying, replaced by blue irises and utter terror. Behind me, I heard Mark gasp for air.
“You’re a big bug,” I said flatly. “I don’t judge—I’m in love with a big bug—but you’re a big bug, and this is bug spray. What happens if I squirt this in your eyes? Nothing good, I bet. Nothing you’d be too excited about experiencing. Want to find out?”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she whispered.
“What’s that? Oh, sorry, it may be hard to talk for a while, since my cousin’s boyfriend crushed your trachea and all. Which you totally deserved, and I hope it hurts like hell.”
“Here, bud.” Dad took the can of Raid from my hand. “I’ll keep her busy while you hear the rest of what our other prisoner has to say. And then we’ll figure out whether or not we’re taking one of them apart.”
Heloise sneered at him.
“I vote this one,” I said, before walking back over to Mark. “Talk faster.”
“Everything is math,” he blurted.
I blinked. So did everyone else.
“That’s what my mother always says,” said Aunt Evie. “She says the universe is numerical in nature, so the better a mathematician someone is, the closer they draw to the divine. It’s why she became an accountant. For her, that was like joining the priesthood.”
“Only without the celibacy,” said Uncle Kevin, and snickered as Evie elbowed him in the side.
Mark nodded, ignoring my uncle entirely, and said, “Exactly. Everything is math, and everything is made of math, and if you can manipulate the numbers, you can change the world. Literally change the world. You need to know the right equations, or you need the raw power to punch your way to the correct answer without taking the steps in the middle. But if you can accomplish one of those two things, there’s nothing you can’t do.”
A cold ball of dread was growing in the center of my chest, filling the space where my heart was supposed to be. Wherever my heart had gone, it would stop beating at any moment, I just knew it, forced out by that killing cold. “Cuckoos aren’t from around here,” I said quietly.
Mark met my eyes, not flinching away. “No.”
“But we’ve never seen any evidence they could travel between dimensions. They don’t use magic the way most sapient species use it,” I said. “They don’t make charms or cast spells or bend the laws of physics. They just influence minds and do math.”
“Yes,” said Mark.
“Is cuckoo magic math-based?”
“Yes,” said Mark again. “But the equations are . . . they’re huge. They’re resource-intensive in a way that almost always results in the death of the person who completes them, and those are the ones we still have. There are pieces of the math missing. Whole sections that were wiped clean when our ancestors were put into exile.”
The urge to sit down was suddenly overwhelming. “You’re saying that when the people back on Johrlar decided to throw your ancestors out, they stole the math that would have allowed them to go home.”
“Shut up,” snarled Heloise.
There was the distinct sound of an aerosol can being shaken, and she stopped talking.
“Yes,” said Mark. “We don’t know what our ancestors did, we don’t know whether they were political dissidents or cultural outcasts or criminals—”
“Can I vote ‘criminals’?” asked Antimony. “I’m going to vote criminals.”
Mark ignored her. All his focus was on me, which was a little unnerving, even knowing that the charm around my neck was preventing him from doing anything to psychically influence my reactions. “—but when they were expelled from their home dimension, the knowledge of how to get back was wiped from their minds. They were supposed to remain where they were, forever. They hadn’t been killed, but they had been cast out, and their exile was intended to be eternal.”
“I don’t think I like where this is going,” said Sam.
“We know the original equations were beautiful and subtle and kind,” said Mark. “We know that when our ancestors were exiled, Johrlar survived. We know the equations could be performed over and over and over again.”
“Yeah, because they were being performed by a whole bunch of people,” said Elsie. Everyone turned to look at her. She glanced up from her nails and shrugged. “What? You know I’m right. Look, you’re talking about math that’s so big that it kills people. Well, that’s what research teams are for. That’s what think tanks are for. If you have a spell that’s so resource-intensive it uses a sorcerer up, you get a whole bunch of sorcerers to come and cast it. If you have an equation that’s so resource-intensive it melts brains, you get a whole bunch of smart people to think about different pieces of it at the same time, so nobody’s brain gets melted. The equations aren’t meant to be a solo voyage. No big. Why are you telling us all this?”