"I could say the same about you," said Mary. "You certainly look the part."

The skinjacker fluffed her tangled hair, but not a single nettle fell from it. "Didn't you write 'It's patently wrong to hold an Afterlight responsible for the circumstance of their demise, and one should never make fun of unfortunate clothing and unexpected accessories'?"

Mary was not pleased to have her own words used against her, but the skinjacker was right. Mary was breaking one of her own rules of etiquette. She took a moment to compose herself. "I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot," Mary said. "You know who I am, but I'm afraid we've never been properly introduced. May I ask your name?"

"I'm Jill," she said. "My friends call me Jackin' Jill."

"Well, Jill," said Mary, "I suspect things will be changing around here. I sincerely hope you do well with change."

Jackin' Jill nodded, but said nothing. Even so, Mary felt that they were both on better ground than when they started. Of course it didn't change her opinion of skinjackers, but if there was to be a shining new world order, everyone would have a part to play.

Mary found that she had free run of the fair. She could explore all places, interact with all of Pugsy's Afterlights-- but one place was off-limits. The glass-domed agricultural building. All entrances were perpetually guarded, and when Mary questioned Pugsy about it, he merely said, "It's my business. If you got a problem with it, too bad."

On her third night of freedom, Mary decided it was time to rid Chicago of its secrets. She went to the agricultural building alone, circling it, counting the entrances--five in all--and searching out the guard who looked the least intelligent, and most unhappy in his situation. She found the perfect specimen at the northeast entry.

"Good evening," she said, as she approached. She tried to get past him and through the door without slowing down, but the guard put out his hand and she intentionally bumped into it. It had the desired effect--he looked embarrassed at having touched her.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, as indignantly as she could. "I'm sorry, Miss Mary," he said, "but no one's allowed to come in here."

"But haven't you heard? Your boss and I have a partnership, which means I have no secrets from him, and he has none from me. Now could you please open the door and let me pass?"

The guard looked uncertain, like this might be a trick question. "I'm sorry, but without a direct order from the Death Boss--"

"Just a few days into our partnership, and our agreement is already being broken," said Mary in an exaggerated huff. "I'll have to take this up with Mr. Capone. What's your name?"

What began as mild awkwardness now turned into sheer terror. "Why do you need to know my name?"

"Never mind," she said, looking him up and down. "I'm sure I can describe you well enough to Mr. Capone."

"But ... but we're not allowed to let anyone in without a direct order... ." His voice had become whiny and pleading. All it took was a silent glare and he caved, not only letting her in, but opening the door, with a bow, and closing it behind her.

She wasn't quite sure what she was expecting to see, but Mary, who had seen just about everything was rarely caught off guard. This was one of those times.

Beneath the crystal dome that once housed a vast variety of plant life, were children--hundreds of them, all asleep and curled up in fetal positions. They were dead, yet not dead. They weren't quite Afterlights, for they didn't have any afterglow.

"What is this place ...?" she said, not even realizing she said it aloud.

"We call it the incubator."

She spun to see Jackin' Jill coming up slowly behind her. "I knew you'd find your way in here eventually." Jill looked out over the sleeping children, all lined up in neat little rows. "These are all kids who didn't make it to the light."

Mary found herself stunned into silence. These children were Afterlights still in transition. They were Interlights.

"It takes nine months to pass from the living world into Everlost," said Jill. "I thought you'd know that."

"Of course I know that," Mary was finally able to say, "but I've never seen ... I mean, I've never actually found any in this state."

"Is that so?" said Jackin' Jill with a wry grin. "Well, I find them all the time." She wandered among the dead-not-dead Interlight children, and Mary followed. "I find them, then I bring them here. How do you think Pugsy wound up with so many loyal subjects?"

Mary found her quick-mindedness slowed to a crawl by this revelation. Pugsy didn't need soul traps to catch Afterlights--he got them even before they were born into Everlost. Mary knelt to one of the silent children, a boy no older than ten, in a state of perfect peace. There was a number written in chalk on the ground next to him. A date. In fact, each of them had dates written beside them. "The dates each of them died?" asked Mary. "How could they be," asked Jill, "when all the dates are in the future?"

Mary glanced at several of the dates, but they meant little to her. She didn't keep track of time in the living world.

"Those are the dates that each of them will ripen," Jill said, and Mary realized that was her crude way of saying that these were the dates the children would awaken in Everlost.

"How is it that you can find so many, when I've never found one before they've woken up?"

"Maybe you don't know where to look."

Mary gave her a cold glare. "If you're going to toy with me, then we have nothing more to talk about." Then she turned her back on Jill and wove through the evenly spaced grid of hibernating children.

"It's the amulet," Jill finally admitted. "It glows when something devastating is about to happen. Something like a fatal accident ..."

Mary turned to Jill, glancing at the blue-gemmed pendant she wore around her neck. It looked like cheap costume jewelry--but Mary was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Certainly accidents, and untimely deaths, must set off ripples--not only in the living world, but through all levels of creation. It was possible that an object could resonate with such events--but how could Jill know specifically which accidents would result in a child falling short of the light, and into Everlost?

When the truth struck Mary, it struck deeply, as only the truth could.

"You stop them from reaching the light!" Mary said, with a 210gasp. "You know when and where the accidents will happen--then you wait for them to cross, and you stand in their way!" She looked at the kids on the floor, now caught in an invisible cocoon of transition. "These children weren't coming to Everlost--you guided them here!"

She only had to look at Jackin' Jill to know it was true.

Now things truly began to heave and buckle within Mary's soul--a shifting of purpose and design that went down to the core of her being. Finally Mary said:

"What a wonderful thing you've done here!"

Jill, who never seemed fazed by anything, was startled by that.

"Wonderful?" said Jill. "I wouldn't call it wonderful, but it does make me very useful to Pugsy."

As Mary looked over at the sleeping Interlights, waiting to be born into eternity, she realized that this was only a beginning, and what seemed so overwhelming just a few moments ago, now seemed like a tiny drop in a giant bucket.