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not?”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œWe know many people who have occupied different bodies.”
    As he says it, I can’t help but think of Moms. She’s always been many people occupying just one body. I can’t seem to hate her anymore.
    â€œYeah. Many into one. Like the Conformity.”
    â€œYes. You and I, we contain multitudes.”
    â€œLegion.”
    â€œYes. I am curious, though. How did you manage it?”
    â€œManage what?”
    â€œYour ability to fly. Have you been hiding that ability?”
    â€œNo.”
    Priest rocks with the movement of the elevator. We’re descending far, far into the earth. The air is cool and somewhat wet. If the lights went out, I would scream.
    Weariness descends on me. Suddenly my legs feel weak and my head spins.
    Oh, man, Jack sends. That’s one helluva hangover.
    There’s a bench at the back of the elevator. I sit there, waiting until my head stops spinning.
    â€œYou do not look so well, Shreve,” Priest says, concern in his voice.
    â€œIt’s the letdown. Bernard hit us with a shot of rhythm, and now—”
    â€œAh. The aftereffects have begun to set in.” He shakes his head. “Extranatural abilities are wondrous—a higher rung in human development—but the ascent comes at a cost. As in all things.”
    I can only nod and cradle my head in my hands. Jack doesn’t seem to be faring much better.
    â€œPardon my curiosity. But in all my long years—and I mean sheaves of years—I have never known any extranatural to develop new powers so late in life.” He shakes his head. “It’s one of the great fallacies of the old to believe that they have experienced it all. I am not immune. This revelation of your undiscovered talent came as a shock to me. And I do not relish shocks.”
    I look at Jack, and he’s got this wary look on his face, like we’re speaking gibberish to each other—which I guess we are. But I wanted him here, so I wink, and I can see him settle.
    Is this guy for real? Jack sends.
    Yeah. He is.
    I don’t like him. He’s too much like Quincrux, Jack concludes.
    He is, but he isn’t. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because some of Booth is in there too.
    Well, if shit goes pervy, I’m blasting him, Jack sends, matter-of-fact. And he will, I have no doubt. The force he released at the Conformity soldier was monumental, like the raw energies of the universe. The anger behind it was equally wild.
    Sssh. I don’t know if he can overhear us.
    Screw that, Jack says.
    During my exchange with Jack, Priest remains staring at me, hands crossed over his cane.
    â€œSo you want to know how I did it,” I say to him.
    He inclines his head slightly.
    I gnaw my lip.
    â€œI’m a thief.” In my mind, when I thought of my response, it sounded cool, tough. But now that my mouth has made the words, it sounds terribly vulnerable stated so baldly. And I hate it about myself. I take and I take and I give nothing back.
    â€œAll you can think about is yourself, Shree,” Moms said, so long ago. And she was right.
    Priest purses his lips and lowers his head, thinking.
    Jack and I are exchanging glances when he raises his head and says, “I think the reality of it is more complicated. Let me ask you a question.”
    â€œOkay. Shoot.”
    â€œCan you take my humor?”
    â€œHumor?”
    â€œA poor example. Can you take my personality?”
    â€œNo. But I can take your memories.”
    That troubles him; his face clouds. “This is, unfortunately, true. I cannot express to you how sorry I am that you ever were in a situation where that seemed your only option.”
    Damn it if a tear doesn’t bead his eye. I don’t know what to say to the man.
    â€œYou can take memories, but can you take my personality? Can you take my humor? Can you take my beliefs? My love of music? My abhorrence of poverty? And I