Spirits of Ash and Foam by Greg Weisman

triangle. The fourth looked something like a cross. The fifth was a shallow cup; the sixth, a circular ring; the seventh, an oval ring. The eighth was a deep widening groove that called to mind a gigantic dagger or maybe the kind of stake one used to stab an oversized vampire. The last—the ninth—was carved into the distinctive shape of a skull.
    She backtracked along the shelf in reverse, pausing to look once again at the second slot, the next slot to fill. She stuck her index finger into the hole and could just barely touch the bottom. She had no idea what the second zemi would look like, but it seemed to be more or less the shape of a roll of quarters. Not much to go on. She needed another clue.
    Then she had an idea. She was still holding her armband. She placed it in the first slot, hoping for another message of flame to appear on the wall, as it had the night before. No dice. She twisted it like a key. Nothing. Oh, well. Worth a try. She sighed again, but she didn’t really feel defeated. She felt … at home, strangely at home.
    It was still a few hours until sunset. She had time to kill, and she didn’t really feel like going back to the Nitaino just yet. She glanced down at her backpack and shrugged. Might as well. She opened it up, pulled out To Kill a Mockingbird and took a seat on the largest and most central of the stone thrones. It wasn’t immediately comfortable, but she found that if she leaned against one of the arms and swung her legs over the other, it fit her just fine. She cracked the book and started to read. “When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow…”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    GOOD TALK
    MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8
    Rain had lost track of the time. When she returned to the Inn—at a few minutes to seven and less than an hour before sundown—her parents already had dinner on the table. There were three place settings now. Iris and Alonso stared at the empty seat, which only four nights ago had been filled by the warm old man with the kind gray eyes that neither of them would ever see again. Rain saw her mother on the verge of tears again, and even her father was forced to shove his tongue into his cheek and draw a deep breath to keep from choking up. They were still grieving ’Bastian in a way Rain herself was not. She knew that at sunset he’d emerge from the zemi and be with her once more. She wanted to reassure them, to tell them. He’s not really gone! Instead, she spontaneously reached out with both hands and touched theirs.
    And it happened again! Just as with Charlie’s foot, the eyeless snake on her charm flashed gold. The warm light—light only she could see—split in two, running down her left arm and also across her chest to her right, before leaping from Rain’s outstretched hands to Alonso and Iris.
    Rain’s eyes went wide, and she froze.
    But immediately, she could see the positive effect. Glancing from mother to father and back again, she saw them both smile. These were bittersweet smiles—brought on by fond memories of Sebastian Bohique—and hardly negated their grief. For a time, however, the sadness was chased away. Iris straightened in her chair, and Alonso said, “Dig in!”
    Raising an eyebrow for her own benefit, Rain withdrew her hands and picked up her fork. Chalk up another win for the Healer, she smirked. She twirled some pasta and shoved it in her mouth.
    It was simple fare, Alonso’s bachelor recipe, made with sautéed onions and mushrooms and half a pound of Malas Almas ground beef, which, along with garlic salt, garlic powder, onion powder and a hefty amount of Parmesan cheese, was stirred into mainland tomato sauce (that is, from a can). This concoction was allowed to simmer on low for a long time before being poured over and tossed with al dente spaghettini and then doused with still more Parmesan. Plus there was garlic toast. The meal wasn’t