She ached for the release that only tears could bring. She knew she couldn’t, knew she wouldn’t, but as much as she tried to be as unfeeling as Ovid, Eureka was a human girl trapped inside a human body. Heat welled in her eyes.

A great splash erupted near the edge of the pond. A spout of water crested above the veranda’s rail. A blond head appeared in its center.

Ander spilled himself out of the water, which fell back into the pond. He was bleeding and straining to breathe. How much time did he have left?

Eureka flung her arms around his neck. He spun her around like her weight was a wonderful surprise. Their lips were centimeters apart when Eureka pulled away. She’d been so sure she’d lost him. She put a hand against his chest, wanting to feel his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest.

“Is he here?” Ander asked.

“Who?”

“Atlas! Did you see which way he went?”

Eureka shook her head. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to say he had only moments left to live.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Eureka stepped aside to reveal his family.

Ander raked his fingers through his hair. He leaned down and held his hand in front of Albion’s face.

“Am I a ghost?”

Eureka touched the tips of Ander’s hair. It felt so good, so alive, that she caressed his scalp, his brow, his cheek, his neck. He turned his head into her hand.

“No,” she said. She wondered whether Ander knew what she knew about Ovid and the Filling.

“I don’t understand. When one Seedbearer dies—”

“All of them die.”

“But I’m still here,” Ander whispered. “How?”

Eureka remembered the envelope Solon had given her. She’d stuffed it in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled it out, lifted its flap. Inside was the lachrymatory containing her tears, wrapped in a piece of paper covered in lovely cursive.

Eureka quickly slipped the vial inside her pocket. She unfolded the paper and read aloud:

“To Whom It May Concern (Eureka):

“Am I dead yet?

“Good.

“There is a fine bottle of brandy in the pocket of the farthest silk robe in my closet. You will know it from its antique bamboo hanger. Once you are safely ensconced inside, crack it open, and gather round you all those who remain and care. Or perhaps just those who remain. Then you shall know a portion of the truth.”

Eureka looked up as Cat, William, and Claire stepped over Seedbearers to draw closer.

“What else does he say?” William asked.

Eureka read on:

“I’m serious. Go inside.

“Eureka, lest you became paralyzed by indecision: You won’t waste Ander’s final moments rifling through a closet full of silly silk robes, hunting for booze like a lucky bum who swung in through the window. The boy could live to taste amillion of your kisses, barring catastrophes out of my control. I’ll explain everything in a moment.”

“We should honor his request,” Ander said. He kicked Albion aside and lifted Solon from the ground.

They descended the stairs into Solon’s salon. Ander laid Solon’s body on the rug next to his chair, where he could be near the waterfall. He went downstairs to retrieve the brandy. William brought out the witches’ torch for light, and Eureka sat atop the broken dining table and read aloud:

“Are you still mad at me? You should have seen your face when you realized what I’d done. Yes, I wrote this letter before I saw your face, but I know how angry you will be and were. I’m exploding time and tense in my last testament!

“I’m not unvain enough to say it didn’t bother me to grow old in the dusk of my existence. I didn’t wish to care for you all so deeply, but I did.

“Brave, bold Claire—may you grow up and remain fearless.

“Enigmatic William—hold on to your mystery.

“Cat, you nuclear bomb, in another life, I’ll seduce you.

“Ander. Survivor. You are the only man I’ve ever admired.

“And Eureka. Of course, my feeling began with you. You draw emotion from the stoniest souls.

“I summoned the Seedbearers, to kill them and to kill myself using the artemisia in the orichalcum chest. But what about Ander? you’ll be wondering. The truth is beautiful: Ander was raised by Seedbearers, but he is not a Seedbearer. He was born to an irresponsible mortal family in California with a weakness for joining cults. They were persuaded to give him over to the Seedbearers backstage at an auditorium in Stockton. And so he was raised to believe he was bound by Seedbearer laws. They needed an age-appropriate decoy, someone to blend into the background of your youth.

“But he was never one of us! And so …

“He lives!

“For some time I have suspected that something wasn’t right about him—or rather, that something wasn’t wrong—but I couldn’t be sure until the witches revealed that he saw nothing in the Glimmering.

“The witches only care about returning home to Atlantis, so their Glimmering only reveals one’s reflected Atlantean identity. Because Ander has no true lineage connecting him to the Sleeping World, he has no reflection in its mirror. The Glimmering would have killed him if your thunderstone had not protected you both.

“Ander does not belong in Atlantis, bless him. Not belonging is the greatest gift. Always remember that.

“Once I discovered my death would not kill Ander—that, indeed, my death would help you by removing the Seedbearers from the equation—I had no choice but to take the ancient plunge all my heroes have taken. Two stones, one bird, as the Poet might say. I hope I shall see him soon.”