That trip was one of Eureka’s fondest memories. The driver had started in L.A., in one of those homes-of-the-stars tour buses. There were brochures in the seat pockets with maps of the Hollywood Hills. He picked up hitchers across the country, until all the seats were filled. They spent the trip squinting into the rolling hills of Tennessee, pretending to see movie stars hiding behind poplar trees. It was another thing Atlas couldn’t have known without Brooks.

Esme flicked an amethyst whip against Peggy’s wing. The beast banked west. They were flying over water now. All land had disappeared.

“You don’t want to hear this,” Brooks said, “but I learned things from Atlas.”

“Like what?”

“The story of Atlantis is the longest cliff-hanger in history, but someone will finish it.…” As his voice trailed off in the rain, Eureka thought of Selene’s words in The Book of Love:

Where we’ll end … well, who can know the ending until they have written the last word? Everything might change in the last word.

It was Selene’s life story, but everyone talked about their life as if it were a story: leaving out the boring parts, exaggerating the interesting sections, crafting a tale as if everything had inevitably led to this very moment on this very day, saying these very words.

Somehow, Eureka would finish this story. Future tellers of the tale could embellish what they wanted, but no Tearline girl would enter the scene after she exited. Delphine was alpha; Eureka was omega.

It was nearly dawn, the end of another sleepless night, five days until the full moon. Thunder cracked. Peggy raised her wings. Eureka couldn’t see the gossipwitches’ faces, but she could hear their jubilation and see where their leaping feet touched down on the wings.

“We’re getting close.” Brooks leaned over Peggy and gazed at the surging ocean waves.

Eureka didn’t recognize the white-tipped water; it looked nothing like the oceans she’d sailed, swum, flown over in planes, or navigated from within her thunderstone.

In the distance, waves thrashed the shores of a desolate strip of marshland coated in an undulating black sheet. Peggy neighed and dipped her head. She began her descent.

As they drew closer, Eureka saw that the black sheet was made of billions of brine flies that had claimed the marsh as their home.

Eureka touched her pendant. Its warmth was welcome now in the chilling rain. She imagined that Diana’s scrawled Marais had become a cursive sparkle in the diamond. Could Atlantis lie beneath this undistinguished streak of mud?

“We’re nearly there,” Brooks said. Atlas said. He turned his lips against her neck and whispered: “Cry for me.”

“What?”

“It’s the only way inside.”

“No—”

“Still holding on to Mom’s advice?” he asked, darkeningas he spoke. “Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed? How does it feel to fail your dead mother’s one request? How does it feel to fail the person who sacrificed her life in a war the world is really waging against you?”

She couldn’t let Atlas trick her. She had to trick him. But the third tear still had to fall. That was why she’d come to the Marais. Atlantis had to rise so those she’d killed would not be wasted dead. Their souls had to go into the Filling. After that, Eureka’s and Atlas’s plans diverged. He thought the souls of her world would do his work, but she would find a way to set them free.

She felt for the pocket of her jeans. Her fingers traced the outline of the silver lachrymatory through the fabric. Solon had left it to her when he died. He’d known what she had to do. Eureka called on the bright strength of the ones she’d left behind. She called on the darkness within her.

“You’re a pretty good villain, Atlas.”

He raised an eyebrow at the sound of his name, but he did not deny it. The game was over. “Pretty good?”

“Everybody has a weakness.”

“And what is mine?”

“Naïveté,” Eureka said. “You don’t know what every girl knows, from New Iberia to Vladivostok: we make the best bad guys. Guys never stand a chance.”

Eureka unscrewed the lachrymatory and pitched it over Peggy’s wings. The orichalcum vial tumbled through a sea of clouds. Her tears poured out, glittering like diamonds. A swell of heat against her chest startled her. Her hand flew to the crystal teardrop and was burned.

Her throat tightened. Her chest heaved. She wasn’t going to cry—but she felt the way she had when she shed the tears the lachrymatory contained. She felt those same tears form again, as if every tear had a ghost that could return.

The ground shuddered so hard it made the air above it shudder, too. Peggy bucked and whinnied. And then:

The rain stopped.

Clouds stretched apart like cotton. Round rays of sun shone through. Eureka let them punch her shoulders, her lungs, and her heart, telling her brain to get happy.

“We are home!” the witches shrieked. “Look!”

The sun lit a long crack in the marsh below. The crack widened into a gorge and then, at its center, a small green dot appeared—

And began to grow.

The tree stretched skyward first. Its trunk shot up like it had been launched from the core of the earth. Eureka heard its creaking groan, and more … in both her ears. Birds singing, wind rustling, waves tumbling ashore—a wall of rich, reverberating stereo.

“I can hear again.”

“Of course,” Atlas said. “A wave of Atlantean origins took your hearing, now my kingdom restores it. There is yet more restoration in store.”