Content warning: This chapter containssemi-graphic descriptions of child abuse and its effects.

SPRING 1987

"Gaston Northwest turns eighteen next month," Percy commented.

Lincoln glanced at him across the table. He, Percy, and Eleanor (or, Ellie) sat together in the dining room of the Order headquarters, eating a meal of Lee's making. The table was a gift from Percy two years ago, given to celebrate when Lincoln had officially joined the Order. Lincoln sometimes felt that the position was more honorary than anything — after all, the most common duty in the Order was to bring people down to headquarters for a memory wipe, and Lincoln never went into town — but Percy still treated him as a member of full standing, and Lincoln felt like a part of things.

Now, after Percy's comment, Lincoln tried to make sense of the statement. When he didn't answer for a few moments, Ellie turned to Percy and said, "I don't think he knows what that means, dear."

Lincoln glared at her. "I know it means he's an adult. I'm not stupid." Since his first deal with Bill four years ago, Lincoln didn't mind his missing memory nearly as much. But he did mind being treated like a child because of it. "I just don't know what Gaston's birthday has to do with anything," he clarified.

"She wasn't implying that you didn't know about his adulthood," Percy said calmly. "There's something else."

"And what's that?"

"When Gaston turns eighteen," Ellie said, "he won't be able to use the amulet anymore."

Lee frowned. "Really?"

Percy nodded. "The amulet only works for children. The youngest age that someone can use it is when they turn eight years old, and they lose the ability at eighteen. That's why Gaston uses the amulet and not, say, me."

"Also because the Northwests are greedy," Ellie added. "They've claimed the amulet as a 'family heirloom', and they refuse to let anyone else use it."

Percy patted her arm. "Yes," he said, "though that was over a hundred years ago. It's tradition now, and they're not going to give it up."

Lincoln didn't care for a history lesson. "So, who's going to wipe memories after Gaston loses the amulet?"

"That's what I want to discuss with you," Percy said. "No one else in the Northwest family is young enough to wield the amulet. We'll have no amulet holder until Gaston's oldest child turns eight."

"It's caused problems in the past," Ellie said. "Gaston had to wipe about a decade's worth of memories when he turned eight. It took weeks."

Percy nodded. "Having no amulet holder used to leave us helpless. This time, though, we may have a solution." He finished his last bite of food. "Delicious as always, Lincoln. Let's clean up and go to my office, shall we? I have something to show you."

The threesome took their dishes to the nearby kitchen and rinsed them off. Then Ellie left, and Lincoln and Percy went to Percy's office. "What do you have to show me?" Lincoln asked.

"This." Percy reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a strange-looking gun.

Lincoln frowned at it. "And that is. . . ?"

"We found this gun when we found you," Percy said, "five years ago. We did some tests, and. . . it's a memory eraser."

Lee's gaze snapped up to Percy's face. "You mean—"

"It's likely what caused your amnesia, yes."

Lincoln stared at the gun. Even though his deal with Bill helped him cope with his amnesia, it didn't stop the rush of anger that swept through him. "Who shot me, then?" he demanded. "And why did you wait until now to show me?"

"I don't know the answer to that first question," Percy said. "As for the second, I suppose it may seem that I kept this a secret from you. I'm sorry. It didn't seem relevant until now, and. . . well, if I'd showed you in your first year with us, it would've turned out badly."

That quieted Lincoln. It was true: His first year here had been a dark time.

"Do you have any ideas?" he finally said. "About who it might've been?"

Percy shrugged. "For all we know, you could've shot yourself."

"What? Why would I give myself amnesia?"

Percy held up his hands. "It's simply a possibility. We found you alone with the gun; so, as far as suspects go, you're the only option."

"I wouldn't have done this to myself," Lincoln said firmly.

"I believe you," Percy said, "and I know it was a rough transition. But it's better now, isn't it?"

Lee hesitated, then nodded. "Lord Cipher is merciful," he said. "But. . . I still feel useless, sometimes."

It was a feeling he'd expressed to Percy before. It was hard to be a part of an organization when you didn't participate in its most common activity.

"Well," said Percy, "that subject is partly why I'm showing you this memory gun. I have a business trip coming up, and I'll be gone through Gaston's birthday. I would reschedule or cancel the trip, but Lord Cipher pointed out to me that this is actually a good opportunity."

"For what?"

"For you to do more for Lord Cipher's cause," Percy replied. "You see, it could be years before Gaston's first child is even born, and then we'll have to wait until he or she turns eight. Until that time, we are going to use the memory gun in place of the amulet."

Lincoln started. "What?"

"Not for total amnesia, of course," Percy said. "The gun is customizable. For example, if someone runs into the fairies, we'll simply type in 'fairies', and they'll forget them. It's simple, really."

Lee gave the gun a wary glance. "You say you've tested it?"

Percy nodded. "It's safe."

Lincoln was quiet. If the gun had an input, then what did his attacker type in to erase Lee's entire identity? The word 'everything'?

"So," Percy continued, "we'll use the gun. And, while I'm away on my trip, I want you to wield it."

His statement was met with a short silence. "Me?" Lincoln finally said. "You want me to shoot people with the same gun that erased my past?"

"I am hopeful that your deal with Lord Cipher, in relation to your memory, will make it possible," Percy said. "Without adverse mental effects for you, I mean."

"I. . . I don't know." Lee did feel better about his missing memory — and he did want to do more to help Lord Cipher — but he couldn't imagine ever touching that gun, much less using it against another person.

"That's all right," Percy said. "I'm not leaving for another three weeks; you can think about it until then. Lord Cipher said to expect him in your dreams to discuss it further."

"When you get back from your trip, will you take over?"

Percy shrugged lightly. "To be frank, it would be far more convenient for me to delegate the memory gun to someone who lives here, as you do. My trip will be a test run: If you really can't do it, or if you don't want to keep the assignment once I get back, then we can work something out. For now, you just need to decide whether or not to take over the memory sessions while I'm away."

Lincoln nodded silently.

Percy stood. "Take some time," he said. "Consult with Cipher. You can come see the memory sessions as they are right now to get a feel for it. I'll give you some instructions as we get closer to my trip, and you can accept the assignment or not." He gave Lincoln a kind smile. "I hope you will, though."

The weeks passed. Lincoln thought over the assignment, and he was unsure what he would do. He had never been entirely comfortable with the memory wiping part of the Order, even though it was a large part. Usually, he just spent his time in the library, researching Bill's imprisonment and future escape. (When he'd first arrived here, he'd had no patience for reading or research; but, after some years with little variety in his entertainment, he'd learned to enjoy it.) Now, he was given an opportunity — a potential assignment — to become so involved with the memory wiping that he would be in charge of it. Could he do it? Could he live with himself, knowing that he'd taken someone's memory, even if they didn't end up with total amnesia like he did?

Could he so much as hold the memory gun in his hands without panicking?

Lord Cipher spoke with Lee in his dreams and encouraged him to try. "But," he added, "if you really don't feel good about it, then I have a backup plan. I can use the gun for you."

Lincoln didn't know what that meant, exactly, though he was glad that Cipher had a plan. Yet. . . he wanted to do this himself. He wanted to prove to Lord Cipher that he could contribute to his cause in a greater capacity than reading archaic texts. Even as he thought about the memory gun — even as he worried about his mental state if he were to use it — he found that he wanted to fulfill this assignment.

If Cipher could help Lincoln so much after his memory loss, then surely Lincoln could help Cipher in return.

It took him most of the three weeks to come to this conclusion. The night before Percy was to leave, Lincoln finally decided to accept the assignment. With this resolution, he walked through the halls to Percy's office. Besides, he reasoned with himself, it wasn't as if he had to use the memory gun right away. He had almost two weeks before Gaston's birthday and the loss of the amulet.

He heard a voice, and he turned a corner to see Percy talking quietly with Gaston. Lincoln couldn't see Percy's face, but he could hear the gentle cadence of his voice as he spoke. Gaston, for his part, had more emotion on his face than Lincoln usually saw: His eyes were wide and stony; his lips were pressed firmly together.

Percy heard Lincoln's footsteps and, without turning, held up a hand. "We won't worry about the memory sessions anymore today," he said to Gaston. "You can head home. I'm sorry, Gaston."

With a stiff nod, Gaston broke away from Percy and left.

"What's going on?" Lincoln asked, glancing at Gaston's rigid face as he passed.

"Gabriel's dead," Percy said softly. "I just found out."

His statement was met by a stunned silence. "What happened?" Lincoln finally asked.

"A car collision," Percy answered, "while he was in California."

Lincoln looked in the direction that Gaston had gone. "And you told Gaston?" Even for the boy's taciturn nature, Lincoln would've expected more of a reaction from him.

"Yes. He'll need time to. . . to process the news. I don't believe he'll be in any state to do memory sessions for us, even before he loses the amulet." Percy met Lincoln's eyes. "We're out of time, I'm afraid. Have you decided whether or not you'll accept Cipher's assignment?"

Lincoln nodded. "I'll do it," he said.

Percy smiled and took his arm. "Thank you, Lincoln," he said. "I'll handle the rest of the memory sessions today, and we'll need an official mourning period for Gabriel. We'll put the memory sessions on hold, except for emergencies, and we'll start again after the funeral — whenever that may be."

So Lincoln would have some time to prepare. That made him feel better. "Will I be able to go to the funeral?" he said.

Percy hesitated. "I don't think so," he said. "I don't know who Gaston will invite. You can talk with Cipher, but I think he'll ask you to stay here. I'm sorry."

"That's all right," Lincoln said. He didn't know Gabriel very well, but the man had been generous to him — it only felt right to honor him at his funeral. Still, Lincoln was well aware that he was supposed to stay hidden from the majority of people. If he had to miss Gabriel's funeral because of that, then that's what he would do.

"Well, I have to finish packing," Percy said, "and then I'll leave in the morning. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"I'll be fine."

Percy smiled. "Good. Ellie will handle administrative things while I'm gone, so you can go to her with questions. And, of course, there's Lord Cipher."

"And the instructions you've already given me," Lincoln pointed out. "You don't have to worry, Percy." As he said it, he hoped it would be true. Lincoln knew what to do — the question was whether he'd be strong enough to do it.

But he would at least try.

Percy seemed reassured. "You're right," he said. He stepped forward and gave Lincoln a brief hug. "I'll see you in about a month."

Lincoln nodded. "I'll be here."

Percy laughed quietly at the joke — of course Lincoln would be here — and walked away. At the end of the corridor, he turned and waved.

Lincoln waved back.

Percy disappeared around the corner, and Lincoln was left alone. For the next month, he would be in charge of the memory sessions.

But, he decided, it would be fine. He could do it.

And, on the chance that he couldn't, Lord Cipher would be there to help.

~~~~~

Gaston Northwest stepped up to the open casket and gazed down at his father's face.

He could feel the eyes on his back of his head as he did so, but he did his best to ignore them. The room was filled with apathetic businessmen who, under the guise of paying respects to the late Gabriel Northwest, had really come to the funeral viewing to squeeze in a good word with the new face of the Northwest company.

That new face was Gaston. Seventeen years old, and he found himself in charge of a large corporation. With Gabriel's death, all of the man's responsibilities had crashed down on Gaston's shoulders. The youth bore them, because he knew he had to; but at his core, he was afraid. What if they found out that he was not yet eighteen and took the company away from him? Gaston was afraid of taking charge, but he was more afraid of losing the Northwest legacy. He had to pretend he was eighteen for now, even though his birthday wasn't for another week.

That wouldn't be too hard, right?

His fiancée, Geneva Beaumont, stood beside him. She was already eighteen; next week, when Gaston became a legal adult, they would marry. Gaston awaited the marriage with gladness, though he was a bit worried about the wedding ceremony. What would traditionally be a large Northwest celebration, hosted by Gabriel, now had to be a small, quiet affair. None of Geneva's relatives would come, because the wedding was a symbol of Geneva leaving the Beaumont family to join with the Northwests. None of Gaston's relatives would come, either — because, as far as he knew, Gaston was the only one left in his bloodline.

That was frightening. But it was no matter, he told himself. He and Geneva would continue the family line. Within a year, she would bear him a child. A son. And Gaston would raise him in the Northwest tradition.

A slight ache, courtesy of said Northwest tradition, throbbed in Gaston's forearm. Geneva's hands were wrapped around his arm; and where her fingers pressed into his suit sleeve, Gaston's old scars protested in pain.

He ignored them. Like he always did.

Looking into the casket, he held his father's sightless gaze and shuddered inwardly at the emptiness on Gabriel's usually shrewd face. The death had been so sudden, and Gaston still had trouble processing it. One moment, he was browsing the memories of a townsperson and wiping the unwanted scenes; the next, Percy pulled him aside and told him the awful news: On the way home from a business trip, Gabriel's limousine was broadsided by a large truck. The first responders were lucky even to pull the man's broken body from the car.

Gaston's mother had passed away years earlier; now, with his father's untimely death, Gaston had no parents. No father to help him run the family business. No mother to comfort him after one of his father's tirades.

He took a sharp breath as longing for his parents filled him. Geneva squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture, but it only served to increase Gaston's discomfort in his scars. The renewed pain brought Gaston back into focus, and his father's voice floated through his mind: "I give you these scars, Gaston, so that you can be strong. So that you can make me proud."

Gaston let out his breath and, for the first time since approaching the casket, spoke aloud. "I'll make you proud, Father," he told the corpse in front of him.

His arm cried out as Geneva gave it another comforting squeeze. He didn't react to the pain; instead, he reached across with his free hand and placed it on Geneva's. "Father, I'm here with Geneva Beaumont," he said. "The girl you picked for me. We'll be married in a week." He shot his bride-to-be a quick smile. "She's beautiful."

He looked back to Gabriel, but the corpse did not respond.

"I'm going to carry on your legacy," Gaston continued. "Everything is happening so fast, but I know you want me to be strong. I'll run the business; I'll support Percy; I'll give you a grandson. I'll teach him to be strong, the way you taught me."

Then he took a deep breath. "Farewell, Father," he said. "Thank you."

With these brief words, Gaston turned away from his father for the last time. He kept his hand on Geneva's, leading her away from the casket. Now he had to speak with everyone else at the viewing. Now he had to represent something larger than himself: the company that his father had left for him. He walked towards the congregated businessmen and kept his face neutral as he joined their conversations.

Never once did he acknowledge the screaming from his scars.

~~~~~

"I can't do this," Lincoln whispered.

It was the night of Gabriel's funeral service. The viewing had been last night, and tonight was the actual burial. Lincoln would attend neither event.

The Order headquarters were empty save him, since the other Order members were at the funeral service. Lincoln was used to the silence, though tonight it almost felt oppressive. His eyes were locked on the memory gun, which sat on Percy's desk in front of him.

"I can't do this," he repeated.

The memory sessions would start again tomorrow. There was already someone who needed his memory wiped: a teenager named Danny Valentino. He was being quite vocal about his recent encounter with a peryton. The Order members would have to bring him in.

But Lincoln couldn't wipe Danny's memory. He couldn't even bring himself to pull the trigger when he pointed the gun at the wall, so how could he pull it when pointing the gun at someone's head?

The Corduroys would bring Danny to the Order headquarters fairly early tomorrow morning. Lincoln only had so much time before he had to fulfill his assignment from Cipher and use the memory gun. He'd been so sure of himself last week, when he'd agreed to the assignment. Over the course of the week, he'd worried, but he'd told himself that it would be fine.

Now that the time was here. . . he saw through those self-deceptions. He knew that he couldn't take someone's memory. Even though he had mostly come to terms with this part of the Order, he still felt sick to his stomach. He didn't explicitly remember it, but he had been shot with this gun before. It had erased an entire life — one that Lincoln would never get back. While taking Danny Valentino's memories of winged deer seemed like a small issue on the surface, it was ultimately the same result: Danny would never have those memories again.

Lincoln put a hand to his head. He knew what he had to do: ask Lord Cipher for his help. He left Percy's office, taking the lantern with him and leaving the memory gun in the darkness. The lantern (the only one that he'd bothered lighting today, since no one would likely come down here) lit his path as he returned to his room. There, he returned the lantern to its original hook on the wall, got ready for bed, and blew out the light. He hoped he would fall asleep quickly.

It didn't seem to be long before he was facing Bill Cipher.

"Are you sure you can't do it?" was the first thing that the triangle said.

Lincoln glanced to him. "Do what?" he asked.

"You're dreaming, Blind Eye," Bill told him.

Lincoln started a bit. "Oh. Thank you, Lord Cipher." He gave a quick bow.

"Ah, there we go," Bill said. "Welcome to lucidity. Now, tell me what's going on with the gun."

Lincoln hesitated. He was sure that Bill already knew what he was thinking, and he didn't really know how to phrase it.

"Go on," Bill encouraged.

"Well, I. . . I can't do it," Lincoln admitted. "I don't think I can use the gun."

Bill circled around him, looking thoughtful. "You don't have any memories of the gun," he said, "from before your amnesia. Interesting that it should still cause this level of anxiety."

"I know what it did to me."

"Well, you have Percy's theory," Bill corrected, "and it is a compelling one. Regardless, I suppose that's enough to cause this hesitancy. Did you want to know more about my backup plan?"

Lincoln looked away. "Yes. I. . . I'm sorry, Lord Cipher. I wanted to do this myself — I wanted to do more for you — but. . . I can't. I'm too weak."

Bill reached out and raised Lincoln's chin. "Don't worry, Blind Eye. I'm here to help. I appreciate that you wanted to do this on your own, but you don't have to."

Lincoln managed a smile. "Thank you."

"Of course," Bill replied. "My idea is simple: I use the memory gun for you."

Lincoln frowned in thought. "You said that the first time you told me about it, but I don't know what it means. Aren't you stuck in the mindscape?"

"Typically, yes. My jailers stripped me of my physical form. But, when I make certain deals with people, I can temporarily gain a new physical form."

"How so?"

"By using theirs."

Lincoln's eyes widened. "You mean. . . possession?"

Bill shrugged. "Essentially. You and I could make a deal where you let me take over your body for a short amount of time. Then I can use the memory gun on Danny. I'll take over, use the gun, and then leave. In and out."

"What happens to me?" Lincoln asked. He wasn't sure if he was more surprised by the proposition or by the fact that he wasn't automatically against it.

"You'll basically be a ghost," Bill said. "See, your body and your spirit are two different parts of you: and together, they make up your soul. If you make this deal with me, then I'll temporarily separate your spirit from your body. Once I leave, you return to your body, and your soul returns to one piece — no harm done."

"It doesn't. . . hurt?" It was a pitiful question, but he had to ask it.

"Not that I've heard," Bill assured him. "Here's the best part: It'll still be you firing the gun, in a sense. Half of you, at least. I can overcome your physical anxiety and fire the gun anyway. Theoretically, that'll make it far easier for you in the future. Since your hands have already shot the gun once, you'll be able to do it again."

"Theoretically?" Lee asked.

Another shrug. "I'm guessing, I'll admit — but my guesses tend to be right."

Lincoln was quiet, and Bill let him think. "It sounds like a bad idea," Lee finally said.

"Why? Remember, it'll be temporary. It'll probably take less than five minutes."

True, it would be short. Lincoln couldn't really think of a good reason why it seemed like a bad idea, but it still unsettled him. "I want to help you," he said slowly, "but maybe I could ask someone else to do it for now?"

As soon as the words left him, he knew they were cowardly. He immediately dropped to his knees and bowed and mumbled an apology — but Bill didn't seem angry. "This assignment is meant to be long-term," the triangle said mildly. "If you don't do it now, then I don't know when you would."

"Of course," Lincoln said, head still lowered.

"You can get up, Blind Eye," Bill said. "You're fine."

Lincoln got to his feet, giving one last deferential nod. "Lord Cipher. . . ," he asked, "why did you choose me for this assignment? Why not another Order member?"

"Oh, come now, Lincoln. You know why. Percy mentioned that it would be the most efficient way. You mentioned that you wished you could do more to help me. And, well, I want to help you be stronger. Those are all good reasons."

Lincoln nodded. "I. . . I thank you for your help."

Bill put out a hand. "And what about tomorrow? Do you want my help then?" Blue flame sprang to life on his fingertips.

This was Bill's help. This was his offer. It seemed as if this deal would simultaneously relieve Lincoln of his duty tomorrow and help him perform that duty. The part about temporarily being a ghost was disconcerting, but Bill had said it wouldn't do any damage. If Lincoln really wanted to do more for Bill's cause, then it seemed that this was the way to do it.

"If you allow me to briefly take over your body tomorrow," said Bill, "then I will perform the memory session in your behalf. What do you say?"

When he said it that way, it sounded merciful. And what else could Lord Cipher be?

Lincoln took Bill's hand. "Deal," he said.

The blue fire spread across Lincoln's hand with a faint chill. The light mixed with Bill's yellow glow, which shone through the stony grey patchwork on Bill's body. As Lincoln watched, a few of the grey patches fell away — much like they had for Lee's first deal, four years ago. Now, over half of Bill's form glowed with his signature yellow light.

The blue fire disappeared, and Lincoln withdrew his hand. "When exactly will you take over?" he asked. He didn't know exactly what would happen, but he didn't want to be caught off guard.

Bill shrugged. "Let's say around the time Danny comes to headquarters. You should probably find a place to sit down before I come — since a body without a spirit can't stand up on its own. Once you find a place, we'll switch, and I'll go to the memory session."

"Will I be able to see?"

Bill nodded. "I want you to watch. That way, your body learns that it's all right to use the memory gun, and your spirit sees it happen."

The thought of watching himself from the outside was a strange one indeed. Lincoln nodded slowly. "And you say it'll be fine. I'll be able to. . . to return to my body afterward?"

"Absolutely. It'll go smoothly." Bill rose higher in the air. "Until tomorrow, Blind Eye," he said.

With a flash of yellow light, he disappeared.

~~~~~

Not having a body was uncomfortable.

Lincoln floated beside his body, which now had slitted yellow eyes: Bill Cipher's eyes. Getting pulled from his body had been the worst sensation of Lincoln's life, and now he still felt dizzy and sick — insofar as a spirit can feel dizzy and sick, that is. He had only just left it, but he already longed to return to his body.

"Oh, that feels good," Bill said, stretching his arms — Lincoln's arms — above his head. Then he shook the purple sleeves of Lincoln's robes back down his arms and glanced to Lincoln's spirit. "I know it's uncomfortable," he said apologetically. "It's what I live with most days. It'll be over soon."

Bill pulled the purple hood over his head and walked down the hall, gesturing for Lincoln for follow. Lincoln didn't know how his spirit could move, but he drifted alongside Bill with little effort.

Soon, he could hear people coming. "This place is sick," a young voice said.

Bill and Lincoln reached the door to the memory room just as the Corduroys and Danny Valentino did. Danny, a larger boy with a bright red afro, looked more interested than frightened as he craned his neck to look around the firelit tunnels. Beside him stood Gregory Corduroy, who was Danny's same age; behind them were Gregory's parents.

"Woah, who's this dude?" Danny said as he caught sight of Bill — or, Lincoln's body. Bill had shrouded Lincoln's face in the hood of his purple robe, and Danny tried to get a closer look.

Greg pulled him back before he could get too close. "That's Lincoln," he said. "Here, Dan, come in here." He led Danny into the memory room, and Bill and Lincoln followed them.

"What's going on?" Now Danny seemed a little hesitant. "This guy is psyching me out."

"S'all good," Greg assured him. "Just sit down there." He gestured to the single chair in the middle of the room.

With a wary glance in Lincoln's direction, Danny sat down.

Bill faced Danny, and Greg moved out of the way. The memory gun appeared in Bill's hand, where it had been concealed in his robes, and he raised it. "Woah, woah, what's that?" Danny jumped to his feet, but Greg hurried over and pushed him back down. Lincoln watched as Bill typed "peryton" into the memory gun and pointed it at Danny.

"Let go of me!" Danny struggled against his friend. "Greg, what are you doing?"

"It's okay," Greg promised. "It'll be over in a sec."

Lincoln glanced between Bill and the teenage boys. Could Bill fire the gun with Greg so close to Danny? Would the blast catch both boys?

Bill didn't seem concerned about this. He fired the gun straight at Danny, and Greg ducked out of the way.

A bright beam of light erupted from the gun and hit Danny's temple. The boy slumped over, unconscious, and Greg caught him before he could slide from the chair entirely. Lincoln waited for the anxiety, the horror — but they didn't come. He had no racing heart, no sweaty palms, no upset stomach. He felt bad about Danny's fear, but he knew that the boy wouldn't remember this experience at all. In the end, everything was fine.

Just as Bill said it would be. Lincoln's first memory session was over, and it had gone just as smoothly as Bill had promised.

Bill opened the door, and the Corduroys came in to help Greg carry Danny. "How did it go?" Greg's dad asked him.

"He got freaked out," Greg said. "But he won't remember that, right?"

The boy's mother shook her head. "He won't remember anything about the Order." She glanced at Bill. "Right? The memory gun isn't that different from the amulet."

"Right," Bill said, pushing his hood back. "The gun takes whatever we type in, plus the past five minutes of memory — more or less."

The Corduroys didn't react at all to Bill's yellow eyes or his multi-layered voice. They nodded at this explanation, then carried Danny from the room. Lincoln watched them go, confused. Could they not see that his body was inhabited by Bill?

"So," Bill said when the Corduroys were gone, "what do you think?"

Lincoln turned to him. "That went well," he said slowly. "We didn't even have to strap him down." He'd gone to some of Gaston's memory sessions, and usually people were bound to the chair by straps around their wrists.

Bill shrugged. "Greg forgot, I think," he said, "but I agree: It went well." He inclined his head to Lincoln. "Think you can do it next time? Danny's parents might be coming down here soon, too, depending on how much they believed his stories about the perytons."

Lincoln thought about this. Then he nodded. "I think I could do it," he said. "At the very least, I'd rather do it myself than. . . than have you possess me."

"Uncomfortable, isn't it?" Bill agreed. "Well, I don't have to possess you, if you can use the memory gun by yourself. If you ever need my help again, though, I'd be willing to take over again."

Hopefully that wouldn't happen. If Lincoln's two choices were to use the memory gun or to watch as a spirit while Bill used it, then he would definitely take the first option. "And I'll be less anxious about it next time? Since you did it for me this time?"

"Hopefully," Bill said. He sat down on the ground and leaned against the stone wall. "Well, I'll leave you now."

Lincoln bowed in the air. "Thank you, Lord Cipher. Thank you for helping me with this assignment."

"You're welcome," Bill said. "Good luck with the other memory sessions. I'll show up in your dreams to see how you're doing."

He waved, then closed his yellow eyes. Lincoln's body went slack.

Lincoln flew into his body as Bill, in his triangular form, exited. There was a moment of dizziness as Lincoln's spirit fused again with his body, and then it was over. Lincoln was back in his body, and it was just as Bill had promised: There was no harm done.

Lincoln let out a breath and leaned back against the rough stone wall. That was. . . that was something. He'd never realized how much he'd appreciated his body until he'd momentarily lost it. But it was all right. He was back. He once again had a body with his spirit.

He was once again a soul.

Lincoln got to his feet, picked up the memory gun, and ran his hands over it. It didn't seem so scary now. He was pretty sure that he could do this — at least until Percy got back. And, when Percy did get back, maybe Lincoln would be so used to it that he wouldn't want to give it up.

A faint, satisfied smile appeared on Lincoln's face, and he left the room.