Jane takes a panicked step back from the door and immediately encounters Jasper, because he’s standing behind her feet. “Blaaaaaaaa!” she whispers frantically, windmilling her arms to prevent herself from stepping on him or falling on her back. “Jasper,” she whispers. “Stick your head in the door and pretend it’s all your doing!”
Jasper looks down his long nose at her in contempt.
And Jane supposes that when it comes down to it, she does want to know whether Ravi is delusional, or simply loves his mother that much. She stays in the doorway.
Ravi descends the stairs most of the way and sticks his head down to look at her. His grin, when he spots her, is triumphant. “I waited forever in the corridor for you to catch up,” he says. “Well?” His face contains both amusement and a kind of warning. “Care to meet my mother?”
“Fine,” Jane says, trying not to show how flustered she is.
“Let the dog in,” Ravi says.
Jane does so, then allows the heavy door to swing shut behind her. Ravi comes the rest of the way down the steps, saying, “Silly old dog.” He picks Jasper up and carries him, indignant and squirming, back up the stairs. Jasper is not made for carrying and he glares at Jane over Ravi’s shoulder. “Come see your pals,” Ravi tells him.
Jane follows, trying not to find Ravi attractive. It’s probably why he picked up the dog in the first place. Ravi is the type to know that his Adorable Quotient increases steeply when Carrying a Dog.
“I know you won’t tell anyone what you’re about to see,” Ravi tells Jane quietly as they climb. “Except for Kiran and Octavian. They already know, and Patrick and Ivy, and the Vanders family knows some of it too, though Mrs. Vanders wants as little to do with it as possible. She thinks my mother is upsetting the natural balance of the universe.”
“I won’t tell anyone.”
“I’ve been wanting you to meet my mother,” Ravi says.
“Why?”
He’s not facing her, but she knows the sound of his grin. “You remind me of her. You say what you think, without apology.”
“I remind you of your mother, and you’ve been hitting on me since you met me. That’s lovely, Ravi.”
“I assure you, that’s for other reasons.”
“That’s what Oedipus said too.”
“Mum,” says Ravi in a voice suddenly resonant and strong, stepping off the stairs into the room above her. “Allow me to introduce our eavesdropper. Janie, this is my mum.”
Jane emerges into a room tall and square, full of dappled light from small windows in every wall. With a stove, fridge, cabinets, and counters, it appears to be a kitchen. On a table lies Ravi’s bowl of fruit and a Monet lily pad painting both familiar and unusual.
The first Mrs. Thrash is a tall, dark-skinned woman, stately, with smooth black hair neatly tucked into a knot at the nape of her neck. She wears simple black slacks, a fuzzy gray turtleneck sweater, and an aspect of utter normality.
“It’s impertinent to listen at doors,” she says, even as she shakes Jane’s hand firmly.
“I’m sorry,” Jane says.
“Are you? I wouldn’t be,” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “Some of my most rewarding experiences have come from sticking my nose where it didn’t belong.”
Jane is standing near a window. Enormous wind chimes hang on a bracket outside, and it occurs to her that she’s been hearing their sweet tinkling ever since she stuck her foot in the door. Looking out, she can see into the west attics, quite a distance away. Then a soft yipping noise comes from the floor above them.
“I apologize for my miniature velociraptors,” says the first Mrs. Thrash. “It’s time for their second breakfast. Maybe you’d like to come up and meet them? It might help you accept the existence of the multiverse.”
“Er,” Jane says, with a quick confused glance at Ravi, who seems amused. “Okay.”
The first Mrs. Thrash begins a march up a second metal spiral staircase. “Don’t be frightened of them,” she says. “They’re from an Unlimited Dimension that’s bred them to be quite small and friendly to humans, and anyway, their portrayal in that dreadful movie was entirely unrealistic. Pinky likes to comb my hair gently with his enlarged claw.”
“I see,” Jane says, coughing.
“Ravi doesn’t like it when I import animals,” adds the first Mrs. Thrash. “He doesn’t like me to import anything but art.”
“With good reason,” Ravi says, starting up the stairs and motioning for Jane to follow.
“It’s because of the time I tried to bring him and Kiran two sparkle ponies from a high-level Unlimited Dimension and the poor things went mad and exploded.”
“I can still hear them screaming,” Ravi says.
“Well, I hadn’t come to appreciate yet the dangers of moving highly Unlimited creatures into uncorrelated Limited Dimensions. I’ve since refined my calculations. Of course it would upset a small boy. But honestly, Ravi, that was so long ago. Your tenth birthday!”
“Twelfth,” says Ravi.
“Eons ago,” says Mrs. Thrash. “Anyway, Janie, I’ll explain everything. Basically, what we’ve discovered is a thermodynamically reversible quantum boundary that allows for local recoherence. Boom! Interdimensional portals.”
“Oh my god, Mum,” says Ravi. “No one understands what you just said.”
“Too technical?”
“At least offer her an analogy first!”
“Schrödinger’s frog? Quantum superposition?”
“Oh, for god’s sake,” says Ravi, turning to Jane. “Do you know much quantum physics?”
“Not much beyond the basics,” says Jane.
“Well, all you really need to know is that everything that could conceivably happen does happen, somewhere, in alternate universes across the multiverse. So, you can imagine the possibilities. And Mum—together with a bunch of alternate Mums—has found a portal to cross from one to another. I mean, plenty of other universes have had portals before this, but this is the first known portal that allows travel to and from our universe.”
“If I’m being honest,” says the first Mrs. Thrash as she reaches the next level of the tower, “we can’t entirely explain how the portals work. But, observably, they do.”
Jane has decided to stop listening to all the nonsense. She’s focusing hard on her surroundings instead. This level of the tower is much like the one below, square with small windows and another spiral staircase leading up to yet another level, though that level is closed off by a bright red trapdoor in the ceiling that has an impressive number of locks. There’s a largish bed positioned against one wall. Next to it is a bedside table piled with dozens of haphazardly balanced paperback books. Romance novels. A pair of doors beyond the bed probably leads to a bathroom, or a closet, or both.
An animal is moving under the deep red bedcovers, a large cat or a small dog. It wriggles its way to the edge, slides down the side, and emerges into the light head-first. It scuttles forward on all fours, then balances itself on its hind legs. It stares at Jane suspiciously, with a canted face and blinking eyes. It’s got a lizard head, a tail fully as long as its body, and a coat of fine feathers. Jane has been to the museums, she’s seen the TV shows. She understands that she’s looking at a miniature velociraptor.
* * *
Jane wakes to find herself staring at the red door in the ceiling, the one with all the locks. She’s lying on the first Mrs. Thrash’s bed. She’s woozy, but otherwise unhurt.
She remembers now: She saw a velociraptor and suddenly had no legs. Ravi and Mrs. Thrash caught her. Fainting, while dramatic in stories, turns out to be deeply unpleasant in real life.
There’s a warm presence nestled against her left side. It quietly yips as it breathes. Jane has only just woken; she doesn’t have the fortitude yet to cope with the fact that she’s being snuggled by a velociraptor.
br /> “Ravi?” she says.
His voice rises absently from the armchair in the corner of the room. “Mm?” He pushes himself up and comes to Jane, eyebrows deeply furrowed. In one hand, he holds an open romance novel. “You’re awake,” he says. “Feeling okay?”
“What the hell, Ravi,” Jane says. “What’s going on?”
“It’s just what we told you. Would it help if you pretend you’re inside a Doctor Who episode? It’ll take a minute, but just go with it,” Ravi says. “Listen to this passage, does this sound realistic to you? The main character, her name is Delphine, says, ‘I wouldn’t have you if you were the last man in East Riordan,’ and this man named Lord Enderby says, ‘You are the only woman in East Riordan. My darling, you’re the only woman in my world. We were meant for each other, can’t you see?’ Then Delphine is overcome and starts kissing him and shrieking.”
“Does she?” Jane says, becoming conscious of another warm, yipping presence resting against her ankles. Also a larger, warmer, silent presence against one knee. That one is Jasper.
“Why does my mother read this stuff?” says Ravi.
“You’re reading it.”
“Critically!” Ravi says.
“Maybe she reads it critically too.”
“I wonder if other versions of my mother read this crap,” Ravi says in annoyance. “I suppose there are versions of her that do every kind of thing. Like, there must be versions of her that aren’t even scientists and versions who don’t even know they have portals, just as there must be infinite universes where she doesn’t exist at all. There’s so much we don’t know about the multiverse yet. And you’ll notice I’m focusing on my mother, not me. I’m extremely uninterested in thinking about all the multiple versions of me.”
“Ravi.” Jane’s chest is tightening. Her eyes are tearing up; she can’t breathe. “Ravi,” she whispers. “Just stop.”
* * *
The first Mrs. Thrash has it in her head that she needs to send Jane to an alternate-dimension Tu Reviens in order to prove to Jane that there are alternate dimensions. She promises to send Jane to one of the more similar dimensions, where the house and its inhabitants correspond closely enough that she’ll be able to communicate, but not so closely that she doesn’t feel like she’s left.
“Though of course,” says the first Mrs. Thrash, “most of the universes I’m able to visit correspond rather well. My portal, as far as I’ve experienced, will only send me through to dimensions that have a correlating Tu Reviens with a correlating portal in their tower. And for this house to have been created elsewhere in recognizable form, nearly an infinite number of correlations between universes needed to have occurred across time. Add to that the necessity of my own existence—a theoretical physicist with the time, means, and necessary genius to discover and activate the portal—at any rate, you’ll see, my dear. You’ll be very comfortable in UD17. Despite the alien invasion.”
“Alien invasion?” Jane is still in bed. “It’s really not necessary. I’m happy to believe in alternate dimensions from the comfort of my own dimension.”
An hour of resting and breathing has gone by and Jane is feeling somewhat calmer. She’s even taken to petting the velociraptors, cautiously. Their names are Pinky and Spotty, they’re still nestled against her side, and they like to yip gently at Jasper and touch him with their snouts.
But when Mrs. Thrash talks, it brings on that airless feeling again.
“I can see you’re afraid,” says Mrs. Thrash. “Exposure is an excellent tool for learning to overcome fear. If you’re afraid of spiders, jump into a pit of spiders. If you’re afraid of the existence of alternate dimensions, go on a tour of alternate dimensions.”
Slightly hysterical, Jane decides that the best way to defend herself from Mrs. Thrash’s designs is to act like she accepts everything and isn’t afraid of anything. She sits up in bed. The velociraptors, disturbed in their sleep, yip in confusion. Jane directs the calmest expression she can muster at Mrs. Thrash and also at Ravi, who has, in fact, been arguing with his mother to leave Jane in her own dimension, with a quiet steel in his manner.
“I see your point,” Jane says, “but really, I’m not afraid. It just took me by surprise, is all, but now I’m one hundred percent on board. Of course there are alternate dimensions. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for any travel right now, because I need to be building umbrellas. You’re not an artist, so you might not understand artistic inspiration, but believe me, I’ve got no choice but to answer the call.”
“Umbrellas,” says Mrs. Thrash, sounding intrigued. “It’s true I’m not an artist. But I am a scientist, which may, in fact, be similar in spirit. I’m an inventor and an explorer. I understand the compulsion to follow where one is called.” The first Mrs. Thrash seems to make a decision. “Well then. I won’t stand in your way.”
Jane finds it unsettling that the first Mrs. Thrash imagines she could stand in her way. She suspects she’d be a fool to waste this reprieve. “Allons-y,” she says, then jumps up from the bed. At the resulting head rush, she steadies her hand on Ravi’s shoulder. Then she gives him a farewell pat and heads for the spiral stairs. Jasper thumps onto the floor and follows. Together, Jane and Jasper make their way down to the tower’s base.
The door to the tower is heavy and the threshold slightly raised. Jane stumbles a little as she enters the corridor, then feels a sturdy hand, strong on her arm. It’s Ivy, who’s holding her camera and looking upon Jane with concern.
“You okay?” says Ivy. She’s wearing black leggings and a ratty blue sweater and the ceiling lights burnish the edges of her hair to gold. She’s solid, real.
“Yeah,” says Jane. “Thanks. I’m a little disoriented,” she says, waving vaguely in the direction of the first Mrs. Thrash’s door.
“Oh,” says Ivy, in a different tone of voice. “Oh, god. Did she—did you—”
“What?” says Jane. “No. No! I just met her, that’s all. And her—pets.”
“I’ve heard about the pets,” Ivy says.
“I’m trying not to think about them,” Jane says.
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
“No, I mean, the fact is that I’d like to talk to you about it,” Jane says, realizing this to be true. Telling Ivy all about it would be a great comfort. “I’d love to, later, when my head is clear. I kind of—passed out when I saw the pets,” she says, pushing at her own forehead, “and I don’t feel like I’ve reassembled all my parts yet.”
“Can I bring you anything?” Ivy says. “Soup? Tea? Kumquats?”
“Kumquats?” says Jane in confusion. “You really have kumquats?”
“Mr. Vanders has a soft spot for them, so we keep some around when we can. But mostly I just wanted to tell you the word,” Ivy says, grinning.
Understanding, Jane counts the letters. “Plus, it has a q and a k,” she says. “High points.”
“Yep.”
Jane doesn’t want Ivy to feel like her servant. “I don’t need anything,” she says. “How’s the gala prep going? Need help?”
Ivy frowns down at the camera in her hands and Jane remembers the weird pictures she’s been taking. Ivy has secrets. Is there anyone in this house who doesn’t have secrets?
“You can come rescue me from it,” Ivy says, “later. We could go bowling or something, and talk about stuff.”
“Sure,” Jane says, just as the tower door opens again. Ravi emerges, the Monet under his arm.
“Hello, darling children,” he says.
“Don’t be a douche, Ravi,” says Ivy, with no malice.
Chuckling, he plants a kiss on her forehead. “Ivy-bean,” he says, “it’s nice to see the two of you getting acquainted. And you,” he says, leaning toward Jane. “You know where to find me if you decide you want company.”
Jane’s face is blazing with heat as he walks away. “Sorry,” sh
e says to Ivy, not sure what she’s apologizing for.
“Don’t worry,” Ivy says. “I’m used to it.”
“Why doesn’t he hit on you?” Jane says. “You’re gorgeous.”
Ivy turns away before Jane can fully appreciate the wattage of her sudden smile. “He knows better,” she says. “See you later, Janie.”
* * *
Back in her morning room, the umbrella Jane was working on previously—the self-defense umbrella in brown and gold—no longer calls to her. She’s sure it matters to someone that Philip was lurking around with a gun and Phoebe was making allusions to the Panzavecchias and Patrick seemed in on it, et cetera, et cetera, but who cares? Ravi’s mother has velociraptors.
This circumstance calls either for a project so dull that she forgets everything, or so weird and complicated that all her anxiety can flow straight out of her and into it.
What, she wonders, would a transdimensional umbrella be like?
It would need to be able to blend into any scenario, in any kind of world, without drawing attention to itself.
Jane has never made a plain black umbrella before.
The canopy would need to be perfectly curved, the tips at the end of each rib and the ferrule on top perfectly straight. A plain black umbrella won’t have any frills or furbelows to distract from her mistakes. All her umbrellas have mistakes.
It’s going to be a disaster.
What would Aunt Magnolia say to that? It might. But you’ll learn something from it, sweetheart. Why not try?
All right then.
As Jane trims the shaft with her lathe, the world starts to make sense again. Explanations offer themselves. Pinky and Spotty are obviously not velociraptors. After all, since when is Jane familiar with every species of animal currently living on Earth? Why shouldn’t there be a small, lizardlike sort of animal that the first Mrs. Thrash, being delusional, found in the Sahara, or the Amazon, or the great desert of Rajasthan, then convinced herself are transdimensional velociraptors? Earth lizards, yes. With feathers.
And what had she said? Something about the house in the other dimension being in danger of being “boarded by pirates.” Ridiculous. Pirates attack ships, Jane thinks, not houses, and houses aren’t things to be boarded like ships. Anyway, pirates are something out of a bad fantasy story. The pirates offer the most solid proof that the first Mrs. Thrash is making everything up.