Their flight landed at one-thirty in the morning, local time; Orton had put them both into a dream state for the majority of the trip to get in a little more oneiric training (and maybe a half-assed attempt at making divinations against them a little more difficult) but they were both awake and alert when the plane touched down. They leaned against each other when they sat, but did not hold hands when they walked; they spoke with the affection of lovers, but exchanged no vows and made no promises. Neither of them knew what to call what had sprung up between them, but both of them knew there were lines not to be crossed. And when Enna found herself emerging from the terminal gate in Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport, she found she had other things on her mind besides their nebulous relationship status.

The sights, smells, and sounds took her backwards in time more effectively than any magic amulet; closing her eyes, she could almost pretend she had never left, that everything that had transpired since 1997 had been a dream. Almost.

Orton dawdled at her side uneasily; he didn't want to rush her. So it was a long five minutes before she sighed, wrested herself free of the serpentine tentacles of nostalgia, and hailed a cab to head into the heart of the city. The driver watched the two of them curiously during the trip; Orton normally would have blanked himself out of the man's perception, but felt a curious reticence to meddle in the natural order of things at the moment. I guess I want to pretend too, he thought to himself glumly.

"Right here, please," said Enna, gesturing; the driver grunted, dropped them off, and extracted a pair of grimy twenties from Orton before continuing on his way. Orton shadowed Enna as she strode up a lengthy walkway, then gently touched a lock and willed that it had been accidentally left unsecured the evening before. Opening the large steel door, she slipped inside as he followed.

They wound their way upwards through foyers, hallways, and break rooms; once, they passed a large lab full of computers, but Enna didn't even glance at any of the equipment. Finally, on the third floor, she stopped at a small office tucked away into the southwest corner of the building and sighed, tracing the letters on the door's nameplate with her fingertips.

This door, too, was locked, but Orton had fished a master key out of the security desk on the first floor; the chances of every checkpoint in the building having been left unlocked accidentally on the same night would be at the bottom of a veritable abyss of entropy, and neither of them wanted to find out what might be living at the bottom. He turned the key in the lock and stood aside, holding the door in his best imitation of a gentleman. It wasn't very good, but neither of them minded.

Enna stood in the doorway of Clay Atborough's office, turning very slowly; everything was just as she'd remembered it, right down to the pictures on the desk. There was only one problem: none of the pictures contained her.

"Hey, look," she muttered wonderingly, picking one up. "There's a little boy in this one."

Orton glanced over, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

Enna didn't answer; she just gazed at the picture for a few moments, then set it down and examined the others. The child's progression continued across many photos; a gap-toothed elementary school picture was her next perusal. The third was a depiction of a basketball game, in which the boy gangled impressively in a tank top and long shorts; the fourth, a high school graduation. When she got to the wedding photos, she stopped and put the pictures down.

Orton moved up next to her, wrapping his arm gently around her waist; she leaned into him. He didn't know what to say. "Um. They look happy."

"They do." Her voice was quiet and fragile, but contained no tears. He wondered what she was feeling, but knew enough not to ask.

She stared around at the office for nearly twenty minutes; he did not rush her. Then, finally, she sighed and turned, burying her face in his coat for a moment; when she pulled back, her face was much more peaceful. "Thanks. I had to get it out of my system."

Orton nodded, somewhat awkwardly. "I won't say I understand what you're going through, but..." he rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably.

She was quiet a moment, then turned to him. "You do, though, don't you? You had a family, right?"

Orton grimaced. "Technically." He dropped his gaze to the ground, unaware that his hands had unconsciously balled into fists. "We weren't exactly the Osmonds."

Enna gently pulled his collar to the side, revealing the old scar of a cigarette burn. "They did this, right? And other things?"

Orton sighed. "My dad. He'd get drunk, and... ah, who cares." He looked away. "It's a common sob story in America. There's nothing special about it, I promise you."

Enna let his shirt fall back; she didn't object. "Guess nobody gets out without scars."

Unexpectedly, Orton turned, taking her hands in his; he stared deep into her green eyes, smiling sadly. "The scars are the footprints of a path you walk." He turned her hand over, tracing the faint line where Gentry's cuffs had cut into her wrists. "If you make it out without scars, did you really live?"

Enna shook her head, collapsing against him again. "Ask a philosopher. I'm just a girl from..." she trailed off. "From Nowhere, I guess."

"There is," said Orton, into the silence which followed, "a town in Oklahoma which is literally named Nowhere. So I regret to inform you that your attempt at sounding maudlin and lachrymose just makes it sound like you want to go to a casino."

She paused, caressing her chin thoughtfully. "You know what, fuck it. I do want to go to a casino. I've never been to one."

Orton shrugged. "What the hell. We can book a flight to Vegas in the morning; watch the moon come down on the Strip. That'll be a sight."

She looked up at him, blinking. "Seriously? You're not gonna go after him?"

Orton shrugged. "Not if I don't think I can win." He looked out the window, gazing over the sleeping lights of the city. "If the only thing waiting for me is death, I'd rather wait for it with you."

They stood together for a few more minutes, then Enna began to push at Orton tiredly. Without a word, he led her back to the entrance, locking doors behind them as they went and returning the master key safely to the security desk before they slipped out into the night. Breathing in the humid air, she sighed one final time. "I always used to think it was so cold here in the winter. Now everywhere feels like a sauna after spending so much time in frozen, snowy places."

Orton smiled, albeit somewhat wistfully. "There's always thermal enchantments. But they'll drain your power; a down coat won't."

Enna hit him, only partially playfully. "There's a time to dispense good advice and a time to commiserate, stupid."

"That's okay. I'll get it wrong every time." He walked to the curb, imagining an intricately detailed scenario of a bay leaf being set aflame and willing a tiny stream of power to suffuse it; a cab pulled up, despite there being no other traffic in the area.

Enna got in, and Orton slid in after her and gently pulled the door shut. "Where to, folks?" asked the cab driver.

Enna pondered for a moment, then turned to Orton and affected a pout. "Feed me, grandpa."

"Huh?" Orton, who had been lost in thought regarding the more exotic sorts of debauchery available in Las Vegas beyond the mortal realm, had not been paying attention. "What'd you call me?"

"What I called you is irrelevant." She snuggled up to him, grinning nastily. "You're the older man who supports me; you'd be a sugar daddy if you were sweeter. So feed me. Curbside burgers, maybe; or something else nostalgic."

Orton pondered, then had a thought. "Well, I do know one place that'll really bring back some memories."

The door of the bodega jangled discordantly as Orton pushed it aside; he was surprised to find it open at this hour, but supposed upon reflection that it was one of the city's businesses least likely to be closed at night. Picking his way around some shelves, he triumphantly snatched a packet of mini donuts from a shelf and presented them to Enna with a flourish. "Ta-dah! Behold, fair maiden, as I transport you back in time to our second date."

"Wasn't much of a date, if you ask me," said a voice from behind him; Orton turned, blinking. "Seems to me I recall you skippin' outta here and leavin' her behind to make calls on pay phone for you."

A smile, nearly as massive as his entire face, split Orton's countenance at the sight of Natalie Little behind the counter; she wore a plush turtleneck and a thick, satiny skirt but otherwise looked very much at home. Chester stood guard on the counter, albeit slightly less alertly than before since he was now stuffed and mounted on a mahogany stand. "Natalie. It's wonderful to see you." Handing the donuts to Enna, he turned around and gave the shopkeeper a friendly hug; Enna blinked, wondering where the surge of jealousy that shot through her had come from. Down, girl, she chided herself.

"Hi, Denny," Natalie cooed, turning to face Enna. "And this is your girl, right? Jenny? Janine? Hard to believe you two are still together this many years later."

"It's Julie, actually," said Enna, smiling a little more sharply than she'd intended. "And we're just... off-again, on-again. You know how it is."

"Aw, pooh." Natalie's face fell, and she sighed and shook her head theatrically. "An here I was hopin' you'd have some pictures of pretty little white babies to show off!"

"Don't mind us," Orton interjected hurriedly. "We're just reminiscing." The three of them shared pleasantries for a little while before Orton contrived an excuse to take Enna away a short distance; Enna stared with light, artisanal hostility at Natalie as she pottered about the cash register and displays.

"Not that I'm complaining," she murmured, with her tone only slightly indicating the inverse, "but why are we here?"

Orton opened the packet of doughnuts, popped one expertly into Enna's mouth, and chewed one of his own as she glowered at him. "You remember how Fade makes people forget us, right?" He gestured at Natalie, his mouth full of miniature donut. "Well, she remembers us. No clue how. Never seen anything like it."

"Hang on. Wait." Enna spat her donut out and shoved the chewed remains in Orton's coat pocket; he winced, but couldn't deny he'd had it coming. "Are you saying we don't have to live like drifters? We could have friends? Some kind of a life?!"

"Well, until Gentry goes all Mask of Majora on us, but yeah, maybe." Orton continued to watch Natalie, his gaze wary but hopeful. "I don't know much about what's required, but it has to be possible somehow if a muggle like Miss Little somehow stayed Entangled with us this entire time."

"But if she's Entangled with us," continued Enna slowly, working her way through the chain of thought, "then wouldn't we technically be dragging her through universes with us? How come she didn't Fade?"

Orton shrugged. "Hey, your guess is as good as mine. I've told you everything I know, which wasn't much."

"Well, let's go test a theory." Enna pushed past him and headed back over to Natalie, plastering her best let's-be-friends smile on her face and striking up her most winsome attempt at Girl Talk. They traded anecdotes and platitudes for a few minutes, then Enna began dropping carefully-chosen hints; it took some effort, but eventually she succeeded in coaxing forth an invitation to dinner the following evening. Returning to Orton, she pressed a slip of paper into his hand. "There. Now we're having steaks tomorrow night, and hopefully cementing a friendship a little bit more solidly."

Orton smiled. "Sounds good to me." Linking arms with Enna tentatively, he waved goodbye to Natalie and they began heading for the door. Then, just as they were about to head out into the muggy night air of Baton Rouge, Enna saw it.

She stopped in her tracks so abruptly that she jerked Orton off balance; he recovered as his reflexes kicked in, but didn't see at first what had captured her attention. "Jeez, are you trying to pull my shoulder out of its socket?"

"Orton," she gasped, racing away to pluck a postcard from a stand. "Orton, look."

"Y'all want one of those?" called out Natalie from the back of the store. "Just take one, they're only like a dollar."

Enna turned, her hands trembling, and showed Orton the postcard she'd snatched up. A woman's face, noble and stern, looking out across a harbor from under a crown; in her hands, two tablets and a torch, raised high.

"It's just the Statue of Liberty," said Orton, shrugging. "I thought you'd be sick of thinking of New York by..."

His words trailed off as his jaw fell open; his eyes, flaring with polychromatic radiance, saw a vision of golden light as the torn and frayed remnants of the image reconstructed themselves in his memory. The coded fragment, shown to Enna for only a split second, nevertheless contained all the pieces required for Orton's meticulous and methodical mind to reassemble the vision from all of the scraps which remained. Within the galactic, illimitable expanses of his mental domain, a thousand scraps and splinters of scattered imagery swirled and coalesced, reassembling the critical pieces of the vision he had beheld in the throes of his oracular odyssey.

For several seconds, he simply reeled, dazed; Enna was about to start shaking him when his gaze snapped back into focus. Unexpectedly, Orton grinned. "On second thought, let's postpone our Vegas trip. We're not out of the game just yet."