Chapter Text
The mirage finally opened.
It opened like double doors pulled by footmen in suits, or the two halves of an avocado parted from the perfectly spherical pit. The mirage opened, and beyond it lay life. Blinking against the sand, stumbling against the dunes, the woman with the blue hair strode forward towards the shimmering patch of desert. This time, unlike all the other oases she had passed in her trek, it solidified. She gasped with her parched throat as her feet hit concrete. Before her was a playground, the kind from before safety inspections, with creaking swings and slides that plummeted from impossible heights. It looked abandoned. It looks abandoned, she thought, and just as she did, a peal of laughter rang out. A little boy ran past her, his sneakers scuffing on the concrete, a stuffed giraffe dangling from his hand. "Kid," she croaked in his direction. "Water?"
The boy stopped and turned around. He had curly brown hair that hung into his eyes, and he pushed it back with the hand not clutching the giraffe. "Papa and Daddy said 'm not s'posed to talk to strangers," he said.
"I'm sorry," replied the woman, remembering her manners. The boy disappeared around a jungle gym; moments later, he reappeared, inexplicably, from behind a slide on the other side of the playground. He pressed a bottle of water into her hand, along with a baggie of orange slices. "Oh, thank saints," she murmured, accepting them. She tore the top from the bottle and guzzled it thirstily, til it was empty. Wiping her hand on the back of her mouth, the woman lifted her head to thank the boy. But he was no longer there.
The desert seems vast, even endless. Scientists have in the past proposed theories that all deserts are one and the same; that someone, wandering far enough in the Sahara, will eventually find themself stumbling out of the Gobi. (These scientists have never publicly displayed their work, but it is out there - you'll have to take my word for it.) The desert of Night Vale is vaster than some and hotter than most. But it is not endless. Everything must come to an end.
Past the purple sign: "WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE! POPULATION: IN FLUX!" that one must past several times; past the used car lot, full of rusty vehicles and tired deer salesman; past the wind-blown fields of invisible corn and the home of Larry Leroy, out on the edge of town; is a city. It's sometimes called a village, or a town, but always called a place of unspeakable horror. This is the city of Night Vale. Within city limits, there are shops and homes. There are science labs and government agencies of questionable legalty. There is only one pizza shop. The sand of the desert collects and billows in a strong wind, catching from the heights of unspoken mountains and bringing with it the scent of peaches. Tumbleweeds dance down Main Street, from the edges of Raydon Canyon to the home of the angels.
On a day like most other days, Erika stood on their front porch smoking a cigarette. The porch light was on, even though it was mid-afternoon, and the sun still burned hot in the sky above. That porch light had been on since June 15th of 2012. Fifty of Erika's thousand eyes relaxed in peaceful boredom, while the other nine hundred and fifty studied the desert all around them. A figure moved in the middle distance. Erika inhaled, turning the tip of their cigarette purple, then tossed it into a puddle of weeds under a drippy storm drain. "Hey, Erika," they called. "I think we've got company."
The woman with the blue hair stumbled wearily past the open gate of the front yard and up to the porch steps. Before she could knock, the door swung open.
"Can I help you?" asked Erika, a different one. The woman blinked.
"Hi. Oh, cool tattoos."
"Thanks, interloper."
She frowned and stepped back. "Um, excuse me?"
"You're not from around here."
"No...?"
"Like, not from this area. Interloper." Erika waved the stick of celery clutched in one of their hands. The eye on the back of that hand blinked. "It's a term of welcome around here."
"Gotcha. Different strokes for different folks. Well, I'm a little lost, you see-"
"Hi a little lost. I'm Erika."
"Oh. Well, hi. I'm Mariluz."
"Mariluz what?"
"'Scuse me?"
"Look." Erika gestured up at the heavens - a sky made of blue plywood, with unpainted patchiness left to indicate clouds. They indicated the vague possibility of a sky beyond that, mostly void, partially stars, a sequence of tiered heavens that no one was allowed to know about. "Someone's full name is, like, a totally powerful thing. It lets you know them, more than anything else can let you know them. See, you look real lost and thirsty. I'll probably let you inside and offer you some water. Corn muffins, too, if my roommate finished baking them. First I wanna hear your full name, though. That's how angels work. How I work. How my roommates work too, honestly"
"Gotcha," said Mariluz again. This time she did not sound like she got them. "I'm Dr. Mariluz Njeri Flores."
"Nice to meet you, Mariluz Njeri Flores," said another angel, appearing over Erika's shoulder. "I'm Erika."
"Erika, are you seriously interrupting our conversation?" asked Erika. "That's so rude."
"Sorry. I wanted to meet Dr. Flores."
"It's actually Dr. Njeri Flores, if you don't mind, or you can just call me Mariluz." Mariluz's frown of confusion deepened. "Wait, are you both named Erika? And you both have the same tattoos?"
"We're all named Erika," Erika explained. Erika rolled their eyes. "Sorry, Mariluz. Why not come inside for some water? Or if you're not comfortable with that, I can have Erika bring a glass out to you."
"Yeah, that would be great."
"Cool- ERIKA, BRING SOME WATER OUT HERE FOR OUR GUEST!" Erika shouted into the door that was still propped open, though Mariluz had not seen them open it when they came outside. They turned back to her. "So, Dr. Njeri Flores. You're a surgeon, or something?"
"No, different kind of doctor." Mariluz gratefully accepted the water and plate of corn muffins that a third Erika brought out to her, and sat down in the rocking chair they gestured to. "I was - I used to be - a scientist."
The three Erikas looked at each other. "Scientist, eh?" said the first one. Mariluz nodded. Already on her second corn muffin, she was oblivious to the look of concern that passed between the three angels. Erika (the third one) shrugged. "Well," continued the first Erika. "We've had a lot of scientists around here. Just three years ago -" But the look in the second Erika's thousand eyes silenced them, and Erika turned back to Mariluz. A wind blew again from main street. It ruffled the feathers on Erikas' wings and stirred Mariluz's braids. This wind carried the scent of peaches, like all other winds that passed through the city of Night Vale. This time, it carried something faintly sour underneath it - pickles, maybe, or something more mundane like destiny. The faint sound of a radio broadcast danced through the air: "Good night, Night Vale, good night" until the car playing it drove far enough out of earshot that it couldn't be heard anymore.
"Hey, interloper," ventured Erika. "Can I borrow a dollar?"