“One more thing?! I just saved the universe single-handedly–“

The crow cawed.

“Well, nearly single-handedly and there’s more?”

“Well, only in a cosmic balance kind of way,” Alex said, the tone clipped with maybe a dollop of hurt.

“What does that mean?” As Taryn watched, her apartment building reinflated itself like a bouncy house, complete with a now fully-formed Gerald on the step, looking at nothing where Catalog had been. The sky and the clouds and the sun followed, the grass and the butterflies and the flowers. The squirrels returned to squirreling.

“If ever you should need us,” said Sam quickly, “We will help. We must help, or we could destroy the fabric of spacetime.”

“Again?”

“Technically it wasn’t spacetime, it was a collapsing of all the dimensions which rendered us relatively powerless–“

“Not the point at the moment,” said Sam, “And you won’t be able to hear us anymore soon. But because we exist in more dimensions than you can understand, it gives us an edge, if you should need one.”

“But if I won’t be able to hear you–“

“Caw caw,” the crow said gently, hopping to land on the fence right next to Taryn. In its beak, it held a slightly flattened bead with a tiny intricate design. It nodded its beak in her direction, and she opened her hand, the bead landing heavily in her palm.

“A bead?” she said, the internal lines complicated and fascinating.

“An octeract,” Alex’s tone grew upbeat with the correction. “A simple object from our dimension, but immensely powerful in yours. If, some day, you find yourself in another situation, that’s all you’ll need to reach us.”

“This?” Taryn held the octeract up to the light, and it scattered colors like a disco ball.

“That,” said Sam. “We’re almost fully back to normal, our communications are ending, at least for you.”

“I don’t understand–“

“Always the same Taryn,” Alex said. “I wouldn’t expect you would. Take care of the octeract, Catalog has been scattered throughout infinite dimensions, but there are far more forms of trouble in this universe than you can comprehend.”

“Great to know, nice parting thought,” Taryn said. “Well, then I guess this is goodbye.” She tucked the octeract into a small zippered pocket of her purse.

Sam and Alex did not respond. The crow gave her one last slow blink, and with a final caw, flew up and off until she couldn’t see it anymore.

Holding her coffee once again, the bag in her other hand now only a bag, the sugar packet merely sugar, Taryn trudged up the steps past Gerald.

“Hello again,” she said.

“Nine,” he said, and she froze where she was.

“I’m sorry? What did you say?”

“Nine minutes this time. That your laundry was done and you didn’t take it out of the machine.”

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry.” And as she opened the door, she mumbled to herself, “you’re welcome for saving your life and stuff.”

“What was that? he said.

“Nothing,” she said, patting her purse for the bead. “Nothing at at all.”

The End…until next time?