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  Alena straddled the roaring machine and twisted her hair around her hand in an obviously oft-practiced move. She worked the bundle into her helmet and slid it on, then tipped the visor up. “Are you coming or what?”

  “Right.” Claire gave the motorcycle another once-over, then submitted to the inevitable, and pulled the helmet over her head with far less grace than Alena. Her hair would be a mess once they arrived, because she had no idea how to do the twisty thing that Alena had done to get it all inside the helmet. She’d look horrible—which was not how she wanted to look around Alena—but there was nothing she could do about it.

  Alena shut her visor and took hold of the handlebars. She revved the engine.

  Claire swallowed down a lump of nerves, clicked the strap of the helmet shut under her chin, and stepped closer. She used Alena’s shoulder as a stabilizer and flung her leg over the machine. The motor’s vibrations made her itchy after only a few seconds. She pulled the straps of her backpack tighter around her shoulders and laid her hands on Alena’s sides.

  Alena grabbed them and guided Claire’s arms around her torso. She held them in place for a few seconds, then let go.

  Claire froze. She could feel Alena’s midriff expanding with every breath and swallowed down something else entirely. Maybe this motorcycle thing wasn’t so bad after all.

  Alena allowed the engine to roar and tore away from the curb.

  The velocity caused Claire to slide back and she scrambled for a more secure hold, fear of embarrassment be damned. It would be infinitely more embarrassing if she fell off the back of the motorcycle. She pressed her helmeted head against Alena’s back and held on for dear life. She still slid a bit, but she was already as close to Alena as possible. As a last resort to hold her rising panic at bay, she squeezed her eyes shut and focused only on her breathing.

  Alena weaved through traffic with the same level of death-defying skill that had saved Claire’s life earlier today. The realization that Alena knew what she was doing seeped slowly from her brain into her body and her muscles relaxed.

  The wind that had torn at her clothes earlier, now settled as they sped through traffic with an apparent tailwind. There couldn’t be, obviously, but there were a lot of things about today that hadn’t made sense. She let it happen and relaxed against Alena’s body. After a month of unrelenting worry about her episodes, she wished that the ride would never end.

  Of course, that was idle hope. The journey ended at Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport and Alena turned her motorcycle into the rental company located on the outskirts of the airport while Claire waited outside and people-watched.

  Alena didn’t stop to admire the landing Boeing 747 that drew Claire’s attention through the glass panes of the airport’s main hall. She didn’t stop for food at the many stands and restaurants. Alena appeared to be on a mission: to get from point A to point B at the fastest possible pace without losing Claire in the process. She trudged on in her bike gear, gaze on the crowd, and only checked on Claire often enough to make sure she kept up.

  Claire did, but barely, and she almost had to run to do it. “A-Are we late?”

  “No.” Alena didn’t slow, and she wasn’t out of breath at all. “I made up our lost time on the road.”

  “C-Can we slow down a bit? Maybe? Please?” Claire sucked in a deep breath to quench her lack-of-oxygen induced wooziness. She hadn’t been in good physical shape to start with, but the smoking sessions had taken their toll.

  “No.” Alena’s gaze swept from one side to the other like a search light.

  “Are you.” Breath. “Expecting something.” Breath. “To happen?” She gripped the straps of her backpack so the bag wouldn’t keep banging against her back with every hurried step.

  Alena glanced at her and seemed to hesitate. Then she slowed a little so Claire could catch up. “I don’t like to lie, so yeah, I am. Probably not right now, but there—” She hesitated. “There is a lot going on right now. Nothing directly to do with you, but still. I don’t like places with a lot of people. Once we’re on the plane and nothing has happened, I’ll relax again.”

  Claire inspected Alena’s clenched jaw and tried to catch her gaze. “You’re serious?”

  Alena nodded. “Sorry, special brain.” She picked up the pace again.

  Claire bit her bottom lip and looked around. Suddenly the man who looked at her over a newspaper seemed to focus on her a bit too much. The woman who walked behind them without luggage appeared to follow them a bit too closely. The man who inclined his head towards her while he spoke into his cell phone gave her goose bumps.

  As if flying hadn’t become a stressful enough affair after 9/11.

  Claire quickened her pace so she’d be a little closer to Alena. “What—who—am I looking for?”

  Alena looked around again. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I know a few… agents of the bad guys, but not all.”

  “Bad guys?” That was too vague a term for Claire’s liking. Everyone could be a bad guy. “A magical bad guy?”

  Alena shrugged. “That’s all I’m comfortable with in public.”

  Feeling dismissed, Claire let the topic drop, but she vowed to herself that she would gather enough courage to ask after it later. For now, Claire looked around as if she knew what she was looking for—as if she had the knowledge and skill to sort out who in the line of waiting people they joined could hurt her.

  “Passport?”

  Claire looked up, straight into the eyes of a broad shouldered Native American man wearing a US customs outfit.

  Alena nudged her, and Claire glanced at her without understanding before she realized she had her passport in her backpack. She rushed to whip it off and fished the document from the front pocket. “S-Sorry.”

  Alena snickered at her, then gave the area another once-over.

  Claire gave herself a mental kick as she waited for the customs agent to check her picture against her appearance and hand the document back to her.

  “Have a good flight, ma’am.”

  “Thanks, you too.”

  The man’s eyebrow rose.

  Alena laughed.

  Mortification struck. “Uhm…”

  Alena put her arm around her shoulder and guided her along. “Come on, special brain. Enough making a fool of yourself for one day.”

  Lost in the scent of motor oil and leather, Claire let herself be guided along. There was no reason to talk and end up looking like an even bigger fool in front of the older, more mature, and much more collected Alena.

  “Here, sit.” Alena unwrapped herself and nodded toward a very uncomfortable looking line of plastic chairs. “We have half an hour to kill. Don’t wander off.”

  Claire sat. She pulled her backpack against her chest like a shield and looked around, still eager to spot the elusive bad guys Alena had mentioned.

  Alena sat down beside her, legs apart, gaze on the crowd.

  Claire resisted the urge to shield herself with her drawn up legs. Alena had parked them far away from the throng, so she could watch people pass from one terminal to the next. Watching people was one of her favorite past times—it was why she’d liked working at the café so much, despite her anxieties over interacting with human beings. Now, the experience was soured by Alena’s words. She glanced to the side.

  It didn’t look like Alena was going to start up a conversation, but Claire desperately needed one to chase away the feeling of unrest.

  “Um, Alena?”

  “Hm?” Alena tore her gaze away from the crowd and took her in.

  “Could you, um, maybe tell me more about Madame Stravinsky?”

  Alena glanced at her. “Yeah, I guess. You should know this stuff.” She checked their surroundings one more time, then scooted a bit closer.

  After a second of hesitation, Claire leaned in. As soon as Alena’s scent hit her nostrils, her heart sprung to a gallop and she prayed Alena didn’t have super hearing or something. That would be so embarrassing.


  “Madame Stravinsky was a medium who came into her powers during the tail end of the paranormal craze. By the time she’d gained control over her abilities, there had been so many quacks unmasked that she couldn’t make a living with her mediumship in England alone, so she travelled across the globe and channeled the dead for anyone who would engage her services.”

  Claire put her bag down and drew her feet up onto the hard chair. She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her cheek on them as she watched the way Alena’s eyebrows danced as she talked.

  “By that time, she’d also appeared on the radar of the Society for Psychical Research.” Alena caught her look of amusement at the name. “Don’t look at me like that, that was really what it was—and is—called.”

  Now Claire did snicker.

  Alena indulged her with a lopsided smirk. “Okay, okay, enough laughing. This matters to you, trust me. So, the SPR was at that time a nonprofit organization who took it upon themselves to research paranormal activity and vet mediums. This was in 1884 and Madame Stravinsky passed their tests with flying colors. Of course.” She snorted and shook her head.

  Claire didn’t know how obvious that was—mediumship was still way out there as far as she was concerned—so she kept quiet.

  “Anyway, the SPR people nearly had a collective stroke because no one had ever passed their test. They told the public she’d failed to stop anyone from freaking out, then worked with her to found a new society. The purpose of this group was to use the SPR’s research to actively manage paranormal and occult events. She named it the Society for Psychical Defense.”

  Claire rolled her eyes.

  Alena shrugged. “I didn’t name it. Think of the SPD as the SPR’s strike team.”

  Claire nodded. All these acronyms were, indeed, doing her head in. She was part of the SPD, or rather, the ghost in her head was. That was what was important to remember.

  “To this day, there is always a seat reserved in the SPD for a high-ranking member of the Society of Psychical Research. One other is reserved for a spokesperson of the dead—first Madame Stravinsky, then her hosts—one for a thaumaturge—”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone who performs miracles, traditionally. Ours is usually a healer. Jesus was a suspected thaumaturge, for example.”

  Claire nodded, as if the notion of Jesus Christ being a magician was not a ludicrous idea. Grandma Mitchell would have dragged the both of them to church for a dozen Hail Marys had she overheard.

  “So, a SPR member, a medium, a thaumaturge, an elementalist—someone with the ability to control one or more of the elements—”

  “Like you?” Claire’s cheeks stung when she realized she’d interrupted Alena again—and by saying something she wasn’t sure about at all. She pressed her mouth against her knees to keep herself from doing it again. It was just… The way Alena defied the laws of aerodynamics couldn’t be natural.

  “No, like my father. But yes, I am an elementalist.” Alena looked around again and fell silent.

  “What…what can you do?” Claire both hoped and feared Alena would answer the question. She didn’t really want to know…did she?

  “I’m a category four geomancer—which means I control the element of earth—and a category two aeromancer.”

  “Aero. Air.” Claire swallowed. “I knew that. What…what do the categories mean?”

  “How powerful we are. The scale goes to six. A category six geomancer could potentially cause earthquakes or shift tectonic plates. We have no record of one existing, but it’s possible. My father is a category five aeromancer. He could pull tornadoes down if he chose to. He’s also a level three geomancer and a level one pyromancer. I’ve been trying to get a grip on fire magic, but so far, no luck.” She winked.

  Claire didn’t have a response. It seemed impossible to wrap her head around the reality of this. Earthquakes? Tectonic plates? That was impossible—a single human couldn’t be—shouldn’t be—able to have that kind of effect on the world.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Alena still smiled.

  “I-I—No! Yes! I mean—” She pressed her lips together.

  Alena chuckled and glanced around. “There, see that trash can?”

  Claire nodded.

  Alena flicked her wrist and straightened her fingers.

  The trashcan scooted back, tipped over and scraped along the floor of the hallway.

  People jumped aside and watched. Murmurs rose up. People looked around.

  Alena grinned. “My father would have my head for that if he knew, so don’t tell him, but that’s category one aeromancy stuff. Baby stuff.” She watched with amusement as people walked around the trashcan that lay on its side in the aisle as if it was going to move again.

  Claire hadn’t managed to shut her mouth yet. She stared, dumbfounded. There was no way anything else but something magical had happened to that bin, unless it was a set-up and someone had been hiding with wire in their hand for ages.

  Somehow, that seemed less plausible than magic.

  She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

  Alena glanced at her and seemed to struggle to hold back a smirk. “Right. Where was I? SPR member, medium, thaumaturge, elementalist…right, a scryer or other type of clairvoyant, a sorcerer, and a theriantrope, although that seat has been empty periodically.”

  Claire managed to tear her gaze away. She bit the inside of her lip a moment as she debated herself. Did she really want to know? Then she decided that if she was getting a crash course in the otherworldly, she wanted to know it all. “A theriantrope…?”

  “A shapeshifter.” Alena didn’t seem to be joking; that or she had a fantastic poker face. “But that term describes every type of transformation, fictional and non-fictional. So far, the Society hasn’t come upon anyone who can shapeshift into an inanimate object, for example, or a creature from fables like a dragon. Theriantropy is the term for human beings who are able to shapeshift into the form of an animal.”

  Claire swallowed and nodded. “Oh.” For now, she was not brave enough to ask if she was about to meet a werewolf.

  Maintenance arrived in a golf cart and put the bin back in its place before he picked up the trash that had been flung from it.

  Alena chuckled. “I should feel bad, but it’s just too amusing to scare the mundanes.”

  Claire opened her mouth to ask what a mundane was—probably someone without magic, but you never knew—when the call to board sounded over the intercom.

  Half way through the notification, Alena was up on her feet, Claire’s backpack in her hand. “Time to go. Can’t wait to get away from the crowd.” She strode off, leaving Claire to scramble up and after her.

  The rest of her crash course in magic would have to wait. Secretly, Claire was relieved about that; she’d heard enough for a while.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I have come to some conclusions in my studies:

  One: The Veil is not physical. It’s an energy barrier that separates This Side from the Other Side. Let’s call the Other Side the “Otherworld,” as that’s a clearer description, and offset it against “our world.”

  Two: Energy can seep through the Veil from the Otherworld to our world, and perhaps it can seep back through as well. That’s what I am counting on, because,

  Three: Bodies are shells that house the spirit. The spirit is energy. A ghost is energy. It must retreat beyond the Veil once it’s shed its shell.

  Four: If I can temporarily shed my shell, I’ll be able to traverse the Veil and go to the Otherworld. The question is: how do I get back into the shell once I have shed it?

  – Simon Magus, ‘The Fundamentals of Magic’

  ALENA SCANNED THE other passengers as they boarded. She’d already done an extensive scan of them in line, but she continued to watch.

  Her tension rubbed off on Claire, who drew her knees up again. “Do you recognize anyone?”

  “Hm? Oh, no.” Alena shook her head. “Just…I hate fl
ying.”

  Alena’s unprovoked confession caused a flutter of pride in Claire’s belly. It was good to be confided in, and good to be treated as an equal. “Planes are actually pretty safe, you kn—”

  “I know, special brain.” Alena leveled her with a squinted glare.

  Claire swallowed and made herself small. “Sorry.”

  Alena sighed. “No, I’m sorry. I forget that you’re new to this. It’s…it’s not the plane. We’ll go up and the odds are good that we’ll touch down in London without technical issues. It’s not that. It’s just that this is a very small metal tin and while we’re in it, we’ll be very secluded. If there is anyone aboard who intends to harm either of us, we’re in trouble. My magic is linked to the earth—which we won’t be anywhere near—and the air, which this tin was especially designed to keep out. Aeromancy will work, but it’s wonky at an altitude, and wonky is dangerous. I’d rather not have to resort to it, but if forced…”

  Purely by instinct, Claire took Alena’s hand—then realized what she’d done and almost dropped it.

  Before she could retract it, Alena squeezed.

  Butterflies exploded inside Claire’s belly as she stared down at their joined hands, then up into Elena’s eyes. “W-We’ll land in London. Safely.”

  Claire forced herself not to look away as Alena’s eyes drilled into her own as if mining for information.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Alena’s voice had gone quiet.

  “No, maybe not, but I trust you.” Alena was the only one she had to put her trust in now she’d entered this new world. If Alena was mad for believing all this stuff about magic, then Claire would go mad with her.

  Alena snorted and extracted her hand.

  Claire’s stomach plummeted.

  “Careful, Claire.” Alena’s voice was raspy. “That’s a dangerous path to walk down on.” She pulled the safety manual out of the pocket on the back of the chair in front of her and stared at it. She seemed resolved not to look back.

  Claire diverted her gaze to the outside. She’d obviously struck a chord, but which one? A ball of nervous energy settled in her gut at the thought. The plane definitely felt too small now.