survived the destruction that had taken out the rest of the street. Thus far, they’d all been willing to take my word that I was as baffled as the rest of them. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything for your leg.”
She waved off my concern. “I’ve had worse. Did I ever tell you about the time I was out hunting, and a black bear managed to creep up behind me? She was downwind, and I was recovering from a cold, so by the time I sniffed her, it was too late to run.”
I settled back to listen, though I wasn’t sure how much of her story to believe. I certainly didn’t buy the one Jeff told next, which started with a home-brewing project and ended with Jeff punching a moose.
Nidhi brought chairs out from the house, and Jeff eventually retreated to the kitchen to heat up dinner. Lena grabbed a six-pack of beer a short time later, along with a two-liter bottle of Cherry Coke for herself.
By the time the sky grew dark, I had been thoroughly briefed on gossip about half the werewolves in Tamarack. I had shared a bit of salmon with Smudge, who apparently felt it was horribly undercooked, but otherwise approved. I thought it was delicious, and even went back for a second helping. It was the first real meal I had eaten since losing my magic.
Eventually, Helen tapped her husband on the shoulder, interrupting his tale about a rather acrobatic foursome he and Helen had participated in when they were younger. I had no idea whether or not they were embellishing or making the whole thing up. I was fairly certain the bit about the hammock was a lie, based on simple physics. Either way, it was definitely making me blush. Meanwhile, I could see Lena taking detailed mental notes.
“We need to start heading back,” said Helen. “Now you call us if there’s anything you need, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, climbing to my feet. “And thank you.”
They both seemed to understand that I wasn’t talking about the food. Each of them hugged me in turn, then did the same with Nidhi and Lena.
“Try to stay out of trouble for a while, eh?” Jeff said as he left.
“Not really part of my skill set,” I called back, earning a laugh from them both.
Nidhi stood with her arms folded, studying me. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she turned to go back inside.
“Wait.” Lena jumped to her feet and ducked into the grove, to her oak. She crouched at the base of the tree, reached into the roots, and pulled something from the dirt.
When I saw what she carried, I backed away. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes and no.” She extended the book to me.
I thought at first that Bi Wei had left her book behind, but I couldn’t imagine her taking such a risk. When I took the cloth-bound tome, I saw that the cover text was slightly different, though I couldn’t read it.
The writing inside was identical to that in Bi Wei’s book, at least the beginning. I turned to the middle, where carefully formed Chinese characters were replaced by English. “This is your handwriting.”
“I found it in the roots of my tree,” Lena said. “They made it for me. I think it was a gift from Bi Wei. When I pulled her from her book, she must have seen more of my thoughts than I realized.”
Nidhi pressed close, reading over my shoulder. I turned the page and read, “The oak is ever divided…”
Lena stared at the ground. “I’m not saying it’s good. I never claimed to be a poet.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Jeneta would—” Only I was forbidden from talking with her.
“They used these books as an escape,” Nidhi said. “A way to survive in a time of war.”
“I want the same thing,” Lena said. “To survive.” She took the book back and held it almost reverently. “I’m not done with it yet, and I don’t know if it will work, but I want to try.”
Lena’s nature couldn’t be rewritten. Gutenberg had said so himself. Then again, Gutenberg had said a lot of things that turned out to be untrue or incomplete. If these books could sustain the students of Bi Sheng for so many years—if they could give them a foundation even now to stave off the madness of the Army of Ghosts—who was to say it couldn’t do the same for Lena?
“I’ll need you both to read it,” Lena continued. “Each day, if you can.”
“Of course, love,” said Nidhi.
“Twice a day on weekends,” I promised.
“Thank you.” She kissed each of us, then returned the book to the safety of her tree. When she returned, her eyes were somber. “When do you think the Army of Ghosts will return?”
Not if, but when. “They’re awake now, and they’ve planted their seeds in Bi Wei and the others. If the ghosts can’t take control of them, they’ll look for another way into our world.”
And when they got here, they would certainly remember who had derailed their plans. Twice.
I thought of the armored woman I had seen in my madness, and my hand went to the shock-gun in my pocket. Technically, I should have turned that in when they kicked me out of the Porters.
On the other hand, screw them.
“This isn’t over, is it?” asked Nidhi.
I peered through the telescope and adjusted the knob until the stars came into sharp focus. “The world is about to discover magic. This is only the beginning.”
Epilogue
JENETA DREAMED SHE WAS back in the car with Myron Worster, a white-haired Porter in a suit and tie, with sharp wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. For a glorified magical babysitter, he was nice enough, if you could get past his penchant for show tunes and the perpetual smell of pipe tobacco.
“Are you sure we don’t have time to see Isaac?” Jeneta asked. “Just to say good-bye, and to thank him.”
“I’m afraid not. Pallas’ orders.”
She could have used magic to influence him, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He had demonstrated his magic in her cabin at Camp Aazhawigiizhigokwe, pulling various potions and magical ointments from the books in his suitcase. He explained in excruciating detail how he had spent fifty years studying the effects of different potions, learning how to combine them for maximum potency, from flight and invisibility to speed and strength. Given a few minutes to mix his magical cocktails, he was all but unbeatable.
He had spent several days watching over her, his senses and reflexes magically enhanced. As far as Jeneta knew, he hadn’t slept once, nor would he until she was safely on the plane home.
Only he hadn’t kept her safe. She remembered finding a dead butterfly in her cabin, the body the size and shape of a bullet, with wings of milky glass. Worster reassured her that August Harrison’s insects had all died with the destruction of the queen, but he had destroyed the butterfly to be safe. He snapped the wings and broke the body in half.
Only after he left to dispose of the remains did Jeneta notice the tiny bead it had left behind, like a dull metal egg. The bead clung to her finger when she touched it.
She recalled the pinprick of legs crawling through her thoughts. They chipped at her mind, consuming her memories one by one, and the more she tried to protect herself with magic, the quicker they fed.
The voice in her head was her own, but she hadn’t spoken. She fought the compulsion to obey, to sink deeper into dreams and nightmares. Terror helped her to kick toward the surface long enough to glimpse her surroundings.
She was on a moving sidewalk, striding through a tunnel with curved walls. Colored light rippled along the wall in time to music. At the end of the walkway, the crowd split apart, following overhead signs directing passengers to the proper terminals. This was an airport. How had she gotten here?
de du 
demonstrated you could survive death in a book,” said the other voice. “Even one so small as a computer chip. Assuming you found someone who could touch its magic.”
