I dressed, wanting to preserve Tanner’s lingering scent on my skin and my sheets as long as I could. Brunch was a bowl of yogurt and granola eaten at the table, where I once again sorted through the piles and sketches we’d made and read through our handwritten notes.
It was clear to me my temporary replacement was connected to Odilon Vigne—or the Flechettes—either directly or via a more circuitous, less easily traceable route. My musings on just how I was going to get my hands on that information was interrupted by Thatcher texting to let me know the five teens wanted to stay in Vancouver overnight to attend a concert. He reassured me the adults were on board and would be staying with them at the retreat center overnight. They would take the portal home early enough Monday to make it to school.
I sent an immediate yes, set my phone on the counter, and glanced beyond the kitchen and living room windows. The sun was shining. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. No one needed me for anything. The fingerprint-coated cabinet facings and lurking dust bunnies could wait another day or week to be cleaned.
What if I took today to venture out on my own? Maybe a short portal trip to test my ability to find my way there and back would make for a good start. If that went well, I could expand my range or return home and settle down to work on any number of projects.
Before I could overthink my idea or lose my bravado, I tucked my wand into the thigh pocket of my cargo pants and affixed the wolf pin to the lapel of my long-sleeved blouse. Back in the kitchen, my phone went into another pocket. I refilled my water bottle, added it to my cross-body bag along with a packet of dried fruit, and declared I was ready.
House suggested I leave a note. I pulled open a kitchen drawer, wrote “I’m going portaling” on a Post-it, and cocked my head. Was portaling even a word?
I left the note on the middle of the refrigerator door and grabbed my new shoes. A local leatherworker had made them to my specifications, the soft soles providing a supple barrier between my skin and the ground. My as-yet-untested theory was, the Mary Jane–style shoes would allow me to gather information through my feet without having to constantly remove my footwear.
I traced my gaze up the trunk of the Old One, trying to recall where Alabastair had placed his hand the night he escorted me to the Flechette estate on Vancouver Island. Pressing my hand against the same spot, I automatically closed my eyes. A gentle undulation under my fingers nudged my awareness to where bark and patches of lichen morphed under my palm. I slid my other hand into the pocket where I’d stashed my wand and gripped the applewood tight.
“I’m ready,” I whispered.
Nothing happened. I cracked open my eyelids, cleared my throat and repeated the words louder and with conviction.
The air around me darkened. Flickers of sunlight danced at the tips of grasses and leaves, reminding me of the daytime solar eclipse the boys and I had witnessed the summer before. I held my breath as the sensation of entering a vacuum began, then stilled.
“Calliope? What are you doing here?”
I was in limbo. And Alabastair was here with me. Or at least it felt like he was. I couldn’t see a thing and my belly didn’t know whether to give up my breakfast or hold on.
“Bas?” I asked. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”
“But—”
“No buts, Calliope Viridis du Sang. I am the Portal Keeper. You touched your portal tree. Thus, I am at your service,” he said, his voice clipped. “Even though you summoned me at a less than opportune moment.”
“I was trying to do this on my own.”
“Do what?”
“Take the portal to—” My mind went blank.
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
My long-suffering necromancer friend heaved a sigh. “Calliope, unless you’re heading on a magical walkabout, one does not simply place one’s hand on a portal tree, give your red heels a click, and wish yourself back to Kansas.”
I kept my hand on the tree and searched the ground. Two faint, deep red half circles glowed in the vicinity of my feet. “How did you know I was wearing red shoes?” I asked. They’d been dyed to match my gauntlets.
“I ventured a wild guess.”
An uncomfortable minute passed.
“Alabastair? Am I supposed to ask you to accompany me, or could I try this on my own?”
“I suppose today is as good a day as any.”
The brush of heavy drapery swooshed against the side of my leg. Bas appeared in front of me. This time, sans cape.
“Nice bathrobe,” I said, admiring his sartorial elegance. He snorted.
“It’s a housecoat, Calliope. A house. Coat. A garment designed to be worn indoors when one desires to affect a look of leisure.”
“I apologize for interrupting whatever leisure activity you were pursuing.”
“Apology accepted. Now, where would you like to go?”
“Seattle?” I said, realizing I should have put a little more thought into what soloing from portal to portal entailed.
“Been there, done that.” He waved his hand to hurry me along. “Aim higher.”
“France?”
Bas’s eyebrows arched elegantly. “Planning a little tryst with your favorite druid?”
“Is that creepy?” I asked. It suddenly occurred to me Tanner might be otherwise engaged in druid-y things.
“I can’t imagine that man would find a surprise visit from his favorite witch a hardship.” He adjusted the belt on his housecoat and shifted his weight to his other leg. “Ready?”
“Wait,” I said. “Can I really get to France and back before tomorrow morning?”
“Of course you can.” He slid one hand into a pocket trimmed with a curlicue of braid, pulled out a pastille tin, and handed
