Maya

  "Get him up here!" I said, my voice all tight and squeaky. I was pointing at the back door of my dad's old garage. "Hurry, before Mr. Henderson sees us!"

  The garage was my top-secret, not-so-secret hideout. My Dad had abandoned it years ago, except to bring the occasional old table or fishing gear here. It was supposed to be my place.

  Our place now. The place where the Starshine Prisms would plan our super-secret magical girl business, eat stolen bags of chips, and complain about homework and creepy guys who wouldn't take no for an answer.

  Now, it felt like we were staging a kidnapping.

  Valentina, who was still carrying Julian like a very tall, very pale sack of potatoes, grunted as she navigated the piles of my dad's old junk.

  Linda scanned the alleyway with her Sapphire Lens, her brow furrowed in concentration. "No visual on any nosy neighbors. All clear. For now."

  Reimi was walking a few paces ahead of us, her back ramrod straight. She hadn't said a word since the creepy floating box thing vanished in a swirl of shadows. She'd somehow pulled a fresh change of clothes out of whatever pocket space she used to store that freaky gun-thingy - a simple black hoodie and cargo pants.

  She looked less like a post-apocalyptic warrior now and more like a sullen rebellious teenager who just got told her allowance was cut off. But the silence... it was heavy. Like a storm cloud that was following her, just waiting to dump a gallon of misery all over us.

  Althea, bless her, was already at the door, fumbling with the ridiculously heavy key. "It's stuck! It's always stuck! Why does your dad insist on using locks from, like, the eighteen-hundreds?"

  "Here, let me," Linda said, jogging up to the door. She pulled a small, metallic pick set from a hidden pocket in her transformation skirt. "I just analyzed the tumblers. The primary pin is misaligned by point-three millimeters. There's also a significant accumulation of rust in the lower warding mechanism. A little mana should do the trick."

  "Wait, since when could you pick locks?" I asked, my jaw dropping.

  "Of course," Linda said, not even looking up from her work. "My first couple of Talent points improved the effectiveness of the Sapphire Lens' structural analysis function. It seemed like a practical skill to have for... urban exploration. And potential extrications."

  She wiggled the pick, and there was a soft click. The door swung open.

  Althea and I just stared at her.

  "What?" Linda asked, shrugging as she put her tools away. "You never know when you'll need to, you know, access a secure facility. Or a locker. Or a bathroom stall."

  "Right. Note to self: never get on Linda's bad side," I muttered.

  We tumbled into the workshop, the smell of long-gone motor oil and old sawdust hitting me like a familiar hug.

  This was my sanctuary.

  The place where I'd practiced my first clumsy spells, where Val had tried to teach us how to throw a proper punch.

  And a second, Julian was lying on my dad's old oil-stained workbench, and Reimi was standing in the middle of the room, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else.

  Valentina gently laid him down on the rickoldy cot in the corner. He didn't move. He just... laid there. His eyes were open, but they were staring at the ceiling, at the water stains and the cobwebs. He looked like he was looking at something a million miles away.

  "So, this is your father's."

  I nearly jumped out of my skin. Her voice was so quiet I almost missed it, a flat, deadpan statement that cut through the sticky silence of the garage.

  She wasn't looking at me. She was looking at a workbench. At a greasy, half-dismantled bicycle sitting on a stained newspaper.

  "Uh, yeah," I stammered, my heart doing a little pitter-patter of nervous energy. "That's my dad's. He's, like, a super-mega support guy. Or he was. Back in the day. He flat out bought the place thinking he'd use it for years on end. Now he mostly just, you know... makes sure the old oil doesn't leak time to time and complains about kids today."

  Reimi didn't say anything. She just picked up a greasy, grimy wrench from the bench, her fingers smearing the oil. She turned it over in her hands, her eyes tracing the lines of the tool, the way the metal was worn smooth in some places and chipped in others.

  Her expression was... blank. Not angry, not bored, just... empty. Like she was a computer trying to process a file.

  And that was when Alfie decided to attempt to be a good hostess.

  "Okay," Althea announced, clapping her hands together with a forced, bright-and-shiny energy that was so completely wrong for the room. "We are all having a... very intense evening. So. Operation 'Not-Panicking' is officially a go. Phase One: Hydration and Comfort Food."

  She marched over to the minifridge in the corner, the one with the dent in the side from when I accidentally kicked a soccer ball at it. She yanked it open, the light from inside casting a tired, yellow glow over her perfect, worried face.

  "We have... three bottles of water, a can of flat soda, and..." she peered inside, her nose wrinkling. "...a very sad-looking carton of orange juice. I'm... not entirely sure that's orange juice. It might be... science?"

  "We have chips!" Valentina volunteered, already rummaging through a cardboard box in the corner. She emerged triumphantly, holding up a family-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. "Sustenance! This should stave off the existential dread for at least another hour."

  "I don't think existential dread is something you can Dorito your way out of, Ruby," Linda said, her arms crossed over her chest. Her Sapphire Lens was still glowing, casting faint blue light on her face. She kept glancing between the still form on the cot and Reimi, who was still examining the wrench like it was an ancient artifact.

  Linda walked over to Julian, her movements precise and analytical. She held her Lens over him, a thin, blue light scanning him from head to toe.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "His vitals are... stable," Linda reported, her voice a monotone of clinical observation. "Heart rate, blood pressure, respiration... all within normal human parameters. There's no residual Miasma, no magical energy signature, no cellular decay. By all accounts, medically... he's fine."

  She looked up from her lens, her gaze landing on me. Her expression wasn't analytical anymore. It was... concerned. And confused.

  "But he's not, is he?" she said softly. "That box said... he's different. What did it mean by 'constancy' and 'divine humor'?"

  I shook my head, my throat tight. "I... I don't know. It was all super-cryptic and British-sounding."

  "Divine humor, huh?" Linda repeated, her brow furrowed as she drifted off into thought.

  I looked over at Reimi. She was still quiet. The wrench was back on the bench, placed with a weird, deliberate precision. She was just standing there, staring at the dusty concrete floor, a million miles away.

  And my fist started to ache. A dull, throbbing reminder of how I'd lost it.

  I'd actually punched her. Me. Star Morganite. The Pink Light of Hope. I'd hauled off and decked a girl who, like, five minutes earlier had saved all our lives from a giant robot from her own personal hellscape.

  My brain was still a little fuzzy from the whole resonance thing, but I was pretty sure that wasn't in the Magical Girl Code of Conduct. Rule Whatever: Probably Don't Punch Your Dark And Mysterious Allies.

  I wanted to say something. "Sorry" felt too small, too flimsy for the metric ton of emotional garbage we were wading through.

  "Hey, sorry about the whole assault-and-battery thing, also thanks for the assist with the killer robot and for maybe-sorta-healing-my-best-friend" was... a lot.

  My stomach did that weird, twisty thing it does when I know I have to do something but I really, really don't want to. Like eating broccoli or admitting I forgot to do my history reading.

  Okay. Deep breath. Be a grown-up. A Magical Girl grown-up. Do the thing.

  I took a step forward, my sneaker squeaking on the concrete. "Um, Reimi?"

  She didn't look up.

  Another step. "So... about the whole... you know." I mimed a little punching motion with my fist, which was probably the most awkward thing a human being has ever done. "The... face-punching incident. Which was, in hindsight, not my proudest or most strategic moment. My hand is still kinda stinging, which I imagine is karma for, you know, punching a person who is way tougher than me and probably didn't even feel it."

  I was rambling. I do that when I'm nervous.

  The words just... fall out.

  I risked a glance at her face. Nothing. Still a beautiful, emotionless mask carved from ice and irritation. It was like trying to apologize to a very pretty, very grumpy statue.

  "I'm just... I'm sorry," I finally managed, the words coming out small and squeaky. "You were being a total grouch of epic proportions, like, 'Grouch McDouchenozzle' levels of grouchiness, but that's still not a good reason to get all punchy. So. My bad. Sorry."

  She finally moved.

  Her head lifted, just a fraction.

  Her dark, empty eyes fixed on me, and for a second, I felt that weird, buzzing static in the air again.

  "He shouldn't have followed you," she said. Her voice wasn't angry anymore. It was as 'less grouchy' as Reimi could get. It was just... flat. A statement of fact.

  "I know," I said, nodding. "He's got a hero complex something fierce. It's a problem."

  "Heroes get people killed," she stated, her gaze unwavering. "They make big, dramatic gestures. They get themselves erased for a moment of glory. For a story. It's stupid."

  And with that, the storm cloud that had been hovering over her since the railyard seemed to break. She walked over to the cot, her movements fluid and silent. She didn't look at Julian. She looked at Althea.

  "You," she said, her voice all business again. "Topaz. You have a barrier skill, correct?"

  Althea, who had been nervously wringing the hem of her still-magically-intact top, flinched. "Y-Yes? I mean... I did? I'm kinda running on empty here. I feel like I just ran a marathon in a sweater made of lead."

  "Then eat a Dorito and get over it," Reimi commanded, her tone leaving zero room for argument. "I need a containment field. A small one. A bubble. And I need it now. Not for Miasma. For observation."

  "Observation?" Linda asked, her analytical curiosity piqued. She pushed her glasses up her nose, her gaze darting from Reimi to Julian. "Of what? You said he was stable."

  "He is," Reimi confirmed, her eyes still locked on Alfie. "For a given value of stable. The box stitched his soul back together with... borrowed thread. I need to see if the seams hold."

  She turned away from Alfie and walked toward the cot, her movements deliberate, predatory. "And I need to know what he's looking at."

  My own head whipped around to stare at Julian. He hadn't moved. He hadn't blinked.

  He was still just... staring at the ceiling, at the same water stain that looked vaguely like a rabbit.

  "What do you mean?" I asked, my stomach doing a nervous flip. "He's just... spacing out. I don't know. Brain's probably rebooting after the whole 'getting erased by unreality' thing."

  "No," Reimi said, her voice a low growl. She leaned over the cot, her face inches from Julian's, her dark hair creating a curtain of shadow around him. "He's not rebooting. There's something else going on here. He's not seeing a water stain on a ceiling. He's seeing..."

  Reimi trailed off. She straightened up slowly, her body tensing. A muscle in her jaw started to twitch.

  The quiet, sullen girl was gone. The ice queen was back.

  "What is it, Reimi?" Linda pressed, stepping forward. "What do you see? My readings are still coming back as normal. There's no magical activity."

  "That's because it's not magic," Reimi snarled, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "It's... an imprint. A freaking echo. You going to stand there and just gawk?"

  Alfie, looking pale but determined, raised her hands. "Okay! Okay! Bubble-time it is!"

  Her gem, still nestled in the brooch on her chest, began to glow. A sphere of shimmering, golden light, much smaller and more condensed than the one she'd made in the dungeon, materialized around the cot. It was like a snow globe, isolating him from the rest of the world.

  But as the golden energy solidified around them, something... strange... happened.

  A flicker.

  A single, tiny silver spark, no bigger than a grain of rice, appeared in the center of the golden sphere. Right over Julian's chest. Like a floating Will O' the Wisp.

  "What the heck is that?" Valentina breathed, taking a step back.

  "An artifact?" Linda whispered, her eyes wide behind her Sapphire Lens. "It's... a construct of some sort. Not mana or life. Not the Miasma signature. It's something else entirely. It's there but not there."

  The silver spark pulsed, then it disappeared.

  Reimi narrowed her eye. "No," she whispered. "Not a data artifact. It's a calling card."

  I had no idea what she was talking about.

  A calling card? From who? The talking box?

  But before I could ask, something else happened.

  Reimi moved her hand over Julian's head, shadows clinging to her fingertips. I could literally see the magical energy - or whatever dark, spooky stuff she used - coiling around her.

  And then...

  Julian's hand shot up.

  It was fast. Precise.

  His fingers, which had been limp and lifeless just a second ago, snapped around Reimi's wrist like a steel bear trap.

  Linda's Sapphire Lens flared so bright it was like a flashbang going off. "What the—?!"

  But Reimi didn't flinch or struggle. She didn't even seem surprised.

  She just stood there, frozen, her face a perfect, unreadable mask of ice as Julian's hand clamped around her wrist. His grip was impossibly strong.

  I could see the veins standing out on the back of his hand, the knuckles white.

  Then, a sound. A single, soft, almost musical chime, like a small bell being rung. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

  "Void... Astra..."

  The words weren't Julian's. They were his voice, but it was... wrong. Layered.

  Reimi's eyes, which had been narrowed to dangerous slits, flew wide. There was... recognition in them. A cold, dawning horror.

  Julian's fingers tightened, and another silver spark, brighter this time, flared to life on the back of his hand, tracing a complex, sigil-like pattern for a split second before vanishing.

  "You..."

  Julian's eyes narrowed.

  He, slowly, deliberately, shifted his gaze. They moved past Reimi, past Alfie, past Val and Linda.

  And they landed on me.