Jo’s flat palm met the desk. A noise like a thunderclap echoed through her chest, setting her ears to ringing. From each of her fingers, impossibly, the desk splintered, cracking in fracture lines that split and met as different pieces pushed and lowered, tectonic plates after a seismic shift. The captain jumped out of his chair, shouting expletives and blinking in confusion. Papers went everywhere and the door to the room slammed open, Detective Madani rushing back in with gun drawn.
There were words being said, but Jo couldn’t hear them. The ringing in her ears was too loud, her skin almost on fire with the energy crackling over it. She raised her hand, looking at her palm—it didn’t even sting.
“H-how did you do that?” The whole sentence came out as one jumbled word; Wayne was pressed up against the back wall with terror in his eyes.
Fear. There was that tangy sensation Jo was becoming familiar with. The sort of fear that could break a man down.
“I . . .” The surge of energy evaporated the moment her focus left the possibilities of what her magic could do in the dust. Her own fear came crashing down on her. Her fingers couldn’t stay steady. Why couldn’t they stay steady? “I don’t know, Wayne. I don’t know!”
Jo looked to him for answers he didn’t have, just as he looked to her for answers she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to conceive. Everything felt as if it was going to break apart.
Wayne threw her a lifeline, pulling himself together and grabbing her shaking hand. The fear was gone and in its place was comfort and confidence. Jo clutched him so tightly his knuckles popped, but she didn’t relieve her grip. If she let him go now, it would all fall apart.
“Time to make tracks, doll.” Wayne glanced over his shoulder to speak to her, but his eyes shifted, lingering on the chaos in the room.
Jo turned, barely getting a chance to see the two officers inspecting the desk, before she felt a tug, and the world changed around her.
Chapter 7
Special Place
They stepped from utter chaos into nothingness.
Wind rushed over her face, begging to tousle her hair, to pull at her clothes, like an invitation for her to be part of the world once more. It was cold, mostly due to elevation and wind. Unlike from the place they’d just left, this corner of the world was bright, warm, and filled with nature—everything the suburban police station hadn’t been.
Jo turned in place, taking in the panoramic view of rolling hills covered in a lush carpet of greenery. A sapphire line cut through the landscape and white dotted the other side—some livestock, Jo presumed. Sheep, perhaps?
Wayne had let her go almost instantly upon their arrival, taking a wide step away from her and the Door that was now fading—leaving a craggy opening in the rocks in its place. There was still that fear there. Worry, too.
Could she blame him?
“Where are we?” Jo asked before he could speak. If she let him get the first word there would be questions, questions she wasn’t ready for. Questions she had noanswersfor.
“Somewhere very far from people.”
“I can see that.” She nodded to the vast expanse of land. There wasn’t a home or city in sight.
“Come on, this way.”
“Where are we going?” she asked nervously. Jo looked back to the sheep. Was she nothing more than a lamb about to be brought to slaughter for asking questions about a possible wolf hiding beneath the wool?
“It’s my special place.” He paused, a few steps down toward a narrow path that Jo could make out between the slopes of the hill.
“Taking a lady to your special place?” Jo took a shot at levity; it fell flat even to her own ears. Still, she forced a casual tone through the awkwardness. “I didn’t think we had that kind of relationship.”
“Coming here . . . isn’t a good thing.” Wayne shook his head and continued on. Jo wanted to ask what he meant, if it was less about the place and more aboutherthat wasn’t a good thing, but she held her tongue. She didn’t really feel confident in her voice right now anyway.
When Wayne didn’t look back to see if she was following, Jo finally fell into step behind him. She brought up her palm again, looking at the hand that had cracked the desk as she walked. She had been outside of time—she hadn’t clocked in; there should’ve been no way she could have affected anything in the real world. Hadn’t she placed her hand down on the desk before, and not a single paper fluttered?
Jo pulled her attention back to the path only to find a small farmhouse already ahead of them. The tin roof of its porch sagged, one of the support beams on the end leaning at an awkward angle. The wood was sun-bleached, more so at the edges near the rusting roof where it was, marginally, protected from the elements. The wooden supports of the windows stood without glass, the only thing that could stand the test of time.
It was a forgotten home, in a forgotten corner of the world, for two forgotten ghosts.
“What is this place?” Jo asked softly.
Wayne froze at the threshold, one foot up on a beam that should never be able to support his weight —that is, if he still had weight to bear in the real world. His eyes ran over her and Jo felt the significance of his assessment. She must have measured up to whatever yardstick he was using; the heavy sigh told her so.
“You were right, Jo.”
