Seamus’ grin falters, seeing that, and something softer enters his gaze. Stiffly, he inclines his head to me.
No thanks. He’s still mad at me. But an acknowledgement.
I nod back at him, not trusting myself to speak, and that’s how we leave him: nothing resolved, but with a light to keep him going.
As fast as I can manage it, Nariel and I are on the next flight, starting with a quick stopover in France—sorry Paris and the Nutella crepes of my dreams, catch you next time—just to change planes and then onward to San Jose, Costa Rica, for the anchor I’ll set up in the Americas.
Costa Rica is extremely invested in protecting its environment if for no other reason than that their country’s main industry is ecotourism, which makes it an ideal choice for protecting all that sustains the power spot I’m going to anchor.
When we’re finally settled in for the long leg of this trip, I rub my eyes when I pull out my phone on the plane. Wire money toSeamus first for a mechanic. Then I start making the next wave of arrangements, squinting. Focus, Sierra, focus. There’s no time to waste.
A shadow clouds the screen, and it takes too long to realize this is not my vision going blurry from lack of sleep but magic from the demon next to me, who could have justsaidsomething to get my attention rather than making a point. I glare at him.
“I assume we’re heading for the Cloud Forest?” Nariel asks.
It’s the biggest power spot in Costa Rica that’s not on a volcano—not optimal for long-term anchors, volcanoes—so it’s not a big surprise that he’s guessed.
“It’s like a three-hour drive from the airport. We need transportation, we need uninterrupted access—“
“And you need to sleep.”
Ireallyneed sleep. “So why are you keeping me from getting started?”
“Because you’re not going to get much rest if you’re waking up every few minutes to check your messages about arrangements. Let me handle the logistics this time.”
I blink.
Blink again.
“You can—wait. Where did your car in Seattle even come from? Didn’t you just show up when the portal did?”
Nariel’s lips quirk. “It’s taken you this long to ask?”
Dammit. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”
“Would that bother you?”
Hmm. “Yes, but not enough to have turned down your offer of a ride. Needs must.”
Nariel flashes his grin. “And the devil drove. But no, I didn’t steal it. Can you trust me to make the necessary arrangements?”
Trust, trust. I’ve always tried to handle all my business independently, but somehow on this mission, the mostimportant thing I have done in my life, I keep needing people to help me.
I don’t want to need people. Not a single wizard when I returned was willing to help find a way to do magic. Help me learn to pass as normal, help me “move on,” oh sure, full of advice. But not the thing that actually mattered.
This is, frankly, really galling.
But Nariel did offer material assistance, before he even understood what I was planning. And our interests in this align, so he’s not super likely to just deliver me into mage hands. And I really do need sleep, because High Earth can keep sending fresh teams. Since I’m the only wizard who can counter them, I can’t afford to not be at my best.
But somehow this feels like I’m letting him save me rather than saving myself, and Ihatethat.
“Don’t angels need to sleep?”
“No,” Nariel says. “Angels meditate to rest their minds and recover power, but they don’t have a sleep cycle.”
I frown. “‘They’? Do you not consider yourself one anymore?”
“I do not.”
