The alpha stopped in front of a terminal and made selections on a touchscreen monitor. Then he slipped a thin gold bar and a handful of bills into a slot.
Rust eyed me like I’d just messed up an attack he’d been training me to do for months.
“What?” I asked.
“Magic always comes with a cost.”
“I’m aware.” Sereana carved the reminder into my skin every month. “I take it money won’t cover the bill.”
“Nope. When we teleport, it’s gonna sap the shit out of your energy, and you don’t look like you have much to spare.”
Mack leaned closer. “So, we’ll arrive dead on our feet?”
“Yep.” Rust clapped me on the shoulder. “But don’t worry, pup. We brought the big guns. You have your Glock, right?”
“In my bag.”
“Good.”
“How long will the exhaustion last?” Mack asked, casting a worried glance in my direction.
Rust shrugged and then nodded toward my father. “Lookslike you’re about to find out. The alpha needs you to go accept the charges with a fingerprint.”
Mack joined the alpha at the terminal and pressed his prints to the screen without hesitation or question. The dedicated soldier, as always.
“You’re up, Zee.”
I stepped forward and scanned the screen while Dad finished up the form. When he scrolled to the bottom, I caught what I was looking for.
‘The distance to Al Mukalla is 13,600 km. Traveler agrees to an energy drain lasting approximately thirteen hours, and?—’
“Ziara,” the alpha growled, packing a world of frustration into the word. “You’re holding us up.”
I accepted the charge with a print. Once Rust did the same, the four of us proceeded to a large table.
“One at a time, deposit all weapons, bags, and belongings onto the belt before hitting the green button,” the robotic, disembodied voice instructed.
Dad stepped up and laid out his arsenal—sword, rifle, pistol, blade after blade—with the calm efficiency of a man who’d done this before. The pile of weapons was frankly alarming. Adding his bag to the table, he hit the green button. A laser scanned him from above, beeped its approval, and the table sank into the floor. A fresh one materialized in its place, and a yellow ticket emerged from the adjacent machine.
“Take your ticket and proceed to the portal platform,” the voice continued. “The ticket will be required to retrieve your belongings at your destination.”
Dad pocketed the ticket and followed the arrows on the floor around the corner.
Mack went next. Same drill, same recording. When my turn came, I followed the painted arrows through the foyer until the space opened into something that stole my breath. Massive white pillars held up an arched ceiling of dark wooden rafters, and what little daylight fought through the overcast sky shone throughjeweled fragments of stained glass that painted the stone floor in colors that didn’t belong in a place this clinical.
A glass wall bisected the room, and beyond it, I could see a human couple.
“Feckin’ Mondeine,” Rust said behind me.
Ahead, the high-pitched wail of a child echoed off the walls.
I followed the sound as the path turned and ended at a round platform that held the small blond boy I’d seen earlier. He was clutching his mother’s dress as she methodically pried each of his fingers open. As soon as she worked one hand free, he tangled the other one up.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “You’re being ridiculous. I told you, you won’t go poof. You pop out of this spot and pop up at the portal by Nana’s house. It’s… it’s like a game.”
“But Nana doesn’t like it when I go poof,” the kid cried. “That’s a bad game.”
The woman’s gaze snagged on us, and her posture stiffened. “I’m so sorry for the delay. I’m… I’m trying.”
