Grandma warned me it would happen if I claimed my magic heritage. Kate used to have the same problem, and I used to snicker about it. Her magic short-circuited phones and guns. She’d try to make a call, hang up the phone in disgust, and stomp away, and then I’d pick it up and it worked perfectly. Now I had it worse than her. At least she could fire a gun. She couldn’t hit water if she shot it from a boat in the middle of a lake, but the gun would discharge. I just got a smug click when I pulled a trigger.

Still, trading proficiency in tech for one in magic was an easy choice at the time. I wanted to know where I came from and what my bloodline was capable of. I didn’t regret it, but I kept paying for it. It was still the wiser option. Magic would win, eventually.

I sat quietly, enjoying not moving. The Honeycombers seemed in no hurry to fix their phone. They probably wouldn’t even notice for a few hours, until one of them picked up the phone and the line was dead.

I needed a phone at my place. Phones worked for me about half of the time, and fifty percent was better than zero.

I’d been in the city for over twenty-four hours and so far made no progress. I killed a lesser ma’avir, an insignificant victory. I found out that Pastor Haywood’s murder was connected to some unknown magical artifact. I killed the king of Honeycomb. None of that brought me closer to stopping Moloch.

It felt as if a huge doom clock hung over my head, counting off each second.

I leaned back. No, I couldn’t think like that. If I let myself run down that road, it would make me sloppy and desperate. I had to take my time, no matter how precious it was.

A high-pitched shriek rolled through the Gap. Yep, a Stymphalian bird. Derek and I used to come here for the feathers once or twice a year. They made good knives that never needed sharpening. We’d pack a lunch and make a day of it, combing the Gap for the fallen feathers, then eating in one of the ruins just like this one.

When we met, I was thirteen. He was eighteen. At that point, I’d only had one boyfriend in my short life, a slimy little weasel called Red who wanted to steal my magic. I thought he was amazing until he sold me out to the sea demons. Then Derek walked onto the scene, like a blazing sun, and the sad puddle of scum that was Red evaporated.

If I closed my eyes, I could picture Derek sitting next to me, long legs stretched over the edge, scarred face turned up to the sun, his eyes shut.

An eerie feeling washed over me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Something was watching me from across the Gap. I scanned the ruins.

Nothing.

Whoever it was, they were well hidden. But they were there.

The weight of the watcher’s gaze pressed on me. Like being sighted by a large predator ready to pounce. Every nerve in my body went on guard. I’d felt this before, when I’d arrived in the city. Something had watched me from the darkness as I rode across that bridge, something dangerous and frightening, and here it was again. Was it tracking me? Why?

I raised my hand, smiled, and waved.

That’s right. I know you’re there. Come out to play.

Nothing. The ruins lay still.

It was still there, watching me. All my instincts warned me it was a threat, the kind of threat I didn’t want to face with a busted leg. The simple animal part of me wanted to sit very still and hope that the thing that watched me would forget I was there. The crazy human part wanted to laugh in its face until the fear vanished in a flash of adrenaline.

I made myself heave an exaggerated sigh, got up, and walked away, trying not to limp. I would come back to the Gap later. Hopefully magic would be up. If my silent watcher decided to approach for a closer look, they would be in for a fun surprise.

*

Magic flooded the world in a blink. The pain in my thigh flashed with heat and melted into a tolerable hurt. I shifted on the chunk of the concrete and squinted at the setting sun. I had taken one of my aunt Elara’s herbal concoctions when I got home. The wave had activated its magic. If I managed not to strain the leg too much, I’d be almost at full power by tomorrow.

After the Honeycomb Gap, I had gone to Jesus Junction and talked to the representatives of all three churches. None of them owned up to hiring Pastor Haywood or referring anyone to him in the past six months. Another dead end.

Then I made my way to the municipal utility office, flashed my badge and a few hundred-dollar bills, and asked them to string a phone line to my house. The money gave them incentive and the badge offered a convenient excuse to drop everything else and bump me to the front of the line as law enforcement, so they sent a technician out with me despite the end of the business day. To say he wasn’t a fan of my house or the location would be an understatement, which was why I had to park myself outside between him and Unicorn Lane to officially “guard him from that cursed place.”

The phone tech came striding up. He was short and broad, not fat but solid, with a mop of curly dark hair and olive skin, and he spoke with a mild accent. He might have been Moroccan, but I wasn’t sure and not rude enough to ask.

“Well, I hooked it up, but we won’t know if it works until magic falls again.”

Story of my life. When I needed magic to fight oversized Honeycombers, there was none to be had. But when I wanted a phone, suddenly I got all the magic ever.

“Thanks,” I told him. “I’ll walk you out.”

He eyed Unicorn Lane. About three blocks down, a former skyscraper had sprung a small waterfall. A bluish liquid, shimmering with swirls of lavender, spilled over the top of the ruin and slowly slid down its side in a three-foot-wide stream. It looked viscous.