Chapter 13: The Astral Summons
Mandy kicked the bedroom door open with more force than necessary.
The doorknob punched a dent into the drywall behind it—she'd fix that later, or not, whatever—and the door itself slammed against the interior wall with a crack that probably woke the cats. Rembrandt, perched on the windowsill like some kind of furry gargoyle, didn't even flinch. Just flicked his tail and went back to sleep.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and something else—something electric, ozone-tinged, the unmistakable signature of Calista's glamour saturating every surface. The sheets were a tangled mess of limbs and flesh, and Mandy stood in the doorway for exactly two seconds, cataloging the scene.
Ben on his back. Chest heaving. Sweat-slick skin catching the morning light. His cock still half-hard, glistening, resting against his thigh.
Jess beside him, sprawled on her stomach, one arm flung across his chest. Her dark hair was a disaster, tangled and wild, and there was a bite mark on her shoulder that Mandy definitely hadn't left there.
And Calista.
Calista was on her knees at the foot of the bed, silver hair cascading down her back, golden eyes half-lidded and glowing with that faint, ethereal light that meant her magic was running hot. Her lips were parted. Her fingers were still between her legs, moving in slow, lazy circles.
She looked up when Mandy entered. Didn't stop touching herself. Just smiled—that wide, knowing, infuriating smile that made Mandy want to either punch her or kiss her, and Mandy had never been great at choosing.
"Changed your mind?" Calista asked.
Her voice was honey and smoke. The glamour pulsed, thick and warm, settling over Mandy's skin like a second layer of heat.
Mandy didn't answer.
She crossed the room in four strides, grabbed Ben by the wrist, and yanked him upright.
He made a sound—surprise, confusion, something that might have been her name—but she didn't let him finish. She kissed him. Hard. Savage. Teeth and tongue and the kind of kiss that left bruises on lips and hickeys on necks and no room for questions.
Ben kissed her back.
His hands found her hips. Her waist. Her ass. She was still wearing the borrowed shirt, and he pushed it up, pushed it off, and then she was naked, pressed against him, and his cock was hardening against her stomach.
"Yes," Mandy said against his mouth. "I changed my mind."
Jess laughed from the bed. Low and throaty and thoroughly entertained.
"Took you long enough," she said.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
Mandy pulled back from Ben just long enough to look at Jess—naked, rumpled, gorgeous, watching them with those dark eyes that always made Mandy's stomach flip.
"Later," Mandy said. "Right now, I need to get fucked."
Ben didn't need to be told twice.
He grabbed her by the thighs and lifted her—fuck, he was strong, she always forgot how strong—and she wrapped her legs around his waist and he was inside her before her back hit the wall.
The first thrust knocked the breath out of her.
The second made her see stars.
By the third, she'd stopped counting.
Ben fucked like he did everything else—with focus, with determination, with the kind of single-minded intensity that made Mandy's brain short-circuit. He didn't try to be fancy. Didn't try to be clever. Just drove into her, over and over, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls.
Calista's glamour settled over her like a blanket.
It was different this time. Warmer. Gentler. Not the overwhelming, all-consuming arousal from before, but something more like... permission. Like the universe itself was telling her yes. Like every nerve ending in her body had been tuned to the exact frequency of pleasure.
"Fuck," Mandy gasped. "Fuck, Ben, don't stop—"
"Wasn't planning to."
"Don't be cute."
"Wasn't trying to be."
She laughed. It came out breathless. Then she stopped laughing, because Ben had shifted his angle and now he was hitting something that made her vision white out at the edges.
Jess had moved. Mandy registered it dimly—the shift of weight on the mattress, the soft footsteps on the floor. Then Jess was behind Ben, pressing against his back, her hands sliding around his waist.
"Let me help," Jess murmured.
Her fingers found Mandy's clit.
Mandy screamed.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a sharp, keening cry that she bit off by sinking her teeth into Ben's shoulder. He grunted. Kept fucking. Jess kept touching, kept circling, kept applying exactly the right amount of pressure at exactly the right rhythm.
"I hate you," Mandy gasped.
Jess laughed. "No, you don't."
"I hate you both."
"You love us."
"That too."
The orgasm built like a wave—slow at first, then faster, then all at once. Mandy's back arched. Her nails dug into Ben's shoulders. Her cunt clenched around his cock like a fist, and she felt him shudder, felt him lose his rhythm, felt him come inside her with a groan that vibrated through his whole body.
But Mandy wasn't done.
She wasn't even close to done.
Calista's glamour was still pulsing—that steady, insistent thrum that said more, said again, said don't stop. And Mandy had spent years learning how to use that energy, how to ride it, how to channel it into something useful.
She closed her eyes.
She threw her will at the astral plane like a spear.
---
The beach house materialized around her in fragments.
First the sky—that sickly, bruise-colored thing that passed for a sky on this plane. Then the ground—something between sand and crushed glass, glittering underfoot. Then the house itself, that funhouse mirror echo of Judy's beach house, its walls shimmering with half-remembered colors.
Mandy was naked.
Of course she was naked.
"Fucking hell," she muttered.
She was standing in what passed for the living room, and Beth was already there—mid-rant, hands waving, face flushed with irritation.
"—and I told him, I told him explicitly, do not touch my camera bag, and what does he do? He touches the camera bag. He doesn't even open it, he just touches it, like he's testing me—"
"The horror," Mandy said.
Beth spun around.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"You," she said.
"Me."
"You're naked."
"So are you."
Beth looked down. Looked back up. "That's not the point."
"It's kind of the point."
"It's really not—" Beth stopped. Squinted. "Wait. You're here. You're actually here. How are you here?"
"Practice."
"Practice?"
"I've been working on it." Mandy shrugged. "The glamour helps."
"Calista's glamour."
"She's in the room. Or was in the room." Mandy waved a hand vaguely. "Bodies. Astral plane. Time doesn't work the same way."
Beth stared at her.
Rick, sprawled on the couch in the corner, was studiously examining the ceiling. He was also naked, also clearly trying to pretend he wasn't there, and also failing miserably.
"Hey, Rick," Mandy said.
"Mandy."
"You look uncomfortable."
"I'm fine."
"You're staring at the ceiling."
"It's a nice ceiling."
"It's a nightmare ceiling. It keeps changing colors."
"I hadn't noticed."
Beth snorted. Then turned back to Mandy, her expression sharpening.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "And don't say 'practice.' You already said that."
Mandy crossed the room. Grabbed Beth by the arms—firm, insistent, the kind of grip that left no room for argument.
"What's Shiv planning?"
Beth blinked. "What?"
"Shiv. Your housemate. The scary Irish woman who's been teaching Marty how to be a person." Mandy's voice was flat. "What is she planning?"
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me, Beth. I saw Jan this morning. She got a phone call and then she grabbed Godfrey and ran out the door saying she had to get to Miami because Shiv was doing something stupid." Mandy tightened her grip. "What. Is. She. Planning."
Beth's face had gone pale.
"I don't know," she said. "I swear to God, Mandy, I don't know. She's been secretive for the last two days. Meeting with Brigid. Meeting with Rainbor. She won't tell me anything."
"She's your housemate."
"She's also seventy-three years old and terrifying. I don't interrogate her."
"You should."
"I know."
Mandy let go. Stepped back. Ran her hands through her hair—shaggy, tangled, probably a disaster.
"Jan's on her way," she said. "Six hours. Maybe less. She told me to keep Shiv in the house until she gets there."
"Jan told you that?"
"Jan didn't tell me anything. I overheard. But it amounts to the same thing."
Beth's jaw tightened. "I can try. But if Shiv wants to leave—"
"Then you don't stop her. You just... delay her. Distract her. Whatever it takes."
"Distract her how?"
"I don't know. Cook her breakfast. Ask about her feelings. Tell her Marty's having a crisis."
"Is Marty having a crisis?"
"Marty's always having a crisis. He's a nineteen-year-old boy who spent most of his life in a timeless void. Everything is a crisis."
Beth laughed. It was a short, sharp sound—more surprise than amusement.
"Fine," she said. "I'll do what I can."
"Good."
"And you?"
"I'm going to figure out what's in the Consortium prison."
Beth's eyes widened. "The Shine."
"The Shine?"
"Mandy—"
"I know."
"That's—"
"I know."
"You can't just—"
"I know, Beth." Mandy met her sister's eyes. "But something's coming. Something big. And I'd rather know what it is before it arrives."
The astral plane shuddered.
Mandy felt it more than saw it—a ripple in the fabric of the space, a distortion at the edges of her vision. The walls of the beach house flickered. The sky outside writhed.
And then Calista materialized beside her.
Naked.
Of course.
Silver hair loose and wild. Golden eyes bright. Skin still flushed from whatever she'd been doing with Ben and Jess in the real world. She looked around the astral beach house with mild curiosity, like a tourist taking in the sights.
"Huh," Calista said. "So this is where your mind keeps disappearing to."
"Calista."
"Sister."
"Stepsister. Adopted. Whatever."
"Details." Calista turned to Beth, who was staring at her with an expression somewhere between irritation and hunger. "Hello, Lizzy."
"Don't call me that."
"Mom calls you that."
"You're not Mom."
"I'm close enough."
Beth's nostrils flared.
Mandy watched the exchange with the detached fascination of someone who had seen this exact dynamic play out a hundred times before. Beth and Calista had been circling each other for years—love and rivalry and something else entirely, something that neither of them would admit to.
Normally, it took hours for them to get to the good part.
Today, apparently, they were skipping the preamble.
Calista stepped closer to Beth. The glamour pulsed—stronger now, more focused, a deliberate flex of power rather than the ambient leakage from earlier. Beth's pupils dilated. Her lips parted.
"You're doing it on purpose," Beth said.
"Doing what?"
"The thing. With the magic."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely know what I'm talking about."
Calista smiled. That same infuriating smile. "Maybe."
"Stop it."
"Make me."
Beth grabbed her.
Not gently. Not carefully. Just fisted her hands in Calista's silver hair and pulled her into a kiss that was more teeth than tongue, more fight than foreplay.
Calista kissed her back.
Mandy watched.
Rick, from the couch, made a strangled sound.
"Should I leave?" he asked.
"No," Mandy said.
"You're sure?"
"Stay. Watch. Whatever." She shrugged. "It's the astral plane. Nothing counts here."
"That's not how it works."
"It's exactly how it works."
On the floor, Beth had pushed Calista onto her back. Beth was on top of her, one hand still tangled in that silver hair, the other sliding down Calista's stomach, between her legs.
Calista moaned.
The sound echoed off the walls—walls that were definitely not supposed to echo, walls that were probably just reflecting the sound in ways that didn't make physical sense.
Mandy watched Beth's fingers disappear inside her sister.
Watched Calista's back arch.
Watched the way Beth's mouth found Calista's neck, her collarbone, her breast—biting, sucking, leaving marks that wouldn't last in the real world but would absolutely last here.
"You're so fucking pretty," Beth muttered against Calista's skin. "I hate how pretty you are."
"You love how pretty I am."
"I hate that too."
"I know."
Beth's fingers moved faster. Calista's hips bucked. The glamour intensified, that electric hum building toward something that felt almost like a storm.
Mandy felt it in her own body—an echo, a sympathetic vibration. Her nipples hardened. Her cunt clenched around nothing. She was still naked, still standing in the middle of the room, still watching her sisters fuck on the floor of a nightmare beach house.
This was her life.
This was actually her life.
The glamour peaked. Calista came with a cry that was half-laugh, half-scream. Beth rode her through it, fingers still working, teeth still biting, until Calista pushed her away with a breathless gasp.
"Enough," Calista said. "Enough, I can't—"
"You can."
"I really can't."
"You're half-elf. You can do anything."
"That's not—that's not how it works."
Beth sat back on her heels. Her face was flushed. Her lips were swollen. She looked thoroughly pleased with herself.
"Good," she said.
"You're a menace."
"I learned from the best."
"Mom?"
"You."
Calista laughed. It was a real laugh—warm and surprised and genuinely amused. It transformed her face, made her look younger, made her look human.
Mandy filed that away. Another thing to analyze later.
The astral plane shuddered again.
This time, it was different. This time, the ripple came from outside—from beyond the walls of the beach house, from somewhere deep in the sickly sky.
Mandy felt it in her bones.
Beth felt it too. She was on her feet in an instant, all traces of post-orgasmic contentment gone.
"What was that?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Rick?"
Rick was standing now, too. His face had gone pale. His eyes were fixed on the windows, on the sky beyond, on the darkness that was starting to gather at the edges of the plane.
"That's not normal," he said.
"No shit."
"I mean—that's really not normal. I've been coming here for years. It's never—"
Another ripple.
Closer this time.
And in the distance—far, far in the distance, past the shimmering ocean and the writhing sky and the horizon that didn't exist—a light.
Not the light from before. Not the soft, seductive glow that had called to Mandy from below.
This was different.
This was cold. White. Unblinking.
This was a searchlight.
"Someone's looking for us," Mandy said.
"Who?" Beth asked.
"I don't know."
"Can they find us?"
"I don't know."
Something moved at the edge of the beach. Something tall. Something thin. Something that wasn't supposed to exist on this plane.
Mandy's hand found Beth's. Beth's hand found Calista's. Calista's hand found Rick's.
The light swept closer.
Mandy held her breath.
And somewhere, in the real world, Ben's voice cut through the darkness—loud and sharp and urgent.
"Mandy. Mandy, wake up."
Ben's voice cut through the astral static like a blade through silk, sharp and desperate and real.
Mandy felt the plane shudder around her—not the searchlight's presence, but something else, something pulling at the edges of her consciousness. The beach house walls flickered. The bruise-colored sky stuttered like a bad video feed.
"He's calling you back," Beth said.
"I know."
"Then go."
"Not yet."
Beth's grip tightened on her hand. Calista's fingers dug into Mandy's palm from the other side. Rick stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the light sweeping across the impossible horizon.
"We can't outrun that thing," Rick said.
"We don't have to outrun it. We just have to not get caught."
"That's the same thing."
"It's really not."
The light swept closer. Mandy could feel it now—a cold pressure against her skin, like standing too close to a refrigerator with the door open. It wasn't looking for them specifically. It was looking for anything. Anything that glowed. Anything that moved. Anything that didn't belong.
"Down," Mandy hissed.
They dropped together—four bodies hitting the not-sand floor of the not-beach house. Mandy pressed her face against the ground and closed her eyes and tried to make herself small.
The light passed overhead.
It was close enough that Mandy could feel it in her teeth. Close enough that her skin prickled with static electricity. Close enough that for one terrible moment, she was certain it had found them.
Then it moved on.
"Fuck," Calista whispered.
"Shh."
"I'm being quiet."
"You're not."
"I'm being as quiet as I can while also being terrified."
"Fair."
The light continued its sweep, moving toward the shimmering ocean, toward the horizon that didn't exist. Mandy watched it go. Watched it shrink. Watched it become a pinprick of cold white against the sickly sky.
"We need to move," she said.
"Move where?" Beth asked.
"Away from here."
"That's not a plan."
"It's the beginning of a plan."
"It's the beginning of getting lost on the astral plane forever."
Mandy opened her mouth to argue—
—and stopped.
The closet door was opening.
Not the closet in the real beach house. The closet in this twisted echo of Judy's house. The one that should have been full of beach towels and old board games and the weird collection of seashells that Judy had accumulated over decades of living by the water.
Instead, it was full of light.
And an old man.
He stepped through the doorway like he'd done it a thousand times before. Bent. Weathered. Robes that had once been white but were now stained with dirt and time and something darker that Mandy didn't want to think about.
The same man from before.
The one who had grabbed her wrist. The one who had shaken his head. The one who had pressed his finger to his lips and told her to be quiet.
"Come," he said.
His voice was rough. Old. Like stones grinding together.
"Come now. Quickly."
Beth stared at him.
"Who the fuck is that?" she asked.
"No time," the old man said.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have."
Beth turned to Mandy. "Do you know him?"
"No."
"But you've seen him before."
"Yes."
"And you didn't think to mention—"
"I was busy!"
"You were—"
"Beth." Rick's voice cut through the argument. "The light's coming back."
They all turned.
He was right. The searchlight had reversed course. It was sweeping back toward the beach house, toward them, toward the closet door and the old man and the impossible escape route.
"Fuck," Mandy said.
"Language," the old man said.
"Seriously?"
"I'm old. I'm allowed to be offended."
"You're not—" Mandy shook her head. "Never mind. Everyone. Closet. Now."
She grabbed Beth by the arm and pushed her toward the doorway. Beth stumbled—caught herself—turned back with a furious expression.
"How does he have clothes?"
"What?"
"The old man. How does he have clothes? We're all naked. The astral plane strips everything. So how does he—"
"Beth."
"—have robes? Actual robes? With pockets? That doesn't make—"
"Beth, I love you, but you need to get your priorities straight."
"My priorities are fine!"
"Your priorities are terrible. Move."
Mandy shoved her through the doorway.
Beth disappeared into the light. Her protest cut off mid-syllable, swallowed by whatever was on the other side.
Calista was next. She paused at the threshold, looked back at Mandy with those golden eyes.
"Are you coming?" she asked.
"I'm right behind you."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Calista nodded. Stepped through.
Rick went third. He didn't say anything. Just gave Mandy a look—the kind of look that said we're going to talk about this later—and walked into the light.
Mandy turned to the old man.
"You," she said.
"Me."
"Who are you?"
"Through the door first. Questions after."
"I'm not going anywhere until—"
The searchlight was close now. Close enough that Mandy could feel its cold breath on the back of her neck. Close enough that her skin was crawling with static.
The old man grabbed her wrist.
His grip was stronger than it looked.
"Through," he said. "Now."
Mandy went through.
---
The other side of the door was not the beach house.
It was not the astral plane.
It was not anywhere Mandy had ever been.
They were standing in a room that existed in defiance of physics. The walls curved inward, meeting at a point far above their heads. The floor was solid but felt like water. The air tasted like copper and honey and something older than either.
There was a window.
Through the window, Mandy could see the Shine.
It was beautiful.
It was terrible.
It was a light that didn't come from anywhere. A glow that had no source. A brightness that seemed to pulse with its own heartbeat, slow and steady and patient.
"What the fuck," Beth whispered.
"Yeah," Mandy said.
"Is that—"
"The Shine. Yeah."
Calista stepped closer to the window. Her reflection stared back at her—silver hair, golden eyes, alabaster skin. She looked like a ghost. She looked like something that belonged on this side of the glass.
"It's calling to me," she said.
"Don't listen."
"I'm not. I'm just... noticing."
"Notice harder."
Rick was examining the room. His engineer's brain was clearly trying to make sense of the architecture, the geometry, the way the space seemed to fold in on itself.
"This shouldn't exist," he said.
"Nothing on the astral plane should exist."
"Fair point."
The old man closed the door.
It disappeared behind him—not slammed, not faded, just gone. Like it had never been there at all.
He turned to face them.
Four naked Williamsons, standing in a room that defied physics, staring at an old man in tattered robes who had just saved their lives.
He nodded.
"I am André Durand," he said. "Though when the Consortium captured me, they called me the Heretic."
Rick's eyebrows shot up. "The Heretic?"
"You've heard of me?"
"Everyone's heard of you. You're—"
"Old. Tired. Trapped." André smiled. It was a thin smile, but it was real. "But yes. I am also, apparently, famous."
"You're a legend," Rick said. "You held off an entire Consortium battalion by yourself. You—"
"I lost."
"You held them off for three days."
"And then I lost." André shrugged. "Legends are just stories with better editing."
Mandy stepped forward.
"Why did you save us?"
"Because you were about to get caught."
"By what?"
"The Shine's searchlight. The Consortium's watchdog. Call it what you will." André gestured at the window. "That light is what happens when they try to find something on the astral plane. It sweeps. It scans. It hunts. And if it finds you—"
"What?"
"It brings you to the Shine."
Beth frowned. "But the Shine doesn't take people. Everyone who dreams of it wakes up before they step through."
"Exactly." André's eyes were old. Ancient. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with age. "The Shine doesn't take people. It calls them. It tempts them. It makes them want to step through. And then—"
"Then what?"
"No one knows. Because no one who steps through has ever come back."
The room was silent.
Mandy looked at the Shine. It pulsed. It glowed. It called.
She looked away.
"So we're trapped," she said.
"For now."
"For now?"
"You're on the astral plane. In a pocket dimension I created decades ago. Hidden from the Consortium's searchlights. Hidden from the Shine's reach." André smiled again. "And right now, that's exactly where you need to be."
---
In the real world, Mike Williamson was panicking.
He'd emerged from the shower expecting breakfast. Expecting coffee. Expecting his wife and daughter and the strange, beautiful young woman who had somehow become part of their lives.
Instead, he'd found Mandy on the floor.
Naked. Unconscious. Breathing, but not moving.
And Calista beside her. Same condition. Same stillness.
"Mandy?" He dropped to his knees. Grabbed her shoulders. Shook her. "Mandy, wake up."
Nothing.
"Casey—"
"I see her." Casey was already there, already checking Calista's pulse, her breathing, her pupils. "She's alive. Both of them are alive. But—"
"But what?"
"They won't wake up."
Mai stood in the doorway, towel wrapped around her hair, completely naked, watching with wide eyes.
"What happened?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Did they take something?"
"No."
"Did someone—"
"I don't know, Mai."
Mike's voice was sharp. Sharper than he'd meant it to be. He took a breath. Forced himself to calm down.
"Sorry," he said.
"It's okay."
Casey sat back on her heels. Looked at Calista. Looked at Mandy. Looked at the two girls who were, in every way that mattered, her daughters.
"What do we do?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"That's not helpful."
"I know."
Mai stepped into the room. Knelt beside Mandy. Pressed two fingers to her forehead.
"Her energy's still there," Mai said. "She's not gone. Just... elsewhere."
"Can you bring her back?"
"I don't have that kind of magic. I'm a monster hunter, not a psychic."
"Then who does?"
Mai was quiet for a moment.
"Shiv," she said.
"She's in Miami."
"Then we call her."
Mike was already reaching for his phone.
---
On the astral plane, Mandy felt her father's panic like a distant echo.
It was faint—muffled by André's pocket dimension, by the layers of reality between them—but it was there. A tug at the edge of her consciousness. A pull toward home.
"Someone's trying to reach you," André said.
"My dad."
"He's worried."
"He should be."
André nodded. "He should. But worrying won't help him. And it won't help you."
"What will help?"
"Answers." André crossed the room. His robes rustled against the floor. "You want to know what the Shine is. You want to know why the Consortium is back. You want to know what your grandmother is planning."
Mandy blinked. "My grandmother?"
"Shiv O'Connor. You're her granddaughter, aren't you?"
"Beth is dating her grandson."
"Close enough." André stopped in front of the window. Stared at the Shine. "She's the one who sent me here, you know. Not deliberately. But she's the reason I'm trapped."
"How?"
"We were friends. Decades ago. Before the Consortium took me." André's voice was soft. "She asked me to look into something. Something the Consortium had been hiding. Something old and dangerous and powerful."
"The Shine."
"Among other things." André turned back to face them. "The Consortium didn't just capture me because I'm a heretic. They captured me because I got too close to the truth."
"What truth?"
The old man smiled.
"The truth about what's in that vault."
Beth stepped forward. "What's in the vault?"
"The Shine is only part of it." André's eyes flicked to the window. To the pulse of light beyond. "The Shine is what they use to find people. To hunt them. To bring them in. But the thing in the vault—the thing the Shine is guarding—"
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
"You don't—"
"I don't know." André's voice was sharp. "I got close. I saw the door. I saw the symbols carved into it. But I didn't get inside before they caught me."
Rick frowned. "So we're back to square one."
"Not quite." André reached into his robes. Pulled out something small. Something that glinted in the Shine's cold light. "I got this."
He held it up.
It was a key.
Not a physical key. Not metal or wood or anything that existed in the real world. It was made of light—or something like light—twisted and shaped into a familiar form.
"What is that?" Mandy asked.
"A way in." André held it out to her. "If you want to use it."
Mandy looked at the key.
Looked at the Shine.
Looked at her siblings—Rick and Beth and Calista, naked and terrified and determined.
She took the key.
"What do we have to do?" she asked.
André smiled.
"First," he said, "you need to wake up."