Chapter 18: Calista's Shard Syncs
The astral plane had left its mark on all of them, but Calista felt it most acutely in the quiet hours after midnight, when the house settled into its familiar creaks and groans and the shard in her chest hummed with a rhythm that didn't belong to her heart.
She lay alone in her childhood bedroom, the walls still covered in the holographic posters she'd collected as a teenager, their neon glow casting pale shadows across the ceiling. The plush unicorn on her dresser watched her with one glass eye, its magic-charged fibers pulsing faintly in the dark.
She couldn't sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt them.
Mandy, across the hall, her hips rolling in that steady, deliberate rhythm Calista recognized from shared hotel rooms and thin walls. Ben was beneath her—Calista could sense the solid weight of him, the way his hands gripped Mandy's hips, the low groan that vibrated through his chest every time she sank down on his cock.
Beth, hundreds of miles away in Miami, straddling Marty in Shiv's beach house. The boy was eager and clumsy and utterly devoted, his hands roaming over Beth's body like he couldn't believe she was real. Beth rode him with the same wild abandon she brought to everything, her short blonde hair sticking to her forehead, her breath coming in sharp little gasps.
And Rick. Poor Rick. Stacy was on top of him in their Miami condo, her silver-streaked hair falling around her face, her cunt gripping his cock like she was trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from his body. She moved with the confidence of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it.
All three women on top. All three men flat on their backs.
Calista's glamour flared without her permission, pouring out of her like steam from a cracked kettle. The shard blazed hot between her breasts, and suddenly she wasn't in her room anymore—she was everywhere at once, her consciousness stretched across three states, three beds, three acts of sweaty, desperate fucking.
She was Mandy.
The feeling of Ben's cock inside her was overwhelming—thick and hot and filling her in ways that made her toes curl. She could taste Mandy's pleasure on her tongue, feel the way her thighs burned from riding him for so long, the exquisite ache of muscles pushed past their limit.
Ben looked up at her, his eyes glazed with lust, and said something Calista couldn't hear over the roaring in her ears.
Then she was Beth.
Marty's body was leaner than Ben's, his chest smooth beneath her hands, his breath hitching every time she clenched around him. He was saying her name—Beth's name—over and over like a prayer.
"You feel so good," he gasped. "So fucking good, Beth, please—"
And then she was Stacy.
Rick was different from the others. Quieter. More controlled. But there was a desperate edge to the way he gripped Stacy's hips, a raw hunger in the way his eyes devoured every inch of her body. He was saying something too, but Calista couldn't make out the words.
The shard pulled her deeper.
She felt every thrust, every clench, every spark of pleasure that arced between the three couples like lightning jumping from cloud to cloud. It was too much—far too much—but she couldn't stop.
In Chicago, Ben looked up.
His eyes went wide.
Instead of Mandy's shaggy brown hair and perpetual smirk, he saw silver. Instead of his girlfriend's familiar face, he saw Calista's golden eyes, her alabaster skin, her ethereal elfin features hovering above him like a ghost.
"What the—" He froze mid-thrust, his cock still buried deep inside Mandy's cunt.
In Miami, Marty screamed.
He scrambled out from under Beth so fast he nearly fell off the bed, his back hitting the wall with a thud. A nude Calista flickered above him—there and not there, real and impossible—her silver hair floating in the darkness like smoke.
"What the fuck!" he shouted. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the—"
Beth sat up, her chest heaving, her eyes wide.
"Calista?"
Only Rick didn't panic.
He sighed, deep and long-suffering, as Calista's image wavered above him. Stacy had stopped moving, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and amusement, but Rick just closed his eyes and shook his head.
"We need to fix this shit fast," he muttered. "Because I'd rather see Stacy there."
Calista snapped back to her own body.
She was in her bed, gasping, her fingers buried in her cunt. She hadn't even realized she'd been touching herself—hadn't realized how far gone she'd been. The shard blazed hot between her breasts, and her glamour was still pouring out of her in waves, filling the room with the scent of honey and desire.
She pulled her fingers out.
They were slick and trembling.
"Fuck," she whispered.
The door burst open.
Mandy stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but Ben's t-shirt, her shaggy brown hair a disaster, her face a mask of outrage. Behind her, Calista could see the hallway light spilling into her own room, could hear Ben's confused voice asking what had happened.
"What the hell were you doing?" Mandy demanded.
"I—"
"Ben nearly lost his erection!" Mandy crossed the room in three angry strides. "He looked up and saw a different woman riding him, Calista. A different fucking woman. Do you have any idea how weird that was for him?"
"It was an accident—"
"An accident?" Mandy laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You accidentally projected yourself into my bedroom and made my boyfriend think he was fucking someone else?"
"I didn't do it on purpose—"
Calista's phone rang.
They both froze.
The screen lit up with Beth's name, and before Calista could decide whether to answer or throw the phone out the window, Mandy grabbed it and hit the speaker button.
"—WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, CALISTA?"
Beth's voice filled the room, loud and furious and slightly hysterical.
"MARTY ALMOST BROKE HIS NECK! HE THINKS I'M A SHAPESHIFTER! HE ACTUALLY ASKED ME IF I WAS AN IMPOSTOR! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO CONVINCE SOMEONE YOU'RE NOT A MONSTER WHEN THEIR DICK JUST POPPED OUT OF YOU AND A NAKED ELF APPEARED OVER THE BED?"
Mandy started to snicker.
"IT'S NOT FUNNY, MANDY! I HAD TO SHOW HIM MY BIRTHMARK! I HAD TO SHOW HIM THE SCAR ON MY KNEE FROM WHEN I FELL OFF MY BIKE WHEN I WAS SIX! HE'S STILL SHAKING!"
The door opened again.
Jess and Katrina appeared, both wearing pajamas, both looking thoroughly confused. They'd been watching a movie downstairs—Calista could hear the tinny sound of credits still playing from the living room.
"What's going on?" Jess asked.
"Is everyone okay?" Katrina added.
Mandy held up a hand. "Give us a second."
"No," Beth snapped through the phone. "Don't give her a second. Explain to me why my sister decided to astral-project into my sex life!"
"I didn't decide anything!" Calista finally managed to shout. "It just happened! The shard—"
"The shard?"
"The shard in my chest! It's connected to all of us, remember? We all have one! When I was... when I was touching myself, I could feel all of you. And then I was all of you. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't even know I could do it."
Silence.
Then Beth's voice, slightly calmer: "You were touching yourself?"
"That's not the point."
"Were you thinking about us?"
"Beth—"
"Because that's kind of hot, actually."
"BETH!"
Casey stumbled through the door.
She was wearing an old t-shirt of Mike's and nothing else, her dark hair streaked with silver sticking up at odd angles, her eyes barely open. She looked like she'd been dragged out of a deep sleep, which she probably had.
"What's going on?" she mumbled. "Why is everyone in Calista's room? We have a big mission tomorrow. We need to sleep."
Beth's voice crackled through the phone: "Calista accidentally projected herself into everyone's sex lives."
Casey blinked.
"Okay."
"That's it? Okay?"
"It's not the weirdest thing that's happened in this house." Casey yawned. "Remember when that succubus got loose and everyone started humping the furniture?"
"That was one time," Mandy muttered.
"And the time Rick accidentally summoned that demon that looked like a giant penis?"
"That was not my fault."
"And the time—"
"Mom." Mandy's voice was sharp. "Not helping."
Ben appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing boxers and nothing else, his dirty blond hair a mess, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and existential crisis. He looked at Mandy, then at Calista, then back at Mandy.
"So," he said slowly. "Was I fucking you? Or was I fucking her?"
"Both," Mandy and Calista said in unison.
Ben's face went pale.
"That's not—" He swallowed hard. "That's not an answer that makes me feel better."
Beth was still shouting through the phone: "AND ANOTHER THING—"
Mike appeared behind Ben.
He didn't say anything. He just leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Calista could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was watching a particularly entertaining train wreck and had decided to enjoy the show.
"Dad," Mandy said. "Help."
Mike shrugged.
"Honestly? I want to see how this plays out."
"You're useless."
"I'm entertained."
Mandy turned back to Calista. "Okay. Here's what's going to happen. You're going to explain to Beth—calmly—that this was an accident. You're going to promise never to do it again. And then we're all going to go to bed because we have a flight to catch in six hours."
"I already tried to explain—"
"Try harder."
Calista grabbed the phone. "Beth? Are you still there?"
"I'm here." Beth's voice was still angry, but there was exhaustion creeping in now. "Marty's in the bathroom. He says he needs a minute."
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. It's never happened before—I swear. It must be the shards. They're connecting us in ways we don't understand yet."
"You think?"
"I'll figure it out. I'll learn to control it. Just... please don't be mad at me."
Another pause.
Then Beth sighed.
"I'm not mad. I'm just... freaked out. Marty looked at me like I was a stranger. Like I was something dangerous."
"He doesn't think that."
"He did for a second." Beth's voice cracked. "And that hurt."
Calista's chest tightened.
"I know. And I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you. Both of you."
"You'd better."
The line went quiet.
Then Beth spoke again, softer this time: "Why didn't Rick call? He was in the same situation. Why isn't he yelling at you?"
Calista frowned.
"I don't know."
Her phone buzzed.
A text from Rick.
Hey. I'm not mad. Just please don't do that again. It was weird. But I get it—shards, magic, whatever. We'll figure it out. Good night. Love you.
She read it out loud.
Mandy's eyebrows rose.
"He's not mad?"
"He says he's not."
"That's... surprisingly mature."
"He's always been the mature one."
"True."
Casey yawned again.
"Okay. Crisis averted. Everyone go to bed."
She turned to leave.
Then she stopped.
"Ben. Come with me."
Ben blinked. "What?"
"You've been through a fright." Casey's voice was matter-of-fact. "You need to relax. And I know exactly how to help with that."
Mandy's eyes went wide.
"Mom—"
"What? He's been through something traumatic. The least I can do is make him feel better."
"Mom, that's my boyfriend."
"And? You share him with Jess all the time." Casey shrugged. "Besides, he's cute when he's confused."
Ben looked at Mandy.
Mandy looked at Ben.
Then Mandy sighed.
"Fine. Just... don't break him."
"I never break them."
Casey took Ben's hand.
He followed her out of the room like a man walking to his own execution—or his own salvation. Calista wasn't sure which.
Mike was still standing in the doorway.
Jess appeared beside him.
"Your wife just stole my girlfriend's boyfriend," she said.
"I know."
"Are you going to do anything about it?"
Mike considered.
"No."
Jess smiled.
"Good."
She reached down and pulled Mike's cock out of his boxers.
He wasn't hard yet—not fully—but he was getting there, and Jess didn't seem to mind. She dropped to her knees right there in the hallway and took him in her mouth, her dark hair falling around her face, her lips sliding down his shaft with practiced ease.
Mike's breath caught.
"My daughter has good taste in partners," he managed.
Jess hummed in agreement.
From down the hall, Calista could hear the sound of a door closing—Casey's bedroom door—followed by the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled down.
Mandy was still in the room.
She was staring at the doorway, her expression caught somewhere between horror and resignation.
"Are they seriously—"
"Yes," Calista said.
"In the hallway?"
"Apparently."
"And Mom is—"
"Also yes."
Mandy closed her eyes.
"I need a drink."
"There's no alcohol in the house."
"I need a drink anyway."
Katrina appeared in the doorway, her expression one of profound confusion.
"I was watching a movie," she said. "A nice, normal movie about penguins. And now there's—" She gestured vaguely at the hallway, where Jess was still blowing Mike with enthusiastic dedication. "That."
"Welcome to the Williamson family," Mandy said.
"I've been part of this family for almost a year."
"And you're still surprised?"
Katrina considered.
"Good point."
She turned and walked back toward the stairs.
"The void was never this insane," she muttered. "The void was peaceful. The void made sense."
Mandy turned back to Calista.
"Okay. New rule. No more astral projection during sex. Ever."
"Agreed."
"And if you feel it happening again, you... I don't know. Yell. Scream. Do something."
"I'll try."
"You'll try?"
"I can't control it yet!" Calista threw her hands up. "I didn't even know I could do it until tonight. It just... happened. The shard did something, and my glamour did something, and suddenly I was everywhere."
Mandy's expression softened.
"Okay. I get it. It's not your fault."
"Thank you."
"But seriously. Figure it out before we get to the prison. I can't have you accidentally projecting yourself into a Consortium interrogation room."
"That's fair."
Mandy nodded.
Then she looked at the doorway again.
"I should probably go rescue Ben."
"He's with Mom. He's fine."
"He's getting his dick sucked by Mom."
"Which means he's fine."
Mandy made a face.
"That's not—" She shook her head. "I'm going to bed. Alone. Because my boyfriend is currently with our mother."
"Understandable."
"And Jess is with Dad
"Also understandable."
"And I hate all of you."
"Love you too."
Mandy left.
Calista was alone.
She lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the shard still pulsing in her chest. She could feel the others—weaker now, more distant—but still there. Still connected.
She wondered if this was what it meant to be a Williamson. To be tied to people so deeply that you couldn't tell where you ended and they began. To feel their pleasure as your own. To know their bodies as intimately as you knew your own.
It should have been terrifying.
Instead, it felt like coming home.
She closed her eyes.
Somewhere in Chicago, Mandy was climbing into bed alone. Somewhere in Miami, Beth was coaxing Marty out of the bathroom. Somewhere else, Rick and Stacy were probably already asleep, tangled together in a comfortable heap of limbs and sheets.
And Calista was here. In her childhood bedroom. With her silver hair and her golden eyes and her shard that connected her to all of them.
She smiled.
Then she reached for her phone and typed out a message to the group chat.
I'm sorry. I love you all. Get some sleep. We have a prison to break into tomorrow.
For a long moment, the room was silent save for the hum of the shard. Then, one by one, the replies came in. A simple heart from Beth. A thumbs-up from Rick. And from Mandy, three words that made Calista laugh out loud in the quiet dark: You owe me.
She put the phone down. The silence that followed was thick with the presence of her family, all of them scattered but still strung together by something ancient and unbreakable. She lay there, her fingers still slick, her cunt still aching, and waited for sleep to take her.
It didn't.
Instead, the shard pulsed.
And somewhere in the dark, the door began to whisper.
The whisper chased Mandy down the hallway, a thread of sound she couldn't quite hear but couldn't quite ignore. It wasn't words. It was more like the memory of words, the echo of a voice that had spoken long before she was born and would keep speaking long after she was dust. Her feet carried her past her own bedroom door, past the guest room where Katrina had retreated, past the bathroom where the faucet dripped a slow, steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
She was still wearing Ben's shirt.
She pulled it off somewhere between the guest room and her parents' door. The fabric whispered against her skin as it fell, pooling on the hardwood like a cast-off snakeskin. Her nipples tightened in the cool air of the hallway, and she felt the shard pulse in her chest—a warm, insistent beat that seemed to say yes.
Her hand found the doorknob.
She didn't knock.
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, and Mandy stood in the threshold, her body a silhouette against the dim light of the hallway. Her parents' bedroom was lit by a single lamp on the nightstand—the one Casey had bought at a flea market in Chicago twenty years ago, the one with the stained glass shade that cast fractured rainbows across the ceiling.
Casey was on top of Ben.
Her mother's body moved with the kind of practiced grace that came from decades of knowing exactly what she wanted. Her dark hair—streaked with silver now, but still thick and wild—hung loose around her shoulders, and her hips rolled in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made the bed frame creak. She had her hands planted on Ben's chest, and her tits bounced with every thrust, and she was saying something Mandy couldn't hear.
Ben's eyes were closed.
His mouth was open.
His hands were gripping Casey's hips like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. "Fuck," he gasped. "Fuck, Mrs. Williamson, you're—"
"Casey," she corrected. "I told you. Call me Casey."
"Casey. Fuck. Casey."
Across the room, Jess was on her knees.
Mike was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back against the headboard, his legs spread wide, his cock standing straight up like a flagpole. Jess had one hand wrapped around the base and the other cupping his balls, and her mouth was doing things that made Mandy's thighs clench.
Her father's head was thrown back.
His eyes were closed.
He was making a sound—low and guttural and completely unself-conscious—that Mandy had never heard him make before.
Mandy stood in the doorway.
The shard burned in her chest.
She thought about the astral plane. She thought about Rick's body under hers, about Beth's mouth on her cunt, about Calista's fingers inside her while the key shattered into pieces and embedded itself in their flesh. She thought about how Mike and Casey had been fucking her partners while she was having sex with her siblings, how none of it had felt wrong, how none of it had felt like betrayal.
She thought: they're all here. They're all alive. They're all mine.
Then she stepped into the room.
Casey looked up.
Her eyes—dark and sharp and full of the kind of wisdom that only came from surviving decades of chaos—found Mandy's face. Her hips didn't stop moving. Her lips curved into a smile that was half invitation, half challenge.
"You couldn't sleep?" she asked.
"No."
"The shard?"
"Yeah."
Casey nodded.
She reached out a hand.
Mandy took it.
Casey pulled her onto the bed—into the bed—and suddenly Mandy was lying on her back beside Ben, her head on a pillow that smelled like her mother's shampoo, her legs spread wide, her cunt already wet and aching and desperate for something inside it.
Ben turned his head.
His eyes were glassy.
His mouth was slack.
"Hey," he said. "You're here."
"I'm here."
"Is this—I mean, is this okay?"
Mandy laughed.
It was a short, sharp sound that dissolved into a moan as Casey leaned over and pressed two fingers into her without preamble. Her mother's touch was confident, knowing, utterly without hesitation.
"Your boyfriend's cock is inside me," Casey said, "And you're worried about whether it's okay for me to finger you?"
Ben made a strangled noise.
Mandy decided she loved that noise.
"Fair point," she gasped.
Casey's fingers curled inside her.
Mandy's hips bucked.
Across the bed, Jess pulled her mouth off Mike's cock with a wet pop. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, her dark eyes finding Mandy's across the tangled landscape of bodies and sheets.
"About time you joined," she said.
"I was processing."
"You were pouting."
"I was not—"
"You were pouting." Jess crawled across the bed. Her tits swayed with each movement, full and heavy and tipped with nipples that were hard enough to cut glass. "You were in your room, thinking about how weird everything is, and you forgot that weird is what we do."
"I didn't forget."
"You forgot."
"Jess—"
"Shut up."
Jess kissed her.
It was a messy kiss—tongues and teeth and the taste of Mike's pre-come still on Jess's lips—and Mandy moaned into it. She could feel Casey's fingers working inside her, could feel Ben's weight shifting on the bed, could feel her father's eyes on them all, watching. She could feel the shard pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, a second heartbeat that connected her to everyone she loved.
Casey pulled her fingers out.
Mandy whined.
"Patience," Casey said. "I'm not done with your boyfriend yet."
She turned back to Ben.
She'd been riding him slowly—a languid, deliberate pace that was meant to drive him crazy. But now she changed her rhythm. She planted her hands on his chest and started to fuck him in earnest, her hips slamming down, her tits bouncing with a violence that made Mandy's mouth water.
Ben cried out.
His hands flew to Casey's hips.
His eyes rolled back in his head.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
"Come for me," Casey said. "Come inside me, Ben. Fill me up."
"Casey—"
"Do it."
He did.
His body arched off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream, and Casey rode him through it with a satisfied smirk. When she finally climbed off, her thighs were slick and trembling, and Ben's cock was still hard and glistening with a mix of their fluids.
Mandy watched her mother stand up.
She watched her walk over to Mike.
She watched her sink down onto her father's lap, taking his cock into her cunt in one smooth motion, and she heard Mike groan in a way that made her very glad she'd chosen to join them.
Jess appeared beside her.
She had a strap-on.
Where she'd gotten it, Mandy didn't know. Where she'd been hiding it, in the time they'd been in the Horny House, was a mystery she'd probably never solve.
"You're up," Jess said.
"What?"
"Ben's not done yet." Jess nodded toward the bed, where Mandy's boyfriend was propped up on his elbows, watching the proceedings with the dazed expression of a man who had just had his brains fucked out. "And I think he'd like to finish inside you."
Mandy looked at Ben.
Ben looked at Mandy.
"Please," he said.
It wasn't a demand.
It wasn't a joke.
It was just a word, spoken with the kind of raw honesty that made Mandy's heart ache.
She crawled across the bed.
She straddled his hips.
She sank down onto his cock—still hard, still slick with her mother's cunt—and began to move.
---
The shard exploded.
Mandy felt it—a white-hot blast of pleasure that started in her chest and radiated outward, illuminating every nerve ending, every cell, every atom of her being. It was like the key had shattered all over again, only this time the pieces were inside her, and this time they were singing.
Her orgasm crashed through her without warning.
She screamed.
Her cunt clenched around Ben's cock like a fist, milking him dry, and she heard him shout her name from somewhere far away. He came inside her—she felt it, hot and thick and perfect—and then she collapsed forward onto his chest, gasping for air, her body shaking with aftershocks.
Six hundred miles away, Calista gasped.
She was alone in her bedroom, but she wasn't alone—the shard connected them, linked them, made them one. Mandy's climax poured through the connection like water through a broken dam, and Calista's body responded in kind.
Her back arched.
Her toes curled.
Her cunt spasmed around nothing as she came, hard and fast and utterly without warning, her mouth open in a silent scream.
In Shiv's house, Beth woke with a start.
She hadn't been able to sleep—not after the Marty incident, not after the astral projection, not after everything that had happened. She'd been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing with thoughts of the mission and the Consortium and the prison that waited for them in the mountains.
Then the shard flared.
The pleasure hit her like a truck.
She came without touching herself—came so hard she bit through her lower lip and tasted copper, came so hard her legs kicked involuntarily and tangled in the sheets. Beside her, Marty made a confused sound in his sleep, but he didn't wake.
And in Miami, in the comfortable bed he shared with Stacy, Rick felt it too.
He was dreaming—something pleasant, something about Stacy and warm sand and the way the sun looked on the water—when the shard yanked him violently upward. His hips bucked. His cock twitched. And then he was coming, all over his own stomach, his body shuddering with a pleasure that wasn't entirely his own.
He woke up.
Stacy was still asleep beside him.
He looked down at the mess he'd made, then up at the ceiling, then over at his phone.
A text from Mandy.
You're welcome.
He typed back, his fingers trembling: Goddammit, Mandy.
Then he rolled over and went back to sleep.
---
The alarm went off at six.
Mandy groaned, rolled over, and discovered she was alone in her own bed—which was confusing, because she distinctly remembered falling asleep on top of Ben in her parents' room. The pillow still smelled like her mother's shampoo, and there was a sticky spot on the sheets that she decided not to examine too closely.
She showered.
She dressed.
She found her partners in the kitchen.
Jess was making coffee. Ben was making toast. Neither of them looked at her when she walked in, which was fine, because she wasn't sure she could look at them either.
Her father was sitting at the table.
He was reading something on his tablet, his reading glasses perched on his nose, his gray-streaked hair sticking up at odd angles. He was wearing a robe and nothing else, and he had the audacity to look completely normal.
"Morning, Bug," he said.
"Morning, Dad."
"Sleep well?"
She shot him a look.
"I'm not answering that."
"Good choice."
Casey appeared in the doorway.
She was also wearing a robe. She was also acting completely normal. She walked over to the coffee maker, poured herself a mug, and took a sip without so much as glancing at the woman who had been riding her boyfriend's cock a few hours ago.
"We need to leave in twenty minutes," she said. "The flight from O'Hare to Albany is at eight. You'll rent a car when you land. The drive to the facility is about two hours, assuming the roads are clear."
"We know, Mom."
"I'm just making sure."
"We know."
Casey set down her mug.
She crossed the kitchen. She took Mandy's face in her hands—gently, the way she had when Mandy was a little girl and couldn't sleep—and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Be careful," she said.
"I will."
"Watch out for your brother."
"I will."
"And for Jess and Ben."
"Mom—"
"Promise me."
Mandy looked into her mother's eyes.
The dark brown eyes that had watched her grow up, the eyes that had seen her through every scraped knee and broken heart and existential crisis. The eyes that were now wet with tears that Casey was too stubborn to shed.
"I promise," Mandy said.
Casey nodded.
She let go.
---
The airport was chaos.
Not because of anything magical—just because airports were always chaos, and this particular terminal had been designed by someone who clearly hated human beings. There were too many people, too many announcements over the intercom, too many crying babies and arguing couples and TSA agents who looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.
Mandy, Jess, and Ben made it through security in twenty minutes.
Mai and Yukio were waiting at the gate.
Yukio looked tired—more tired than usual—but she was standing on her own, her cane planted firmly on the ground, her expression sharp and alert. Mai was practically vibrating with energy, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her carry-on bag stuffed with what Mandy assumed was camera equipment.
"You made it," Mai said.
"Did you think we wouldn't?"
"I thought you might be late."
"We're never late."
"You're always late."
"We're late sometimes."
"Which is it?"
Mandy hugged her.
Mai laughed and hugged her back.
Yukio shook her head.
"Children," she said. "Focus."
"Sorry."
"Are we ready?"
"We're ready."
The plane was boarding.
---
Across the country, in a private hangar at Miami International, Stacy was doing a headcount.
Rick. Shiv. Nikita. Letta. Jan. Brigid. Godfrey III, who was wearing his service animal vest and looking deeply put out by the entire experience.
"Everyone's here," she said.
"Everyone's here," Rick confirmed.
"Good."
Stacy turned to the flight crew.
"We're ready."
The jet was smaller than a commercial airliner but bigger than anything Mandy and her group would be flying. It had leather seats and actual legroom and a snack bar that was stocked with things Shiv kept eyeing with undisguised approval.
"I could get used to this," Shiv said.
"You could," Stacy agreed.
"I won't."
"I know."
Shiv settled into her seat.
Nikita and Letta sat together—the two young women who had once been Consortium interrogators, who had once worn masks and voice modulators to hide their identities, who had once believed that they were doing the right thing. They looked different now. Freer. More themselves.
Jan was already asleep.
She'd claimed the seat nearest the window and fallen into a snoring slumber before the plane had even taken off. Godfrey was curled up in her lap, his tiny Maltese body rising and falling with each breath.
Brigid was reading a mathematical text.
Beth was staring out the window.
Rick was staring at Beth.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
"No."
"Okay."
He reached across the aisle and took her hand.
She squeezed it.
Then the plane was moving, and they were airborne, and the mission was real.
---
On the ground in Chicago, Calista stood in the doorway of the Horny House.
Katrina was beside her. Mike was behind them. Casey was farther back still.
"Do you have everything?" Katrina asked.
"Yes."
"Your phone?"
"Yes."
"The shard?"
Calista touched her chest.
"Still there."
"Good."
Calista turned to her parents.
"I'll be fine."
"We know," Mike said.
"We just worry," Casey added.
"I know."
The door closed.
Calista was alone in the house, the shard pulsing in her chest, the weight of everything that was about to happen pressing down on her shoulders like a physical thing.
She had never felt less alone in her entire life. The shard was a tether, a beacon, a connection to the four people who mattered most. She could feel them all—Mandy at the airport, Beth in the air, Rick somewhere between Miami and New York, all of them hurtling toward something that might save the world or end it. The sun was rising over Chicago, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, and Calista took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The door began to whisper again, but she didn't listen. Instead, she turned away from the window, walked to the kitchen, and grabbed her phone.
Time to start the day.
---
In Miami, Hank and Fatima Powers were sitting in their rental car outside a small meditation studio that Kim had rented. The studio wasn't much to look at—plain white walls, a modest sign, a window that needed washing. But inside, Kim was waiting. Inside, Maryam and Cody and Amanda were preparing for something dangerous, something necessary, something that might get them all killed. Fatima sipped her coffee and watched the street. Hank grunted from the driver's seat. The shard—no, not a shard, not for them—the sense of impending disaster was a weight in the atmosphere, a thickening of the air. They weren't part of the circle. They didn't have pieces of a key lodged in their breasts. But they were bound to the Williamsons by friendship and love and the kind of loyalty that didn't need magic to be real.
A text from Kim.
We're ready.
Fatima looked at Hank. Hank looked at Fatima. "Let's go," she said.