Kyra needed to call her grandmother again. 

    In fact, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, phone in hand with her thumb poised over the number titled Gran. 

      She wanted to seek reassurance, and the one reason she sought it from her grandmother was faith. Her father wasn’t exactly what you might call a believer. In fact, Emanuel Chavez was practically an atheist, and Kyra’s brother felt similarly. Her grandmother, on the other hand, attending church on Sunday and ended every phone call with the words I’m praying for you. Cathy Mendoza believed in a higher power, talked often about her husband’s ghost and accepted everything that had Kyra told her as the truth. Kyra was quite sure that her father would’ve merely told her she was crazy. 

    And yet, part of Kyra was hoping she was crazy. That’s why she couldn’t press the button, that’s why she couldn’t call her grandmother again. Having someone else believe her so utterly was truly terrifying, and for the moment Kyra preferred to sit alone in her room and hope she was delusional. Anything else was too insane to even consider. 

    Her phone put itself to sleep, so she dropped it on the bed. She lay back against her pillows, closed her eyes and wished that she could think about anything else. 

    Her blue eyes flew open when the doorbell rang. She rolled onto her side and checked her alarm clock. It was nearly ten pm, rather late for visitors. 

    “I’ve got it!” She heard her little brother call. It was probably one of his friends, though they usually didn’t call this late. 

    Kyra stalked across her room in her barefoot and opened her bedroom door. Two sets of voices drifted up the front stairs. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Nathan’s voice sounding confused, and Kyra didn’t recognize the other. 

    “Kyra,” Kyra turned, it was her father coming out of his room, pulling a shirt on. His hair was dripping and wet from the shower. “Do you know who’s at the door?” 

    Kyra shook her head and then started down the stairs, her curiosity sparked. Emanuel followed her, shaking some of the water from his curly, brown hair. Chris was in the kitchen with the fridge open, staying blankly at a bottle of ketchup. 

    “Who’s at the door?” Emanuel asked. 

    Chris looked up and pulled out his earbuds. “What?” 

    Kyra laughed and then went into the front room. Nathan was standing in the doorway. Kyra maneuvered around him and peered out at the front step. She was standing dead centre of their doormat, her eyes shining eerily in the porch light. 

    The girl was hardly older then Kyra, with short, messy black hair and dark eyeliner. She was wearing a letter jacket and her black jeans were ripped at the knees. She met Kyra’s eyes evenly and tilted her head in recognition. 

    “Kyra,” She smiled. “Good to see you again.” 

    Kyra smiles back uncertainly. “I”m sorry, have we met?” 

    There was something undeniably familiar about her, but Kyra couldn’t quite place it. Maybe they went to school together or something. 

    Before she could ponder it anymore, suddenly a heavy hand gripped her shoulder and pulled her away from the door. Emanuel shoved her behind him and then pulled the door away from Nathan and tried to slam it in the girl’s face. She bounded forwards and jammed her boot in the doorway. 

    “Emanuel-” She started, but he cut her off. 

    “Go,” He growled. Kyra noticed his arms trembling as he tried to shut the door. “Leave us alone.” 

    “-please, just give me a moment to explain why-”

    “No! Just go!” Emanuel grunted and shoved at the door. 

    Chris rushed into the front room. “What’s going on?” 

    “Emanuel!” The girl shouted. “Your mother sent me! It’s important!” 

    Emanuel froze and then shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re just a liar, Sen!” 

    “Emanuel?” Chris laid a hand on Emanuel’s shoulder. “Is she trying to hurt us.”

    “No, Chris.” The girl replied when Emanuel did not. “I’m only trying to help.”

    “Dad?” Nathan asked, his voice telling Kyra what his face did not. He was scared. 

    “I was there for you, Emanuel.” Sen said, her voice soft. “When your parents kicked you out and refused to even talk to you. I made you a promise then, do you remember what I said?” 

    Emanuel took a deep breath and finally opened the door. Chris, Nathan and Kyra were all watching him closely, apprehensive. 

    “Yes.” 

    “Now do you believe me?” 

    “Yes.” 

    Sen stepped in the entranceway. “And do you trust me?” 

    Emanuel narrowed his brown eyes. “I don’t mistrust you.” He finally said. 

    “Good enough.” 

    Emanuel took a deep breath and closed his brown eyes. Sen smiled pleasantly and showed herself into the sitting room. 

    Emanuel turned to his family. “Kyra, Nathan, please wait in the kitchen.” His voice was tight, meaning that he was dead serious. 

    “Emanuel, who the hell is that?” Chris demanded. Kyra could see him calculating furiously inside his head. Calculating and coming up empty. 

    Kyra watched her father’s face intently. He looked like he seen a ghost. “Someone from my past, that’s all.” 

    Chris gritted his teeth. “Come on, Man.” 

    “Kyra, Nathan,” Emanuel turned his back. “Kitchen, now.” 

    “Dad,” Nathan complained.

    “Now.” Emanuel ordered. 

    “Man,” Chris said softly, reassuringly. “Can’t you tell us who she is?” 

    Kyra watched her father’s face closely. His eye twitched as he heaved another sigh.

    “Her name is Sen,” Emanuel relented. “She’s family.” 

    “Emanuel? I don’t have much time.” Sen called from the next room. Her voice was steady and commanding. 

    “Coming,” Emanuel called. “Kitchen, now.” He said more quietly. 

    “I’ll need to see Kyra as well.” Sen continued. “And it wouldn’t hurt if Nathaniel and Chris were there.” 

    “How do you know my name?” Chris asked, going into the sitting room first. Emanuel cleared his throat and then followed. He gave Kyra and Nathan a sharp look first though, a look that reminded them to behave themselves. 

    “I’ve kept an eye out for Emanuel all his life.” Sen replied, kicking her boots up on the glass coffee table. “I was notified when he remarried.” 

    Chris hesitantly sank into an armchair across the room from Sen. “That’s rather alarming.” He said honestly. Kyra had always admired his ability to be truthful no matter the circumstances. 

    “So, how are you related to Emanuel?” Chris went on. 

    “Very distantly.” Sen replied with a smug smile. “And yet we used to be quite close.” 

    “What happened?” Kyra couldn’t help but cut in. Emanuel glared at her and then started to pace, back and forth across the living room floor. Nathan slouched in the chair by the window and Kyra merely stood awkwardly. 

    “We had a falling out.” 

    “Why are you here, Sen?” Emanuel snapped, loosing his patience. 

    Sen’s eyes flickered from his face to study Kyra. “Because of her.” 

    “No,” Emanuel said simply. 

    “Yes, I’m afraid it’s happening again.” Sen replied. “I know you are in denial, Man, but just take a look at her eyes. The change is very clear.” 

    “No,” Emanuel repeated. 

    “Yes,” Sen insisted. “Her eyes are blue. Very blue. Undeniably blue.” 

    Kyra was puzzled. What does eye colour have to do with this conversation? She wondered. And yet, at the same time, she had noticed the change. How could she not? It was still happening. A year ago, her eyes had been as brown as her parents’, but they were slowly becoming lighter and lighter. Now they were a pale blue, and yet, she felt as though the change wasn’t quite over. 

    Her eyes had started changing around the same time the dreams had started, which only seemed odd to her now. 

    Your mother sent me! It’s important! Sen’s words rang through Kyra’s head. 

    “My gran sent you?” Kyra said out loud without thinking. The phone call! She realized. “Because of what I told her? What the hell is going on here?” 

    “What did you tell her?” Emanuel demanded. He quit his pacing, stopping right in front of her and meeting her eyes intensely. 

    “Just that I’d been having weird dreams…” Kyra’s voice trailed away. 

    “About the future?” Sen filled in, picking up a book from the coffee table. “One Hundred and One Persian Landscapes?” She murmured, incredulous. 

    “Yes,” Kyra tried to make eye contact, but the girl was flipping through the book. “How did you know that?” 

    “You’re psychic.” Sen told her, slamming the book shut and making Emanuel jump. “And your life is in danger because of it.” 

    “What?” Kyra spun to face her dad again. “What’s going on, will someone please explain all this to me?” 

    “Okay, that got weird fast.” Chris muttered. 

    “Please, allow me.” Sen got to her feet, and the paused and looked at Emanuel. “Unless, of course, you have an objection to raise?” 

    Emanuel closed his eyes again and remained silent. 

    “Good. I’m glad I’ve got you all here, it’s probably a good idea for Chris and Nathaniel to hear this as well.” Sen said. “Now, where to begin?” 

    “How about the beginning?” Chris said sarcastically. 

    “Well, that’s a no brainer.” Sen retorted. “So, for starters, your great, great, great, great, great grandmother, Gina Bell, was my cousin.” 

    “Ha,” Chris laughed. “That’s impossible.” 

    Sen smiled sadly. “Unfortunately, it’s going to get a whole lot weirder then that.” She remarked. “I did mention psychic before, didn’t I?” 

    “What does that mean?” Kyra asked. 

    Sen dipped her head. “I’m glad you asked. It means that you can, on occasion, catch glimpses of your future. Usually it’s only your future, although some particularly powerful psychics have been able to see other people’s.” 

    “This is ridiculous.” Chris said. 

    “This is serious.” Sen replied. “You’re great, great, great grandmother, Madeline Vasquez was a seer of sorts, a psychic. She had magic in her blood, her family quote unquote blessed.” Sen shook her head. “Cursed might have been a better word. Every generation since Madeline had produced a gifted female, and every single one of them has inexplicably vanished. Poof, gone. I have been trying to figure it out ever since Madeline, the first one, but I am still at a loss.” 

    Kyra gulped. “So you’re telling me that I’m going to vanish?” 

    “No,” Sen approached her, her face solemn. “Last time, I was stupid. I let your aunt’s parents get in the way, and I made too many mistakes. This time will be different. I won’t let anything happen to you, Kyra, and I won’t let any stop me from protecting you, I swear it.” She glanced at Emanuel and then returned her gaze to Kyra. Her blue eyes were hard and cold. “Do you understand?” 

    Kyra cleared her throat. “What I understand is that, according to you, I’m a psychic…and you’re going to try and stop me from vanishing…I think.” 

    “I don’t mean literally vanish.” Sen sighed. “I believe something is hunting your kind. Obviously something that can live for a long time. Something clever enough to outsmart me…”

    “Wow.” Everyone turned as Nathan got to his feet, wonderment written all over his face. “This is awesome! Right out of a book!” 

    “This is insane.” Chris got up to. “Emanuel, you want to tell this ‘Sen’ to piss off, please?”

    Emanuel turned around and opened the cabinet where he kept all his old family photo albums and pulled out a stack. 

    “What are you doing?” Chris leaned over his shoulder as he started flipping through the pages. Kyra and Nathan locked eyes and then went over as well. 

    “Here,” Emanuel said, pointing to a picture. Kyra recognized Emanuel as a teenager, standing with his little sister, surrounded by all his mother’s nieces and nephews. Then she saw it, in the back, off to the left, stood Sen. She was smiling, her hair was longer, and her clothing was less aggressive, but despite these small changed, she looked practically the same.     “Holy shit.” Chris whispered. 

    Emanuel flipped back further, and found a picture of himself as a child, maybe four or five years old, and standing next to him was Sen, holding his baby sister with a proud smile on her face. She looked exactly the same age. 

    “There’s more.” Emanuel said, opening the next album. “This is from my father’s childhood.” He flipped through the pages for a moment before finding the right picture. “There.” He said, the pictures were older, Kyra barely recognized her grandfather as a young man. It was a wedding photo, and he stood in his tux next to her grandmother in a white wedding dress. And then there, off to the side in a stunning black gown stood Sen, with that same cocky smile. Once again, she didn’t look a day younger. 

    “Mother of god.” Chris intoned. 

    “That’s awesome!” Nathan grinned wildly. “You’re immortal, aren’t you?” 

    Sen scoffed. “Hardly.” 

    “But you never age!” Nathan exclaimed. “How do you do it?” 

    “It’s impossible.” Chris muttered. 

    “Here.” Emanuel showed them all another picture, of Sen holding a baby.
“That’s my father, two weeks old.” 

    “Two and half weeks.” Sen corrected. “Olivia wouldn’t let us forget that.” 

    “Who’s Olivia?” Nathan asked quickly. 

    “Your great grandmother.” Sen turned her keen gaze to Chris. “Believe me now?” 

    Chris leaned over the picture, squinting. “You don’t look any older.” He mumbled, looking up at her face in disbelief. 

    “How old are you?” Nathan quipped. “Were you around for any of the World Wars? Or the Great Depression? Or the 1920’s?” 

    “I am two hundred and seventy three years old.” Sen said, matter a factly. “And no, I missed the 20’s unfortunately. I hear it was the time to be alive. Sadly, I was otherwise occupied.” 

    “What?” Nathan garbled. “How do you miss ten years?” 

    “I was just a bit tied up, that’s all.” Sen explained. “I was taking some much needed ‘me’ time.”

    “So, what year were you born?” Nathan instantly asked. 

    “1743.” 

    “Cool! What was it like?” 

    “I don’t know. I was a baby.” 

    “Did you go to school?” 

    “From ages eight to ten, yes.*” 

    “What was it like?” 

    “Horrible. It was a roman catholic school, so we were taught how to be little ladies by nuns and struck when we misbehaved. They were always telling me that I would go to hell.” 

    “What about your parents? Didn’t they do anything to stop the nuns from hitting you?” 

    “No. My mother died when I was quite young, and I suppose it was just normal for that time.” 

    “What about your father?” 

    “Nathan.” Emanuel warned. Kyra had been watching the exchange, enraptured. She still wasn’t sure what to think. 

    “Well,” Sen smiled at Nathan. “You certainly seem to believe me, but everyone else seems rather quiet. Does anyone have any concerns, or questions they would like to put voice to?”

    “Well, I believe you.” Emanuel offered. 

    “I know,” Sen answered. “You grew up believing me. Your children, however, not so much. Not to mention Chris here.” 

    “Well, this is either some sick joke…or I suppose you could be telling the truth.” Chris said. “It’s just so…impossible.” 

    “I believe you.” Kyra piped up. She glanced at her father first. His belief had strengthened her own. “If I can be a psychic, then why can’t you be two hundred and seventy three years old?” 

    “So you believe that your psychic?” Sen questioned.

    “Yes.” Kyra stated simply. “My dreams have been coming true, and, yes, I might just be crazy, but I prefer to believe you.” 

    “I know the feeling.” Sen grinned ironically. She checked her watch, which was placed upside down on her arm. “Now, I hate to drop a bomb like I just did and then rush off, but I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll let you all contemplate what I’ve just told you. Kyra, I don't believe you are in any immediate danger, all the other psychics weren’t taken until they were older, but still, be careful. And your grandmother wants a call.” 

    With that, she turned and started out of the room. Kyra rushed after her to show out the front door. 

    “Thank you.” She told the girl, not knowing what else to say. 

    “For what?” Sen asked, turning on the porch to smirk at her. 

    “You just swore to keep me safe.” Kyra pointed out. “Are you some kind of hero?”

    Sen laughed. “Oh, god.” She scoffed. “Far from it. But you are family, Kyra. I’d rather not watch you die.” Her blue eyes got distant for a moment and Kyra realized that she must have seen so many people die, living as long as she had. She suddenly felt very sorry for her. 

    “I’ll be in touch.” Sen’s words cut through Kyra’s thoughts like a knife. “Don’t do anything stupid and keep an eye out for weird things.” 

    With that, she spun on her heel and stepped down off the porch. Parked on the street, right in front of their old house was a bright red convertible mustang, gleaming from underneath the streetlight. Sen unlocked the door and turned to wave to Kyra before getting in. Kyra waved back as the engine revved and the car went peeling off down the street. 

    Kyra stood in the doorway for a moment. She felt as though her mind should be racing with thoughts and questions, but for some reason, she kept on coming up empty. She gazed up the street, lit by the streetlights, and a feeling of calm washed over. Yes, life had never been crazier, and her future was probably going to be even more insane, and yet, there was something comforting in the fact that she was different. Kyra had always been scared to lead a perfectly normal, perfectly boring life. And now she was sure that she would have a far more adventurous future. 

The doorbell was broken, and that told her something. She just couldn’t decide if it was important or not. 

    A broken doorbell could mean one of two things, depending. Firstly, that it had broken recently and the busy family within had simple not yet gotten around to fixing it. Or, secondly, it had been broken for a long time and the people within were not accustom to receiving guests, so had never bothered to get it repaired.

    In her head, Cathy went with option two. After attempting to ring the doorbell, it had left a slight layer of dirt on her finger tip along with failing to ring. 

    Cathy sniffed. She hadn’t expected Bethany to live in such a downtrodden house. She also felt weird coming here. Oddly, despite their close friendship, Cathy had never found her way to Beth’s house. This bothered her for some reason. 

    Well, you are here now. Cathy told herself. So you needn’t be bothered any longer. 

    She pulled open the screen door, which fairly screamed in protest, and knocked hesitantly on the thick, wooden door. The red pain was peeling, and as she watched, a single flake pulled free and floated down to the warped boards of the porch. 

    She heard footsteps coming down stairs. When whoever it was paused just inside the door, Cathy glanced up at the peephole and smiled. She didn’t know why she felt so uncomfortable, but she just couldn’t shake the feeling. 

    Locks, at least three of them, were undone in quick succession. The door was pulled open a crack, then jammed shut. Cathy could hear Bethany grunted as she tugged the door open the rest of the way. 

    “Come on in.” Beth beseeched her, beaming from the dark foyer. A white stairs led to an even darker upstairs, but down the hall a bright doorway beckoned her. 

    “Thank you,” Cathy answered, crossing the threshold purposefully. “How are you?” 

    The question was posed with intention. On the phone yesterday, her friend had been close to tears. Cathy was still hazy on the details and hoping that today’s visit would clear everything up. She also hoped that there was something she could do in addition to pray. 

    “Well, I’m certainly better then I was yesterday.” Beth admitted, leading the way to the open door down the hall. She was wearing a long, black skirt that swished about her slippers and a thick, warm sweater. Once inside, Cathy realized why. Despite the time of the year, the house was occupied by a inexplicable chill. 

    Beth escorted her through the clean and yet dull dinning room and into a warm, cheery sitting room. 

    “Here, next to the fire.” Beth offered, her voice oddly peculiarly flat and emotionless. “Would you like some tea? I think I have some coffee?” 

    “Well,” Cathy began. 

    “I’ll put the kettle on.” Beth fairly fled to the kitchen, her skirt murmuring about her skinny ankles. In fact, despite her heavy sweater, Cathy could have sworn the woman had lost weight. Beth was known for her slenderness, and Cathy felt a pang of pity.

    I hope this is easily fixed. Cathy thought wishfully, seating herself on a chair by the fireplace. The heat seemed to set it’s fingers into her body, reaching all the way to her bones and helping her to relax. The chill of the house was beaten away by the hungry flames, and Cathy was content to simple bask there. Her mind, however, began to wonder. 

    Who on earth lights a fire in their house in July?

    Cathy heard a clatter from the kitchen. “Sorry!” Beth apologized. “These old hands aren’t as steady as they used to be.” 

    “That’s quite alright,” Cathy responded, perfectly able to sympathize. “Do you need any help in there?” 

    “No sir, I’m just about done.” Beth called back. A moment later she reappeared, wiping her hands off on a blue striped tea towel. She sat down across from Cathy, falling into her chair with a sigh. 

    “So, Beth,” Cathy began tremulously, almost unwilling to broach the subject. “About your phone call yesterday…” 

    “Yes, right.” Beth cleared her throat. “Right…” She said again, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” She added after catching Cathy’s concerned stare. “I don’t want to get you all caught up in my business, I just…” Beth closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I just don’t have anyone else to turn to.” 

    “It’s okay,” Cathy remarked. “You’ve been there for me on more then one occasion. Lord knows where I’d be right now if it wasn’t for you.” 

    Beth half smiled with a nod, but she didn’t seem keen to continue. 

    “Beth,” Cathy implored. “I am more then happy to help, and if you’d feel more comfortable so keep it to yourself, that’s fine to. There are somethings I wouldn’t share with anyone, and that’s perfectly acceptable.” 

    “I know,” Beth acknowledged. “I just…” 

    Her voice trailed away. Cathy looked up at a sharp whistle from the kitchen. Beth hurriedly got to her feet and darted away. 

    Saved by the bell. Cathy observed dryly. She had come to the conclusion that whatever was troubling her friend had to be huge. Why else would Beth be to reluctant to just spit it out. 

    “Is red rose okay?” Beth shouted from the next room. 

    “Perfect.” Cathy called, her voice cracking. She was unused to shouting. 

    Cathy’s brown eyes drifted to the window, looking out over an overgrown backyard. There was was an apple tree shading an apple tree, clearly the tree hadn’t been pruned in a long time and it’s branches had grown wildly all over the place. Longing shifted deep in her. Confused, Cathy examined the feeling. Shifting deeper, she suddenly remembered. 

    “Iago.” She exclaimed without thinking. As a child, growing up in rural Ontario, she used to hike into a neighbouring farmers fields. A similar tree was along her way, and she used to collect apples for the farmers horses, often spending hours up in the branches, chattering away. Of course, the tree never spoke to her, and she didn’t think it fair that the tree should know her name she not know his, so she had called him Iago. 

    Odd, Cathy pondered. That I should remember that now. 

    She resolved to write that memory down when she got home. Pathetic, she knew, but as the years fled by her she felt more and more attached to her past. She felt the urge to share, to pass on her experiences, despite how archaic her life now seemed. 

    “Did you say something?” Beth asked. Cathy nearly leaped out of her skin. Her friend had somehow snuck into the room. 

    “Oh,” I need to get my hearing aids tuned up. Cathy made a mental note. “I was just admiring your apple tree, I had one just like that behind my childhood home.” 

    Beth glanced nonchalantly out the window and set a tray down on the coffee table. “Well, if that tree didn’t produce apples all summer long, I would have it chopped down.” She commented. “But look,”

    Cathy followed her proud gesture to the tray. A tea pot, two empty mugs, and a generous slice of pie on a plate. 

    “Apple pie,” Beth confirmed. “My first this year.” 

    “Aren’t you going to have any?” Cathy observed carefully, hoping she didn’t offend. 

    “It’s all I’ve eaten today.” Beth laughed uneasily, filling the mismatched cups with tea. “Truth be told, I’m already sick of pie. Funny how that happens. But you dig in, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.” 

    Cathy accepted her tea gratefully, immediately taking a careful sip. Three sugars, a dash of milk, just the way she liked it. Beth always remembers. “Thank you.” Cathy smiled. 

    “You are most welcome.” Bethany sighed and eased back into her chair. “I doubt many of my friend would have come all the way out here without knowing why.” 

    “Well, it was far.” Cathy affirmed. “But you sounded frantic over the phone. I was worried sick last night. You are okay, aren’t you?” 

    Beth chuckled embarrassed. “I’m fine, Cathy. And I am terribly sorry you were concerned needlessly. I was upset and shocked and honestly I just needed to hear your voice.” 

    Cathy fought off her curiosity and took a bite of the apple pie. She was pleasantly surprised, it was good. Really good. Perfect pie to crust ratio, with soft pieces of apple and cinnamon sprinkled on top. 

    “Mmm,” She took another bite and smiled. “Delicious.” She marvelled. “How did you get the crust so impeccable?” 

    “Mostly, practice.” Beth smiled sadly. “It’s my mother’s recipe…” Suddenly her cool grey eyes were flooded with tears. Cathy sat still for a moment, appalled beyond movement. 

    Beth wiped at her eyes, hiccuped and managed to compose herself. 

    “I’m sorry,” It must have been the third time that day she had apologized. 

    “No, it’s alright.” Cathy reached across the coffee table and took her withered hand. “They say that crying it good for you. Just get it all out of your system.” 

    “It’s my son, Cathy.” Beth blubbered. 

    Cathy leaned back in her chair. Funny, that all this fuss be about Bethany’s son. It didn’t feel like so long ago that Beth was helping her through her own son’s troubles. Of course, he was still in trouble, but it was a new age and Cathy had come to terms with his darkness. 

    “Tell me,” She answered, her tone encouraging. 

    “He told me last night,” Beth continued while Cathy ate more pie. “It’s the drugs.” 

    “Drugs?” Cathy swallowed hastily. “Really?” 

    “Yes, he’s lost everything.” Beth started to sob again. “His wife left him, he lost his job and you wouldn’t believe how deeply indebted he is now.” 

    “Oh my God.” Cathy breathed. “And you didn’t know until yesterday?”

    “If only he had told me sooner.” Beth buried her tear stained face in her wrinkled hands. “I might have been able to help him. But now…?” 

    “It’ll be alright,” Cathy said soothingly. “All you can do is pray for the best.” 

    Beth looked up when Cathy set the empty plate down on the coffee table. 

    “Was it good pie?” 

    Cathy met her gaze evenly. “Beth, tell me about your son.” 

    “Was it good pie?” 

    Something was off. Bethany’s stare was too intense, her voice was too demanding. Does she just really want to change the subject? Cathy wondered. If so, best to oblige her. The tears were beginning to unnerve her. 

    “The pie is excellent.” Cathy concurred. “I’ve never had better.” 

    Bethany smiled. “And you never will.” 

    A pause stretched out, Cathy could hear the fire crackling and a car passing by. 

    “You are right,” Cathy hurriedly conceded, the awkward silence making her jittery. “That’s probably the best pie I’ll ever eat. Have you got any more?” 

    It was rude, Cathy knew, but Beth was staring at her too hard, and she just wanted a moment to compose herself. 

    Something is off, Cathy knew. Something is wrong. If only she knew what was wrong. 

    “No, I’m afraid that was the last piece.” Beth said, getting to her feet. “I’ll just wash up this plate, just in case.” 

    Beth was smiling as she left, and it disturbed Cathy in a way she couldn’t quite describe. Get out. Every instinct in her body told her. Get out now.

    And yet, why? Sure, Beth was acting odd, but she was going through a rough time. Cathy was determined to be there for her friend. Beth needs me. She knew. Just like I needed her. 

    “How are you feeling?” Beth asked, sidling back into the room. 

    Cathy found the question odd, but was determined not to show it. “I’m good.” She lied, hiding her concern behind a smile. “Do you still want to talk?” 

    “Yes,” Beth slid into her chair and picked up her tea. “I’d just rather not talk about William, if that’s okay.” 

    Cathy completely understood. “Alrighty then,” She announced. “We can discuss anything you so desire.”

    Her earlier concerns forgotten, Cathy lost herself in pleasant conversation, sipping at her tea and chatting earnestly about their church and about politics and about how Rosa Leslie needed to stop bragging about her grandson the doctor. 

    The meaningless chitchat returned Beth to her old self, smiling and laughing and making those snide comments she was so known for while Cathy laughed at every one. 

    They were really getting the swing of things, debated old issues long past, when Cathy stopped, mid sentence and pressed a hand to her stomach, involuntarily. The pain was suddenly and sharp. 

    “Is everything okay?” Beth asked, concerned. 

    “Yes,” Cathy replied, even though the pain was getting worse. “Could you point me in the direction of your bathroom, please?” 

    “Of course,” Beth got to her feet and pointed. “Just up the front stairs, it’s the third doorway on your left.” 

    Beth took her hand and helped her to her feet. Her vision blurred and the ground swayed beneath her feet. 

    “Whoa!” Beth steadied her shoulders. “Dizzy?” 

    Cathy hadn’t felt this weak in a long time. Something is wrong! 

    “Cathy!” Beth shouted. “Answer me!” 

    “-not okay.” Cathy mumbled, her lips thick and numb. In fact, her whole body was feeling numb. Her head was swimming and suddenly Beth wasn’t holding her up any more. Cathy’s knees gave and she fell, thrusting her hands out to break her fall. She landed hard and was surprised when nothing broke. She was bruised, but that was all. Gasping, Cathy rolled over and looked up. 

    “Of course you’re not okay.” Beth leaned over her, her white hair falling around her thin face. “You are dying, Cathy.”

    “…what?” 

    I’m hallucinating. Cathy thought. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.

    “You are dying,” Beth explained. “And before you say it, this isn’t a hallucination. hydrogen cyanide doesn’t cause hallucinations.” 

    Cathy opened her mouth, but she was too weak to even speak. 

    “Hydrogen cyanide.” Beth repeated. “It’s found in apple seeds. I picked out thirty or forty from some fresh apples and ground them all up. The dust was in that pie I baked especially for you, Cathy. I wasn’t lying.” She brought her face inches from Cathy’s. “That was the last piece of pie you will ever eat. I sure hope you enjoyed it.” 

    The pain in her abdomen intensified and Cathy moaned. 

    “I saw that,” Beth mused, twisting a lock of Cathy’s bleached blond hair around her boney finger. “Defiance. You humans are so determined to live, to survive. Your instincts are futile now, Cathy.” Her voice was singsong, mocking. “You are going to die. Nothing will change that. However, you needn’t worry. I won’t leave. I won’t let you die alone. I’ll be here to witness you in your final moments, Cathy Mendoza.” 

    Cathy tried to roll away from her, but found that she couldn’t. Her arms and legs were no longer obeying her commands and she could literally feel her mind slowing. 

    “Why?” She demanded, her voice creaking. 

    “I apologize.” Beth asserted. “I know you have become emotionally attached to me, and I am afraid I couldn’t return the favour. Orders, you see, from pretty high up to. Killing you, it isn’t personal. Befriending you had a purpose, I have to assume that this was it.” 

    Cathy’s confusion must have shown, because Beth chuckled softly and gently touched her face. “Don’t worry about the why, dear. That won’t change anything. You do understand that nothing will change the simple fact that you are dying.” 

    “…but…” Cathy breathed. “…not ready…” 

    “Not ready?” Beth’s voice was amused. “Your husband is dead, your daughter is dead, your son is remarried and happy, you are retired, you’re leaving your family a generous inheritance. You are seventy for crying out loud. Why aren’t you ready?” 

    Cathy tried to think, truly, but her mind, sharp as it was, couldn’t tell her why she wasn't ready. 

    “You are ready, Cathy.” Beth told her. “You’re just afraid. And as soon as you admit to yourself that you are dying, the fear will set in.” 

    Suddenly a tear leaked from the corner of her eye and ran down the side of her face. She could feel it, cold and wet, as it ran over her ear and dropped away. Before she knew what was happening, the floodgates were opened. Cathy hadn’t cried this much in years, not since Paul…

    “That’s right,” Beth mocked. “Let it all out of your system.” 

    Cathy wanted to ask her why, but she knew she would never get a straight answer. 

    “Please,” She whispered. She could barely hear her own voice. 

    “Please what?” Beth answered. “Please spare my life? Pleas end it now? Please tell my son I love him?” 

    “Yes.” Cathy mouthed. 

    Beth scoffed. “I can’t spare you, I can’t make it any quicker, and I certainly can’t contact your son.” She paused for a moment. “If he contacts me, however, I shall pass on your message.” 

    “Tell…tell him…” 

    “Yes?” Beth coaxed, impatient. 

    “Sorry…I was…stupid.” 

    “Very well,” Beth assured her. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.” 

    Cathy swallowed as the world grew darker. “I’m…” 

    “Scared?” Beth offered. 

    Cathy tilted her head in the tiniest of nods. 

    “That’s a perfectly natural response to dying.” Beth checked her watch. “Look, you don’t have much time left. I’d like you to know my true name before you go, so listen up.” 

    “Bethany…” Cathy hissed between her teeth. The pain was fading, but it was replaced by nothing. She could literally feel the life seeping out of her old bones. 

    “No, not Beth.” The old woman bared her yellowing teeth in a grin. “My name is Blythe, and I am a demon.” 

    Cathy looked up in horror as the old woman began to change. Her face lifted, wrinkles smoothing as the years were somehow taken away. Her body grew, scales glinting in the firelight. Wings, dark and terrible sprouted from her shoulders, curling so they didn't hit the ceiling. Her body was huge now, Cathy had no idea how the beast fit in the house, and there was no way it would fit out the door. 

    Her terror was absolute, Cathy decided, gazing up at the monster that loomed over her, knowing that she was seconds away from deaths door. And yet, despite all this, apart of her was detached, separated from all the fear. 

    “I feel…” Cathy started, her voice catching in her throat. 

    Blythe gazed down at her with burning eyes, shifting her huge body and sighing. 

    “…sorry…” Cathy managed to complete. “…for you…” 

    “What?” Blythe thundered, her annoyance obvious. “What does that even mean?” 

    But Cathy’s voice was gone, and as she gasped for her final breath, her world faded away into black. The darkness was complete, her life force was fading, and Cathy’s last feeling was one of spiteful euphoria. Because, despite the fact that she was nearly dead, she had still gifted her murderer some small disappointment. The monster Blythe would never know what Cathy Mendoza had meant. 

    She woke in a cold sweat. Her room was still dark, but outside the window, just past the huge maple in the backyard, she could see the eastern skyline starting to turn grey. 

    She sat up in her bed. In the dark, her twisted covers looked distorted and tormented, like some abstract landscape. She was breathing hard, though she did not know why, and the only things she could hear in the sleeping house was her own breath and the steady the-thunk of her heart 

    She heard someone in the hall, just outside her door. For some reason, this freaked her out more then it should have. She scrambled to her feet and turned on the lamp beside her bed. Blinded, she realized that this was s stupid idea, just as the person in the hall opened her door. 

    She blinked furiously, held a hand to the light and squinted up at her father as he approached her from across her room. 

    My father? She wondered, suddenly horribly confused. My father is dead. He’s been dead for years. Suddenly a list appeared in her mind, a quick succession of names and faces, her father, her mother, her brother, her husband, her daughter. They were all the dead, those whose loss she had felt most keenly. 

    “Kyra?” Emanuel queried, his orotund voice sending shivers up her spine. 

    Kyra…Her mind was racing. She knew Kyra, but was she Kyra or was Kyra her granddaughter. And yet, somehow, impossibly, in that moment it was both. She was both Kyra and Cathy, and she could not distinguish between the two. 

    “Kyra,” He insisted. “What’s wrong?” 

    “I…” She choked, the last moments of her dream flooding back to her. Suddenly her pale blue eyes were rimmed with tears and she sat back on her bed. 

    “Was it a dream?” Emanuel urged her. “What did you see?” 

    “I am Kyra.” She gasped, holding her head in her hands. “Kyra Chavez. I am Kyra Madeline Mendoza Chavez.” 

    Emanuel put an arm around her. “Who else would you be?” 

    “Cathy…” Kyra murmured. “Your mother, Cathy…only, I can’t be because…” 

    “Because you are Kyra.” Emanuel finished. “I’m going to call Sen.” He got up abruptly, concern creasing his brow. 

    “No,” Kyra continued. “No, that’s not why. The reason I can’t be Cathy Mendoza is because I am alive. And Cathy…” She put a hand to her mouth. “Cathy is dead. Oh my god.” Tears dripped silently down her face. “Gran is dead!”

    “What?” Emanuel voice was close to hysterical. “Are you sure?” 

    “Yes.” Kyra thought about it. “No.” 

    “Which one?” Emanuel demanded. 

    “Well, Sen said I’m a psychic, which means I can see the future.” Kyra said, grasping at straws. “So I supposed it could have been the future, but it felt so…real.” 

    “I’m calling Sen.” Emanuel repeated, spinning for the door. 

    “I’m going to call Gran.” Kyra replied, reaching towards the bedside table. Her phone was still sitting there from last night, and when she unlocked it, her contacts page was still open. She quickly pressed Cathy’s number, no hesitation this time, and held her phone to her ear. 

    “Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up.” Kyra muttered, pacing her room wildly. She was still in shock, she knew. Her confusion had faded, she knew she was Kyra and not Cathy, and yet she was still bewildered. She had never had an identity crisis before. 

    The phone rang on, and on, and finally Kyra got the message machine. It was late, or early, her alarm clock told her it was four thirty in the morning. Maybe her Gran was just asleep. 

    “Gran, it’s Kyra.” Kyra hurriedly said after the message played. “Call me as soon as you get this. And whatever you do, don’t go to Beth’s house. She’s a demon and you are just going to have to trust me. Call me and…” Kyra’s voice caught. “Please don’t be dead, Gran.” She begged. “Please.” 

    Feeling slightly foolish, Kyra hung up and then hastened from her room, still clutching her phone. She traced her fingers down the wall of the dark hallway until she reached em

Emanuel’s room. 

    “Dad?” She knocked gently on the door. 

    “Come in,” Chris responded instantly. Kyra pushed the door open hesitantly. Chris was sitting on the kingsized bed, rubbing sleep from his dark eyes and Emanuel was standing by the window, his phone in his ear. 

    “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Chris asked, pulling a tank top on over his head. 

    “I had another dream.” Kyra informed him. “But this one was different.” 

    “How so?”

    “I dreamed that I was Gran.” Kyra told him shortly. “I dreamed that I died-Gran-died and when I woke up I didn’t know who I was anymore.” 

    “Identity crisis,” Chris mouthed. “I heard those are terrifying. Come here.” 

    “What?” 

    Chris got to his feet and wrapped her in a bear hug. Kyra paused for a beat before hugging him back. “What’s this for?” She questioned. 

    “You’re trembling,” Chris gripped her shoulders tightly, worry flirting across his dark face. “You’re obviously still in shock. How do you feel?” 

    I don’t know. This alarmed her slightly, but not as much as it should. She felt numb, and knew that later she was feel panicky, yet, just then, she couldn’t feel much. 

    “She’s on her way.” 

    “Here?” Kyra interjected. 

    “No.” Emanuel dropped his phone on the bed. “She’s heading to your Gran’s. I told her that we’d meet her there.” 

    “Okay, I’ll get dressed.” Kyra turned to leave the room. 

    “You don’t have to come, honey.” Chris began, but Kyra cut him off with the words “Yes, I do.” and didn’t bother to explain why. 

    Chris remained behind, mainly because he had work in the morning, and also because no one wanted to wake Nathan to explain what was going on. 

    Emanuel drove faster then what he usually considered safe, flooring the gas pedal whenever the opportunity presented itself. The trip was a blur, Kyra watched her father’s face closely as they drove. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling right now. He’d already lost his father and his sister, and he was terrified that his mother was now gone to.

    Gran’s house was dark, and her car wasn’t in the driveway. 

    It’s okay, Kyra chided herself. Obviously the house is dark, she’s sleeping, it’s five in the morning. And Gran has always parked her car in the garage. 

    Emanuel swung his civic into the drive, his door was open as soon as the car was in park. He left the engine idling, so Kyra reached over and pulled out the keys before following him into the house. He turned on the lights as he went, first the kitchen, then the hall, the up the stairs towards her bedroom, shouting for her the whole time. 

    “Mom!” He cried out before barging into her room. Kyra careened after him, slowing down just inside her door. Her bed was empty and made up neatly as always. 

    “No…” Emanuel pleaded, spinning about and dashing back down the stairs. Kyra sprinted after him, leaping the last few steps. Emanuel left the house, but Kyra, determined to be thorough, checked every room in the house, shutting out all the lights as she went. She locked the front door behind her and then joined Emanuel in his silver civic. 

    “Do you know where *Blank* Street is from here?” Kyra asked, carefully. 

    Emanuel’s head was leaned against the steering wheel. “Yes, why?” 

    “134.” 

    “What?” 

    Emanuel lifted his head to look at her. “The house number. 134. I remember the house number and street name.”

    “Beth’s house.” Emanuel breathed. They looked at each other for the longest time before Emanuel reached for the ignition to start the car. He drove more slowly now, and the dread in the air was almost tangible. It was the timing. Cathy had gone to see Beth during the day, and now it was night. She knew it and she knew what that meant now. 

    The old house was exactly as Kyra recalled, peeling paint and crooked porch, and her grandmother’s car was parked across the street. The front door was locked, so she and her father slowly made their way around back. They climbed the rickety old fence, dropping down onto the leaf coated walkway that encircled the pool. Kyra glanced up at untamed apple tree and remembered Cathy’s thoughts about it. 

    Iago. Her mind whispered. I won’t forget, Gran. 

    The back door was locked as well. Emanuel pressed his face to the glass, trying frantically to see within, but Kyra knew it was far too dark indoors. In fact, it was probably too dark outside as well, the sun had yet to clear the easter horizon. 

    “She’s in there,” Emanuel muttered to himself. “I know that she’s in there.”

    Kyra picked up a rock from the edge of an overgrown flower garden. Emanuel turned to look at her, surprised. 

    “She’s in there.” Kyra repeated. Her father got out of the way when she hefted the stone. It was heavier then it looked, and it smashed through the glass with ease. 

    There was a rusty rake leaning up against the peeling paint of the house. Emanuel picked it up and used it to pushed the pieces of broken glass away from the window ledge. He shed his jacket and lay it out over the sill. 

    “Have you done this before?” Kyra couldn’t help but wonder. 

    “No,” Emanuel offered her a hand to help her through. “I’ve just seen a lot of movies.” 

    Kyra crawled through the broken window and nearly slipped on a piece of glass once she was inside. She caught herself and moved away from the window, taking in her surroundings with wide eyes. She was in the kitchen, everything was neat and tidy, all the dishes were done and the kettle was still on the stove. 

    A moment later Emanuel clambered inside. Once upright he picked up his jean jacket and shook it and slung it over his shoulder. He went into the next room, but Kyra went around the stove to unlock the back door before following her father into the living room. 

    When she came in, he was kneeling on the floor. The coffee table was in the way, Kyra couldn’t, and a part of her didn’t want to see, but she came around the table anyway and stood behind her father. With trembling hands he reached out and touched his mother’s arm. 

    “Cold…” He whispered, his voice disbelieving. “She’s cold.” 

    “Gran,” Kyra gasped. It shouldn’t have come as a surprised, the vision was real, her house was empty and her car was parked across the street, and yet knowing someone was dead is far less traumatic then seeing them, lying there, so still and so…gone. 

    Emanuel backed away from the body and rose to his feet. He spun away from his dead mother and embraced Kyra tightly. She buried her face into the crook of his neck, hugging him tighter when she felt the sobs racking his body. 

    “It’s okay, Dad.” She mumbled, her tears making it hard to speak. “I’m here.” 

    Kyra heard someone else enter the room and hurriedly she whipped around, behind her eyes flashed the image of the horrible monster she had dreamed, but it was only Sen. She was wearing the same clothing as yesterday, only now her eyeliner was faded and she had pulled a hood over her black hair. 

    Emanuel cleared his throat, wiping at his gleaming cheeks. “We were too late.” He said. 

    Sen glanced around the dark room and inhaled deeply. “Demon.” She spat, ignoring Kyra and Emanuel. She genuflected and lifted Cathy’s limp wrist with one finger, inspecting her corpse with a keen eye. 

    “Poison.” She intoned, her voice gravelly. “There is no trauma or stabs wounds so it was probably something she ate.” 

    “Apple pie.” Kyra mouthed. “She said it was hydrogen cyanide.” 

    Sen rose slinkily to her feet. “That would make sense.” She gestured Emanuel towards the back door. “Shall we?” 

    “We can’t just leave her here.” He protested. “She’s my mother.” His eyes were big and terrified in the half light. 

    Sen sighed. “We can’t stay here either. This isn’t our house, you two are breaking and entering, there’s a body. Do you want to be arrested?” 

    Kyra stared, dumbfounded, at her Gran. “But, shouldn’t we…I dunno, cover her?” 

    Sen inhaled sharply through her nose, and then marched across the room. She ripped a checkered blanket off the couch and shook the folds out of it. She flicked the cloth out and over Cathy’s body expertly before shooting Kyra a look. “Now can we go?” 

    Emanuel’s shoulders shook with surpassed sobs, and he looked ready to keel over. Sen took his arm and lead him out the back door without another word. Kyra followed blindly, her vision blurry from weeping. 

    The three of them stood on the sidewalk next to Emanuel’s car, staring at the ancient, ominous house for a long moment. 

    “What are we going to do?” Emanuel gulped. “What are…just…why?” 

    “I don’t know why.” Sen turned to Kyra. “What did you see? What killed her?” 

    “A monster.” Kyra affirmed. “It was a monster.” 

    “Did the monster call itself a monster?” Sen questioned. 

    “No.” Kyra confessed. “It said it’s name was Blythe, and that it was a demon. But before that it just looked like Beth.” 

    “Well, that could mean one of two things.” Sen commented. “Either the demon made herself look like this Beth, or perhaps she’s been Beth all along. That’s far more likely.” 

    “I don’t understand.” Emanuel whimpered. “Just-why…” 

    “Well, Kyra told Cathy about her dreams. Cathy told me and then dies two days later. That had got to mean something.” Sen crossed her arms. “I assume you talked Cathy over the phone?” 

    “Yes,” Kyra sniffed. 

    “Well, poison, so the murder was planned. So how did this Blythe know?” 

    “They mentioned a phone call,” Kyra hastened to say. “My Gran said that Beth had called her last night.”     

    “So clearly the phone calls are key here.” Sen conceded. “We need to hear those calls. I have a friend who might be able to help…and yet demons.” Kyra glanced at her father who was watching Sen with a blank stare on his face. She knew he was in shock, and that she was as well. Too much had been happening in the past few days, it was as if none of it was registering. 

    “This demon could be the hunter…it would make sense, I thought it might be someone close to your family.” Sen mused. “But why hunt psychics? And only psychics from one particular family? I used to think it was the blood, but wouldn’t they have enough for their spell by now? It’s got to be something else…” Sen cast her eyes towards Kyra. “They’ve got to be looking for one psychic in particular…how to tell? Ha! Prophecy, it could plausibly be a prophecy.” Sen heaved a sigh. “Which means that you and I need to take an early flight out to Switzerland.” 

    “Switzerland?” Emanuel demanded. “Why on earth-”

    “Because Kyra needs to see Arethal.” Sen interrupted. 

    “Who is Arethal?” Kyra asked. 

    “It’s a long story, but she can help us.” 

    “Well, let’s get going then.” Emanuel agreed, opening the door to his civic. 

    “Not you,” Sen replied instantly. “You need to go home, Emanuel.” 

    “And leave you with my daughter?” Emanuel demanded. “Not bloody likely!” 

    “Look, I know you’re remembering what your mother suggested earlier, but listen, when she was in doubt, who did she call? Me. She trusted me and you need to as well.” 

    “Exactly. She trust you.” Emanuel accused. “And then she dies like the next day. That doesn’t seem a little suspicious to you? You said it must be someone close to our family, you’ve been close to this family for centuries!”

    “‘This family’ is my family!” Sen shouted. “And if was the hunter, if I wanted Kyra for some foul purpose, then I would take her here and now. You have no idea what I am capable of, Emanuel.” 

    “I believe you,” Kyra determined, not sure why. There was just something about her, maybe it was how sincere her face was just then. 

    “My plan makes sense.” Sen took a deep breath and calmed. “Go home, Emanuel. Get some sleep. Tomorrow morning be parked outside of the Starbucks on *blank* Street at 8:30 am. A young, latino woman with long, black hair will knock on your car window. Roll down your window and she will say ‘I like your shoelaces.’ To this you must reply with ‘Thanks, I got them from the president.’ She will direct you from there.” 

    “While you are doing what?” Emanuel demanded. 

    “I’ll be taking Kyra to see Arethal. If we’re lucky, there won’t be any prophecies about her. Either case, I’ll call you once I’ve figured something out. By then you will have probably heard the phone call.” 

    “If you don’t call me before tonight, I’ll call you.” Emanuel offered. 

    “No, you won’t.” Sen replied. “I’ve already dumped my old cellphone. I’ll be calling you some other way. It’s safest. And Kyra,” Sen turned, her blue eyes brooding. “Just so as not to surprise you later, you need to get use to the notion that you are not going home.” 

    “What?” 

    “Not now, probably not later, not even to pack a bag. Until this is worked out, you need to stay away. That demon is out there, and if she has been Beth this whole time, she knows where you live.” 

    “Oh…” Kyra looked down. 

    “That’s…” Emanuel started. 

    “Paranoid?” Sen finished for him. “Well, when I was your age, Kyra, someone once told me ‘better safe then dead’.”  

    Emanuel got out of his car and embraced Kyra. “Be safe.” He whispered in her ear. “I love you.”

    “Remember, the phone call that Kyra made to Cathy on…” 

    “*Friday, at around eight pm.” Kyra supplied. 

    “The phone call Cathy made to me on the same day, eleven thirty midnight and the phone call that Cathy made to Beth, yesterday at some point. Also, look into the history of this Beth, I want to know if she actually existed.” Sen reminded Emanuel as he climbed back into his car. He nodded. 

    “Protect her,” He told Sen before slamming his car door. Kyra looked at Sen as her father drove away. 

    “Always.” Sen mouthed silently, watching Emanuel’s taillights vanishing into the distance. When the lights were gone, she pivoted to face Kyra. 

    “Do you have your phone on you?” Sen asks, holding out her hand. 

    Kyra searched the pockets of her coat. “Hang on.” She muttered, before finding her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She quickly punched in her passcode and handed the device to Sen. 

    “Will I see him soon?” Kyra asked while Sen punched in a number. 

    “Emanuel?” Sen shook her head and held the phone to her ear. “Only if we are very fortunate.” 

    “You do realize it’s only five thirty in the morning.” Kyra pointed out. 

    “We don’t have time, we have to ditch this phone before we go anywhere.” Sen explained. “Hello, yes, is this Evelyn Romero?” 

    Kyra couldn’t believe that Sen expected her to just throw away her phone. She had seen it done in the movies, but that was different. Her phone was a part of her, with all her contacts and numbers and notes and schedules and everything. 

    “Yes, you called my boyfriend, Carter, yesterday about his 2007* Honda civic.” Sen said into the phone. Kyra couldn’t hear the other person’s voice, but she assumed that she was surprised. 

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you this early in the morning, but this was the only opportunity I had. Carter is going to be outside of the Starbucks on blank* Street at 8:30 am. Just knock on the window and give him the greeting. I’m sure he’d let you give it a test drive, but make him take you somewhere safe first. My boyfriend is known to be a little reckless.” 

    Sen cleared her throat and Kyra watched, concern creasing her brow. 

    “The car?” She glanced at Kyra. “It’s white-”

    “Silver.” Kyra mouthed. 

    “But I believe the add says silver.” Sen continued. “No I’m afraid I can’t be there, I’ve got some work to do.” Sen sighed. “When? You’ll just have to wait and see. I’m not even sure myself…alright, bye for now.” 

    Kyra watched as Sen googled numbers for taxis on her phone. 

    “We’re taking a taxi?” Kyra wondered, more confused then ever. 

    “For a while.” Sen replied, calling the number. Kyra waited, perplexed, while Sen explained where they were. She then hung up and dropped the phone to the sidewalk. Before Kyra could utter a word of protest, she stamped down, hard, with the heal of her boot. The screen shattered and Sen stamped again. Then she swept the remains of the phone off the sidewalk and into the gutter with her foot. 

    “Come,” Sen said simple, starting off down the dark street towards the intersection of blank* Street and blank*. Kyra followed, dumbfounded. 

    “Where is the taxi taking us?” Kyra finally asked when they reached the intersection. 

    “To the subway.” 

    “To Toronto?”

    “Yes.” 

    “Then what?” Kyra persisted. 

    “Then another subway.” Sen relented. 

    “And then?” 

    “Then we take another taxi to the airport.” 

    “Why don’t we take this taxi directly to the airport?” Kyra queried. 

    “Why do you think?”

    Kyra made a face. “Better safe then dead.” 

    “Ipso Facto.” Sen looked her up and down. “You may survive this yet, Kyra Mendoza.”

    Kyra shook her head. “It’s Chavez now.” 

    “Ah,” Sen pondered. “You changed your name with your father.” 

    “Nathan did to. We’re a family in everything including name.” 

    “Does your father tell you that?” 

    “Why?” Kyra demanded.

    “No reason.” Sen grinned as the taxi pulled up. She opened the door for Kyra and inclined her head in a rather mocking gesture. “Your chariot, milady.” 

    Kyra knew from the ironic smile on Sen’s face that she actually found this funny. Perhaps she was around when chariots were actually a thing.Kyra realized. She slid into the car and shifted to the far window to allow Sen to follow. The taxi took off as soon as Sen slammed the door, and Kyra withdrew into her own thoughts, trying to distract herself from the terror that was descending from the corners of her world. 

    Kyra was lost in a blur of places and faces. She had retreated immeasurably deep within her own mind during the journey. She remembered switching flights on more then one occasion, and knew that Sen had tried to talk to her before giving up and sleeping. Kyra had tried to sleep as well, but found that she was too upset to relax. She wasn’t sure if Sen was sleeping either, because despite having her eyes closed, she seemed unnaturally still and tense, like cat poised to pounce. They had taken another taxi at some point, Kyra recalled, through a foreign city to another airport before catching a long flight lit by bright sunshine, during which Kyra finally drifted off and sank into the dreamworld. 

    Sen shook her awake when their plane landed, and Kyra had to scramble to keep up with her as they disembarked in a hurry. They didn’t have any bag to wait for, but it was still taking too much time for Sen. They boarded a bus, and Kyra wondered where on earth they were. The city in the distance was cold and unfamiliar and she couldn’t even place the landscape. Still, her body was heavy and all she wanted to do was sleep and forget her troubles again.