Consciousness returned slowly.

Sounds came first, drifting in and out of focus as if someone were playing with a volume dial. Snatches of words floated in Maisie’s ears, dancing close enough that she almost caught their meaning before they were whisked away. Turn it off, please.

Then came the pain. Her head felt like a blacksmith had set up shop in it, an awful pounding, that was likely her pulse and not a hammer, crowding her skull until she longed to burst free of it.

She pried her eyes open.

At first, she couldn't remember where she was. It was so bright. The light made her head hurt worse, searing into aching retinas. Part of her was tempted to close them again and go back to sleep. But there was something important she needed to remember.

She blinked, and the warehouse came into focus.

Warehouse? The giant!

She tried to bolt upright, but a rush wooziness made it impossible. A moan of pain and frustration escaped her lips. She needed to get up.

‘I'd stay down, if I were you,’ said a bored voice from somewhere beside her. ‘I think you may have a concussion. Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous?’

Maisie jerked away. Her body screamed protest, agony cresting over her, threatening a return to unconsciousness.

Her head spun, but she gritted her teeth and forced her way through the fog. It took two attempts, but she managed to twist enough to stare at the spot beside her, where she was sure the voice had been coming from. Empty.

Come to think of it, she couldn't see anyone. Where was Samson? Alfred? Bobby? The air was still and quiet. She couldn't even hear the distant roar of traffic from the motorway that ran perpendicular to the bottom of the industrial estate, a kilometre away.

‘I'd advise not moving at all for a while. But feel free to disregard my advice.’ The voice again. It was close, so close she should have been able to reach out and touch its owner. But she saw no one.

Was it a Gladiator rendered invisible by Flight — true invisibility, not the flawed bending of light that Alfred could do? But that didn't make sense. No aggression characterised the voice's manner, only apathy.

Stuff that advice. More slowly this time, she sat up.

‘Suit yourself.’ The words receded in volume, their speaker losing interest.

Upright, Maisie realised the significance of where she’d landed. Running along the dusty floor a few inches from where her feet ended lay the chalk line. And, as she followed the circle with her eyes, she saw that this time, she was on the inside. Oh no.

How long had she been unconscious? Minutes or hours? Had people tried to get to her and given up after being repelled by the circle? Bad, bad, bad. She could be trapped here. Worse, if she'd been unconscious for long, she might have brain trauma. Maybe she hallucinated the voice.

A bitter taste formed in the back of her mouth as panic, like bile, rose in her throat. Buzzing filled her ears, the internal soundtrack to rising hysteria.

It took her a couple of seconds to realise there was another sound she heard, faded, as if it came from a great distance. A snatch of conversation, starting mid-sentence.

‘...killed her!’ someone said.

‘She needed to handle it her—’

Then the voices stopped, like someone had switched channels. She recognised them: Alfred and Samson. Arguing, by the sounds of it. Over her? But where were they?

‘Samson!’ she called out. The yell seemed to ricochet off the invisible walls of a smaller room. Its aftermath rang inside her skull, fast joined with regret.

‘They can't hear you.’ This time the voice came from her other side, so close that a phantom breath rustled the stray hairs lying against her cheek.

She froze.

Not moving her head, she peeked out the corner of her eye. Still, no one.

Enough of this.

‘Hello?’ she said.

No response, but when she strained her ears, she could pick up the sound of breathing.

With bravado she didn't feel, she said, ‘Stop with the invisible games. It's rude. And it's hard to hold a conversation with thin air. So show yourself, kill me, or leave off, all right? My head hurts.’ Daring an invisible entity to kill her wasn't her brightest idea — and tonight had been a reel of those, hadn’t it? — but at this moment, it was hard to care. She had run the full gamut of emotions, and settled on fatigue.

‘Cranky.’

Urgh. A woman, she decided. There was something decidedly feminine in the low timbre.

It was also sarcastic. Her new companion had a sense of humour. Better and better.

Whoever the voice was, she didn't seem in a hurry to do anything to Maisie, so Maisie decided to ignore her.

With difficult manoeuvring, Maisie got her feet under her in a crouch, hands out to keep balanced. Even that made her dizzy. Standing was beyond her, for now.

She began to shuffle towards the chalk line, then hesitated. Would touching the line fling her back like it had done Samson? She didn't think her body could take another flinging.

Instead, she turned back to the crates, searching futilely for some hint of a person who wasn't there.

‘Why can't they hear us?’ She didn't really expect an answer.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

‘Because of the barrier,’ said the voice, as if it were obvious. ‘You get bits and pieces sometimes. It isn’t perfect, but she doesn’t know that. They can’t see or hear us, and that’s what counts. Well, if you want to split hairs, they can’t see you. I’m not really here to be seen.’

Maisie tried to think through the fog surrounding her brain. So the chalk line constituted a barrier that blocked the sight, sound, and the physical presence of... what? Humans? Objects went through just fine.

But then, how had Maisie ended up on the other side?

Another question hit her. ‘Who's she?’

Instead of answering her directly, the voice said, ‘She won't be happy you're here.’

Sounded ominous.

‘Why did I cross the barrier?’

‘If I were to guess, because you have no powers. It only stops those of the blood. That's what she asked for, and that's what she gets. You should always pay attention to how you word your bargains.’

This was too much to deal with, on top of her pounding headache and a creeping numbness that was spreading across the left side of her face. Her thoughts refused to align themselves, new questions bowling others aside.

‘Who are you?’

‘I am hers,’ came the enigmatic answer. ‘For now.’

‘Show yourself.’

‘I can't. I told you, I’m not here. Only part of me is.’

Which explained nothing. Maisie felt herself begin to sway, and planted her hand more firmly on the ground in time to stop herself from toppling sideways. She was way out of her depth. A person — an entity — that could split herself between two places at once? She had never heard of such a thing.

‘What are you?’

‘A better question. But not one I think I'll answer.’ The voice laughed, though any amusement meant to be conveyed in the sound was contradicted by the flatness of tone. Alien and cold.

Maisie shivered. Creepy.

‘Why did this 'she' bring you here?’

‘To guard against people of the blood, of course.’

It was like talking in riddles. Maisie didn't like the sound of this mysterious she.

‘The blood?’

‘Oh, you know, ones with power. Like the boy with you who tried to break through my circle and broke himself instead. You seemed upset about it. Don’t be. Those of the blood only care about themselves.’

‘He's my brother,’ Maisie said, trying to parse the new information. Various names were tossed out for humans with special abilities, but ‘of the blood’ wasn’t one she’d heard before.

‘Your brother?’ A razor’s edge entered the invisible woman's tone, and Maisie was suddenly palpably aware of the weight of attention on her. ‘A Vessel. What a shame. I almost liked you.’

The detachment of before had been replaced by something sinister. Maisie fought the urge to gulp.

‘I don't understand.’

‘You wouldn't,’ said the voice, faintly pitying.

The slight tightening of skin as her brows pulled together was lightning to Maisie’s nerves.

‘That tells me nothing.’

A pause. ‘I don't need to tell you anything.’

‘So why did you?’

‘Because I could. Because I'm tired and forgetting myself, piece by piece. Because she wouldn't like it, and I don't like her. Though it does make what happens next that much harder.’

Back to the she again. They were going nowhere.

If the entity was to be believed, Maisie could cross the chalk with no consequences. For once, her lack of power played to her advantage. She should pick herself up and leave, not play word games with a disembodied voice.

Another thought occurred to her. If she could cross the circle's boundary, maybe she could take the crates out, too. That would be a coup, something neither of her brothers could achieve.

Her legs felt shaky, but she succeeded in standing. The world wavered, floor moving away from her. She clenched her jaw and remained on her feet.

Standing, seemingly alone, in the vast expanse of the warehouse felt eerie. The blue-white lights continued to watch her, a hundred eyes pointed at centre stage. Hard to believe that her brothers were only a few feet away — so long as the entity told the truth.

She moved carefully, not letting either foot fully leave the floor for fear of overbalancing. The sound of her heels scraping the dirt sounded unnaturally loud in the absence of any other noise.

When she reached the first crate, she rested for a second, leaning on it for support. Her hand lay near the edge of the lid. There was no latch, nothing to secure it.

A strange urge hit Maisie then.

As she stared down at her hand, a compulsion rose to slide the wood aside. A gap formed before she realised the action.

Her hand reached in, feeling around in the darkness until her fingers closed around a plastic packet. Almost against her will, she pulled it out and held it up in front of her eyes. A dark brown powder, spread so thin in its little bag that the light shone through.

She recognised it from photographs: Flight.

She should put it back... But an instinct inside her rebelled at the thought, her fingers clenching tighter. This was the key to acceptance, the key to the love she had never been given, the key to so much power… Freedom. Mine.

What was she thinking?

She dropped it like she'd been burned and backed away.

‘Not going to try some?’ said the voice in her ear.

‘No,’ Maisie whispered, not sure if she answered the voice, or herself.

‘Not even a little? Just this once? No one would ever know. It calls to you, doesn't it?’

Maisie shook her head in denial, though she couldn't tear her eyes away from the packet on the floor.

‘No,’ she said more firmly. She backed up, putting more space between her and it. The crates would have to wait. She wasn't going near them again before her head cleared.

‘You bought yourself a reprieve,’ the voice murmured. ‘I’m tired, and not as unsparing as I once was. Go, then. Perhaps I'll see you again someday.’ The voice seemed to retreat, growing quieter.

Inches from the chalk border, Maisie tore her gaze away from the crates. She was shaking. Nothing she'd read had warned her Flight could have this effect.

Before stepping over the line, she paused and took in a couple deep breaths, steeling herself. Hopefully, Alfred had taken care of Bobby. If he hadn't… she’d flee that bridge if it arose. She wanted out of the circle, away from the voice and the disturbing allure of Flight.

Nothing to do but step.

The world burst into colour. It was strange — within the circle she hadn't thought the world dull, but as she crossed the threshold it was as if a filter lifted from her eyes, bright vitality giving every surface new lustre. Her senses felt raw, tossed from calm waters into a tide race. Noises broke the night: sirens blaring in the distance, gaining in volume; the rattling of wind over the old corrugated roof; her brothers, arguing.

At her appearance, the arguing stopped.

‘Maisie?’ Samson said. ‘Where the hell were you? You vanished! You just—’ He stopped, unable to find the words.

He was standing, though most of his weight appeared to be on his left foot. His right arm hung wrong, the shoulder angled crookedly.

She opened her mouth to say something, and found herself swaying instead. Samson started to move towards her, his own features twisting in pain.

‘Stay there, you idiot, before both of you fall. I've got her.’

And then Alfred was there, holding her upright. Part of her wished to pull away. In her mind, she could still see the look on his face as he'd stood by and watched the giant knock her flying. But that could wait. She let him guide her away from the circle.

A tiny groan made her look at the floor. Splayed out in the dirt was a small figure. He lay on his back, arms and legs spread out like a starfish, gasping uneven breaths. His pendant sat on his heaving chest, a glint of silver in the mess of ruined clothes.

Bobby.

So Flight had worn off.

Her first attempt at speaking came out as an indistinct gargle. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘What happened? After he hit me?’

Alfred answered, voice cool as ever. ‘You disappeared. He’ — he nodded to the prone Bobby—’lunged after you—’

‘Which you did nothing to stop,’ Samson interjected.

‘ — and collided with that circle. As soon as he hit it, he transformed back. Mid-air. He didn't like the ground much.’

They stopped next to Samson. Alfred eyed her dispassionately. ‘Can you stand by yourself, or shall I set you down? Father is coming, and the police are almost here. I need to go outside to meet them. I'm sure they’ll have a lot of questions to ask you.’

All Maisie wanted to do was find her bed. But she couldn't sleep, not yet.

‘Set me down, please.’

He lowered her to the ground, not exactly gently, but not roughly either.

‘Get your answers ready,’ he told her, before turning and walking away towards the broken entrance.

Samson looked down at her, concern and anger warring in his face.

Maisie closed her aching eyelids and waited for the inevitable interrogation.