Once it does so, I feel the nose of the plane inch up, just a little. And then a little more.
The pilots give rapid-fire commands—either to each other or someone on the other end of their headset. Maybe it’s all going to be okay, maybe—
“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down!”
Fuck.
The trees out the window grow larger and larger.
I keep forcing my magic out, straining to level the aircraft. Now that that other magic is helping, it’s working. I’m just not sure it’s working fast enough.
I groan, then scream at the exertion.
Empress, I sense you drawing near.
Slowly, slowly, the front of the plane lifts.
“Whoa!” the pilot says, glancing down at the wheel, his hands slipping off it for a moment. Even without him steering, the aircraft continues to pull up. “What the fuck?”
He glances at me, but I’m too busy incanting and directing the power to spare him a look.
“Matt, grab the damn thing and help me land this plane!” the other pilot calls out.
He does reach out for the wheel as the foliage below rises to meet us. I can see leaves on trees and the glisten of rainwater.
It’s happening too fast, and I’m not strapped in—I’m not even in a seat. There is nothing to keep me from being thrown across the cockpit and out the window.
In response to the thought, my magic wraps around me, anchoring me to the spot. I’m not sure I even needed to protect myself. This foreign, insidious magic is there a moment later, cocooning me. It too feels oddly protective.
I know we’re going to crash. I can see it plainly enough from the view, but I still force out more magic in a last-ditch attempt to save us. My head feels like it’s splitting in two from the exertion, and I won’t let myself think about the sheer quantity of memories my magic is dissolving.
A cluster of birds rises from the trees below us, scattering as we close in on the misty jungle below.
“Get ready!” the pilot shouts.
The plane hits its first branch. There’s a sickening snap, then—
Whack, whack, whack—
Wood splinters and metal shrieks as the plane’s underbelly grinds across the treetops. We bounce, and only my magic and this alien power hold my body in place.
The front of the plane dips, then—
BANG!
Despite the magic tethering me in place, I’m still thrown forward onto that damn dashboard, and then everything goes dark.
CHAPTER 4
“…but I thought she forced her way into the cockpit…”
“…I swear to god, she helped me guide the plane…”
“…wasn’t wearing a seat belt…”
“She doesn’t look hurt…”
I blink my eyes open. Above me, I see the concerned faces of several people, though I recognize none of them. One wears a pilot’s uniform. The others seem to be flight attendants.
Pilots? Flight attendants? What’s going on?
I frown, my gaze moving from person to person. Beyond them I can hear the soft patter of rain and the murmur of many voices.
I draw in a deep breath, the action causing my head to throb.
I know this pain—and I know the accompanying confusion.
Shit. I must’ve used my magic—probably a lot of it too, if my headache is anything to go by.
I take a deep breath and go over my list of basics.
I am Selene Bowers.
I am twenty years old.
I grew up in Santa Cruz, California.
My parents are Olivia and Benjamin Bowers.
I am alive. I am okay.
The people clustered around me have been asking me questions. I try to focus on one of them. “What?” I say dazedly.
“Does anything hurt?”
I frown again, then touch my temple. “My head,” I say hoarsely. My muscles ache, and my clothing is growing damp from whatever is beneath me, but those are minor inconveniences. Even the headache will disappear eventually.
“What’s going on?” I murmur.
“You were in a plane crash,” one of the flight attendants says.
“What?” I sit up too fast, and I have to place a hand on my head as a wave of vertigo washes through me.
There was a magical attack—our plane was being pulled out of the sky—I tried to stop it.
I suck in a breath when it all vaguely comes back to me. But the tattered memory feels more like a dream than something I lived through, and when I try to pry details loose, it seems as though they disintegrate.
I blink around at the gathered crowd; then I focus my attention beyond them.
I make a small noise when my eyes land on our massive plane, which rests on a bed of flattened trees. Some of its siding has been ripped free, and the tip of the wing has been torn apart.
“I…survived that?” I say.
“We all survived that,” the pilot corrects. He’s giving me a look, like he has so much more he wants to say. “Every single one of us.”
I continue to stare at the mangled plane, struggling to wrap my mind around that.
Our plane crashed. It literally crashed. And we all survived.
And I must’ve helped. My confusion and my pounding headache are evidence enough of it.
Unfortunately, I don’t remember much of the experience. Except…except…
Empress…
My breath stills.
I remember that coaxing masculine voice. I—I heard it on the plane. I think, though I can’t say what role it played. And trying to piece it together is only making my head pound harder. I press my fingers to my temple, trying to ease the pain.
“There’s a doctor making the rounds,” the pilot says, drawing my attention back to him. “Can you sit here and hold tight?”
I swallow, then nod.
He pats my leg and stands, moving away to, I don’t know, do whatever pilots do when they crash-land. He does throw me one last glance over his shoulder, and there’s a question in his eyes. He must’ve seen something or heard something, something unexplainable, and now he has questions.
I’m grateful I cannot remember whatever it is he’s remembering. I have no idea how I would explain my magic.
While I get my bearings, one of the flight attendants fishes out some aspirin and a tiny bottle of water. She too gives me a look as she hands the items over, only hers is less curious and more…rankled. I get the distinct impression we had some sort of unpleasant encounter, and it leaves me wondering just what went down in that plane right before we crashed.
Once I’ve taken the medicine and established that I really am okay, she and the other flight attendants leave my side. I watch them head toward other people who are sitting or lying down. There are dozens—if not hundreds—of people milling about. Some are crying while others are holding one another or staring off into the distance.
I let my own gaze drift over our surroundings. Densely packed trees tower above us, blocking out most of the sunlight. Shrubs have found their homes here on the forest floor, fitting themselves into every available nook and cranny. The ground is wet, the plants are wet, and judging by the steady patter of rain, the air itself is wet.