A siren sounded in the distance. Saskia tensed, as she always did when she heard such sounds. A quick glance at her minimap confirmed that the police car wasn’t headed their way.

It had taken a while to tweak her map to pick out the police and other groups—some official, others covert, and others of a less than savoury nature—who were out looking for her. Most weren’t marked with the fiery hues of someone who meant her physical harm. After all, officially at least, she had committed no crime, aside perhaps from being an accessory to Padhra’s assault on the convention centre security guards. The police only wanted her to come in for ‘questioning.’

Saskia gave a bitter chuckle at the thought. Oh, there’ll be questioning, alright. They’ll question me from a secret underground bunker, right before the dissection.

Or maybe not. Things in the real world rarely played out like they did in movies. The police might just interview her for a couple of hours, then set her loose. She wasn’t about to take that chance, though.

The authorities had been cagey on the matter, but it was blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain that, crime or no crime, they really wanted to find her. Helicopters had been buzzing overhead with alarming regularity. Roadblocks had been set up along all the major highways, with no explanation given as to their purpose. Unmarked aircraft had been sighted landing in various airports around the country, and speculation had been running wild as to just who they might have been carrying.

Through her own investigations beyond the means of the average Internet sleuth, Saskia had learned the identities of some of those people. Suffice it to say that there were some very powerful international players who had joined the game of tracking down one Saskia Wendle.

It wasn’t just the authorities she had to worry about, either, but the unseen enemy who had manipulated her into exposing herself; and every other nutjob out there who had seen the videos on the Internet, and wanted to kill the alien, or worship her, or marry her, or tie her up in his basement and have his way with her. Or all of the above—preferably in that order.

Flipping her consciousness into the head of the cop, she found him listening to his police radio, responding to a ‘1640,’ whatever that was.

Curious, Saskia decided to take her new ability for a spin—one she’d discovered just recently during one of her remote eavesdropping sessions. She shifted her consciousness from the cop’s head into that of the person speaking out of the radio—and found herself in an office halfway across town. From the details shown on the caller’s screen, that code appeared to represent a minor assault. Nothing concerning her personally, then.

Meanwhile, the cop sitting the next desk over was talking loudly to his wife or girlfriend on his phone. Apparently things weren’t going too well between them. On a whim, Saskia hopped into that cop’s head, then that of his partner speaking on the other end of the phone…

…while she sat in another man’s lap, fondling his…

Abort! Saskia hastily ejected herself out of the woman’s head. Maybe I should be a private detective, she thought. I keep digging up these dirty little secrets.

The van door slid aside. Saskia felt a moment of panic, wondering if someone had managed to sneak up on her in the minute or two she’d been away from her own body. She forced herself to relax. Padhra would have clobbered anyone suspicious over the head, and her minimap was showing…a blue marker.

It was just Ivan, bearing gifts of groceries.

“Took your sweet time,” said Saskia, picking out an apple from the bag.

“There was a queue,” he said. “People are buying out the supermarkets; you know, stockpiling for the upcoming nuclear winter.”

“Or alien invasion?” Saskia arched her eyebrows at him.

He chuckled. “That might have something to do with it, Tentacle Girl.”

She elbowed him in the ribs. “Oh don’t you start, too.”

Fergus’s nickname for her had been immortalised in one of the many videos that got uploaded to the Internet that day. Of course it had caught on. And yup, he was gonna rue the day—if she ever got to see him again.

She really hoped she would.

Ivan’s face turned serious. “Between these groceries and the fuel, I’ve burned through most of our spare cash. It should be enough to get us where we’re going, but if not, I’ll have to risk another visit to an ATM.”

Saskia sighed. “Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

Along with their phones, she had to assume their bank accounts and credit cards were being monitored. This was almost certainly the case for herself and Padhra. Ivan might be in the clear, but they couldn’t say for sure. If they wanted to remain hidden, they had to stay off the grid, but that was easier said than done.

Saskia munched her apple half-heartedly as Ivan pulled out of the carpark, heading for the back road that would take them on the next leg of their journey. There wasn’t much of a view through the tinted windows in the back of the van, so she watched through her friend’s eyes between bites.

When she was done, Padhra handed her a banana, but she waved it off.

“You should eat more,” said her Lingya bodyguard. “Your mortal vessel needs sustenance.”

“My mortal vessel will make herself sick if she eats too much,” said Saskia.

A reduced appetite was one of many things she’d had to readjust to over the past few months. Regenerating damaged tissue still took a lot of calories, but for normal everyday living, she needed no more food than she had before her trolling days. A fact she’d forgotten once or twice, and gorged almost to the point of vomiting.

“I’m sorry, Old One,” said Padhra, for the millionth time. “This is no way for a goddess to live. I have failed you. I thought we might get you out of this land sooner, but it has proven…challenging.”

“I’m not a…” Saskia sighed. “Never mind. It’s not your fault, Padhra. You’ve helped keep me alive, and sane. Thank you. We’ll get through this, don’t worry.” She couldn’t tell if she was trying to reassure her companion or herself with that last statement.

They’d been back on the road for barely half an hour when Saskia spotted another roadblock on her map.

“On this quiet little road?” said Ivan, upon hearing the news. “They’re stepping it up.”

“Crap,” she breathed. “There’s a cop car following about ten kilometres behind us. And there’s another parked on the only side road between us and the checkpoint. We’re boxed in…”

“Calm down, Sass,” said Ivan. “The one following us won’t get here for another six minutes, unless he’s speeding. This ain’t exactly a high speed chase. There’s a rest area up ahead. I’ll park us there, and we can go hide in the trees until he’s gone past.”

“But if they see the van…”

“So what?” said Ivan. “It’s not mine.”

The van belonged to one of Ivan’s less scrupulous friends who had owed him a favour. Borrowing someone else’s vehicle was no guarantee of anonymity, though. Not by a long shot. What if the guy figured out what was really going on and ratted them in?

“Hell, we might’ve have gotten away with driving the Škoda,” continued Ivan, oblivious to her thoughts, “I don’t think I’m even on their radar. Thank you, Dad. They’ll probably assume the driver is taking a piss.”

“I need to piss,” said Padhra.

“Then this is very good timing,” said Ivan.

They drew into the gravel strip, parking the car behind a bank. Piling out of the car, they dashed into the pine forest.

While Padhra took to some nearby bushes to relieve herself, Ivan asked quietly, “Don’t you find it strange?”

“Find what strange?”

“The fact that she still believes you’re this thousand-year-old eldritch goddess, even though you’ve told her—many times—who and what you really are?”

“I’m pretty sure what happened at the convention centre trumps anything I might say to her,” said Saskia. “Besides, they believe their goddess has many aspects; many incarnations; some mortal, and some incorporeal. According to their religion, it’s entirely plausible that I could be both Yona’s however-many-greats-granddaughter and Yona herself—at the same time.”

Ivan looked at her sceptically. “How would that even work? You gave birth to…yourself?”

“You’re thinking about this way to literally. It’s religion. It doesn’t need to make sense to us. The important thing is they believe it. And after all the weird crap I’ve seen, who am I to say they’re wrong, and some other religion—or lack of one—is the sole source of truth in this frocked up world? Just…try to keep an open mind, okay?”

“Amen to that,” said Ivan. “Let’s just hope my dad comes through, so we can get you back to your…” He grinned at her. “…flock.”

Ah yes, Ivan’s father, the elusive Viktor Storozhenko. They’d crossed half the country to meet with him, dodging police checkpoints and unmarked helicopters along the way. Roads would only take them so far, though. There were no state lines or borders to cross. The only way out of this country was by sea or by air.

They couldn’t very well just waltz into an airport and catch a flight to Nepal. Saskia’s face—and a lot more than just her face—was plastered over every newspaper and TV screen in the country. Padhra, too, was a known associate, featuring in some of the captured videos. Only Ivan seemed to have stayed largely out of the public eye. They all suspected his mysteriously connected father had been pulling some strings.

Said father was supposed to be their ticket out of here. The problem was that she didn’t know if she could trust the guy. Ivan had told her a little about him, suggesting that he was friends with Saskia’s father, and therefore had her best interests at heart. Ivan believed every word he was saying, but that didn’t mean his father hadn’t pulled the wool over his eyes.

Viktor Storozhenko may be the best of the bad options available to her, though. At Padhra’s urging, she’d repeatedly tried to teleport herself back to Nepal. So far, she hadn’t managed to lure so much as a single tentacle out of the between. No surprise there. Her undermind must be all outta teleport juice. If all else failed, she could wait out the cooldown period, whatever it may be, but the longer she remained here, the greater the risk.

Her other options seemed even less appealing. Either she’d have to put her trust in more criminals, or try her luck stowing away on a cargo ship—an incredibly risky venture, by all accounts. Better to take her chances with Ivan’s father.

One way or another, she’d soon find out whether her trust had been misplaced. If they could just—

The wail of a police siren jolted her out of her reverie. It only lasted a few seconds, then stopped. Through the trees, she could see the cop pulling over on the opposite side of the road, and stepping out of her vehicle to have stern words with the man she’d just caught speeding.

They waited in tense silence while the officer handed the man his ticket. Finally, he drove off. The cop stepped back to her car…and stopped, peering at the van parked across the road in the rest area. Pulling out her torch, she crossed the road, and shone it inside.

She looked at the numberplate. Then she spoke into her radio.

“Ivan,” whispered Saskia. “On a scale of one to ten, how trustworthy is your friend—the one who lent you that van?”

“Erm…five? No, four.” Ivan scrunched his forehead. “Alright, three. Why?”

“Because that van was reported stolen. A month ago.”

“But he only gave it to me a week—oh.” He made a throttling gesture. “I’ll kill him. I told you we should’ve just taken the Škoda.”

“Forget the bloody Škoda. What are we gonna do? That cop isn’t going anywhere fast.”

“I also left my gun inside, so…yep.”

She scowled at him.

“I’m just as new to this fugitive business as you are, Sass.”

Oh yeah, now the officer spotted the rifle, and the box of ammo cartridges. AR-15s weren’t even legal in this country, but that was the least of their problems. It was only a matter of time before the police linked that weapon to the shoot-out in the convention centre carpark, and then…

Padhra circled around behind the officer, preparing to bludgeon her to the ground. Saskia winced. Her time in Arbor Mundi had taught her a lot. And one of the things she’d learned first hand was that that outside of movies and video games, knocking someone out came with a very real risk of death or permanent impairment.

The thumpthumpthump of an approaching helicopter drew everyone’s attention—including the cop, who in the process of looking to the skies spotted Padhra stalking toward her.

“Stop!” she shouted, whirling to face the Lingya woman. “Hands in the—”

One fist took her in the stomach; the other in the chin as she doubled over.

“Time to vamoose,” said Ivan, half dragging Saskia back to the van.

“What are we gonna do about her?” said Saskia, looking at the body sprawled across the gravel. “We can’t just leave her like this.”

“Oh yes we can,” said Ivan. “And we will.”

The helicopter was coming straight for them, and Saskia realised to her horror that it wasn’t like the other ones. On her minimap, this one was marked a dark shade of red—almost violet.

A line of red light swept over them like a laser gun. She knew all too well what that came from. Not a laser, but most definitely a gun—one whose bullet’s trajectory was being telegraphed to her just moments before it hit.

With no time to shout a warning to her companions, she simply tackled them both, shoving them out of the way. There was a sharp sting in her leg, and a splash of wetness. A quick glance behind her revealed a small cut on the back of her calf. Not enough to be a bullet wound. Just caused by a piece of gravel flung out by the impact.

The officer hadn’t been so lucky. Her head was a red, white and purple ruin. The stuff on Saskia’s legs…that wasn’t just blood.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Now wasn’t the time. That would be her if she didn’t act.

She snatched up the rifle, slammed in a cartridge, and spun about, holding the weapon exactly as Ivan had taught her. One thing he hadn’t taught her, though, was how to hit a fast-moving target in the air at a range of hundreds of metres.

But Saskia had one advantage no-one else did. Her mind tapped into the ultimate targetting system: her oracle interface. That interface showed her exactly where to aim, with pin-point accuracy. She didn’t even need to lower her eyes to the gunsight.

The spot where she was aiming was way out in front of the helicopter, and even further above it. It seemed ridiculous, but if this was where it was telling her to point the gun, then this was where she’d point it.

She took one steadying breath, and squeezed the trigger. The sound of it going off made her flinch; the gun almost leapt out of her hands, and the next shot went wide.

But one had been enough.

The chopper began to spin wildly in the air. Somewhere behind that cracked windshield, the pilot was slumping over in his seat. She caught a glimpse of the sniper through the open side door, flailing wildly.

Ivan was staring at her with wide eyes. Padhra’s face held a rapturous expression. But that lasted just an instant. They both knew as well as Saskia did that they had to get the hell out of here right this second.

As they piled into the car, the helicopter completed its wild plunge to the ground. It landed with an earth-shattering crash amidst the pines. No explosion that she could see—not yet, anyhow. They weren’t going to wait and see how it turned out.

Down the road, cars were screeching to a halt. A man had stepped out of his SUV, and was staring open-mouthed at them—and the police officer’s mangled body at their feet.

Spraying gravel in their wake, they tore off down the road, leaving dozens of startled motorists to deal with the aftermath.

“How did you do that?” said Ivan. “That shot was one-in-a-squillion. You barely know how to hold a gun.”

“I have a cheat,” said Saskia. “You know, from that other world I told you about. It’s kinda like the map in my head that lets me see where all the cops are.”

“Well damn, that’s badarse,” he said. “I wish I could do that.”

“Maybe you can,” she said—and immediately regretted it when she saw the look in his eyes. She didn’t want to get his hopes up. “I mean, probably not, but there’s a possibility I might be able to share it with you, when we get to the keystone in Nepal.”

A very tense drive followed as they attempted to flee the hornet’s nest they’d stirred up as fast as possible without getting caught. Once they’d put sufficient distance between themselves and the carnage they’d wrought, they ditched the vehicle in a river, and proceeded the rest of the way by bus (with Saskia and Padhra wearing burqas to conceal their faces).

It was late in the day when they finally walked through the front gate of a multi-million-dollar waterfront holiday home in Windington. They followed a brick path around a carefully manicured lawn, surrounded by neatly trimmed hedges, fountains and bronze statues, toward a towering brick mansion.

A man in a tailored suit stepped out the door to meet them, and spoke with a light accent—presumably Ukrainian. “Miss Wendle. Miss Melakhoba. Pleasure to meet you.” He looked at Ivan. “Welcome home, my boy.”

“Saskia, this is my dad,” said Ivan.

“You must be exhausted, all of you,” said Viktor Storozhenko. “We’ll get you two ladies settled into the guest suites. Tomorrow, once you are refreshed, then we’ll talk.”

Viktor led Saskia and Padhra up an outer staircase to a balcony on the third floor, with a breathtaking view of the bay. On her left, the beach swept back into towering seaside cliffs. On the right, it curved around for many kilometres, past the sleek skyscrapers of the CBD. In the midst of it all, the sparkling sea, bristling with yachts.

The two guest suites Viktor had picked for them shared this balcony, as well as a connecting door, providing Padhra with easy access to Saskia’s room, should someone attack her in the night. A selection of clothes were piled on the gigantic bed. Most looked a bit too frilly for her taste, but any of them would be preferable to these filthy, torn garments currently hanging off her body. It wasn’t as if these were her own clothes, anyhow. She’d pilfered them off a washing line as they made their escape.

After a long, luxurious shower, she was feeling much better. She settled into the comfy bed and slept like the dead, dreaming of meme-toting elves and invisible assassins. Those dreams were getting weirder every time, but real or not, it was comforting to see Ruhildi and her other Arbor Mundi friends again.

In the morning, she dressed in the simplest outfit she could find, and stepped out into the hallway, where Padhra and Ivan were waiting.

“I had no idea your family was so loaded,” she said to Ivan. “Why did you drive such a beat up old bomb, when you came from…this?”

“Oi, don’t knock the Škoda!” said Ivan. “I’m pretty much on my own when it comes to money. Have been since the day I left home. Dad’s a firm believer in earning your way up from the bottom. Although I’m quite happy here at the bottom, honestly. With great wealth comes great paranoia.”

“Seems as if he might have reason to be paranoid,” said Saskia. “And not just because of people wanting to steal his dough. This world is a lot stranger—and more dangerous—than peons like me had any reason to suspect.”

“You have never been a peon, Saskia,” he said. “Dad has had his eye on you for a long time. Longer than you know.”

The realisation struck her like a sack of bowling balls. She felt the blood drain from her face. “When we first met—it was no accident, was it? Your father sent you to spy on me!”

“I…” He looked away. “He didn’t say why he wanted me to meet you. I thought he was playing matchmaker or something.”

“And after my accident, which you so conveniently witnessed, you told him everything, didn’t you?”

“No! Well, not at first. After you…after I thought you were dead, that was when I told him what I knew. I figured what harm could it do? You were dead. Besides, I didn’t think he’d actually believe me. Apparently he did, because he went all serious. Then within a week, he was shipping me off to stay with my aunt and uncle in Odessa—for my own safety, he said.”

Saskia forced down the anger boiling up inside her. Even though it felt like a betrayal, Ivan hadn’t actually set out to spy on her, and it sounded like he’d been dealt a crappy hand as well. Viktor, on the other hand…

“You realise this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in your father,” she said.

“He means well,” said Ivan. “This spying shit just what he does. Information is everything to him. After what I’ve seen you do, I don’t think you’re all that different.”

Saskia scowled at him. He had a good point, damn him. She was being a hypocrite. Her oracle abilities were made for spying, and she’d had no qualms about using them lately, with her life on the line. If they ever found out what she could do, every intelligence agency in the world would want to recruit her or kill her. In fact, after seeing those videos, they probably already did.

As they walked the long, empty hallways of the mansion, Saskia asked, “Doesn’t a place this big have, like, manservants or something?”

Ivan grinned at her. “Manservants? Why? Hoping to meet some stud who bows to your every whim?”

“Maybe,” said Saskia. “But seriously, where are they? Place like this doesn’t clean itself.”

“Dad sent Boris and Natalia home for a couple of days,” said Ivan. “Loose lips sink…well, you know.”

“Sending them home might raise its own kinda red flags,” she said.

“Nah, it’s not that unusual. You’re not the first super-secret guest to stay at the manor.”

“But the police and spy agencies must have their eyes on this place, right, given your involvement in what went down?”

“About that…” said Ivan. “Turns out they still haven’t ID’d me yet.”

She stared at him. “Even after the thing with the stolen van and the cop and the helicopter? How the hell…?”

“I’m only in a few grainy security cam videos,” said Ivan. “Dad’s guys have…made them go away. Sadly, he can’t work quite the same magic on the videos of you that got us into this mess. They’re out in the wild; posted all over the Internet. There’s no way to stamp them all out.”

She frowned. “When you say magic, you don’t mean, like, actual magic, do you?”

It was sounding a lot like her own father’s photo-erasing ability. But the quizzical look on Ivan’s face told her he had no knowledge of that.

“Just making sure,” she said. “If you’d seen the weird crap I’ve seen…”

They stepped into an expansive conference room to find Viktor Storozhenko sitting at the end of a long hardwood table. “Please be seated, Miss Wendle. I’m certain you have questions. I will do my best to answer those questions.”

She sat at what she judged to be a respectful distance from the imposing man. Ivan sat opposite her, while Padhra remained standing at her back.

“Okay,” she said. “How about you start by telling me if you were the one who sent the hitmen after me.”

He laughed. “Straight to the punch. Very good.”

“And your answer?”

Viktor spread his arms wide. “I did not send those men after you. Not the man at the restaurant. Nor the men at the convention centre. Nor those in the helicopter you brought down today—very impressive shot, by the way. Though, as my son already told you, I was aware that you had been targeted in one of those incidents.”

He was telling the truth. Her oracle interface confirmed it.

“Well then who did send them?” asked Saskia. “You must know something.”

“Regrettably, Miss Wendle, I know less than you would think, for someone as well-connected as myself. Some of my contacts believe this is the work of the organisation known as the Unveilers. They have never resorted to violent means before, though, so I’m less than convinced.”

“Never heard of them.” She turned to Ivan. “Have you?”

Ivan shook his head.

“So, what, they want to unveil me?” she guessed. “Unite the world against the big bad aliens in their midst?”

“Something of that nature,” said Viktor. “They have been trying to unmask Mr Bitterbee for years, with little success.”

“How do they even know he exists? How do you? My father can literally erase himself from your memory—and from pictures or photographs, even. I wish I could do that. It would solve a lot of my problems.”

“I know Mr Bitterbee exists because he wills it. As for the Unveilers, one can only assume they have found a way to counter his power.”

“Anyone else you can think of who could be behind this?”

Viktor thought for a moment. “A foreign government, perhaps. Or your own government?”

“Yea—nope. That just sounds like paranoia to me. I mean, now they know I exist, sure they want to catch me. But before that, they had many opportunities to catch me without making a scene. They could’ve just quietly pulled a bag over my head when I walked through customs, before Padhra showed up to defend me.”

“There is also Mr Bitterbee’s old enemy,” said Viktor. “The one who calls himself The Ram.”

Behind her, Padhra muttered an oath.

“You know of him?” asked Saskia, speaking in the Lingya language.

“He has many names, Old One,” said Padhra. “My people, the Yagthumba, call him Ogunteng, the Infernal Spirit. In your tongue, the name translates, loosely, to devil. He is not just our enemy, but the enemy of all good people of the Earth.”

Saskia sucked in a breath. “Fantabulous. First an evil god, now a devil. Or maybe the Devil…”

Of course, this Ram, or Ogunteng, wasn’t really the biblical Devil, any more than she was really a goddess. He was probably just another one of her own kind. A rival undermind.

Viktor waited for them to finish, before continuing. “I do not know why The Ram would wish to expose you, though. Like Mr Bitterbee, The Ram prefers to hide in the shadows. Now that the world has seen that your kind exists, he will not have such an easy time staying hidden.”

Yeah, she had to agree with that. Underminds had managed to stay out of the public eye for untold centuries. Why throw it all away now, just to get at her? The Ram would likely have the means, but the motivation?

“Okay next question,” she said. “Who told you about the convention centre attack? Was it my father?” Ivan had already suggested it was, but she wanted to hear it from Viktor himself.

He nodded. “It was Mr Bitterbee. Or rather, one of his agents.”

“Are you one of his agents?”

Viktor shook his head. “I am a business partner. We have mutual interests. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

Saskia sat forward in her seat. “Do you know where I can find my father? I need to speak to him!”

“I’m sorry, Miss Wendle,” said Viktor. “That is one thing I cannot help you with. Mr Bitterbee is a very secretive man, as you well know. If he wants you to find him, then you will find him.”

“He’s had twenty four years to contact me or my mum, and in all that time, not a word from him,” she said bitterly. “So forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”

“That is quite understandable,” said Viktor. “Know that he is looking out for you, in his own way. To that end, I’ve invited you here to offer my assistance. I understand you want to get out of the country? I can help with that.”

“You can? Can you do fake passports and such?”

He laughed. “Of course, Miss Wendle. I have already seen to that. Though you should consider their limitations. They may fool the electronic scanners you would find at an airport, but there is the human element to consider. Your face is very recognisable. Even with a disguise, it would be a risk. I offer an alternative…” He gestured at the window.

Looking out the window, she saw pretty much the same view of the bay she’d seen from the balcony. “What am I looking at?”

Viktor grinned. She’d seen that same look on Ivan’s face many times. “What’s the biggest thing you can see out there on the water?”

“Some kinda superyacht, I guess? Looks super fancy…” She turned and stared at him. “That’s yours?”

“The Choven One,” said Viktor. “My pride and joy.”

“I thought I was your pride and joy, Dad,” said Ivan.

“If I had to choose between you or she…” Viktor tilted his hand sideways, before offering his son a mysterious smile.

“I’m sure there’s a meaning behind that name, other than the obvious,” said Saskia.

“Choven means boat in Ukrainian,” said Ivan.

“Oh.” She laughed. “Good one!”

“We must go to Lingyawon,” said Padhra. “Can you take us there?”

“I can take you as far as the coast of India,” said Viktor. “You will have to make your own way from there to Nepal.”

“India is a big country…” said Saskia.

“We can do it, Old One,” said Padhra. “I can get us across the border.”

“If you say so…” said Saskia dubiously. She turned to Viktor. “I do have one more request.”

“Ask,” said Viktor.

“My mum and my friends,” she said. “I can’t contact them without alerting all the wrong people. But maybe you could get word to them that I’m okay? Don’t tell them where I’m going, but let them know I’m safe, and not holed away in a government bunker somewhere.”

“Consider it done,” said Viktor. “One of my associates has the perfect excuse to speak to your game developer friends.”

Several pieces clicked into place in that moment. “Sergei Krasnov, the big investor in our company. He’s your guy, isn’t he?”

He nodded. “You are a sharp one. Yes, Sergei is an associate of mine.”

She’d long suspected Threadless Studios’ mysterious benefactor had ties to her father, but she hadn’t been able to figure out the precise nature of that link. Sergei himself had been elusive. Only Raji had met him, and the information she’d dug up about him online had provided few details beyond his various business dealings. No visible links to Viktor Storozhenko or Calbert Bitterbee, and presumably that was the whole point. Layers upon layers, and she didn’t know yet how deep the rabbit hole went.

“I won’t even ask why you did that,” said Saskia. “Obviously it was so you—and by extension, my dad—could keep tabs on me. I’m worried about my friends, though. Someone already used them to get to me. They may have used you too. If Ivan hadn’t driven me away at just the wrong time—if I’d been there when they showed up at the booth—I’d never have had to…do the thing I did.”

“You might also be dead,” pointed out Ivan.

“With Padhra watching out for me, and with my minim—with the other things I can do, I somehow doubt that. No, the timing seems awfully convenient.”

“I cannot pretend I have not had the same thoughts,” said Viktor. “Your father’s agents are trustworthy, but they are not omniscient. It is likely one of their sources betrayed them.”

Or maybe this was my father’s plan all along, she thought. Could he be behind all of this? “Anyhow, forcing me to expose myself to the world might have been their endgame. In that case, my mum and friends should be safe, because the damage has already been done. But I can’t just assume that. Is there anything we can do to protect them?”

“Sergei—and others—are already on the case.”

“I want details,” said Saskia. “Names, jobs, and how exactly they intend to keep them safe.”

“That is too long a discussion for this meeting. There will be time for that later, once we are away. Right now, we must prepare for the journey…”

She sighed. “I guess that’ll have to do. Thank you for everything, Mr Storozhenko.”

“It is no problem, Miss Wendle,” said Viktor. “This is just good business.”

“How much is my dad paying you?”

“Calbert’s currency is not measured in dollars,” said Viktor, flashing her a mysterious smile.

Not content to take him at his word, Saskia waited until she was out of sight, then leapt into Viktor’s head. Soon, she found herself eavesdropping on a phonecall he made to one of his ‘associates.’

The man he spoke to agreed to place some discrete security teams outside the homes of her mum and her friends. Curious, Saskia mentally leapt from Viktor’s head into that of the man on the other end of the phone.

She found him sitting on a swivel chair in a small, ramshackle office. It didn’t look like any government agency she’d heard of. A private security company, then? There was an emblem on the wall she didn’t recognise. She didn’t stick around to investigate further, because Ivan was pestering her to pick out some clothes and other gear to bring to the boat.

They boarded the Choven One that night, under cover of darkness, and set off early the next morning. Travelling on a superyacht wasn’t quite as luxurious as she’d imagined, mostly because she and Padhra spent the entire journey confined to their rooms, with the crew under strict instructions not to enter. Loose lips, and all that. Ivan or Viktor delivered their meals—which were, admittedly, sumptuous—while they did their own cleaning. Saskia spent her time watching movies, playing games, reading books and browsing the Internet via their satellite link. That was all fun and games for the first couple of days. By the fifteenth, she’d had enough. She had to be very careful about her browsing habits; couldn’t use email or social media; couldn’t work; couldn’t do anything except chill out.

It was torture.

By the time they finally arrived at the coast of India, Saskia was about ready to throw herself overboard. Which was just as well, because that was exactly what they were about to do.

Even here on the deck, in the fierce wind, Viktor still wore a suit. He shook her hand vigorously. “It has been a pleasure, Miss Wendle. Miss Melakhoba.” He looked at Ivan. “Keep her safe, my boy.”

“I will, Dad,” said Ivan. He stepped backward—and dropped over the edge, repelling down to the tiny dingy bobbing in the water, far below.

Saskia followed a moment later. She very nearly missed her step and took a dip in the icy water, but Ivan caught her rope and tugged it to the side, allowing her to preserve her dignity for a while longer. Then Padhra landed lightly beside her, and they were ready to go.

They paddled ashore under cover of darkness—though of course it wasn’t dark to Saskia’s oracle-enhanced eyes. It was a blustery night. Waves threatened to capsize their tiny raft at any moment, or dash them against rocks. So it was with great surprise when her feet set down upon the sands of India.

They had a lot of ground to cover. But if they were careful, and didn’t draw too much attention to themselves, they’d just look like any other group of foreigners passing through. Their destination: a reclusive temple on the slopes of Mount Sesayung, in eastern Nepal. A place with many secrets she’d only begun to plumb, and with a weapon or two she might deploy against her enemies, if they should come for her there.

Gazing back at the elegant curves of the Choven One, something compelled her to cast her consciousness back into the suit-clad figure standing on the upper deck, staring into the darkness with a phone to his ear.

“It is done,” said Viktor Storozhenko. “They are on their way, as safe and sound as can be expected, given the circumstances.”

Could he be speaking to her father? Probably not, but she had to know for certain. She dove into the head of the person at the other end of the phone—

Or, rather, tried to dive into his head. Instead, she felt a sudden, sharp pain in her temple. A violent tremor shook her body.

When it finally subsided, she was herself again. Padhra and Ivan were eyeing her with worried expressions.

“I’m okay,” she said, pulling her jacket tight against the howling wind and lashing waves. “Let’s get going.”