It feels strange to have a normal day at college. What most students would think of as normal, I mean. Normal for me seems to involve vampires, muggers, shoplifters, kidnapping and ghosts. It’s kind of fun. It’s even more fun having a private way for the Pack to chat without anybody else knowing, although we don’t use it much because that would leave Tala out. It’s only a half day. We’re supposed to be spending the afternoon on project work, the photography and our Art Accessibility pieces. We head over to Shelley’s place instead, to get ready for Tom’s attempt at reconnaissance. “So, I’ve been wondering about Tom’s S.E.P. field,” Shelley says as we’re still crowded in her hallway. She leads the way to the kitchen, talking as she goes. “Tom, is there any magic in your family? Any witches? Any of your ancestors get cursed?”

It’s clear pretty quickly that Tala isn’t okay with things. I don’t know what the difference is between magic for finding things out, and the don’t-see-me thing Shelley wants to do on Tom. Tala’s finding it hard to explain. Something about it having seemed okay to look at something that was already there, but not to do something new. That, and her father would be unhappy with her if he ever found out, which is the part of her explanation that makes most sense to me. It’s obvious she’s trying really hard not to just call us all wrong in the eyes of her religion, but I think that’s the real problem. It’s Shelley who’s the most understanding. “Of course you have to stay true to what you believe in. Personal integrity is important. We won’t reject you for it. We’ll admire you for it. If you don’t think you can watch, we can get you a taxi, or you and Ella could go and make sandwiches in the kitchen?”

“Tala?” I’m still not sure how I do what I’m doing. I’m just thinking about who I want to talk to over the Link, and that’s seemed to work. It’s not working now though. Tala doesn’t answer. She’s looking at me intently, though.I remember my fathers reaction, when I couldn’t hear him. The feel of his hand when he slapped me, the first time. The crushing sense of rejection and failure. I don’t care if Tala can’t hear me and can never hear me, if she wants to be part of the Pack then she is part of the Pack, and I won’t ever let anyone say anything else.The others are curious. I can hear their questions.

“This feels silly,” I confess. Sarah is sprawled back against the pillows, her hair splayed out in an aura about her head. Her feet are in my lap as I sit cross-legged on the end of the bed. Her toenails are painted silver, sparkling gently in the dimmed light of the bedroom. She’s given me a pot of body cream to use, something that smells of sandalwood, bergamot and jasmine. The scent fills the room as soon as I take the lid off, woody and spicy.“It’s not hard. Dab some of the cream on your hands. Rub them together to get it nice and warm.”The heat makes the scent even stronger, mingling with Sarah’s own natural moss and resin. I fill my lungs with it. Maybe that’s not the best thing to do, because my jeans are going to get pretty uncomfortable if I keep doing that.

Nothing happens. Does the time of day, or night, make a difference? It has never seemed to bother Bellmouth, but he’s a dog. The Horseman’s horse only seems to appear at night, although the Horseman himself has shown up at other times. Perhaps the rules for each ghost are different? The kettle is boiling. I reach to get down a mug, turn back to the kettle, and end up almost dropping the mug. Mary is standing there, looking at the kettle with a mixture of distrust and fascination. The kettle at Backmarsh heats on the hob, I remember. Mine here is electric and has no visible means of heating. “It’s not magic,” I tell her. “The base there, it’s something like a warming pan that you’d put hot coals in. It’s not exactly the same. It uses the same stuff that the lights use, instead of coals, and that heats the water in the jug.”