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“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.

CHAPTER4

“…butI 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.