"Are you ready?" asked Rachel.

Solveig tossed her dreadlocks out of her face, grinning. "I'm with you, boss."

Rachel sighed. "I'd prefer you didn't call me that."

"Yeah, you said." Solveig shrugged. "It's fun to say, though."

"You know where we're about to go, yes?"

"And I know you're scared shitless of something you still won't tell me about," said Solveig. "That's why I'm here, isn't it?"

"Not really," said Rachel. "You can't protect me at all from that."

"...So why am I here?"

"For everything else."

Solveig shrugged. "Whatever you say, boss."

Rachel sighed again. She stood up, and nearly bumped into the overhead bins. Solveig reached up and pulled out her bags, even though Rachel could probably reach them more easily. That's what a bodyguard does, right? Everything they need. I'm doin' my job right.

Solveig never really questioned how she'd ended up here—a nobody college kid from Canada following a willowy giant of a young woman through Reagan International Airport while men in black suits shadowed them from afar. Those are totally Secret Service agents, right? Of course they are. We're in D.C. on our way to the White House.

"How'd you end up talking to the President, anyway?" asked Solveig.

"It's a long story," said Rachel in a tired voice. She always sounded exhausted these days.

"You know, I'm pretty sure only sleeping three hours a night is bad for you," she commented aloud.

"I did a ritu—"

"Yeah, I know. You're famous for it." Solveig shrugged. "You still seem super tired to me."

Rachel sighed. "I might have done it wrong. Kendra thought the same thing."

"Well, if you fall asleep, I'm pretty sure I can carry you."

"Thank you, Solveig."

She grinned. "Not 'Sol-vague'?" she jabbed, referencing Rachel's original mangled pronunciation of her name.

"I'd never dream of calling you vague."

Solveig laughed. "So what are we doing in D.C. anyway, besides showing off how you can talk to the President whenever you feel like it?"

"He invited me, I didn't just pick a time."

"Uh-huh."

"We're here to discuss the new Department of Thaumaturgical Affairs," said Rachel, confidently strolling through the building without glancing at a single sign. Solveig trusted her completely to know where they were heading—no doubt Rachel had memorized every single map of the area and the building. "And the area of Rallsburg Natalie claimed for herself, awakenings, so on."

"And to get your new shiny hat."

"My what?"

Solveig snickered. "Didn't they tell you when you get a cabinet position, you get a shiny hat?"

"It's not a cabinet position," said Rachel patiently. They were heading down to the street level now, where a car waited right on the curb in a cordoned area for them. Solveig never ceased to be amazed at how much privilege was afforded to important people in America. "If it were, I'd have to be nominated and confirmed by the Senate. I'm just an advisor."

"So you don't get paid?"

"Kendra has given me more money than I'll ever need in my life." Rachel got into the car, smoothing out her dress and straightening her clothes as best she could. Solveig took the seat next to her. Rachel glanced over her, disappointed. "Couldn't you have dressed a little nicer?"

Solveig rolled her eyes. "Like they're gonna care."

"You don't show up to meet the President in jeans and a hoodie."

"You don't. I do whatever the hell I want."

Rachel shook her head. "You'll come to a bad end that way."

"Why do you even like having me around?" asked Solveig pointedly as the car rolled out from the airport. "You get annoyed by half of what I say. It's not like Landon and Logan are bad at magic, and they're way prettier arm-candy. I'm ugly as fuck and I know it."

"Call it nostalgia," said Rachel in a tired voice, watching the city pass by outside the window.

They crossed the Potomac in short order, despite the afternoon traffic. Solveig stayed quiet for a while, wondering what Rachel might mean by her statement. Rachel continued to stare out the window, briefly turning around to check her phone for messages or whatever other updates continually buzzed in on their silence.

Probably memorizing the whole damn city. The hell does that mean, nostalgia? Do I remind her of something? Whatever, fuck it. Doesn't mean I can't still do my job. She's paying me a shit-ton of cash for this, and end of the day, this is something worth doing. Rachel's important, and she's not a money-grubbing asshole making the world a more corrupt and worthless place. She might actually save the world. That's worth helping out.

"So what is your title gonna be?" asked Solveig finally.

"Senior Advisor to the President for the Awakened," said Rachel.

"Not thaumaturgy?"

She shook her head. "They're making a distinction. I'm advising him on our group and the Northwest awakened in general, but I'm also there to help out with the DTA. I'm really both, but labels matter. Also, I think Cinza really leaned on them to use 'awakened' instead of 'thaumaturgy'. She thinks it sounds too scientific."

Solveig snorted. "The hell does that matter?"

"Some people don't like mixing magic and science," said Rachel. "Cinza wants to preserve the mysticism because it gives her power, not because of prejudice, but some people really are hostile to the idea that magic isn't… you know, magical."

"That's idiotic."

Rachel shrugged. "Some like the consistency and reliability of science, others hate the idea that there isn't more to the world."

"And the rest of us don't give a shit and just pay attention to whatever's in front of us." Solveig shook her head. "You think too much."

"Probably." Rachel glanced out the window again. The White House was coming into view now. "You'll try to be more civil when we're meeting with the President, right?"

"Something like that," said Solveig wickedly.

"Please—"

"I'll keep my mouth shut, sheesh." Solveig gave an exaggerated sigh, mimicking Rachel's from earlier. "You're way too serious, boss. We can do magic."

"We still have to worry about the rest of the world beyond just magic," said Rachel quietly.

"Just don't forget what's out there."

"Never."