Mrs Baxter paced back and forth in front of the kitchen table.

“What are you working on, Mum?” Jessa said, peering over at the sheets of paper spread all over the table.

“My company got an offer to organise an event. The event hosts were already working with one of our competitors, but something went wrong, and they got fired very suddenly. So it’s a bit last minute but a huge event for us!”

“Cool, what is it?”

“A campaign dinner for someone trying to become the leader of a political party. Surprisingly fancy, too. He’s apparently running for the PIP. Complete nonsense of course, but you should see how much they offered us to run the event.”

“Is it Mr Graves? He’s Cecily’s dad. They’re super rich.”

“That’s the one. Funny what people choose to spend their money on. Well, if he wants to try and buy his way into politics, fair play to him. They’re all nuts, these political types. And I’ve just been on the phone with the catering company, and they have another event that night too, so they're hiring more temporary waiting staff for my event. So if you fancy earning some pocket money, I can get you a little job waitressing.”

“Ugh, that means I'd have to see Cecily."

"I'm sure she'll be too busy to talk to you.”

"I suppose."

"It's good money."

"Oh, all right, then. I think Flynn would be interested too.”

“Lovely.”

“At least that way I can keep an eye on Cecily,” Jessa mumbled under her breath.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, nothing,” Jessa fiddled with a piece of her hair, twirling it around her fingers. “Mum, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love.”

“Have you ever been afraid of a parapsych?”

Her mother stopped fussing with the spreadsheets and looked at her daughter with concern. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well, have you?”

“Afraid? No, definitely not. Perhaps annoyed or angry, but never because of their parapsychism. A person isn’t defined by their psych abilities, you know that. Why are you asking?”

“No reason. Just a project for school. I should probably get back to my revision.”

Jessa’s bed creaked as she jumped onto it and made herself comfortable in the corner. She flopped down with her older edition copy Mind Over Matter: Introduction to Telepathy and fingered through the pages quickly, reviewing her highlights and margin notes.

She gently closed the book and turned her gaze to the dimmer switch on the opposite wall, around which she’d placed a circle of card (as per Ms Alzamora's recommendation). Jessa softened her eyes in the centre of the circle, and let out her breath. She held her hand gently in space and imitated the motion of turning the dimmer switch.

The little knob turned.

The light dimmed.

“Yes,” Jessa said under her breath.

She settled back into a comfortable reclined position, closed her eyes and began her open-mind practice.

“Hey Annora, you’re here late,” Jessa said, taking a seat next to her friend in the library.

“So are you!” Annora replied brightly. “I’m just here getting in some revision time. I find the library so relaxing after school hours.” Her bushy red hair tumbled down over the exercise book on the table. “I’m working on my parapsych history project, what about you?”

“Also doing my project. And my English essay. And my chemistry homework. I’m, uh, not too good at keeping up with homework. Don’t tell Maggie, though.”

“My lips are sealed,” said Annora, gesturing the motion of a key in a lock on her mouth.

“Oh hey, I think you have a bug in your hair.”

“Ew, can you get it out?” Annora shuddered.

“Yeah, hang on.” Jessa stood behind Annora and looked where she thought she had just seen the insect. She gently picked apart the bushy ginger wisps, separating a section of hair and pushing it over Annora’s shoulder. “Maybe it fell out; I don’t see it now. I think it was one of those tiny little spid— Whoa.”

“What?” Annora said quickly.

“What happened to your head?”

“What do you mean?”

“These scars… Did something happen to you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Where are the scars?”

Jessa gently touched the scorched-looking skin on Annora’s scalp.

“Ow!”

“Sorry!”

“Ow!” Annora yelled, louder. “Stop it!”

“Annora, I’m not touching you now,” Jessa said, moving in front of her friend.

Annora threw her hands to her head, scraping her nails against her lesioned flesh. Tears streamed from her reddening face, and her yelps and shrieks turned to tortured screams and cries for help.

“Annora, stop!” Jessa called out as Annora tore at her own head, ripping out threads of hair in her fingers that were rapidly becoming coated with the red wetness of fresh blood. Two other students looked on, horrified.

“Go get help!” Jessa shouted to them, and one of them jumped into action, sprinting from the library with frenzied shouts for assistance.

Annora calmed and stared into space, then down at her bloody fingers. When she spoke, she spoke a crooked voice as well as her own. She choked the words as though trying to fight for air, through deep gasps. She pained through the rattle in her throat.

“I stand with Him, His Grace, His Lordship.”

“Annora…?” Jessa spoke quietly, staring at the girl who had just turned from a friend into something else entirely.

“His time has come,” Annora growled. “We have been chosen. We mark the path for his mighty resurrection.”

The third-year boy raced back into the library, quickly followed by Mr Fletcher, who immediately went to Annora and placed his hands gently on hers.

“Annora? It’s me, Mr Fletcher. Can you hear me?”

“We have been chosen. We mark the path for his mighty resurrection.” Her black eyes didn’t blink.

“Annora, I know you’re in there.”

“We have been chosen. We mark the path for his mighty resurrection.” She pulled her hands away from his and pushed her chair back away from the table without touching it. The chair legs screeched as they pulled back on the floor. She stood and ran from the room.

Mr Fletcher and Jessa followed, but Annora was already running up the stairs. Her footsteps were quiet but the maniacal voice reverberated through the quiet hallways—an audible trail of crumbs up the staircase.

Suddenly, an alarm screamed an electronic wail of warning.

“The roof,” Mr Fletcher ran along the top floor corridor toward the fire exit. He and Jessa reached the open door and were met by the cool evening air.

Annora stood on the wall at the edge of the building.

“No!” Jessa yelled and went to rush forward, but Mr Fletcher held her back. He shoved his phone into her hand.

“Call Rachel, tell her to contact everyone at the Agency, and tell her we’ll be there as soon as possible.”

He slowly approached the figure of Annora Huff that stood with her toes inched over the edge of the wall. Her blood-matted head glistened in the early evening sunlight.

“Hey, Annora. Why don’t you come down?”

“You cannot change the path,” a myriad of voices spoke through her vocal chords. “We mark the path for his mighty resurrection.”

“Whose resurrection? Silas?”

“His lordship!” she growled without turning around. “He has come! Now we who have been chosen will commit ourselves to him. We mark the path for his mighty resurrection.”

She stepped off the ledge.

Hugo Fletcher’s arms reached up, forcing every volt of his telekinetic energy to channel through his body and the air, holding Annora’s body in mid-air with her arms and legs splayed to the sides. Jessa gaped, frozen at the sight of his body shaking with the tension, and a long, involuntary groan escaping through his gritted teeth. With one final strain, he was able to pull her backwards enough and let her go. She fell, unconscious, but alive, onto the surface of the roof.

Jessa gasped herself awake. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, and she had to take slow, deliberate breaths to calm her racing heartbeat. Another nightmare. She shook her head in disbelief. The clock read 1:43 am.

She had barely fallen asleep again before her alarm rang for school.