"Yeah." I grunt, half dazed by pain. The sweet female voice is warm, soothing.

"You okay?" the voice asks with concern. Celia? I imagine my long-lost girlfriend, kidnapped and killed by the New Order a lifetime ago. Coming closer, leaning over me, about to touch me, heal me, save me…

"Mmmmmm…" I trail off, waiting for Celia's scent, her arms around me.

"You sound… hungover."

Oh. It's Wisty. Of course.

I groan. "It's my shoulder. Got dislocated in the portal, I think."

"Seriously? I slipped right through that one like butter."

I roll my eyes even though she probably can't see them. "Guess it was just the right size for your runty witch butt," I croak out-affectionately, I swear. "So where d'you think we are?"

"How about… a prison? Seems like our favorite crib these days."

I wasn't so sure. "No. This smell-it's not the smell of a prison. It's something… good. Something that reminds me of…"

"Home," we both say in unison.

Wisty releases a small flame from her fingertip to give us some light. I'm impressed at how she's learning to control her hot little temper and putting her talent to good use. In the old days, I used to be the accomplished star around town-MVP varsity football player, plus a top-ranked runner and swimmer-while Wisty was mostly cutting class. Now she's this hotshot witch who can glow, morph, zap, and do other cool stuff. Just not necessarily on command.

In the dim light I see just enough to make out my sister's shape and stacks of cardboard boxes labeled INCINERATE. "Books," Wisty says reverently, paging through a few volumes from unsealed boxes. With my good arm I gingerly poke into a crate and spy titles by all kinds of famous authors, from B. B. White to Roy Royce.

"Looks like a book-burning shipment," I guess. The New Order is in the process of destroying just about every known book in the occupied Overworld written before the takeover.