“Makes sense,” Aysha says. “They’d definitely be strong enough to open one.”

Portals are super hard to control. For a start, the mage has to be able to use runes from all four elements and then feed the portal enough energy to keep it open long enough for someone to cross over—similar to the way a tonttukivi works, only minus the stones. The greater the distance between the entrance and exit of the portal, the more energy it requires, or so Toivo’s Sigils and Systems textbook says.

“Could you—we—open our own?” I ask.

“Definitely not,” Aysha says so emphatically I think better of pushing the issue.

If only Morgan was here, I bet he’d be able to do it, but he’s not and it’s my fault, so on to plan B.

“So, we find the portal and hope it’s still open, or we take the bus.”

“I vote for portal finding.” Ekaterina raises her hand.“I mean, you do know how to find one, right?”

“With this?” I hold up the Zeiger counter I stole from Toivo’s room. It’s our only option without a vampire to sniff out traces left by the chaos mage.

“Is it working?” Aysha asks. “It doesn’t seem to be sensing much of anything.”

“Maybe there’s nothing for it to pick up out here,” Ekaterina says. “Should I try?”

Warily, I hand over the device. If Ekaterina fixed the phone, maybe she can fix this too.

Sparks. Smoke. The smell of charred plastic.

Eleven seconds later a very dead Zeiger counter tumbles out of her hands.

“Well, there goes that idea.” Aysha nudges the puddle of electronic remains with the tip of her shoe.

“Dammit. I’m sorry.” Ekaterina’s voice is all quavery like she might be trying not to cry—surprising, considering her all black clothes and the vicious spikes studding her jacket and boots. “It’s hard to control how much power I use,” she adds.

“Like that time you blew up the amps in the music room?” I ask gently.

“Yeah. And thanks for writing about that, by the way.” She shoves her hands into her pockets.

A pang of guilt needles at me. Maybe I didn’t need to write all those articles about students who’d had magical mishaps. Most of them had been about Ekaterina.

“I’m sorry.” I meet Ekaterina’s gaze, again surprised to see all the hurt brimming in her eyes, which are smudged black and purple with makeup. “That was mean, but it’s not like you were particularly nice to me either.”

Silence. For a horrifying, heart-stopping moment I think I’ve said the wrong thing and ruined the tenuous truce between us. Then Aysha sighs.

“You’re right,” she says. “We owe you an apology too.”

I nod at Aysha, momentarily lost for words, then glance at Ekaterina.