Inside, it’s as if a tornado has torn through the office. Papers are scattered on the floor along with a smattering of blueberries. Files lie strewn across the desk and the computer’s monitor hangs at a lopsided angle from its mount on the wall.

“What happened here?” Aysha asks.

“Clearly nothing good,” Katya says.

“But there’s no portal. We should keep searching.” I want to get out of here and stop the theremin from screeching. Whatever happened with MacCrone, we’re too late anyway.

We back away and the whining persists, thankfully at lower decibels.

“It’s definitely picking up something.” Aysha leads us down the corridor to the emergency exit we only ever use during fire drills.

The exit, like MacCrone’s door, is ajar, and several blueberries have been crushed and smeared across the linoleum floor. At least, I hope that’s only berries and not blood.

I shove open the door, scanning the twilight forest. This corner of the school cozies right up to the woods, with two paths leading away: one to the faculty parking lot which doubles as the emergency meeting point, the other into the trees, toward MacCrone’s cottage. My crows are already there perched on the eaves, restless and croaking their concern.

“There are more blueberries.” Katya crouches down on the muddy path. “Claw marks too. It goes this way.”

We follow, happy to let Katya with her ability to conjure lightning bolts go first.

The theremin continues to sing dismal notes as we wind through the woods. My crows circle above, performing several low swoops over my head as if trying to stop me. I wave them away and force one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the cold sweat on the back of my neck and my heart pounding faster than punk-rock drums.

When we reach MacCrone’s cottage, the theremin screeches even louder, making the whole instrument vibrate. Aysha drops it and claps her hands over her ears. The theremin gives one final wail before erupting in a shower of sparks. A single black tendril of smoke curls up into the air and then, silence.

“Guess we’re in the right place.” I turn to face the cottage—not a place I would normally venture if I had the choice.

Claw marks cut grooves into the pebbled pathway leading the last few meters to the house. The door hangs open on a single hinge as if someone or something tried to rip the whole thing away. The only light comes from the static charge dancing between Katya’s fingers. Aysha hums it into glowing orbs, lighting up the syrupy darkness inside the cottage. Nervously, we approach. Katya holds out a sparking hand, fingers trembling.