“To paraphrase Von Moltke, no plan survives beyond the first encounter with the enemy. I left the Porters with certain goals and strategies. Proper disposal of my body, for one. Delegation of power to a small group, no more than six. The importance of international neutrality. The safety and security of our own people. Most importantly, a focus on the long term that should help us all survive the short-term chaos and upheaval.”

“Define ‘short-term.’”

“Historically speaking? Years. Decades, most likely.”

“How many people are going to lose their lives as a result of that chaos?”

“As you’ve said, magic can’t predict the future.”

“It can damn well guess.”

“By my estimate, given human nature? Millions.”

THE SERVICE THE PORTERS WERE USING for transportation and security in D.C. wasn’t scheduled to pick us up for at least another hour, so Lena hailed us a cab while I took a copy of Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere from my jacket.

“Where to?” asked the driver, an older woman in a yellow headscarf with the gruff voice of a longtime smoker.

I scooted into the back and handed her a ten. “Just keep it parked here for a minute, eh?”

“You waiting for someone?”

“Not exactly.”

Lena sat down beside me. “Shortcut?”

“I hope so.” Neverwhere was one of the books I’d been rereading as part of my own research. I might not be able to create a stable portal from Vegas to the U.P. yet, but I was getting closer, and I’d learned a few tricks in the process.

I’d also accidentally sent a pair of lab rats to either Alpha Centauri or possibly a wardrobe in London. I doubted Vince would ever forgive me for that one.

I turned to a page marked with a blue Post-it note. I could recite the scene from memory, but it was simpler to touch the book directly, to reread and submerge myself in the story. Every page had its own texture, as unique as a fingerprint. I could feel the individual letters and the ink pressed into the paper, like a blind man reading embossed print in the days before Braille.

Gaiman had created a character named Door. I’d experimented with her magic back at the lab. This would be my first time using it in the field.

My fingertips sank through the paper, touching the world so many of Gaiman’s readers had visualized and dreamed about. While that world was fictional, the belief and imagination of his readers was quite real. That was where the story’s true magic came from, with the physical book serving as a magnet and anchor for that cumulative belief.

The driver twisted around. “What are you doing back there?”

“We’ll be on our way in a moment,” said Nidhi.