The reporter beside me raised her hand, pumping the air, trying to get Jaime’s attention. Plenty of others were waving madly, but Jaime knew where Adam and I were sitting. Seeing our seatmate jumping up and down, she started our way. I caught her gaze and shook my head.

Jaime acted as if she hadn’t noticed, but when she reached the end of the aisle she stopped suddenly. She glanced over, as if at the ghost, then nodded at the reporter. “She’s says she’s not for you. I’m sorry.”

Jaime started to turn away, then stopped again. Frowning, she slowly turned. “Are you here hoping to contact someone?”

“I am,” the reporter shot to her feet. “My friend, Jan. She died last year. Cancer.”

Jaime’s frown grew. “Are you sure? I’m not sensing a Jan.”

“Who are you sensing?”

“No one. There isn’t anyone who wants to speak to—” She cut herself off. “I mean, no one wants to speak to you right now. I’m sure you have loved ones who do, though.” A sympathetic smile. “Somewhere.”

The reporter sank into her seat, defeated.

“My visitor is still here,” Jaime said to the room. “And I thank her for her patience. I will find the person she came for. Perhaps she can help me locate—”

“Tell the truth, Jaime.”

The voice rang out from the middle of the crowd. Beside Adam, the reporter perked up.

Jaime smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. To spread the truth, that there is life after this, and we are all going—”

“You know what I mean, Jaime O’Casey.”

Jaime didn’t react to the use of her real name, but I craned my neck and scanned the audience.

“I can’t see who it is,” Adam whispered.

Ushers and security appeared at every doorway. One lift of Jaime’s hand, and they came no further.

“Comfortable lies, Jaime,” the male voice continued. “You tell them comfortable lies. We all do. We hide in the shadows and we tell comfortable lies, to them and to ourselves. Lies about what we are. Lies about what we can do.”

Now Jaime waved to the guards to start searching. The man made it easy by standing up. He was younger than I would have expected, probably not much older than me. Not a wild-eyed nutcase either. Just a regular guy—dark hair, average build, decent-looking.

“Recognize him?” Adam whispered.

“No, I’ve never—”

The man’s gaze passed over mine and I felt a jolt that had me whispering a curse. He was a sorcerer. We recognized one another on sight.

He felt the jolt, too, and his gaze swung back. He saw me this time and he froze. Then he blinked and his lips parted. The man in the row in front of him shifted, blocking our sight line, and the sorcerer practically dove across the seats to shove the man out of the way. He stared at me. An openmouthed gape, as if he’d spotted a zebra in the audience. His lips formed my name.

Adam tapped my arm to get my attention. “You do recognize him?”

“No. Just that he’s a sorcerer. But he seems to know me.”

I turned back. The man had looked away and others between us had shifted so our sight line was blocked again.

“Why are you pandering to humans, Jaime O’Casey?” the sorcerer called.

The guards simultaneously reached each end of his aisle.

“You have power,” he said. “True power. Unbelievable power. You can’t just speak to the dead. You can’t just raise the dead. You have a direct line to the Almighty. There’s an angel sitting on your shoulder.”

“I don’t think that’s an angel,” Jaime said.

A whoosh of laughter from the audience, too loud and too long for the joke, relief subsiding into nervous giggles and uncomfortable whispers.

“Get him out of here!” someone shouted.

“He’s holding up the show!”

Real audience members? Or Jaime’s plants? Either way, the cry spread, drowning him out.

“I think those guys are going to ask you to leave,” Jaime said as the guards closed in on the man. “I’m sorry, but folks here paid good money to see the show.”

In the hush that followed her words, the sorcerer shouted, “The end is coming! The end of hiding! The end of pretending! The end of comfortable lies!”

He waved his hands over his head. Fog spread from his fingertips, swirling around him. The audience gasped. I shoved my way along the row to the aisle. Adam followed.

The guards ran at the man. He hit them with a knockback. Then another fog spell, cast over and over, the clouds spreading, covering his retreat.

When the fog dissipated, the guy was gone, and Adam and I were standing in the outer aisle. Jaime saw us and nodded.

“Wow,” she said. “And I thought my special effects were good. Hey, Kat?”

Kat’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Next show? Dry ice. Lots of it.”

The audience laughed nervously, grateful for the excuse.

“Did he say I could raise the dead?” Jaime said. “You know, my mom used to say that, too. Every time I cranked up my stereo.”

More laughter. People settled into their seats. Adam and I glanced at each other then headed for the door. A guard pulled it open for us.

“The end is coming.” Jaime climbed onto the catwalk. “Can’t give him any points for originality, can we?” When that spate of laugher died, her voice dropped an octave. “Some people believe that. I don’t agree. But I know one thing. When our own end does come, we have nothing to fear, because there is an afterlife, with our loved ones waiting for us . . .”

The guard eased the door shut behind us, muffling her voice as she steered the show back on track.

five

A supernatural displaying his powers in public? And exhorting another to do the same? Unheard of. Occasionally a few will argue that it’s time for “the big reveal”—for us to tell the world what we are—but they never gain much momentum . . . or many supporters.

It’s a simple matter of statistics and history. Supernaturals account for a very small portion of the population, maybe half a percent. The vast majority of them are from minor races with powers so weak that most live their entire lives without ever realizing they are supernatural.