– 4 –

A magnet is raging. A magnet is pulling. It is dragging Lucy Souvante towards the Lethal Magnet School.

Now and then she will stop. Now and then she will catch something on her umbrella.

She will hang in the air, pulled. She will consider.

There is something nagging at her mind. She cannot place it.

Ultimately she is in the air over Brentwood, and the boot is coming down, before she understands it. Memory trickles through her brain and the pieces come together.

She pulls out a snotty evil prophecy. She rubs it off on the hem of her flowing skirt.

It is the evil prophecy. It is her evil prophecy. It is the prophecy she was supposed to have —

“Yes!” she cheers, in the sky over Brentwood, and whips it around, and brandishes it at the wolf-magnet:

One. Two. Three.

And as the prophecy grinds down the magnet into nothing, as the ulfleiðarsteinn shudders, ceases spinning, and suddenly goes out; as she is falling towards the campus at an angle, not quite to intersect the boot, she spins in the air, and she hugs her evil prophecy, and then she holds it out at arms’-length and it unfurls —

She reads the golden letters of it.

She reads the golden letters of it, says the prophecy.

And, a little lower,

RUN.

<< – 3 –

– 5 – >>