. observed. We can do a working to help one of you perceive the magical connections that exist. However, one of you must swim down to where the barrier is thinnest to witness what we have seen of the connections between universes. Which one of you is the strongest swimmer?”
Sloane felt everyone’s eyes on her. She was, after all, the first one to have emerged from this same river and the one who had gotten her scuba-diving certification when training to retrieve the Needle. And the one who had spent summers at the community pool with Cameron, the two of them challenging each other to hold their breath longer, and longer, and longer . . .
“Me,” Sloane said.
Aelia’s mouth pinched like she was sucking on hard candy, but she nodded. Today she wore three clashing black-and-white patterns: striped billowing slacks; a houndstooth jacket with a long line of tiny buttons; a checkerboard cape with a high collar. She reminded Sloane of a circus performer.
“We can do a working on you so that you can breathe underwater for a short time,” Aelia said. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah,” Sloane said. She bent over to untie her shoe. Her other leg was still wrapped in a siphon. “Sure.”
As Aelia cast a working to keep Sloane warm in the cold water, Cyrielle produced a large handkerchief from one of her sleeves, shaking it out like a magician performing a trick. She placed it over Sloane’s nose and mouth and tied it at the back of her head. Then Aelia brought all her fingertips together and let out a trill from her tooth implant, a note higher than she could have sung on her own. Sloane winced at the sound, but the kerchief inflated around her face like a balloon—her air supply.
Sloane shed her outer layer. Wearing just a shirt and her underwear, she walked to the edge of the river. There were goose bumps all over her legs. She stared into the dim water and saw no reflection.
“And now the working that will help you see the connections,” Aelia said, her hand clasping Sloane’s shoulder. Sloane felt the cold of the siphon’s plates through the fabric of her shirt. Cyrielle clasped her other shoulder. The note from Aelia’s implant was so low Sloane could hardly hear sound in it, only felt its vibration against the back of her neck. Cyrielle’s joined in at a higher, dissonant pitch. Then both women’s hands fell away.
Sloane turned around and saw—light. Strings of light enfolding Cyrielle, Matt, Esther, Aelia. Extending from their feet and into the ground, penetrating the cracks in the concrete sidewalk. Slants of light like the sun’s rays passed over the buildings behind them. Light shone through the windows of the high-rises and wrapped around them like string around a yo-yo. The city was bright with magic, swollen with it.
“Go,” Aelia said, and the light came out of her mouth like a waterfall. “Or you’ll run out of air.”
Sloane bent her knees and dove.
From beneath, the water was murky as a lake, but light from the world above followed her down. She kicked like a bullfrog, wishing she had her flippers. She could breathe, but the pressure against her ears and sinuses was oppressive.
A rope of magic stretched down from the surface of the water. She hadn’t seen it above the river, but here it was, as thick as her arm. Sloane swam alongside it, each kick forcing her farther and farther down.
She had never felt so profoundly alone in her life—not just isolated or by herself, but truly alone, the only person in darkness that went on forever, with only the rope as company.
Even if she had not been able to see the rope, though, she would have known that something was wrong about this place. She felt the prickle of it in her fingers. The Chicago River was only twenty or so feet deep at its deepest, and she had already swum farther than that. Wherever she was now was not the bottom of the river in Genetrix.
And then she saw it: a flicker of light up ahead, at the end of the rope. A glint of gold. She kicked harder, swimming toward it, following the rope like a child chasing the end of a rainbow. Her head was in a vise of magic; tingles raced up her arms and down her legs. She felt like the river water was closing in on her, forming a black tunnel. The plants growing