One Million Miles Away
ONE MILLION MILES FROM Earth, Beatrice conjured a sleep spell. Whereas she was officially a witch, she valued the benefits precipitating from mundane shut eye. She appreciated the advantages of a properly eaten meal, too, but could do little about the atmosphere in the crew lounge; her team’s jacklegs were unpleasant companions.
Beatrice calmed herself by self-joking that at least she wasn’t on a wild goose chase—Canadian birds’ habitats were far from her rocket’s route. Brants and Emperors were unlikely to be spotted winging among the stars. All things considered, she preferred singing with those lovelies or conversing with moose than just about anything else. Traveling in an engine-driven coffin was her last choice. Yet, because she had been tasked with a rare as
