fifteen
The call cut off.
“Grandpa?” Kim’s tongue felt as though it had adhered to the roof of her mouth. “Grandpa?” Trembling fingers sought the buttons that could reconnect her, but after a few static-ridden rings, it went to voicemail. She tried again. Nothing.
There was a compact in her backpack, the little plastic kind with a mirror in the lid. There had been a time when she had used it regularly for a unique sort of scrying, her own innovation that let her communicate quickly and easily with anyone who had a matching one. The enchantment on it had probably faded, after so long, but it was only a small one, no matter how complex. She could probably refresh it, clumsily, in a matter of moments, even if she was out of practice.
Only, none of her relatives had a matching one. In fact
