I had every intention of going to school on Monday morning, in spite of my lack of sleep and rock-bottom mood. My decision to walk that day and stop at Starbucks were supposed to be the jolts I needed to get my head back among the living. By now, the baristas and I were on friendly terms. They knew my usual, and I knew their names. It was a pleasant, if a little superficial, relationship. I was surprised, then, when Norah, even while smiling, muttered, “Must have been a rough night,” as she handed me my change. I know my face soured in reaction; I felt my mouth push into a crimp. She had the brass to smile, turn, and address the next customer in line.

I had had a rough night. Rough week. Rough year. But I hardly needed passing acquaintances pointing out my tangled ponytail and swollen eyes. It must have been a Monday-morning thing, because people, in general, were acting batty. I thought the guy standing next to me waiting for his beverage was on the phone; at first he was listing off the day’s commitments: “Meeting at ten, lunch with Joe at twelve, report due by three.” He wasn’t, though; he was seemingly standing there reading aloud his appointment book for us all to hear. Things got odder still when he observed with a double blink and a throaty “Well, good morning, girls” that barista Monica was sporting a too-tight T-shirt. Odd that she didn’t react to his comment. She didn’t seem the type to take that kind of ogling from anyone. More Monday weirdness, I supposed.

I took my drink from high-beam Monica and exited the shop. I was in a bit of a fog; the people in Starbucks adding to my morning dementia, paranoia, even, because I had the weird sensation that someone was following me. I was halfway down the block before realizing I was headed in the wrong direction. I should have turned around; there was still time to make it to first period on time, but I didn’t. I kept on going, eventually ending up at the old train tracks behind Afi’s store.

The line had been abandoned years ago, and the rails were pulled up in sections with weeds and grass reclaiming the land. With the woods to one side and the backs of the downtown shops to the other, it was a good spot for a private walk and afforded plenty of space to think. The area reminded me of Jacob, the soul I’d reunited with his original mother. It had been here that I’d felt his presence strongest, here that we came to an understanding. This brought me around to thinking of Jaelle, and I tossed my head in annoyance. An impasse was an unwelcome delay, if not a complete breakdown. It was not what I had expected. And with the possibility of disciplinary action coming my way, who knew what that would do for Jaelle’s cause?

Rounding a bend and coming to the huge fallen log where I’d once read to Jacob, I heard footsteps behind me. Turning, I was more than a little surprised to see Marik heading my way.

I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone. Him especially.

“Are you following me?” I asked, noting his school backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You seemed lost.”

“Trust me, I know my way around here by now.”

“Not land lost,” Marik said, coming to a stand beside me. I noticed that he limped and held one hand to his side gingerly. “Lost in spirit. Empty. Hurting. I thought maybe I could help. I’ve decided, in fact, that I want to help.”

I brought a fist to my mouth, trying — but failing — to fight back emotions. Marik, who pretty much had an expiration date stamped on his forehead, was reaching out to me.

“Why would you want to help me? I’ve screwed up in every possible way and hurt some really good people in the process. You said it yourself on Saturday. And I’m scared and confused.” I collapsed onto the log, splaying my legs in a wide V in front of me.

“Because what you pledged on Saturday was brave. If unwise, at least it was for all the right reasons. I admire that.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“But you implied it was selfish. And probably pointless.”

“It may be pointless. She will do anything — anything — to procure an heir. Leira, she felt, was her last hope. I fear her reaction will be reckless, disastrous even.”

“You’re worried she’ll join forces with Brigid of Niflheim.”

He dropped onto the log next to me. “I don’t like to think about it.”

“Because together . . . ?”

He shuddered in reaction.

“Marik, what if I told you I was working on a substitute for Leira?”

“What? Who?”

“I can’t say. Not yet, anyway.”

He kicked a toe into a scruff of weeds. “She’ll accept no second-rate substitute. Lineage and birthright and prophecy are critical.”

So that last one would be a bit tricky. But it was my prophecy, after all, and a fabrication to begin with. The crazy thing was this wasn’t the biggest of my obstacles. What I had ahead of me was a logistical puzzle the size and scope of Kennedy’s man-on-the-moon mission. At least he had a team of scientists. All I had was a failing merman.

“Then I’ll have to make sure my substitute’s a good one.”

He dug a look so deep into my eyes I had to blink him away.

“And you won’t get in my way?” I continued.

“Not if you keep Jack out of mine.” His voice went gruff just mentioning Jack’s name. “That storm Saturday night almost killed me.”

“He’s hurt,” I said.

“He’s reckless,” Marik replied.

I’d always been his undoing.

“We’re taking a break,” I said, hanging my hands between my knees. “There shouldn’t be any more of his . . . displays.”

“Good.” He exhaled with relief.

But nothing was good. Not for any of us.

“Come,” Marik said, holding out his hand to me.

“Where?”

“School.”

“School? You’ve got to be kidding.” My hand stayed put.

“Our project is due this week. We have to finish it. Ms. Bryant is allowing class time all week to work on it.”

“You think I care about a Design project with everything else going on?”

“I think you need this project —” He held his hand out farther.

“Need it?” I interrupted.

“Need the distraction.”

“How will that help?”

“It will keep you sane while you work this out.”

“I gave up on ‘sane’ about four stops back,” I said.

“If not sane, then busy. In doing so, I believe you’ll come up with something.” Clearly having given up on my accepting his assistance, he reached down and pulled me to my feet.

“I warn you,” I said. “This could be a bumpy ride.”

“I have no doubt of it. You are some sort of giant mayhem magnet.”

“Someone else called me a lodestone.”

“You do seem to attract more than your share of trouble.”

As we walked back toward school, I had to admit I felt slightly better. Just having one person say, “I believe in you,” made a difference, even after being called a “mayhem magnet.” Granted, I’d have preferred it to be Jack, would have expected it to be him, but the situation didn’t afford for that. I’d just have to make do with Marik. Even if he was just another piece of space junk I’d pulled in like some huge strip of cosmic flypaper.

While walking up the front steps, I heard an engine gun. I turned around to catch the tail end of a truck — a beat-up old green thing — fishtailing around the corner.

Marik froze, folding in two with pain. “You said . . .”

I looked from Marik to the corner and back. The truck was a block away by then.

“He’s gone,” I said, fearing the truth of the words as they exited my mouth.