JOSEPHINA ESPINOSA THRIVED on chaos.

She had been an agent of anarchy for years, operating under various organized crime syndicates (whoever had the deepest pockets at any given moment) with little concern and even less remorse for her actions. She’d worked until her fingertips were calloused from typing, her eyes were bloodshot, and her throat was raw from energy drinks. Jo had given her life to her craft, quite literally when she’d been gunned down by the Rangers of the Lone Star Republic.

No, she’d watched her friend get gunned down by the Rangers. Jo had narrowly escaped thanks to a magical circle meant for casting wishes and the vague memory of her grandmother’s stories. It was a circle that she had fully expected to die in, but instead it, and its master Snow, had woken the latent magic in her veins and brought Jo into the Society of Wishes—a place where Jo’s life had only grown crazier, granting one wish after the next for four months straight.

Until now. . . when the world was quiet.

She stepped out of the recreation room, pulling her watch off the small shelf next to the door and freeing up the space for someone else in the process. Jo fitted the thin black band around her wrist, the device critical to her new world of magic. A world that was beginning to feel almost. . . mundane?

Jo rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and started down the hallway. The lights were dimmed and the windows in the central Four-Way were dark. According to her watch it was somewhere around three a.m. and it felt like there was not another living soul anywhere in the mansion.

Her feet stilled, stopping her in the center of the intersecting halls. Peering down the stretch that led into the common area, Jo caught a glint of movement. It was like a flash of light off a sequin, or ribbon of silken fabric. Curiosity got the better of her.

Tile became carpet down the long stretch of hall, muffling her footsteps. Couches, chairs, and small tables—more than could ever be occupied should every member of the Society decide to descend on them at once—absorbed every sound she made. It was so still that her ears were almost ringing, like the world was holding its breath.

She crossed the threshold into the common room, and looked around. There was no one in the kitchen, at the gaming table, or on the couches. The television was off and the patio was unoccupied.

“Huh,” Jo murmured softly to herself, rubbing her eyes again. She must’ve been staring at the screen for too long.

When Jo lowered her hands, she was no longer alone.

Jo took a full step backward, her soul leaping from her skin and fleeing down the hall from where she’d come. Standing at the edge of the pool, staring at the purple-hazed mountains in the distance, was a petite woman. She wore a dress of rainbow ribbons, tied tightly around her chest and arms, bowed to synch the fabric of her skirt. Her hands were folded at the small of her back.

As if sensing Jo’s presence, she turned with a smile. “Good evening.”

“Hello Pan,” Jo replied quietly. The surreal nature of the interaction had elevated to possess a dream-like quality. Pan was never seen outside of her room, other than for wishes.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked.

“None of us can.” She hadn’t needed sleep since she was indoctrinated into the Society. It became a luxury, not a necessity, and even then usually elusive. “Just grabbing some coffee,” Jo lied, suddenly compelled to have a reason to both explain her presence and escape after the task was performed.

“You’ve been sleeping for a long time, though.” The woman-child’s cat-like eyes seemed to flash in the darkness. “It’s time to wake up.”

“What?” Jo breathed.

Pan’s smile widened, and she turned back to the mountain.

Without permission, Jo’s feet crossed the threshold of the room, leading her out onto the patio by the pool. Pan must’ve heard her steps, but she didn’t turn, or look, or say anything about Jo’s sudden presence. She continued to stare forward into the landscape that was shades of darkness—the fake ether that the Society was nestled within.

“Do you feel it?” Pan whispered, ignoring or not hearing Jo’s question.

“Feel what?”

“The pull.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jo went to turn away, leaving the cryptic (and likely messed up six ways to Sunday) woman-child behind.

“It’s coming.”

Her feet paused once more and as Jo mentally scolded them, she found herself turning at the same time.

The mountains Pan was staring at were suddenly ablaze, silhouetted by a now violently reddish sky. Jo blinked, and like someone clicking the remote on a channel, they were back to black. She took another step backward.

“Soon,” Pan murmured. “It will end, soon.”

Jo made the mistake of blinking again.

The woman had turned, grinning like a madman directly at her, an angry sky illuminating her shoulders from behind. Jo pressed her eyes closed, and everything was back to normal once more, Pan’s back to her. There was not enough curiosity in the world to tempt her to ask what, exactly, was happening.

So Jo turned, wide-eyed and trembling. She did not blink all the way back to her room, coffee forgotten.