Sam took off her shoes. She stood very still at the foot of her rug, her hands clasped at her stomach, her eyes half-closed. She whispered something under her breath. She momentarily brought her hands to her ears—the same gesture we’d use in ASL for listen carefully. Then she began her prayers, a soft, singsong chanting of Arabic that sounded like she was reciting a familiar poem or a love song. Sam bowed, straightened, and knelt with her feet tucked under her and pressed her forehead against the cloth.

I’m not saying I stared at her. It felt wrong to gawk. But I kept watch from what I hoped was a respectful distance.

I have to admit I was kind of fascinated. Also maybe a little envious. Even after all that had just happened to her, after being controlled and knocked unconscious by her evil father, Sam seemed momentarily at peace. She was generating her own little bubble of tranquility.

I never prayed, because I didn’t believe in one all-powerful God. But I wished I had Sam’s level of faith in something.

The prayer didn’t take long. Sam folded her rug and stood. “Thanks, Magnus.”

I shrugged, still feeling like an intruder. “Any better now?”

She smirked. “It’s not magic.”

“Yeah, but…we see magic all the time. Isn’t it hard, like, believing there’s something more powerful out there than all these Norse beings we deal with? Especially if—no offense—the Big Dude doesn’t step in to help out?”

Sam tucked her prayer mat into her bag. “Not stepping in, not interfering, not forcing…to me, that seems more merciful and more divine, don’t you think?”

I nodded. “Good point.”

I hadn’t seen Sam crying, but the corners of her eyes were tinged with pink. I wondered if she cried the same way she prayed—privately, stepping away to some quiet place so we didn’t notice.

She glanced at the sky. “Besides, who says Allah doesn’t help?” She pointed to the gleaming white shape of an airplane making its approach. “Let’s go meet Barry.”

Surprise! Not only did we get an airplane and a pilot, we also got Sam’s boyfriend.

Sam was jogging across the tarmac when the plane’s door opened. The first person down the steps was Amir Fadlan, a brown leather jacket over his white Fadlan’s Falafel T-shirt, his hair slicked back, and gold-rimmed sunglasses over his eyes so he looked like one of those aviator dudes in a Breitling watch ad.

Sam slowed when she saw him, but it was too late for her to hide. She glanced back at me with a panicked expression, then went to meet her betrothed.

I missed the first part of their conversation. I was too busy helping Hearthstone lug a stone dwarf to the plane. Sam and Amir stood at the bottom step, trading exasperated hand gestures and pained expressions.

When I finally reached them, Amir was pacing back and forth like he was practicing a speech. “I shouldn’t even be here. I thought you were in danger. I thought it was life and death. I—” He froze in his tracks. “Magnus?”

He stared at me as if I’d just fallen out of the sky, which wasn’t fair, since I hadn’t fallen out of the sky in hours.

“Hey, man,” I said. “There is totally a good reason for all this. Like, a really good reason. Like, Samirah didn’t do…anything that you might be thinking that she did that was wrong. Because she didn’t do that.”

Sam glared at me: Not helping.

Amir’s gaze drifted to Hearthstone. “I recognize you, too. From a couple of months ago, at the food court. Sam’s so-called math study group…” He shook his head in disbelief. “So you’re the elf Sam was talking about? And Magnus…you’re…you’re dead. Sam said she took your soul to Valhalla. And the dwarf”—he stared at our Bubble-Wrapped carry-on Blitzen—“is a statue?”

“Temporarily,” I said. “That wasn’t Sam’s fault, either.”

Amir let out one of those crazy laughs you never want to hear—the kind that indicates the brain has developed a few cracks that will not come out with buffing. “I don’t even know where to start. Sam, are you okay? Are…are you in trouble?”

Samirah’s cheeks turned the color of cranberry sauce. “It’s…complicated. I’m so sorry, Amir. I didn’t expect—”

“That he would be here?” said a new voice. “Darling, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Standing in the plane’s doorway was a thin, dark-skinned man so well dressed that Blitzen would have wept with joy: maroon skinny jeans, pastel green shirt, double-breasted vest, and pointy leather boots. The laminated pilot’s ID hanging around his neck read BARRY AL-JABBAR.

“My dears,” said Barry, “if we’re going to keep to our flight plan, you should come aboard. We just need to refuel and we’ll be on our way. And as for you, Samirah…” He raised an eyebrow. He had the warmest gold eyes I’d ever seen. “Forgive me for telling Amir, but when you called, I was worried sick. Amir is a dear friend. And whatever drama is going on between you two, I expect you to fix it! As soon as he heard you were in trouble, he insisted on coming along. So…” Barry cupped his hand to his mouth and stage-whispered, “We’ll just say I’m your chaperone, shall we? Now, all aboard!”

Barry whirled and disappeared back inside the plane. Hearthstone followed, lugging Blitzen up the steps behind him.

Amir wrung his hands. “Sam, I’m trying to understand. Really.”

She looked down at her belt, maybe just realizing she was still wearing her battle-ax. “I—I know.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” Amir said. “Just…don’t stop talking to me, okay? Tell me. No matter how crazy it is, tell me.”

She nodded. “You’d better get on board. I need to do my walk-around inspection.”

Amir glanced at me once more—as if he was trying to figure out where my death wounds were—then he climbed the steps.

I turned to Sam. “He flew out here for you. Your safety is all he cares about.”

“I know.”

“That’s good, Sam.”

“I don’t deserve it. I wasn’t honest with him. I just…I didn’t want to infect the one normal part of my life.”

“The abnormal part of your life is standing right here.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. I wouldn’t change having you in my life, Magnus.”

“Well, that’s good,” I said. “Because there’s a whole lot more crazy coming up.”

Sam nodded. “Speaking of which, you’d better find a seat

and buckle in.”

“Why? Is Barry a bad pilot?”

“Oh, Barry’s an excellent pilot, but he’s not flying you. I am—straight to Alfheim.”

In Case of Demonic Possession, Please Follow Illuminated Signs to the Nearest Exit

BARRY STOOD in the aisle to address us, his elbows on the seatbacks on either side. His cologne made the plane smell like the Boston Flower Exchange. “So, my dears, have you ever flown in a Citation XLS before?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “I think I would remember.”

The cabin wasn’t big, but it was all white leather with gold trim, like a BMW with wings. Four passenger seats faced each other to form a sort of conference area. Hearthstone and I sat looking forward. Amir sat across from me, and petrified Blitzen was strapped in opposite Hearth.

Sam was up in the pilot’s seat, checking dials and flipping switches. I’d thought all planes had doors separating the cockpit from the passenger area, but not the Citation. From where I sat, I could see straight out the front windshield. I was tempted to ask Amir to trade places with me. A view of the restroom would have been less nerve-racking.

“Well,” said Barry, “as your copilot on this flight, it’s my job to give you a quick safety briefing. The main exit is here.” He rapped his knuckles on the cabin door through which we’d entered. “In case of emergency, if Sam and I aren’t able to open it for you, you—SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME, MAGNUS CHASE.”

Barry’s voice deepened and tripled in volume. Amir, who was sitting right under his elbow, nearly leaped into my lap.

In the cockpit, Sam turned around slowly. “Barry?”

“I WARNED YOU.” Barry’s new voice crackled with distortion, and fluctuated up and down in pitch. “YET YOU FELL INTO LOKI’S TRAP.”

“Wh-what’s wrong with him?” Amir asked. “That’s not Barry.”

“No,” I agreed, my throat as dry as a zombie berserker’s. “That’s my favorite assassin.”

Hearthstone looked even more confused than Amir. He couldn’t hear the change in Barry’s voice, obviously, but he could tell that the safety briefing had gone off the rails.

“NOW THERE IS NO CHOICE,” said Barry-not-Barry. “ONCE YOU HEAL YOUR FRIEND, FIND ME IN JOTUNHEIM. I WILL GIVE YOU THE INFORMATION YOU NEED TO DEFEAT LOKI’S PLAN.”

I studied the copilot’s face. His gold eyes looked unfocused, but otherwise I couldn’t see anything different about him.

“You’re the goat-killer,” I said. “The guy who was watching me from the tree branch at the feast.”

Amir couldn’t stop blinking. “Goat-killer? Tree branch?”

“SEEK OUT HEIMDALL,” said the distorted voice. “HE WILL POINT YOU IN MY DIRECTION. BRING THE OTHER, ALEX FIERRO. SHE IS NOW YOUR ONLY HOPE FOR SUCCESS.—And that covers everything. Any questions?”

Barry’s voice had returned to normal. He smiled contentedly, like he could think of no better way to spend his day than flying back and forth from Cape Cod, helping his friends, and channeling the voices of otherworldly ninjas.

Amir, Hearth, and I shook our heads vehemently.

“No questions,” I said. “Not a single one.”

I locked eyes with Sam. She gave me a shrug and a head shake, like, Yes, I heard. My copilot was briefly possessed. What do you want me to do about it?

“Okay, then.” Barry patted Blitzen’s granite noggin. “Headsets are in the compartments next to you if you want to talk to us in the cockpit. It’s a very short flight to Norwood Memorial. Sit back and enjoy!”

Enjoy was not the word I would’ve used.

Small confession: not only had I never flown in a Citation XLS, I had never flown in an airplane. My first time probably should not have been in an