Something was wrong. For one, the sun was stabbing through my eyelids like a personal vendetta. For another, someone was laughing nearby.

  “Dude, I swear, I saw it glow last night. The way the waves crested—”

  I panicked for a second. There was no way. It had been in a cave. It had been three a.m.

  Then came the reply: “Bro, that’s just bioluminescence. Happens every spring. It’s, like, an algae thing.”

  I loosed a breath. Right. Glowing water. Not a glowing boy.

  My eyes flew open. Crap. People.

  Beside me, Syrinthinor stirred, the sand clinging to his cloak like glitter on velvet. His little light—still faintly glowing, of course—floated lazily above the ground like a halo that refused to die.

  “Hey,” I hissed, shoving his shoulder. “Wake up. Turn that off. Turn it off.”

  He blinked groggily. “What?”

  “People. Talking. Very not magical people.”

  The voices were closer now, two surfers with boards under their arms, heading toward the water. One of them glanced toward the cliffs. At me.

  Then he saw the guy next to me and apparently didn’t even have time to evaluate Syrinthinor’s weird get-up because he was suddenly looking anywhere but at us.

  He muttered something to his friend, and they passed quickly.

  It occurred to me that Syrinthinor’s cloak looked a lot like a blanket. Heat crawled up my neck. Great. Exactly what I needed after an interdimensional smuggling operation: to look like I’d just had a romantic night out on the most scandalous beach in San Diego.

  Good thing I’d probably never see them again.

  “Are they dangerous?” Syrinthinor asked softly.

  “No,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. “Just judgmental. And probably very confused.”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because,” I said tightly, “they think we were… never mind.” I looked up. “But they or someone else might post a video if you start glowing again. So let’s avoid that.”

  “Video?”

  I blew out a breath. How was I supposed to explain video? Honestly, it would be easier to just show him. “Later,” I said. “Now we need to get to the top of this cliff.”

  I looked him over again. How in the world was I supposed to get this guy home? He looked like he’d walked straight off a Renaissance Faire. Too bad it wasn’t Comic-Con right now; I could at least claim we were doing a photoshoot.

  Maybe… a pre-con photoshoot? If we were lucky, everyone would just give us weird looks and then ignore us. No real reason to stop us, but if someone did... I bit my lip. He didn’t even have ID. Did Mom know where to get that? Dad had one somehow.

  And his name…

  “So do you have a surname?” I asked.

  Syrinthinor shook this head.

  “Any sort of second name?”

  “A title?” Syrinthinor blinked.

  “Sure.”

  “My family are the keepers of the Crithlinor Light.”

  I snorted. “Well, that’s way too long for our purposes. While we’re on the subject, your first name is going to draw attention too. Do you have some sort of nickname? Something shorter?”

  “Umm…”

  “Everyone just calls you Syrinthinor all the time?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Seriously?”

  He blushed. “Is that… odd?”

  “A little bit, yeah. Mostly because we tend to shorten long names here.”

  I sighed, and Syrinthinor raised an eyebrow. I leaned back against the wall of our little alcove. It was slightly damp from the fog that had rolled in. “We need something else. You look European, so it’ll be less memorable if you have a more normal name. What about Syrin? Or maybe Soren? It’s close to the beginning of your name and sounds kind of Scandinavian.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Um…”

  “Let’s just go with Syrin. It’s close enough. And for a last name, well, we could just not translate the word ‘keeper,’ so you'd be Syrin Kazak.”

  He frowned. “People… need last names here?”

  “Yes. Definitely, yes.”

  “Why? Is lineage that important?”

  I paused. “No. Not exactly. They don’t care so much about who your parents are. More where they belong."

  "So, shouldn't you just label people by place then?"

  “We also need to differentiate people. There are a lot of people with the same name.”

  "So... no one has the same two name combination?"

  I frowned. "Some people do, but it's more unique than just Trina. I guess they don't completely make sense, but you do need one. The government keeps track of everyone, and last names are part of that, but… you can leave that to me. You aren’t going to be talking to anyone anyway, since you don’t know English.”

  I scrubbed a hand against my face, but just managed to get sand all over my cheek. I glared at my hand. I didn’t even want to know how I looked right now. Obviously there was sand on my face, in my hair. A shower sounded heavenly, but that wasn’t happening until I could get Syrin back to the house.

  A rumble filled the space between us for a moment, a stomach growling. Not mine, though hunger was gnawing at me. Syrin hunched slightly, looking almost embarrassed.

  “Hungry?”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Do we need to hunt for breakfast? Or… fish?” he asked, glancing at the ocean.

  I grinned. “No. I’m pretty sure fishing is illegal without a license. We’ll get food. I promise. Might just take an hour. The sooner we get up the cliff, the sooner we get food.”

  “So, we’re going to a market?”

  “Sort of. Not the kind you’re used to.”

  Syrin looked a little mystified by that answer, but stood. I pushed to my feet, dusting sand off.

  We started the climb just as the fog began to burn off, the cliffs glowing gold in the rising sun. It looked like it was going to be one of the rare sunny days in May. The path wound steeply upward, switchback after switchback. I was already regretting not doing more cardio.

  Not that I could do a lot of cardio waiting tables. It’s mostly walking, standing, and the occasional sprint when someone drops a drink. “This,” I wheezed, “is why people invented elevators.”

  Syrin looked back at me without breaking stride. He didn’t even look winded. “Elevators?”

  “Yeah. Metal boxes that do all this—” I gestured vaguely uphill “—without the dying part.”

  He tilted his head like I’d just said something in another language. Technically, I had, since I kept sprinkling English words where the words didn’t exist in Kirathi.

  By the time we reached the top, my legs were jelly. Syrin, of course, looked like he’d just taken a stroll through the park. I guess Dad had said he lived in a tower, which was probably full of stairs. His hair caught the morning light, highlighting gold streaks through the light brown, and I had to admit, if you didn’t know better, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a fantasy photoshoot.

  Gliderport stretched out ahead, a patchwork of dusty parking lots and trailers. A couple of hang gliders were already prepping for launch, the big contraptions of fabric unfurling against the blue sky. Syrin stopped dead.

  “They fly?” he breathed.

  “Yeah. Well, glide. No magic. Just physics.”

  He didn’t move, still staring. “You’re sure?”

  “Pretty sure. If it was magic, the FAA would have a meltdown.”

  He frowned slightly, trying to process that, and I realized how strange this must look to him, people hurling themselves off cliffs with nothing but nylon between them and gravity.

  We crossed the lot, my sneakers crunching over gravel. I was painfully aware of how much Syrin stood out now that we weren’t half-buried in sand. The cloak, the boots, his perfect posture.

  I tugged off my own cloak and rolled it up, so at least one of us looked normal. Just a girl in a T-shirt and jeans out with her fantasy friend.

  “Okay,” I said under my breath. “New goal: get to the bus stop before anyone calls campus security.”

  Syrin glanced over. “Security?”

  “Guards,” I translated.

  “Ah,” he said, as if that clarified everything.

  We made it to the overlook where the bus stop sat perched above the cliffs. The sea stretched endlessly below, white spray catching the sunlight. Syrin leaned over the railing, watching the hang gliders drift in lazy arcs. For a second, he looked almost peaceful.

  “It’s not so different,” he said softly. “Your people still chase the wind.”

  I smiled a little. “Yeah. Except we pay a hundred bucks an hour to do it.”

  That earned me the faintest huff of laughter.

  I dug through my backpack for the paper bus schedule. Looked like it was supposed to pass in like twelve minutes if it was on time. Too bad my phone was dead, and I couldn’t get a live update. A jogger passed by, earbuds in, chatting breathlessly as they ran. What a multitasker.

  Syrin’s brow furrowed. Then his expression turned bleak. “No one here speaks Kirathi,” he said quietly. “You are literally the only person I can talk to in this entire world.”

  I leaned against the railing beside him. “Close, but not true. My mom speaks Kirathi too.”

  I tried to hold my smile, but his expression was so distressed. I mean, it made sense. That had to be a lonely feeling. He could start learning, or maybe—“Wait, your magic works?”

  “Yes?”

  “So why don’t you just use a translation spell? Can you do those kinds of spells?”

  Syrin hesitated. “I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” he admitted. He pursed his lips and murmured something under his breath. Light shimmered faintly around his throat, then he said, “?Eso funcionó?”

  Uh… was that Spanish?

  I blinked at him, then snorted. “Okay, not quite what I meant, but it’s better than nothing. Keep it for now, I guess. You might actually understand some stuff I don’t. My Spanish isn’t great.”

  Syrin frowned. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

  “Welcome to California,” I said. “Magic apparently defaults to the language of the best food around.”

  “Food?”

  “I’ll get you some tortillas from the Mexican market down the street from our house. You’ll love them.”

  He still looked lost, but at least he’d be able to order at a taco truck.

  I glanced down the road for the bus, and the thought hit me. Bus fare. I had a pass, but Syrin didn’t. Did they accept tap-to-pay? Did I need cash?

  Maybe the little Gliderport restaurant would give me change just in case. I turned to Syrin. “Hey, I need to grab something for the bus. Stay here and watch for it. I’ll be back super quick.”

  Syrin frowned, but I didn’t wait for a response. I sprinted towards the little restaurant. We could kill two birds with one stone this way: breakfast and change.

  Luckily, there was no line. I glanced back, no approaching bus on the horizon. I jogged over and ordered two croissant sandwiches, and convinced the cashier to give me some cash back from my card. Success. Then I sprinted back to Syrin.

  I almost dropped the sandwiches when I saw him: arms folded, breath too fast, and light faintly leaking from his skin. He looked like someone bracing for an attack that hadn’t come yet.

  Crap. I’d thought it would be fine. I shouldn’t have left him alone. I glanced around frantically. We had to fix this. Now.

  Because the glow was getting brighter.