Two chapters in one day! Guys, I know I'm doing better. I really appreciate the reviews and messages I got while I wasn't posting actively. You guys got me through some rough days, knowing that people appreciate what I do and that I'm not just wasting my life by being an author.

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Mordo and I walk the new apprentice down the hall to his room. He stares down at the small bed and the latticed window. "Yeah, it's not the Hilton, but I promise it'll feel like home." I remember thinking anything was better than the dust filled bunks I used to spend months in.

"Rest," Mordo says, handing him the bag he was carrying. "Meditate...if you can. The Ancient One will send for you."

Stephen picks up a piece of paper lying on the bed with the word Shamballa written on it in fancy script. I'm still trying to master that writing style. "Uh, what's this? My mantra?

"The Wi-Fi password," Mordo replies, straightfaced.

"It's actually really decent. Might have something to do with astral fields," I put in. Honestly I don't use it often. Just a few emails to a few people, never many details. It's hard to write home when all I want to do is tell them how much I'm learning, how amazing it feels to tap into the astral dimension. But they'd think I've gone insane if I did.

Mordo and I leave Stephen to his room. I deliberately move in front as we walk. I don't want to talk to Mordo, not when his aura feels so sharp and tastes bitter on my tongue. He was none too happy when I interrupted his conference with the Ancient One, and he doesn't like the immediate connection I had to Strange. I don't blame him. It's disconcerting for me too. But I know better than to resist the dictates of the magic we live by.

"Avery, wait." Mordo catches me by the sleeve of my robe. "What happened today?"

I play dumb, hoping he doesn't know as much as the Ancient One did. "What? Us saving a crazy man from some even crazier ones?"

He shakes his head, frowning. "In the training room. What was that? You were spazzing out up there. Looked like you were having a seizure."

I shrug. "I was in the astral plane. You know I do that when I cast shields." I try to shake my arm loose. "I missed dinner. I'm gonna go see if old Kendo will give me something from the kitchens."

"I've seen you in the astral plane. This was something new." He pulls me to a stop, staring me in the eyes. Something in his aura is almost feral, and it scares me. "Avery, what is he doing to you?"

"Nothing!"

"You've acted strange since we found him." He doesn't pick up on his own unintentional pun, and I'm not in the mood to point it out. I miss the times we laughed at each other's weird ways of talking about magic, and the dumb things we would say after a training session with a new spell left us high on adrenaline and astral feedback. I took so many videos on my phone and once blackmailed him into letting me try his staff by showing him a video of his bad rendition of "Don't Stop Believing". I miss that Mordo. This one frightens me.

I have always had reason to fear men. In my neighborhood, there were all too many on street corners ready to steal my money, my body, or my life. It didn't get better in the army. I lived every day hoping I wouldn't be the next statistic for unreported rapes in the military. I was lucky. Some of my friends weren't. So I have plenty of experience not trusting men.

But I thought Mordo was different. We were connected by the magic we harnessed. I never felt that he was possessive or cruel. He seemed kind and honorable, and the kind of man who could make me believe I didn't need to fear for the rest of my life. But the kind of fear he inspires in me is deeper than any of the others. Others could take my money, my body, or my life. I have the horrible feeling that Mordo can take my magic. He can take my soul.

"There's nothing wrong. I swear. It's just that his magic is powerful, and the Ancient One has taught me so much about aura sensing that I'm getting a little overwhelmed. But I'm sure it will get better soon."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be near him for a while."

"But I want to help her train him. I can conn…" No. Do not tell him about that. Don't let him know you've been in Strange's mind. He'd never believe that it meant no more to you than a new way to connect to the astral dimensions.

"What's this I hear about training?" The Ancient One's voice slides into the conversation so gently I wonder if she's only in my thoughts. But Mordo is looking too.

"She is having some sort of reaction to Strange's aura. I feel it would be unwise for her to be near him."

"Let me see." The Ancient One puts a hand to my cheek. I feel her magic slip into my veins, a diagnostic spell to see if I've been damaged by any spell or ward. I remember her doing that the time I fell down the mountain and was caught by a protective warding that left bruises on my back for days. And again when I touched a strange glowing plant in the astral world and began violently throwing up everything I had eaten for the past three days. "She is not suffering from a magical poisoning of any kind. And his aura is not attacking hers. Actually, the two are blending remarkably well."

I sneak a glance at Mordo to see that his face is lined with something approaching anger. This is exactly what he did not want to hear.

"So I can work with him?" All I want is to train him. To teach him that the true healing magic gives is not for his body, but for his heart and soul. If Mordo trains him he will never learn. And Mordo is the most likely other choice. I want to show him the astral plane my way. Show him the beauty in ways that won't overwhelm him. I want someone else, someone besides the Ancient One, someone more like me, to understand.

"I cannot allow you to train him yourself, Apprentice. But I will allow you to assist myself and Mordo, and when he is trained, you will be a Master." The Ancient One stares straight into my eyes as she says it, and I know she knows what I want. I can see that she feels a bit of pain, because she knows that I will never be able to treat her as an equal, or feel completely comfortable in her presence. But overwhelmingly, there is pride. Mordo may be her most powerful student, but I am the one she sees herself in. I chose her path of magic. And she knows I want to share it like she does.

"Well, if I'm to be training him, I'll need my rest," I say quickly, pulling away from both her and Mordo and nearly running to my room. I can feel the rage pulsing through Mordo's aura even when I'm behind a closed door, and it's frightening. I force myself to search for someone else's. The Ancient One's is ever-present here, infusing all of Kamar-Taj with its soft scent of jasmine tea and honey. My own is darker, Mordo says it has a dark chocolate taste and feels like knit scarves when I'm calm and content, but becomes gritty and hot when I'm afraid. I know it taps into the fear and the burning desert sand from the bombing then.

I know everyone's auras by heart now. They're simply a part of the place to me, as much as the soft music of the gongs or Kendo's spicy cooking, or birdsong in the morning from the mountain. But Strange's new aura is…well…strange. It smells of bleach and metal and tastes like alcohol. My brain suddenly darts to a place with cold blue walls and harsh fluorescent lights, someone screaming "I need that transfusion now!" and my own breath and my leg burning up….His deeply medically-infused aura caught me in my own memories of the hospital. But the one in Kandahar was beige and everyone was yelling in Arabic-accented English and babies cried in the halls. That hallway was an American hospital. I have his memories and mine and they're so badly mixed I can't tell where one begins and another ends.

I feel a wave of nausea hit, and I lie back on my bed, reaching for his aura again despite the pain it caused. I need to know. There's a screech of metal. An explosion. Sand…no, water, flying up all around the vehicle. It's dark…daylight…Ambulance lights, blue walls, tan walls, leg hurts, hands hurt, can't think can't breathe can't get out…I break the connection and sit up, panting. Somehow I know that halfway across the building he's doing the same.

If I keep doing this, we'll only become more disoriented and neither of us will sleep. I lie back and let the metallic tang float above me, forcing myself not to breathe it in. It's more tempting than it should be. All it gives are memories of fear and pain. So shy do I crave it more than I ever wanted a second shot of whiskey?