"Who are they? They want something, don't they?"

Jordan followed his sister's strident cries up the stairs, down the hall, and into the kitchen. She was pacing at record speed, around the island counter. Her cute, pink cellphone was plastered to the side of her face, and her eyes were red with tears. Once he stepped into the room, she rounded on him as though he had caused all of this.

"YOU!"

"Sylvie .. " Jordan spoke softly, " .. Sylvie. Hang up the phone. Listen a second."

Any other day, she might have crabbed at him for calling her 'Sylvie.' That name -- in her own words -- had gone out with her Barbie dolls.

But, again, today was not any other day.

"There's a lot of stuff happening downtown, at the Conklin Center. Which means this all has something to do with mom's work." Jordan dropped his gaze to the floor. "And it's everywhere, too. All over the world. Did you try to call dad?"

Their father was the weekend DJ at WSKY, a classic rock station for most of the tri-county area. It was cool, but usually meant that Dan Renar never stopped singing 'all-time favorites' under his breath. Jordan glanced rather urgently at the radio by the sink, but he knew if he were to turn it on, he'd hear the high cold words of Thaddeus Farcry instead of -- "Fly high with double-yewwww sky!"

Sylvia slowly snapped her phone shut. "He's not answering the station line, or his Blackberry." She swallowed, and blinked baleful eyes at her brother. "You really think this has something to do with the Conklin Center?"

"I don't know, Sylvie."

"But do you really think this is about mom? That, like, they're using real magic?"

"I don't know, Sylvie."

"Ashley said there are fires downtown." Sylvia collapsed into a chair, as though all her will to stand had left her. She set her phone aside, and stared ahead blearily. After a breathless pause, she curled her arms together, and buried her head in them. "I'm scared, Jordan. And nothing's really even happened."

" .. I know, Sylvie."

What was he supposed to do? They were usually at each others' throats; everything was upside down. Jordan took a few steps forward, and patted his sister stiffly on the shoulder. She looked up, face now even more red and weepy.

"What are we going to do?" She asked in a delicate, quavering voice. Jordan just stood stock still, stared back at her, hating that he had no answers. "How will we live?"

"You're getting way ahead of yourself." Jordan said in his usual, sensible tone. He sat down at the table, trying his best to sound encouraging. "We're gonna just, like, stay inside. That's what we're gonna do. And not run around. Or jump in front of things."

Jordan glanced at the phone, which winked innocently at them from across the room.

" .. But mostly just hope mom or dad calls."

Sylvia didn't seem entirely impressed with Jordan's words of comfort. She brushed her hair out of her face, dragged her phone closer to her again, and began to scroll through her contacts list once more. Her body shook with an odd hiccough.

"I'll call Nikki." She was no longer crying, and her voice was dark. "S-she'll know what to do. You - you're no help at all, Jordan, did you know that?"

No help at all. He felt his stomach clench. What was he supposed to do? Outfit them in pots and pans, arm them with hockey sticks? Lead them downtown to die like idiots?

"You call Nicole, then." Jordan gave up trying to help her. He scooted his chair back, and stood. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, and tried to sound like he didn't care."You call her, she'll tell you exactly what I just said."

Probably not. He was willing to bet not at all. Girls were always better at this sort of thing. Jordan stared blankly at his sister as she dialed the number, and brought the phone -- trembling -- up to her ear.