Page 18 of Cinder's Adventure: Get Me To the Wedding!

Except for one girl who stood not far away, watching Cinder with more annoyance than interest.

She was young—maybe fourteen or fifteen. And even before she’d said a word, Cinder could tell she was the sort of girl who was more thorns than roses.

“Is your superpower the cyborg-hand doodad,” said the girl, her tone dry, “or traveling through space portals? Because both are decent powers, but they don’t really go together, so I know you don’t haveboth.”

“My… superpower?” said Cinder.

The girl studied her, her gaze roving from the top of Cinder’s head to the toes of her boots.

“Must be the portals,” she said, a bit dismissively. “What’d you pay for that add-on? Looks like quality tech.”

Cinder held up her cyborg hand and flexed her fingers. “It’s not bad. You were joking about the superpower comment, right?”

The girl smirked. “I wish. What, did you just come from some alternate dimension or something? Because being able to dothatwould be epic.”

“Yeah. Maybe I did.” Cinder considered. “But really, if I have a superpower, I guess it’s… kind of in the realm of mind control. I don’t like to use it that much, though.”

The girl’s eyebrows lifted, and for a moment she looked mildly impressed. Then she laughed softly and shook her head. “Sure. If you say so.”

“Where am I?” asked Cinder, scanning the skyline again.

“Gatlon City. Where did you come from?”

Cinder thought about it. She wasn’t sure what to call that strange place she’d just come from, so instead she said, “New Beijing.”

“As opposed toOldBeijing?”

“Exactly.” She walked toward the girl and peered down at the gravestone she was standing in front of. A bouquet of clover flowers lay on top of a small hand mirror.

“I found the mirror at the dig site,” the girl said, gesturing toward the distant construction area. “Pretty sure it’s got some sort of magical properties, ’cause when I touch it, my hand goes right through. Not sure what the point is. But anyway, he really loved that sort of thing, so… whatever. No one else will care about it.”

She shuffled her feet, apparently embarrassed at having been caught leaving a gift.

Thehein question, Cinder assumed, was the boy buried here. The gravestone read:

CALLUM TREADWELL

SCHOLAR

BELIEVER

HERO TO THE LAST

“Who was he?” said Cinder, expecting the girl to say it was her dad or brother or best friend.

Instead, she smirked, and answered. “No one. Just another martyr.”

Something about the way she said it made Cinder shiver.

“And who areyou?” Cinder asked.

The girl met her gaze again. “Most people call me Magpie.”

“Magpie. I’m Cinder.” She nodded toward Callum’s grave. “Do you visit him often?”

Magpie folded her arms, looking suddenly irritable. “I work over there at the dig site most days,” she said. “This is as good a place to spend my breaks as any. Callum was an idiot, but he could be good company.” She let out a long sigh. “I’ve got nothing else to do, anyway. Just… waiting for my turn.”

“Your turn for what?”

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