"Old's not a bad thing to be," Jag retorted without missing a beat. "And she'll wash your mouth with soap if you say it is. She's our card reader, and she's fantastic."

The door opened straight into her trailer, but Jag's grin disappeared after a few seconds, as his attention shifted from the familiar, warm, cluttered interior and the many talismans and charms, of all different faiths, disseminated around the small room, and to the old woman sitting at a table, an untouched cup of tea in front of her.

It was Dora, no doubt there. Same wrinkled face, long gray hair falling loose on her shoulders, but her eyes. Her eyes were full white, the way Emma's got when she was doing her thing.

"Dora?" Jag frowned, taking a few steps closer.

"Open doors are easy to walk through," the old woman told them, looking blindly ahead.