Shimmer

I rolled my eyes and turned away, but not without letting him see just how angry that made me. Honestly, that was a pretty low blow. I mean, it’s not like it was my fault I’d never be thirteen, in fact, it’s not like—

I scowled at the ground, my anger rising, flaring, threatening to consume me completely, and that’s when I noticed a patch of scorched earth beginning to spread just under my feet. And that’s when I stopped those thoughts right in their tracks, watching in astonishment when the scorched earth disappeared once again.

Focus, vigilance, concentration—just like the prince said.

I had to guard against my temper, my anger, and Bodhi did too. This place encouraged it, thrived on it, whether it was justified or not, it didn’t make a difference. As far as Rebecca was concerned, it was fuel all the same.

“Can you see it?” I asked, not sure which world he was in: the one of old high schools and scorched earth, or the one I could see—the one of lost and tormented souls.

He nodded, looking all around, seeing there were hundreds of them, then sighing as he said, “We need to find Buttercup and get the heck out of here.”

But I quickly shook my head. While I may not understand the world of tragic high school romance, thanks to Prince Kanta, this horrible world of hate, I did understand.

“No.” I looked at Bodhi. “First we need to find Buttercup, then we need to find my friend the prince, then we need to find a way to free all of them.” I motioned toward the sea of tormented souls as Bodhi stood beside me and winced, adding, “And only after we’ve done all of that, can we even think about leaving this place.”

17

Having known him since he was just a tiny pup, I gotta say, I had a pretty hard time believing that Buttercup could have anything to be angry about.

Even compared to all the other well-cared-for pets on our block, there was no doubt he’d lived the cushiest, most insanely pampered life of them all. One that had no shortage of doggy treats, car rides with the windows rolled down, and nice outdoor spots for napping in the sun. And the times we did play pranks on him—like the times Ever and I dressed him up for the holidays in Santa, Easter Bunny, or even cupid costumes, or the time we dabbed a chunk of peanut butter onto the tip of his nose and laughed ourselves silly as we watched him bark and run circles as he struggled to lick it off—well, you could tell he was in on the joke.

You could tell he was having fun.

So why we found him all curled up into a tight little ball of angst, with his eyes shut tight, teeth gnashing together, paws thrashing and kicking as he whined and whimpered like he was the object of the most horrifying torture was beyond me.

Buttercup had never been tortured. Never been given a reason to carry on like that. And, to be honest, it kind of annoyed me to see him acting like he had.

But when I saw the way the trees started to appear again, the whole burned-out, shriveled up sight of them, I tossed that feeling aside and instead dropped down to my knees.

I was staring at my dog, having no idea what to do, when Bodhi said, “What’s his problem?” He glanced between Buttercup and me with a confused expression that served as a perfect match for my own.

I lifted my shoulders and sighed. As hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t recall one traumatic moment in Buttercup’s life—or even his death for that matter.

He’d just seamlessly transitioned from a breathing state to a not-breathing state as though it were really no different. Making straight for the bridge with no hesitation, his tail wagging, paws scurrying, as though some wonderful adventure awaited us all.

I placed my hand on his head, combing my fingers through a soft tuft of fur just under his chin before scratching the spot between his ears. Figuring that if I was connected to all those other souls, connected to the energy of the very ground I knelt upon, then why wouldn’t I be connected to Buttercup too?

I concentrated on merging my energy with his, allowing it to stream and meld until I found myself inside his canine head, where I was amazed to see my dog’s own personal version of a hellish experience:

The moment he was pulled away from his mama and his five other littermates so he could come live with us.

I admit, the second I saw that, I started to feel angry again, but knowing that came with consequences, I quickly moved past it. Still, what was I supposed to make of that? I mean, really—was he serious? Had he really viewed the move to our house as some kind of wretched experience?

But then I remembered.

Remembered how he actually spent that first night—or, should I say, how we all spent that first night.

All of us forced to take turns getting out of our beds so that we could try to comfort him as he cried and whimpered and refused to relax.

It was awful.

For us—for him—but probably mostly for him.

He had no way of knowing that the way he felt at that moment wouldn’t go on forever.

He had no way of knowing just how good it was about to get.

Though I had no idea how to get that point across to him, had no idea where to even begin.

Thanks to Rebecca and this horrible bubble she’d created, Buttercup was stuck in the one and only truly bad moment he’d ever known, and as far as he was concerned, he’d never known anything else.

So, I did the only thing I could think of—I curled up beside him and continued to scratch that spot between his ears. Trying to fill my mind with vibrant, happy memories of all the fun times we’d shared, hoping they’d somehow find their way into his brain and maybe even carve out a little space for that sweet, quiet silence to creep in.

And it wasn’t long before the whimpers died down, the whining ceased, and Buttercup lifted his head, popped his eyes open, and jumped to his feet.

Bodhi heaved a big sigh of relief, as I wrapped my arms around my dog and gave him a giant squeeze. Cradling his muzzle with both hands, I peered deep into his big brown eyes to make sure he truly was back.

Then I looked at Bodhi and said, “We have to go find the prince.”

But Bodhi was already shaking his head.

Already lifting his arm and pointing toward the very spot where Rebecca now stood.

18

Her dog stood right alongside her, looking nothing like the Snarly Yow/Black Shuck/Hell Beast I remembered from before.

This dog was tiny.

And nervous.

The kind with yippy barks and dancing paws.

While I’d done my best to fill Bodhi in on everything that I’d learned about Rebecca, when we were still searching for Buttercup, while I’d tried to make it clear just how dark and evil she was, one look at his face was all it took to see he wasn’t quite sure if he should believe me.

He was conflicted.

Despite all that I’d said, he was so swayed by her sugary-sweet, beribboned exterior he seriously doubted that someone who looked as harmless and fluffy as that was capable of creating a bubble from hell.

Boys.

They are all the same.

All so easily influenced by a bright and shiny saccharine display.

I tensed as she approached, noting the way she made the ground just under her feet transform and bloom