We finished the second stretch in silence. Before we turned to start the third, Dakota paused and stared at the blue sky. She scratched the back of her head, ruffling her blonde hair. “She was shy, according to most of the adults I spoke with. The kids her age said she was quiet, too. Some were scared of her in a way they couldn’t explain—both kids and adults. Did you know she was seeing a psychiatrist?”
“You said that her, Derek, and Marie were all in counseling for reoccurring nightmares.”
“Yeah, well, according to their doctor, they all suffered very similar nightmares. It started about two months ago. They would see a loved one being taken from them. At first, the lost person would approach them with indifference, then they would turn into a monster and attack the dreamer. Each night, the lost loved one assaulted them in a different, more horrific way.”
“Her birthday was two months ago,” I said offhand. “She turned seven.” I don’t know how that helped, but the information felt too coincidental not to mention. Mel’s abduction and subsequent murder had taken place seven years after Callie’s death. Then, right around my daughter’s seventh birthday, she and her family had started to experience horrific nightmares that landed them in counseling? “I was pretty out of it the night I fought Medea, but she kept saying something about Mel not belonging to this world.” I shook my head, again just reaching for straws that might hold weight. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” Dakota said, continuing with the search.
The bright afternoon soon darkened in the early winter sky. The weight in the air became heavier with the spreading of the shadows. A deep chill arrived as the sun fell below the horizon line, stealing the light from the land. Dakota and I concluded our search of the field, finding nothing more than a few weeds, some crushed beer cans, and a few cigarette butts.
“I don’t think your robed friends partied without you last night,” I said, dragging my feet back to her car. “Did we avoid your feelings getting hurt?”
She faced me, the shadows of twilight obscuring her face. “Reason number three we came out here—if you want to learn how to use your new power, why not start training out here, in a paranormal hotbed?” She leaned over, grabbed a clod of dirt and chucked it at me.
I dodged, hearing the compacted earth woos by my ear. “What the hell?”
“Come on,” she said, “you’re a Sorcerer now. Tap into your dormant power, awaken it. Learn to use it. What better way than reflex? Don’t allow your body to dodge, force your magic to ward. Don’t think. Just act.”
“Who the hell are you? Dumbledore? Brom?”
“Who’s Brom?”
“That guy from Era—never mind. I wasn’t being literal, anyway. It’s just… what, all of a sudden you, a Sheep, can mentor magic users?”
Dakota chuckled. “I’ve spent twenty years dedicating my life to this shit. I probably know more about magic and the Nephil than you ever will.” She picked up another clod and tossed it straight up in the air, catching it on the downfall. “Now, let’s find the power you accessed against Medea.”
I shook my head and bit my lip, but listened to her. Closing my eyes to drown out distractions, I reached for the well of power that had appeared within me a couple nights ago, and again this morning. Opening my eyes, the surrounding darkness had taken a corporeal form—not only that, but I could see through it with ease.
Dakota wound up like a pitcher and bulleted the dirt clod at me. I mentally reached for the darkness and commanded it to shield me from the attack. A shadow flinched at my command, but it didn’t cover me. The projectile smashed into my bandaged stomach with a hollow thunk. The breath fled from my lungs at the impact and a shattering pain registered in my abdomen. I collapsed to my knees.
“Fuck,” I wheezed, gripping my bleeding stomach. “This shirt was brand-new, and I actually liked it.”
“What happened?” Dakota asked, jogging up to me and kneeling.
“You threw a rock at me, remember? Shit. I think we need to head back so I can change these bandages, unless you have some first aid in the car.”
“No, we’ll get you back to Xander’s. He’s probably close to getting off work anyway. He’ll be wondering where we are.”
Dakota helped me to my feet and assisted me across the field to her vehicle. A hair over five-foot-seven and weighing around 130 pounds, she was stronger than I’d given her credit for—especially as I struggled to walk, trying not to tear the injury further. She opened the passenger door for me, and I crawled inside while she jogged around and situated herself into the driver’s seat. As the overhead light dimmed and winked out, she said, “Creepy out there, yeah?”
I knew what she meant. As the darkness deepened across the sky, a billowing of thick fog had crawled in as well, distorting sound and fragmenting trees. I understood why people found it easy to believe in the paranormal out here.
Frowning, I said, “Creepy, schreepy, as I always say. A little dark and a little cold never hurt anyone.”
“I would argue with you,” she said, “but what’s the point?” She started the car.
The headlights beamed in front of us, illuminating a shadowed figure standing near the edge of the field, right behind the fallen fence. It wore a black robe and a human skull for a mask.
Dakota chuckled—a strange response, for sure. I responded with a little more fear and gasped. Let me set the record straight by saying I didn’t quite squeal or shriek, though my voice had taken the high-pitched tone of an adolescent girl. “Drive,” I said. “What in dickens are you doing?”
Dakota unlocked the car and opened her door, stepping outside like a lunatic. As soon as her feet touched the
