First in pain, and then darkness, and then—

At least they seemed to be. No, they were pressing down, not pummeling. Someone was performing CPR. Was I dead? My flesh felt odd and heavy, almost entirely inert.

I felt a mouth over mine, then breath being forced into my lungs. I couldn’t seem to open my eyes. And then I coughed. If dying hurt, living was worse. Butch nuzzled me, whimpering, but I couldn’t lift a hand to reassure him.

Jesse brought me upright. His hands rubbed over my back, and when I finally managed to lift my eyes, I found him looking wretched, almost as bad as I felt. The burn on my left palm felt as though it might never heal.

“You died,” he whispered, raw.

I couldn’t work up any concern over that. “So did my mother. She—she killed herself. Why didn’t she run? We could’ve both—” A sob tore free.

I didn’t need an answer after all. I’d been Cherie Solomon for the last few minutes of her life. She hadn’t run, because the men would’ve come looking, and she’d loved me so much I ached with it. My tears ran freely, slipping down my cheeks. I felt dire and bloodied. All these years, I’d thought she died in the fire.

But the truth was somehow worse. She’d died by her own hand, part of that final spell. I had always assumed they’d come upon her before she finished—and that was why my powers were incomplete. Based on what I’d just seen, that obviously wasn’t true, so the fault must lie in me. I was a faulty vessel.

“Oh God.” With gentle hands, he unfolded my fingers from around her necklace.

It fell from my grasp into his palm. Numbly I noted a new scar: The flower pentacle had been branded into my palm. The wound showed livid and purple with little white blisters around the edges. I’d never seen anything quite like it, and what seemed stranger—I had no other marks on my left hand anymore.

Jesse followed my gaze and registered the change as well. “What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure.”

“We should get you to a hospital.”

I shook my head. “That’s fifty miles away. I’ll be fine, but Chance won’t.”

Before he could argue, Butch lifted his head and growled. The heavy chill I’d noticed before the letters appeared on the wall returned. Everything stilled, even the wind. It felt like too much work even to move. Something was coming. I sensed the vibrations in the earth.

Something huge and heavy would burst into this clearing and roar over finding us toying with its trinkets. It must have an awful reason for keeping mementos of the dead and would most likely add us to its collection. I knew I should be frightened, but I felt as though my emotions had been burnt at the sockets.

Was it possible I hadn’t returned all the way? Perhaps I was undead; that would be mightily inconvenient. I pinched myself, just in case. No. It stung a bit.

“Corine, we have to go now. Can you walk?”

I didn’t know. When he pulled me to my feet, I discovered I could, clumsy, stumbling steps. Saldana snagged Butch, who wisely didn’t protest. Before I hardly knew what had happened, he tucked me behind him and drew his weapon. I had a feeling it wouldn’t do us any good against what shared these woods with us, but men always seemed to feel better being proactive.

As we moved through the trees, trying unsuccessfully to be quiet, the distance between reality and me receded. My skin started to feel like my own again. The pain in my palm anchored me, and I tried to banish the memory of my mother’s death. In a way, it was my death too, for that touch had killed me. Only Jesse’s hands and mouth had kept me from slipping away into the dreaming dark.

He appeared to be doing his best to save a life I didn’t want as much as I should right then. Reaction got the best of me. It seemed easier just to wait for the thing to find and eat us, or whatever it did to its victims.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” The insanely deep voice came from everywhere and nowhere. At first, I thought I must be losing my mind. It rumbled all around me, shivering the earth as if with a happy sigh.

I stopped walking and glanced at Jesse, who looked like I felt. “Did you—”

“Hear that? Yeah.”

He spun in a circle as if trying to find the microphones and bass amps. The way dark mist rolled in around us, he might want to check for a smoke machine too. I smiled slightly over that. For someone who was introducing me to Gifted society, he didn’t seem to have run across as much weird stuff as I had.

I wondered if the unseen thing wanted some response. “You aren’t?”

“No,” it rumbled. “You are precious to me. Poor pretty thing. I wondered when you would come back.”

A cold shudder rolled through me, and dead man’s hands slid down my spine. I’d heard those words straight from Mr. McGee, just before he died. Beside me, Jesse froze. Clearly he’d made the connection as well from my recitation of the story.

“You know me?” I forced the words through numb lips.

“Darling child,” the dark thing crooned, “I hid you. Sheltered you. You slept in my arms on blood night.” For a mad moment, I thought we must be speaking to the dark spirit of the wood. My breathing grew labored, fear oozing out my pores in acrid sweat. “I kept your mother’s legacy safe for you.”

The necklace in Saldana’s grasp suddenly seemed tainted. I wanted to grab it from him and throw it as far from us as my pitching arm could manage. He seemed to share the instinct, but after that first twitchy impulse, I shook my head. If there was evil in it, then it had already infected me. I gazed down at my marked palm with a dry, aching throat.

My chest felt as though I might be suffering the beginning stages of a heart attack. “Does that mean you will let us go?”

“Gladly,” it rumbled. “Go from here and do not return. There are others in this place who mean you ill.”

People, I guessed. But sometimes people were the worst monsters of all.

“Let’s go,” Jesse said beneath his breath. He started walking, fingers white-knuckled on his gun, as if to test the offer of free passage.

Butch never even twitched. I was afraid the little dog might have died of fright.

Getting away couldn’t be so easy; it was never a matter of asking nicely not to be devoured. The monster must be playing with us, for I couldn’t be misconstruing the air, thick with hunger and malice. It wanted us in ways I didn’t understand.

I never lost the sense of it as we passed back through those arches on this profane path. If nature should be a temple, then this one was desecrated. The monster kept pace with us, an unseen presence slithering through the underbrush. I decided it could shift shapes, whatever it was. It did not have to be huge and heavy; it could be whatever it desired. That knowledge shook me in ways I didn’t like to think about.

“Your friend will die in the dark,” it said in parting as we came to the thinning trees that marked the end of its dominion. “Farewell to you, precious child. Farewell.”

My breath whooshed out of me. Chance. Though I told myself I couldn’t believe anything that creature told me—it was probably born of lies and darkness—I nonetheless tasted the certainty in its words. Sometimes truth tormented best of all.

As we stepped into the yard at last, I felt cold and dirty, weary beyond all belief. The fire in my left hand went beyond any hurt I’d previously suffered or imagined. Tiny lightning worms gnawed at my nerves, writhing in devilish sparks all the way up to the pain centers in my brain.

I desperately needed a good night’s sleep, but there was no time. It was already late afternoon. If we delayed any longer, we would lose all hope of springing Chance before dark.

Because Jesse insisted, I washed my face and hands before we headed back into town. I also changed my clothes, not wanting to look like I had been rolling around the forest floor. We took his Forester because it was parked behind the Mustang and I didn’t want anyone to recognize us.

He also demanded I eat one of the peanut butter sandwiches we’d packed for lunch. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t complain, munching mechanically and washing it down with tepid water. Afterward, I pulled Butch out of my bag and cradled him to my chest. As if he knew I needed comfort, he nuzzled his cold nose against my neck.

“Here’s how it’s going to be,” Jesse told me as he parked in front of the courthouse. “I’ll do the talking, and you agree with whatever I say. Got it?”

If I’d possessed the wherewithal to get Chance out earlier, I’d have done it, so I didn’t mind letting Jesse call the play. I merely nodded and led the way downstairs to where they were keeping Chance. It was a makeshift jail at best, a small area barred off for town drunks. Sheriff Robinson looked slightly annoyed to see me back. His eyes narrowed when he realized I’d brought backup and wouldn’t be inclined to play ball with his “good old boys make the rules in this here town” party line.

Chance had been sitting on the bunk, but he stood up, looking puzzled, and a little glad, I think. Surely he hadn’t thought I meant to leave him in there all night. A little tremor of relief ran through me. We’d gotten there in time.

Jesse planted his feet and stared down at the sheriff. A long minute passed without anyone saying anything, and then Robinson got heavily to his feet. “Is there something I can do for you folks?” He tried on a smile like it might fit.

“I’m with the Laredo police department,” Saldana said. He wisely didn’t mention his suspension.

The sheriff’s smile lost its curl. “You’re outside your jurisdiction, son.”

The set of Saldana’s jaw said he didn’t like being called “son” by a man he hardly knew. “I’m on vacation, but I do know something about the law. You have the right to hold someone for twenty-four hours in conjunction with a crime. Has Chance been questioned, sir? What crime took place? Has he been charged? Or do you intend to claim this incident somehow relates to Homeland Security? As I see it, that’s your only hope of keeping him behind bars.”

Robinson scowled. “I could make trespassing stick on both of them.”

“And I could call down a dozen human interest groups on your little town.” Jesse’s smile showed teeth, but it wasn’t charming or pretty. “Would you like that? Reporters everywhere, poking around? Everybody has secrets, don’t they, Sheriff? Could yours stand up to close scrutiny? I can get a film crew here from Savannah in—”

Pure dislike flashed in the sheriff’s hound dog eyes, but he offered his hands in what was meant to be a placating gesture. “There’s no need for that. It’s a simple misunderstanding. Since they’re new in town, I thought they posed a flight risk; that’s all.”

“It’s called due process,” Saldana bit out. “You don’t get to detain American citizens without it. Now let that man out of the cell before I get mad.”

Jesus. I was impressed. No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to talk.

Without a word, Robinson stomped over to the cage and unlocked the door, which swung wide on its own, making me think the floor had a slope too delicate to perceive with the naked eye.

“Get that dog out of here,” the sheriff growled. “You can’t go dragging animals into public places.”

“You came back.” Chance said it like I always left him in the lurch. And maybe he thought I did. I’d certainly left him once.

“Yeah,” I answered thickly. “Brought the big guns too.” The idea that he’d needed Saldana to rescue him seemed to make him unhappy, so I hugged Chance hard. Whatever else, I didn’t want to lose him for good. I did know that.

“I hate bullies,” Jesse muttered as we went back up the stairs. “He loved knowing he had the power to keep you caged, Chance. Just on his say-so. God knows what would’ve happened after lights-out.”

I shivered again and led the way out to the car. I had a feeling we wanted to be snug inside the wards before dark.