In response to Lu’s blank expression, Nola explained patiently, “Look, the Flash caused instability, but the world had seen a lot worse before that. Stock markets would’ve recovered, things would’ve eventually settled down. But Thorne started dropping bombs and pointing fingers. He was already an influential man, even then—a very rich man—who’d been stockpiling weapons all over the place. So when the missiles started flying from Iran and Russia and the United States, everyone blamed everyone else, and it devolved rapidly from there. In the space of a few weeks, everything collapsed. The entire world was chaos. And out of the ashes rose Sebastian Thorne and his oh-so-ironically named Phoenix Corporation, swooping in to save the day.”

Lu sat back in her chair, stunned. “If this is common knowledge, why doesn’t everyone rebel? Why hasn’t someone tried to get to him before?”

“I never said it was common knowledge.” Nola rose to clear the empty bowls. “The Dissenters know it, of course, but to everyone else Sebastian Thorne is the man who single-handedly saved the world.”

James amended wryly, “And then made its entire population captive dependents.”

“Even the strongest people eventually grow to love their chains,” said Grandfather. His warm gaze met Lu’s. The hint of a smile touched his lips. “Unlike wild animals, who can never be tamed, no matter how long they’re kept in captivity.”

But you already know that, don’t you, Tsulahisanvhi?

He was still gazing at her with that scant, clever smile as her jaw dropped.

How did you know you could talk to me this way?

Grandfather’s smile deepened. Old people know a great many things the young aren’t interested in.

I’m interested, Lu thought firmly. And frankly I’m not that young.

Grandfather shrugged, pulling a face. Everything’s relative. When you get to be my age, a midlife crisis looks about the same as a toddler’s tantrum, which looks about the same as early onset dementia.

Midlife crisis? I’m only twenty-five!

In my day, twenty-five was midlife. Especially for a woman. Strike that—twenty-five would’ve been an old maid. The medicine man of our tribe would’ve prescribed a strong tea of boiled bull testicles and tomcat urine to clear away all those cobwebs and tumbleweeds in your uterus so you could maybe still attract a man and have a family.

Lu scowled at him. Good thing I wasn’t born in your day, then. By the way, it must’ve been exciting when fire was first discovered, right? And when the wheel was invented? Those must’ve been good times!

Grandfather grinned, lighting his entire face. Ah, Tsulahisanvhi. You don’t disappoint.

There was that word again. Su-la-he-SAN-vee. Frustrated with the silent conversation, Lumina said aloud, “Hey, James? What does Tsulahisanvhi mean?”

Into the kitchen sink Nola dropped the bowls with a clatter, turning to stare.

Sounding more than a little confused, James said slowly, “Uh, well, I’m not such an expert with the Cherokee language, but I think it means . . . Resurrected One.”

Silence reigned, until Nola broke it, her voice cutting. “Where did you hear that word, Lumina?”

“Oh, I think I read it in some old, moldy, irritating book,” she answered lightly, watching with aggravation as the smile on the old man’s face grew bright as the sun.

Okay, Grandfather. We need to talk. And it’s not about the dust bunnies in my uterus.

I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, little dragon, but first you have to find me.

Lu’s scowl deepened with her confusion. Find you? You’re sitting right across from me!

Grandfather rose from the table, looking down from his considerable height. To everyone there, but looking at Lu, he said, “My bones cry out for bed. It’s time for me to go to sleep.”

Which is where you’ll find me . . . if you can.

He winked, turned, and walked slowly away from the table, leaving Lu gaping at his broad, retreating back.

Magnus had been watching her and Grandfather during their silent conversation with the unblinking stare of a predator, his gaze darting back and forth between them, quick as light. “Lumina?” His query was low, tense, filled with something darker than concern. Lu quashed the tiny seed of hope that took root in her heart in response to his worried tone, and avoided his eyes.

“I just realized I’m tired, too. Thank you for dinner, Nola. James, it’s been wonderful meeting you.” She rose. To Magnus she sent a curt, businesslike nod. “And now if you’ll all excuse me, I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”

She left, pretending not to feel the stabbing pain in her heart at the look she saw pass between Nola and Magnus as she went.

She didn’t know how this worked, and was beginning to get frustrated.

Lying on her back on the twin bed, wearing a T-shirt she’d found in one of the bedroom’s dresser drawers because she hadn’t thought to bring a nightgown, Lu stared up at the dark ceiling. She’d tried counting backward from one hundred. She’d tried counting sheep. She’d even tried deep breathing exercises, which did nothing except make the room spin. Now she was trying to remember something she’d once read about progressive relaxation of the muscles, but the events of the past few days were whirling round and round inside her head, fighting each other for the spotlight. Sleep seemed as elusive as a smile from Magnus.

Magnus. With a groan, Lu turned on her side and stared at the wall.

She heard him downstairs, talking with Nola and James, their voices muffled, indistinct. She knew she could’ve picked out the words if she’d wanted to, but the low, rumbling tone of his voice was soothing to her agitated state, and anyway she probably didn’t want to know what they were saying.

She definitely didn’t want to know if Magnus was looking at Nola in that admiring way he’d looked at her before.

Lu knew it was ridiculous. She had no claim on him. They had no history, except the one she’d made up in her own mind. The knowledge didn’t make her feel any better, because in the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, she felt as if he were already hers. As if he’d always been, and always would be.

Ridiculous.

She sighed and closed her eyes, resigned to a long, sleepless night of tossing the sheets.

And then.

She was standing in an enormous field of waist-high grain, the breeze rippling waves over its golden surface. The sun shone bright overhead. A lone hawk soared high, high up in the clear cerulean sky. The scene was beautiful, peaceful, and utterly silent.

Little dragon.

Lu turned. There behind her stood a handsome young man. His long, dark hair was braided in two plaits that hung halfway down his chest, his brown eyes shone with welcome. He was tall and his bearing was proud, and she recognized him at once.

Grandfather!

Edward Fastwater, he corrected with a grin. Otherwise known as Running Bear.

But you’re so . . . young!

He laughed, without noise, his head thrown back, white teeth glinting in the sunlight. The soul doesn’t age the way the body does, little dragon.

Lu looked around, marveling at the endless, restless field of grain. Black hills jutted into the horizon. In the far distance, a lazy column of smoke twined up from the chimney of a lone house. Where are we?

He moved closer, his palms open, skimming the heads of the grain. Near where I grew up. I visit here often.