I couldn’t, though. If I rested—if I closed my eyes—it was like I lost pieces of myself. But how could that be? How could I be losing myself? It reminded me a little of the time I had strep throat and such a high fever that I had a super weird dream where I kept spinning around and around until pieces of my body started to fly off me.

I shivered. Why was that so easy to remember when a bunch of other stuff in my head was so foggy?

Goddess, I was really tired.

Distracted, I kinda tripped over one of the pretty white rocks that jutted up out of the grass and moss, and caught myself from falling by throwing up a hand and grabbing the side of the closest tree.

That’s why I saw it. My hand. My arm. It didn’t look right. I stopped and stared, and I swear my skin rippled, like in one of those gross horror movies where nasty stuff gets under an almost naked girl’s flesh and crawls around, making her—

“No!” I wiped frantically at my arm. “No! Stop!”

“Zo, babe, what’s wrong?”

“Heath, Heath—look.” I held my arm out for him to see. “It’s like a horror movie.”

Heath’s gaze went from my arm to my face. “Uh, Zo, what’s like a horror movie?”

“My arm! My skin! It’s moving.” I flailed at him.

His smile didn’t hide the worry on his face. He reached out and slowly ran his hand down my arm. When he got to my hand, he threaded his fingers with mine.

“There’s nothing wrong with your arm, babe,” he said.

“You really don’t think so?”

“Really, seriously, I don’t think so. Hey, what’s going on with you?”

I opened up my mouth to tell him that I thought I was losing myself—that bits of myself were floating away—when something caught my eye at the edge of the tree line. Something dark.

“Heath, I don’t like that,” I told him, pointing a shaking hand at the spot of shadows.

The breeze stirred the wide green leaves of the trees that seemed suddenly not as thick and sheltering as they had moments ago, and the scent came to me, sickening and ripe, like three-day-old roadkill. I felt Heath’s body jerk, and knew I wasn’t imagining it.

Then the shadows out there stirred, and I was sure I heard wings.

“Oh, no,” I whispered.

Heath’s hand tightened on mine. “Come on. We need to get farther inside here.”

I felt frozen and numb all at the same time. “Why? How can trees save us from whatever that is?”

Heath took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “Zo, can’t you feel it? This place, this grove, is good, purely good. Babe, can’t you feel your Goddess in here?”

The tears that filled my eyes made him all blurry. “No,” I said softly, as if I could barely form the words. “I can’t feel my Goddess at all.”

He pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight. “Don’t worry, Zo. I can feel her, so it’ll be okay. I promise.” Then, while I was still cradled by one of his arms, Heath guided me deeper into Nyx’s grove as my tears overflowed and fell wet and hot down my cold cheeks.

“Skye? Really? Where is that? Ireland?” Stevie Rae said.

“It’s Scotland, not Ireland, retard,” Aphrodite said.

“Aren’t they kinda the same thing? And don’t say ‘retard.’ It’s not nice.”

“How about if I say bite me? Is that nice enough? Just listen and try not to be so asstarded, bumpkin. I need you to go back and do more of your weird commune with the earth or whatthefuckever it is you do, and see if you can come up with some info about Light and Darkness—you know, with a capital L and D. Also pay attention if a tree or whatnot says something about two bulls.”

“Bulls? You mean like cows?”

“Are you not from the country? How is it that you don’t know what a bull is?”

“Look, Aphrodite, that’s an ignorant stereotype. Just ’cause I’m not from a big city does not mean I automatically know about cows and stuff. Heck, I don’t even like horses.”

“I swear you’re a mutant,” Aphrodite said. “A bull is a male cow. Even my mom’s schizophrenic Bichon Frise knows that. Focus, would you, this is important. You need to go ask the fucking grass about an ancient and entirely too barbaric and therefore unattractive mythology or religion or some such that includes two fighting bulls, a white one and a black one, and a very guylike, violent, unending struggle between good and evil.”

“What does this have to do with gettin’ Zoey back?”

“I think it might somehow open a door for Stark to the Otherworld, without him actually dying because, apparently, that doesn’t so much work for Warriors protecting their High Priestesses there.”

“The cows can do that? How? Cows can’t even talk.”

“Bulls, double retard. Stay with me. I’m not just talking about animals, but the rawness of the power that surrounds them. The bulls represent that power.”

“So they’re not gonna talk?”

“Oh, for shit’s sake! They might and they might not—they’re super old magick, stupid! Who the hell knows what they can do? Just get this: to make it to the Otherworld, Stark can’t be civilized and modern and all nicey-nice. He’s got to figure out how to be more than that to reach Zoey and to protect her without getting both of them killed, and this olden-time religion might be a key to that.”

“I guess that makes sense. I mean, when I think about Kalona, I don’t exactly think of a modern guy.” Stevie Rae paused, acknowledging only to herself that she was truly thinking of Rephaim and not his father. “And he’s definitely got some raw power.”

“And definitely in the Otherworld without being dead.”

“Which is where Stark needs to be.”

“So, go talk to flowers about bulls and such,” Aphrodite said.

“I’ll go talk to flowers,” Stevie Rae said.

“Call me when they tell you something.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do my best.”

“Hey, be careful,” Aphrodite said.

“See, you can be nice,” Stevie Rae said.

“Before you go all strawberries and cream on me, answer this question: who’d you Imprint with after ours broke?”

Stevie Rae’s body went ice-cold. “No one!”

“Which means someone totally inappropriate. Who is it, one of those red fledgling losers?”

“Aphrodite—I said no one.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. See, one of the things I’m learning about because of this new Prophetess stuff, which is mostly a pain in the ass, by-the-by, is that if I listen without my ears, I know things.”

“Here’s what I know—you’ve lost your dang mind.”

“So, again, be careful. I’m getting weird vibes from you, and they’re telling me you might be in trouble.”

“I think you’ve just made up a big ol’ story to cover up that whole lot of crazy you got going on inside your head.”

“And I think you’re hiding something. So let’s just agree to disagree.”

“I’m goin’ to talk to flowers about cows. Goodbye, Aphrodite.”

“Bulls. Goodbye, bumpkin.”

Stevie Rae opened the door to leave her dorm room, still frowning about Aphrodite’s comments, and almost ran smack into Kramisha’s hand, raised to knock on her door. They both jumped and then Kramisha shook her head. “Don’t do weird shit like that. Makes me think you ain’t normal no more.”

“Kramisha, if I’d known you were out here, I wouldn’t have jumped when I opened the door. And none of us are normal—at least not anymore.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m still me. Meaning they’s nothin’ wrong with me. You, on the other hand, look like one hot messatude.”

“I almost burned up on a roof two days ago. I think that gives me the right to look like crap.”

“I don’t mean you look bad.” Kramisha cocked her head to the side. Today she was wearing her bright yellow bob wig, which she’d coordinated with sparkly fluorescent yellow eye shadow. “Actually, you lookin’ good—all pink like white folks get when they real healthy. It kinda reminds me of cute little baby pigs with they pinkness.”