I almost pass the house, which I never do.Because the lights are out, which they never are. Not this lateanyway.

I stop, look along the row of squat, stonehouses. Every last one’s got the orange glow of firelight comingfrom them. But not Clint and Looza’s place. Are they out? Do theyever go out? And if they did, wouldn’t they tell me? They know Icome by to visit every night, without fail, even if it’s only for aminute before I traipse on down to Fro-Yo’s.

My heart’s beating faster and I don’t knowwhy. There’s no cause for concern just because the lights are out.It is rather late—perhaps they turned in early. But still…

I peek in the window, see only darkness. Andthen—

I’m blinded by the flash of something brightand sharp in my eyes. A beam of light through the window. I cryout, look away, blinking at the spots as if they’re something I cancrush between my eyelids.

Something’s not right, but I can’t see wellenough yet. I keep blinking, furiously, rubbing at my eyes with thebacks of my hands. When I open my eyes again I can still see theghost of the light flaring up before my vision each time I blink,clouding it, but not enough that I can’t see at all.

As I grope for the door, there’s a scream,high-pitched and small and almost animalistic, desperate, but it’scut off only halfway through.

Jolie.

My tainted vision is nothing. My achingmuscles and bones are nothing. A surge of energy rips through meand I find the door, thrust it open, right away spotting the beamof light dancing away from me with scuffles and scrapes and muffledcries.

I’m a mountain lion and Jolie’s my cub. Andwhoever’s got her will face my wrath. With reckless abandon I bargethrough the house, trying to guide my feet by memory. Quick step tothe left, avoid the table. Quick step to the right, avoid the—

CRASH! I bash into something soft,toppling it over and getting my legs all knotted up, bringing medown on top of it. There’s a muffled cry, but I’m already rollingoff, because I don’t need even a shred of moonlight to know thatit’s Looza, wide and soft and rough with ropes, tied up. EitherClint’s the culprit, gone off-his-mind crazy, or he’s around heresomewhere, tied up too.

I move on, barely catching a glimpse of thebouncing light as it exits out the back door, taking my sister withit.

An odd numbness buzzes through my legs, but Iforce them forward, charging for the door, meeting it just as it’sslammed in my face. I don’t feel the impact—because it’s my sisterthey’ve got—just bounce off, rock on my heels, push off, tear openthe door, leap out into the frozen night.

The light’s there, stopped, as if waiting forme. I can’t see past it, because it’s like a shield, glowing roundand bright, blocking my vision as effectively as a stone wall. I’munsure for a second, because up until this point, the light’s beenrunning, so of course I had to try to catch it. But now that I’vecaught up, my bear-in-an-ice-sculpture-museum routine may not bethe most effective method of getting Joles back.

Fists clenched at my sides, I take a stepforward. “Give her bac—”

Just like during the fight at the pub,something wallops me in the back of the head. The light and Jolie’smuffled cries and my perfect day…all go black.

Chapter Eight

A bad dream. I knowthat’s what it was as soon as I open my eyes. Almost like a trick,it had good parts, like getting a job and my mother being clean andJolie being able to come home to live with us again, before turningnightmarish with a bright light and a rock to the back of thehead.

I quiver, trying to separate dream fromreality. Why am I so cold?

Heavy swirls of gray and black shiftoverhead, spitting bits of white. Some of it lands on my face and Iwipe it away.

A voice echoes hollowly from somewhere. Adream voice?

A dream inside a dream, maybe. When I wake upI won’t remember, because I never remember my dreams.

The voice again. Wes. Dream Wes. Probablyjust as responsible and stick-in-the-mud as the real Wes. I don’treally want to see him now, because I’m too cold, too filled withheaviness after nightmare number one. Even though I know it’s notreal, it hurts like it is.

“Dazz? What the…? Mountain Heart, Dazz!There’s blood!”

“Just a dream,” I say. “Go away.”Everything’s blurry, but not because of spots from a bright lightor the white wetness what floats above me. Just real blurry.

I close my eyes.

“Where’s Jolie?” Wes says.

~~~

The next time I awake it’s not dream numberthree.

But dream number one and dream number two arestill alive in my memory, which is unusual for me. I keep my eyesclosed, waiting for them to fade away so I can be happy again.

Murmurs caress the air around me. Sayingsomething…I don’t know what. Don’t care much either, as long as thememories of the dreams are trapped in my head. “Go away,” I say,both to the murmurs and the nightmare-memories. My voice iscrackly, like dry leaves.

“Dazz?” my brother’s voice says.

“Nay, it’s the King of the Yags,” I say. “Allwho stand before me shall tremble in fear.”

“Dazz, you need to tell us what happened,”Wes says, as if what happened is real. Perhaps he’s talking aboutwhat happened at the pub. Maybe I’m just waking up from the hit Itook and everything’s been a head-injury-created dream. That wouldmake more sense than me actually working for the king.

“Dazz.” A different voice this time. Buff.“Where’s Jolie?”

The bad dreams scream through my head,throbbing, throbbing, pounding, chucking a massive tantrum, rippingmy skull apart. Buff’s two words change everything, tell meeverything I already knew.

Not a dream. Jolie’s been taken.

“They took her,” I whisper. I won’t open myeyes. Can’t. Not with them looking at me. Not when I failedher.

“Who?” Wes again.

“The light,” I say, making no sense atall.

“There was a light?” Wes asks, understandingme like only a brother can.

I nod. “Didn’t see them. Heard Jolie. Someonehit me.” They probably figured that much out while I was sleeping.Some help I am. Although I feel like there’s something invisibleholding me to the bed, I push up with all my might, try to get tomy feet, ripping at something soft that’s tight against my head,fighting the double sets of hands that push me back down, swing atthem, hit one of them, but my punch is so weak I don’t think eitherof us feels it.

Everything rushes past and I start tofade.

“Jolieeeeeee…” I say.

~~~

Jolie’s gone and Mother’s back on the ice.Mountain Heart only knows where she got the money. I’ve been in bedfor two solid days. Not by choice. If it was up to me I’d be outthere looking for Joles, but the doctor said my head’s pretty bad,and walking’s out of the question for at least a week.

I questioned it though, even when theystrapped me to the bed with ropes. I pulled them away, squirmed myway out, ran for the door, feeling like I was floating the wholetime. Perfectly fine.

But Wes and Buff cut me off before I got toofar, fought me back into bed, tied the ropes even tighter. I cursedthem out, said some things I should probably regret, but don’t.After all, they’re stopping me from finding her.

A Brown District search party’s already outthere looking. The District lawkeeper’s been out to Clint andLooza’s house, inspected the footprints and the bloody mess I left,and supposedly he’s confident they’ll find her.

I’m not holding my breath.

Clint and Looza are shaken up, but fine. Theycame by to talk to me. Like me, they saw nothing, were surprised bymen in masks at the door who forced their way in and tied them up.After smothering the fire, the men started to wrestle Joles out thedoor. That’s when I showed up.