In fact, he didn’t seem to notice Cym at all. Instead, Marshall’s attention was completely focused on the tall, gangly man throwing fistfuls of raw magic at a creature that appeared to be made up entirely of rock. Random flashes from the battle illuminated Marshall’s now-expressionless face. Cym felt a pull at his center, and he fought hard to keep his magic from mixing with Marshall’s.

They were right at the base of the tree now, standing next to the memory image of Marshall lying prone on the ground. Marshall’s father was only yards away chipping away at the demon, piece by piece.

Marshall bent down to touch the yellow shield covering his memory self, keeping Cym tucked up against his body. Cym felt his body shake and saw tears falling down Marshall’s face.

“Just take it off,” Marshall whispered. Then he stood, dragging Cym with him, and turned toward the battle that was nearly on top of them. “Dad, take it off!” he shouted brokenly.

A massive shard from the monster cracked off and crashed through the area they were standing, leaving them unscathed, but taking out the tree above memory-Marshall. The shield protecting him flared as it absorbed the impact.

A massive pull on his magic had Cym disoriented. After a moment, he felt like the scene had shifted, but he couldn’t place how. Then Cym shouted, “Take it off!” with a voice that was not his own.

An internal check showed him that, not only was his magic bleeding into Marshall’s, but the two were so entwined there was almost no pink or blue anymore, just a swirling purple that seemed endless.

Grief and guilt swelled in Cym’s heart with an intensity that overwhelmed him. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. There was no point to them being there. What use were they to anyone? What good was magic if it couldn’t protect the ones they loved? The world would be a better place if they weren’t in it. Surely their loved ones would be safer if they weren’t constantly needing to sacrifice themselves for them.

Cym was lost. He couldn’t tell which thoughts and emotions were his and which were Marshall’s. All he… they could feel was pain. And around the edges of the pain was… joy?

Cym had to fight through pain, anguish, and the unbearable weight of existence to separate from Marshall enough to reach the joy, but once he did, he inspected it and found it was laced with white, cancerous evil. Camped right on the edge of the field was a familiar, monstrous presence.

Sekt.

The demon was feeding off Marshall’s pain with the joy of a child at Christmas time.

Grief-guilt-self-loathing.

Marshall’s emotions reeled Cym back in, but now he knew what he was facing, and he fought his way free faster. Cym couldn’t allow this to happen to Marshall. He’d been marinating in the man’s soul, and the core of it was filled with such kindness and gentleness that what was happening to him made Cym want to cry. There was nothing this man had done to deserve being literally eaten alive by guilt.

What could Cym do? All he had was himself, and that wasn’t worth much in a fight like this. Maybe Marshall had something more offensive at his disposal, but he was trapped in despair and didn’t seem likely to come to the rescue right now… Did Cym dare use Marshall’s power? He was connected so closely with Marshall that he should be able to. But would it be like the cemetery all over again?

Cym shoved the thought away ruthlessly. Overthinking right now was going to get people killed. He would do it because he had no other option. Cym just prayed it would turn out better than it had at the cemetery.

Cym searched for the endless wellspring of purple he shared with Marshall, and—inspired by Marshall’s father—grabbed a handful, and threw it at the demon.

The demon’s joy turned to a rage that quickly ate through the power Cym had thrown. Left with no other option, Cym grabbed another handful of the shimmering purple magic and threw it. Sekt roared angrily, and the purple melted away like a snowball in a fire.

Cym was only irritating Sekt with his actions, and that wasn’t going to get them out of Marshall’s nightmare world. Angrily, he switched tactics. Reaching inside once more, he pulled on their magic, but instead of breaking off a chunk, he pulled on it and kept pulling, treating it like taffy. Once he thought he had enough, he threw it at the demon like a lasso.

Rather than tying it up, once the rope reached Sekt, the magic shimmered and flowed out like a purple blanket and covered the demon, surrounding it and trapping it while continuing to pump what seemed like an endless supply of magic at the demon.

“That’s one way to do it,” a voice said, and Cym realized it was Marshall. The realization sent Cym tumbling back inside his own body, but he could still feel Marshall’s grief like it was his own. “But unless I can get him out of me, he’ll keep feeding until we both die.”

A wave of guilt nearly sucked Cym back into Marshall’s body, but he managed to hold onto himself. “No more of that, mister,” Cym snapped. “You didn’t do this. None of what I’ve seen here has been your fault.

The scene switched to the gutted house in suburbia, and Marshall said, “This was my fault. If I’d been stronger…”

“Stop it,” Cym said impatiently as guilt tried to suck Marshall in again. Then, feeling like he kicked a puppy, he tried again more gently. “Did you tell whatever those things are to come attack you?”

“There’s more to it than that.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can already tell from our connection that you didn’t cause any of this.”

Cym looked for any part of his own soul that still had pink in it. Even a scrap would do.

At first it seemed fruitless, but eventually he saw a small bit around the edges of the hopelessly tangled conglomeration of Marshall’s and Cym’s magic. This gave him hope he might also find a small bit of Marshall’s magic that was still free, and he was right. A short distance from Cym’s small scrap of pink, he found a bit of azure blue flickering fiercely as it struggled to remain itself. He had no reason to think this could work, but his gut told him to try it.

Feeding a small line of his pink toward the spot of blue, Cym imagined his magic with a protective shield around it, much like what Marshall’s father had put over him. Only with this shield, Cym imagined it to be slightly porous. Carefully, he wrapped his shielded magic around Marshall’s.

“You’re a protector, Marshall. You help. You don’t hurt.” Then Cym willed Marshall to see the truth. “Don’t let the bad guys convince you otherwise. That’s not you. This is.”

Cym pushed an image of Marshall’s magic shining blue and bright at him, and he saw the scrap he cradled so carefully respond. It brightened and expanded, becoming blindingly incandescent.

The scene around them broke, and they were back outside in their actual bodies, both lying on the snow-covered field with Cym sprawled across Marshall’s chest.

Marshall sat up, tucking Cym’s body against his as he looked at Stella.

Sekt’s eyes glared out of Stella’s face, and he snarled. “I hope that pathetic display doesn’t mean you think you’ve won. I have more than enough demons and nightmares to pin you down while I eat you, dreamwalker. You can’t unmake us all, and feasting on you will be enough to get me the power I need to cross over.” Spittle flew from Stella’s once-beautiful mouth, spraying Marshall and Cym. “I’ll save the boy for Hester. She’ll enjoy killing Cymbeline after what he’s done.”

Cym wiped his arm clean and crinkled his nose in disgust. “Then I’ll be around for a while. Hester pulled a runner a little while back. It didn’t seem like she felt welcome around you anymore.”

“Please.” Sekt sneered, causing Stella’s face to become painfully distorted. “She knows this body is nothing more than a tool. Stella and I had a disagreement on who was in charge when I first stepped inside her. She wanted her sister dead, and I didn’t, so I had to destroy her. Some of her orders might have made things messy for Hester, but most of the Blaikes are dead now, so it shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“That’s all I needed, love.” A bedraggled Hester emerged from the shadow of a nearby truck. “I was just waiting for you to get the troops back in line.”

Sekt reached out an arm in invitation, and Hester limped over to where Sekt stood in Stella’s body and kissed him. Cym fought the urge to vomit.

“Oh gods,” he moaned into Marshall’s chest. “I never needed to see that.”

Marshall’s large frame shuddered, and he squeezed Cym’s shoulder sympathetically. “I think they’re done now.”

“Sorry I haven’t been more help, love. That nasty little boy tied up my magic and is using it against us. Kill him for me?” She touched her tongue to Stella/Sekt’s cheek flirtatiously.

“Apparently I was wrong, sorry.” Marshall’s voice sounded choked, and Cym couldn’t tell if he was trying not to laugh or gag.

Cym knew which one he was trying not to do and just hoped he could manage to keep his clothes clean if he failed.

“Anything for you, dear one. Let me just wrap things up here first.” Sekt squeezed Hester’s ass and then let her go. “Why haven’t we tried this before? The possibilities are delightful.”

“Focus, dear.”

“Work, work, work. Okay, where was I?” Sekt returned his gaze to Cym and Marshall, still huddled together on the ground.

“I’m going to need the reins for this.” Marshall whispered in Cym’s ear.

Cym realized he still had full control of their shared power and relaxed his hold, willing it over to Marshall.

White fire rimmed with blood-orange lightning formed around Sekt’s hands. It expanded outward into a circle, multiplying in size until a large dog, or small human, could fit inside. This didn’t bode well for Cym.

“Why don’t you save us the fight and just climb inside, kid? And dreamwalker, I promise we’ll eat you quickly if you give him up.”