I look quickly to the phoenix, but it didn’t come from her. The growl is at one edge of the field. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then I see the form of some creature on all fours. A mangy pit bull bares his teeth at me. I shove the fistful of wheat kernels into my pocket and fumble for my kris dagger. But the dog stays at the edge of the wheat field.
More sounds—a bark, a grunt, nails on hard dirt. All manner of nightbeasts gather at the border of the wheat field, eyes on me. Hungry. Angry.
I inch toward the phoenix, hoping not to startle them. Maybe we can take off before they attack.
But some are trying to attack. One massive wolf lunges, then recoils the second it touches a stalk of wheat. They can’t come into the field. They can’t come into the light. Everett had said as much.
My body relaxes a touch. They can’t get to me. The phoenix and I are safe.
But nightbeasts line only three sides of the field. The edge behind us is clear. Could I really walk safely out of the field on that side? What keeps the nightbeasts from attacking there?
I take some steps toward the clear edge of the field. The nightbeasts gather in more dense packs at the corners, and I hear the same thud, thud, thud from when the phoenix hit the mysterious wall.
Like the creatures are bumping up against plexiglass.
“Oh.” A grin crawls over my face. I approach the clear line of the field until the toe of my sandal meets the resistance of an invisible wall. I press my hand against it as I would a windowpane.
I’ve found it.
I’ve found the edge of the Nightmare.
I push against the invisible boundary, my Draftsman logic spinning as usual. Typical boundaries in dreamscapes are built to fit the dream—a castle wall or mountain range that encircles the design. Something impassable or unscalable. Cheap dreamscapes have chain-link fences. If someone were to pass the fence and somehow cross the boundary of the dream they’d wake up. Simple as that.
But this one is see-through. On the other side are random ruins of Roman structures, like buildings discarded by the Draftsman. It’s a scene projected to make Tenebra seem endless, but it’s not. There’s an end. There’s always an end. And if I can somehow figure out how to get through this boundary, I might wake. For good.
Could this be the cure to the Nightmare? Simply cross the barrier and be free of this place?
Something moves in the ruins on the other side.
I trip backward as the form grows larger, as it runs toward me. A nightbeast? But then I make out the figure. It’s human. A child. A little girl with pigtails, a pale-yellow ruffle shirt with red cherries on it, and jeans with a torn knee. Her eyes are wide and her running stops. She stands mere yards from me . . . but she’s on that side.
How is this possible?
I’m getting tired of asking that question.
Despite my confusion, I manage to raise my hand in a small wave.
She resumes a tentative advance. Her fixed gaze tells me she sees me as clearly as I see her. She can likely see the sunny wheat field as well. Can she feel its warmth at all?
I get the sense I’ve seen her before.
She walks closer, and I gesture to the barrier, though it’s invisible.
“Careful!” I don’t want her to get a bloody nose.
But she doesn’t stop.
Instead, she walks right through the clear wall—a small seam of light cracking it open for a moment. She squeezes through, hardly paying it any mind. I gape. She stands before me and breathes deeply, the same way I did when I first landed in the field.
“I’m Heidi.”
“Cain,” I say numbly. What am I seeing here? None of this aligns. I’m starting to think that my Draftsman college program was one of the worst in the world. Everything I learned and studied and all the rules that were drilled into my head don’t seem to apply to this place.
She holds up four fingers. “I’m four and a half. I’m going to be five in November. When I’m five I get bubble gum.”
“Oh. Uh . . . that’s cool.” November is a couple months away. Will she even live that long?
“Is that your chicken?” Heidi asks, nervously glancing at the phoenix.
I smile. “She’s a phoenix, and she’s nice. In fact, I rode on her back to get here.”
“Wow,” she breathes. “Did you come to get me?”
“Um . . .”
“Mom said there’s usually a Tunnel, and then someone gets you and takes you to a new home.”
“I don’t know where your parents are, but I know someone who can help you find them.”
“Okay.” She takes my hand. Her simple trust gets to me somehow.
The yapping of the nightbeasts increases as they spot the little girl, even though the wheat stalks almost block her from view. She moves closer to my side.
“When are we going to leave?” she asks in a whisper.
“Right now.” I pick her up and settle her on my hip as best I can despite being sore and injured in my real body. I limp toward the phoenix, and the creature readies herself for mounting, like she knows the seriousness of the moment.
