When Kate next woke up in her own bed at her country home, it was for the first time in nearly a month. Life had been an unremitting tempest of readings, meetings, research, and travel. Eli would be down the next morning, which meant she had a day alone and three days with him before she had to dive back into it all.

Her day of freedom began in its usual fashion, with a short ride, chores, games with the dog, and, of course, reading. She'd amassed something of a small library over the last few months, more than her usual novels and light-reading. The current collection included books on the occult, religion, the paranormal, and mythology. She'd had a book or two with her constantly over the past few months, but though she'd learned much about human perceptions of the fantastic, she didn't feel she was any closer to understanding what she'd seen at her house those many months before. Watching a man fly over her yard was as inexplicable now as it had been then.

Since her trip to visit her parents, though, she'd spent even more time thinking not of the world, whether supernatural or mundane, but of herself ... just plain old Kate. It had come to her that it was the one subject about which she knew she could learn something important, something worth knowing. She had the entire day to herself, so, save for the occasional bite to eat and a short workout, she passed the remains of the day in reading and quiet contemplation.

But there was more.

She'd decided that this would be the night she would stare down the bugbear. Her mom had always told her there was only one way to get over being afraid of something, and that was to face it head-on. Over the last months, as her anxiety over Flying Guys, specters, and Chupacabra had waned, her fear of ... well, her general level of anxiety had increased. It wasn't constant. She didn't walk around afraid all the time. But there were things about which she had once felt no qualms that had become intermittent sources of disquiet.

Most were tiny and easily dealt with—the occasional flash of anxiety over falling and hurting herself while alone at the barn had been a short-lived mania—but one was worse, worse by far, than the others. She'd never been especially afraid of the dark. Now? Well, she couldn't quite work out precisely what might be lurking in the dark that so frightened her, but she was tired of worrying about the whole affair. She lived alone in the countryside, and it was time to soldier up.

No definite plan had congealed in her head beyond waiting until an hour or so after sunset and trekking out across her property. A small hill near the springhead would be an ideal spot to sit and immerse herself in her fear. She had no intention of staying there the entire night, but if her nerve didn't abandon her, she was going to stay out until at least midnight. Her stomach turned flips every time she thought of it, an anxiety that increased as evening sped toward night.

It was not long after sunset when she began to ready herself. Winter days were mild along that stretch of the California coast, but the nights had been chilly. She dressed in layers, with thermals under her loose-fitting jeans and warm socks inside her hiking boots. She capped it off with a thick sweater and the over-sized barn jacket she kept on a peg near the door.

She shoved some snacks and a couple of bottles of water in the large pockets of the jacket, and, after some thought, pulled the shotgun from its locker. There was no need to have the weapon loaded—it wasn't for plugging the Chupacabra, but for proof against any coyotes that might happen upon her—so the shells went into her pocket. She double- and triple-checked to ensure it was unloaded. A sturdy flashlight went in the coat pocket too, but she only intended that for emergencies.

After checking e-mails and glancing at the news online, she took a deep and tremulous breath and ventured out to the main aisle, where she did a quick check on the horses before slipping out the door into the darkness.