It was so cold. I couldn't breathe. My hands slid against the smooth surface of the tub. I tried to use my feet to push myself up, but they glided out from under me. The man holding me down was strong.

I was drowning.

Just when I thought I might black out, the hand let up and my head broke the surface. I sucked in a mouthful of air.

"Easy, Larry. We just want to scare the girl. You don't want to drown her."

Larry shouted. "Did you see what she did to me? She needs a good dunking."

Larry pushed me down again. And again. He dunked me four or five times and each time he held me down until I thought my lungs would explode and I would pass out. Then he would let me up, just long enough to get a mouthful of air before he pushed me under again.

After the fifth time, he let me up for good. I sputtered water. I was cold, shaking, and my teeth were chattering. Larry pulled me from the water. He threw me to the floor. I hit the hard tile and cried out, shaking and bruised on the floor.

Larry threw a towel at me. "There now, remember this the next time you act up. You try to bite me again and we'll bring you back here. Next time I won't be so nice."

My muscles were too frozen to reach for the towel. I just lay on the tile floor, shivering.

Hank spoke up. "We better get her back to her room."

They pulled me off the floor and dragged me through the hallways.

* * *

Once at my room, they tossed me inside and slammed the door shut. I heard keys rattle and the lock turn. I lay on the floor, cold and scared. They could have killed me, and all because of Morgana.

I can't just lie here. I'm freezing. I forced myself off the floor and made my way slowly to the bathroom. There was a small mirror over the sink.

I looked at my reflection, quivering violently. A face that seemed to belong to a stranger stared back at me. The picture of myself that had returned with my memories didn't seem to match the face that stared back at me in the mirror. The prominent Scottish forehead and chin were still there, but my face seemed leaner, more angular.

The soft roundness that had made me look so young was gone. My wet, dark hair hung down my face. It was long and unruly now. It hadn't been cut in a long time. I pushed it back, thinking how horrified my mother would have been to see the long bangs hanging over my eyes. My eyes were the same hazel color, but now I could see power—and fear—shining from them.

The softness and innocence I could vaguely remember feeling had been stolen from me forever by the path I'd chosen.

With a shaking hand, I reached out and touched the mirror. The orderlies could have killed me, but they didn't. They only meant to scare me. And they had.

Bastards! With a flash of impotent rage, I smashed my hand into the mirror, sending spidery cracks across its surface and slicing my hand. As blood dripped across my knuckles, I took deep breaths, trying to bring myself back under control. I stood trembling with clenched fists as I fought for calm. There was darkness inside me, but I wouldn't let it gain control. For a long second, I struggled with my inner demons, eventually wrestling them back into submission. It wasn't easy. I felt as if I had run a marathon after a boxing match, but I also felt stronger, more myself.

I looked into the mirror once more. For a moment, I forgot what I'd lost and instead just studied the girl staring back at me. Her body was more filled out with curves and muscles that now ripped along her arms and legs. It was the face that had changed the most. Rather than "the girl next door," a dramatic-looking, pale face with dark hair and haunted eyes stared back at me.

I took a moment more to examine myself before the stinging pain in my hand claimed my attention. I ripped a strip of fabric from one of the gowns in the hamper and wrapped it around my hand. The bleeding had already begun to slow, and the cut looked pretty superficial, but I still shook my head at my stupidity. Hurting myself did nothing to alleviate my danger or get me out of this place. The broken mirror would be impossible to hide.

Hopefully no one would go into the bathroom.

I stripped off my clothes and dried myself off as best I could with a small hand towel. I wrapped a robe around me, made my way quickly back to the bed, and dove under the covers. I was still shivering, but I could feel some warmth start to seep back into my body.

It wasn't until I started to warm up that I realized something was wrong. I raised my hands and looked down at them. They were both empty. The medallion I had clutched so desperately between my fingers was gone. It had been in my hands when the orderlies grabbed me in Barton's office. But somewhere along the way I must have lost it. It still had power. We would need it when we found a spell to help Luke.

And then I realized something worse in a moment of horror. The orderlies had dragged me into the room, and now any salt lining the threshold was scattered across the floor.

Without it, I didn't have any protection from the choking ghost that roamed this part of the hospital at night. In all the time I had ghost busted with Walter, none of the spirits spooked me as much as the thought of this one. I felt cold and weak and not mentally prepared to take on such an evil thing. As long as I didn't go to sleep, the ghost wouldn't bother me. Spirits usually crept up on the unsuspecting. All I had to do was keep my eyes open for the next few hours until the sun came up.

I jumped at the sound of the window rattling. There were no curtains covering it, just the bars. Blackness stared back at me. It's just the wind blowing outside, I told myself. There's nothing to be scared of.

A creak sounded overhead. It's an old building, there's always moaning and creaking going on. It's just the building settling, probably just an old floorboard being walked on. The choking ghost won't bother me if I stay awake.

I pulled the covers tighter around me. It was going to be a very long couple of hours until daybreak.

And then something changed in my mind, like a switch going off with an audible click. What am I doing? I'm not a victim—I'm a death dealer. I had magic I could wield against the dead. I had powers that not even other death dealers could claim. A simple choking ghost would not make me quake through the night.

Closing my eyes, I reached down into myself, to the place where I kept my magic. Almost immediately, rage washed over me. Before the trials, it would have been a peaceful glow, the calm assurance that helped a healer focus their energies. But now a red blanket of anger pushed away my reason, making focus and control impossible. I struggled against it, trying to form the anger to my will, to make it a tool I could use rather than it using me. Slowly, the anger cooled, becoming icy, controlled rage.

A presence became visible with my broadened senses, a collection of outrage and pain. The choking ghost—an evil soul suffering from an evil death. Why did it suddenly appear? Had the anger inside me, the rage, somehow called out to it? The spirits roaming these halls were full of a dark wrath similar to my own. Maybe they could sense it in others and were drawn to it like a moth to flame.

However, it had appeared, I could force it away once and for all.

I might not be able to stop the orderlies from messing with me, but I had power over ghosts. I focused on the spirit, pulling it forward with the force of my mind. It came, screaming with rage and fighting the entire way, until it hovered in the air before me, a prisoner to my will. It was a dark ball of energy with gray tentacles flowing around it. Scary to look at, but as I reached out deeper with my mind, I realized it was actually a weak and disorganized spirit, only held together by its fear and hate.

I focused on a spot by the wall. A small area the size of my fist blurred and then widened. I focused harder on the spot, and it got bigger, stretching out into an oval shape. As it grew, it began to glow. Streaks of energy, like small beads of water, flowed down its surface. The hole opened up without much nudging.

It had never been that easy to open a portal. With the angry, violent ghosts I dealt with for Walter, it usually took several tries, each one leaving me feeling drained of all my energy. The quiet time that came after the lightning therapy seemed to have let me rediscover myself with the anger and chaos swirling inside me, present since the rituals.

I found clarity, gained control. It was easier than it had ever been before to tear a hole in the veil. By remaining calm and channeling the anger and aggression, I was keeping a hold on myself, finding a bit of the healer's tranquility again within my new dark powers.

I opened a portal to the other side and pushed with every bit of strength I had left in me, and ever so slowly the choking ghost moved toward the tear. Dark flames shot out. They swirled and grabbed at the spirit, wrapping it in a black cloud. Whatever the spirit had done in its human life would determine where it would end up—heaven or hell.

That darkness signified hell for the choking ghost. The dark flames seemed to wipe away the fictions the spirit used to cloak itself. Now, only a mousy, gray little man with an angry expression floated before me. He screamed as the flames consumed him. I mentally shoved him through, and then with the strength I had left, I closed the hole, blocking off the hideous non-human sounds of growling and gnashing.

Exhausted, I feltmyself slipping away as soon as I closed my eyes.

*****