I dreamt last night I stood over your body.

The ground was black and cold beneath my knees as I knelt and ran my fingers from the crown of your head, down the strong column of your neck, and further still. Your body was vacant, and I was glad. I didn't want to see the look on your face when you saw me. 

"Guin," your voice echoed in my head, but your eyes stayed shut, your lips sealed blue with death.

"Vera," you whispered again, always persistent, even in death it seemed, "why have you given up on me?"

Winds howled around us, blowing strands of hair around my face, tangling together with the light color of your own curls when I leaned over you. "Because I know what you did," I hissed at your ear.

Clouds swirled into a tornado, the same funnel that infests the demonic orbs in the Hall, and the ground turned to slick oil, enveloping your body. I stayed at your side, watching the sticky substance suck you under. 

"You manipulated me, wasted your life away for me, but guess what?" I paused, brushing my knuckles across your face, wiping away some of the grime. "I'm a failure. You sacrificed your life for the wrong person, and you destroyed me in the process. You're on your own, now. Goodbye, Jericho."

With a reverent shove, I rolled your body onto its side, and the oily ground swallowed you quickly. I watched it happen until the last bit of your hair dissolved. Limbs exhausted, I laid on my back, gazing up into the chaos unfolding above me. I went to wipe the tears from my eyes only to find that I wasn't crying after all; it was raining. Globs of hissing mist fell from the clouds, and I watched the movements of the drops as the screaming wind blew them horizontally. Up, down, sideways, backwards. They twirled like snowflakes caught in a snow globe.

"Snow globe," I murmured to myself.

I sat up with a jolt, and before I knew it, I was on my feet. I ran to my right with no destination in mind, leaping over the sticky puddles left in your wake. I didn't get far before I collided with an invisible barrier. It knocked me backwards when I tried again. With a small shout, I took off in the opposite direction, fetched up against glass. Heart pounding, I glanced up into the sky once more. Everything moved in a circular pattern, a mass of swirls that rushed to fill up the spherical space.

I stumbled.

I was trapped inside an Orb, and from above, Serah Malloy observed me. Her red hair fell over the glass, cutting through the darkness like bolts of flames. I shivered.

"Guinevere."

I started at my name, spinning towards the new voice, stomach lurching. "Jase," I breathed.

He took measured steps toward me, the portrait of a person at ease amidst a terror, until his knees brushed up against my own. Eyes trained on my face, he reached up to the collar of his Battlefield Prep polo, fingered the stiff edges, pulled it aside. His fingers traced the slope of his neck and then yanked on a chain that was placed there. It snapped, and he gathered the pieces into the palm of his hand, fisted it, and then held it out towards me. 

"My name is Jamison Clancy Miles," he said. "Help me."

The chain was frozen, and it sizzled against the heat of my skin as he dropped it into my hand. I was afraid to look at it. "Jase, what's going on?"

His gaze was blank as he shook his head wordlessly. He backed away. "Help me."

I cried out his name when the mist swallowed him, clenching my fingers so tightly that the chain cut into the lines of my palm. Though I didn't know what was going on, I knew I felt fear. The irrational kind that can suspend all logic and induce panic. It hurt to unfurl my fist, teeth shattering into brittle pieces as I gritted against the pain. The fear. But there sat the bronze chain, revealed like the petals of a dying flower. I looped the necklace around my index finger and held it up so it dangled before my eyes.

A scream cut through the storm of the infested Orb the held me.

Hanging from the end of the chain was a ring with a name.

It read 'Jericho Crosse.'

O O O

Journal tucked under my arm, I tiptoe into Leo's room and jump onto his twin-sized Star Wars comforter. The curled up lump that resembles my brother groans and shoves me with his feet in a silent protest. Ignoring his attempts, I snuggle up to him, pulling him against my side. He's warm and smells like chamomile tea and cotton. 

"Still mad at me?" I ask, smoothing down the hair on the back of his head.

He blows out a puff of air but doesn't answer. Instead, he rolls over and stares up at me, his blue eyes wide, a light dusting of purple shadows underneath his eyelids. It looks like I wasn't the only one with a sleepless night. "Guin," he whispers, his words hushed and damp against my cheek, "am I crazy?"

Surprised, I pull back. "What? Did some kid at school tell you that?"

Leo shakes his head and bites his lip. "I see things sometimes. You tell me they're not real."

My intestines cramp into a knot of guilt, but I pull him back to me, worried that if he sees my face, he'll know the truth. "You have an imagination, Leo. A great one. Many people in our family have it too."

"Like you?"

"Like Mom," I tell him, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. "She always created these amazing stories, and it was like magic every time she told them to me." I rustle his hair and then tap him on the nose. "You remind me of her."

Leo tugs on a lock of my ebony hair. "You look like her. The pictures I see."

I tense around him, my fingers stilling on his spine. My throat locks up. "Mom was stronger than me," I tell him. "You both are. Better even." I squeeze him once before rolling off the bed, trying not to blink to keep the tears stowed safely away. After all, I have a full day at Battlefield Prep ahead of me, and as long as I don't attack anyone with a door or an arrow, it should be a fairly mundane day.

I toss one of Leo's emoji pillows at his face. "Time to get up, Leo. I hear they shoot muskets at students who are tardy."

"As long as they're not bombs," he comments wisely, dodging the pillow. He takes a few seconds to stretch out his toes and then sits up and rubs his eyes with his small fists. "You tell good stories too, Guinny."

My foot freezes, hovering mid-step as I look over my shoulder at him. Something tells me that my brother is not referring to anything simple, tales like Jack and the Beanstalk or Cinderella. "Stories? What stories?"

His cheeks tinge pink, and he fumbles with the hem of his pajamas. "Don't be mad, okay? Please. Your journal was open the other day, and I—" He sneaks a quick peek at the leather-bound book that I'm now clutching in my arms, suffocating it. "I draw some of the characters sometimes."

I can do nothing but stare at him for a beat too long before saying curtly, "Car leaves in twenty minutes, Leo."

He scrambles from the bed, untangling himself from his twisted sheets. There's a sense of hesitance in his movements as he rummages around in the pile of dirty clothes on the floor and extracts his khaki shorts. Sensing that I'm still standing in the doorway, he glances back at me. "You're mad."

"I'm not," I assure him because I can't blow this out of proportion in front of Leo. But I am afraid, I want to add. Not afraid that Leo snuck into my room like a normal kid brother and picked apart my diary. After all, the tales of the Orbs Hall, Jericho, and demon portals will remain nothing more than stories to him. I'll keep them in his imagination where such things belong.

No. I'm afraid because I fear that this is one story that won't end well because I refuse to be brave enough to finish it.

O * O *O 

"So, what happened on the Fourth of July?"

Annabelle busies herself by digging through the fruit basket in the cafeteria line in search for the least bruised apple. It's amazing that I've only known her for two days because I know immediately what she's doing: avoiding the question. Then again, having been trained a Settler, I'm practically a professional people-reader. I guess it also means that I don't give up easily. 

"Fireworks," Annabelle replies with an innocent flick of her wrist, "barbecue. Rocket's red glare. Freedom fries. The usual."

"That's all?" I poke, amused by her antics. 

She kicks the heel of my shoe, nearly sending me crashing into the cartons of milk.

The lunch lady waves me through after she scans my student ID, and I swing back around to wait for Annabelle. She balances her tray on one arm and tucks a piece of purple-dyed hair behind her ears. She shoots me a sly look as she breezes by me, leading the way to whichever table of students she wishes to sit at today. The girl seems to know everyone; I guess that's an occupational hazard when you're the president of the school's Welcoming Committee.

When she refuses to dish out the details, I continue to goad her. Anything that will keep me from thinking about that bronze chain, that ring, and Jamison Clancy Miles. "Oh, come on, Annabellalee," I jest. "Alden Finch, lost shorts, party. Ring a bell?"

A snort of laughter finally escapes from her, ruining her silent charade, but she still refuses to spill. "I don't know you that well, Guin. You'll have to earn your way up to hear that one."

We make our way to the round tables that litter the linoleum, gray floors, passing by a wall composed of built-in glass cases. Displayed inside the cases are the many awards and merits the school has to offer, shown off with revered, reforged, and relentless dignity; I swear, there's even a rusted shell casing of a bullet on the bottom shelf, an Antebellum relic found by the polo team twenty years ago. Annabelle sets her tray across from Samuel and Emmaline, the junior class V.P. and president, not to mention Battlefield's Most Likely to Overachieve. I wave over at them just as I hear a shout ring out among the cafeteria tables.

"Head's up!"

Emmaline shrieks and throws her hands over her face as a rubbery, red ball appears out of nowhere and lands smack dab in between her and me. It bounces with a reverberating thunk that shakes the table, and I yank my lunch tray out of its trajectory just as it falls to the floor and rolls. A pair of black Nikes steps on it, stopping its path of destruction.

"Didn't even hit your lunch," Alden remarks, puffing out his chest proudly before making a show of bending over to pick up the ball. He tosses it into the air and catches it again, throwing me a heroically smug look. "You're welcome."

I cross my arms, quirking an eyebrow at him in return as he fluffs up the mass of dark hair on his head and grins over at me. There's something about him that I think amuses me. Either that, or I hate the guy. "Yes, your aim was impeccable. With those type of skills, I'm surprised you're not the team captain," I quip, pushing my lunch tray back onto the table.

Alden glowers. "Low blow, Archer Girl." He brushes past me, broad shoulder rubbing against my arm as he claps Samuel on the back. "Sam the Man, what's up?" he greets and plops himself down into my seat, nudging my lunch out of the way as if I placed it there to nuisance him. "Lookin' good, Annabellalee."

I roll my eyes and am just about to come to Annabelle's rescue when I hear footsteps jog up behind me. "Oh, no. What kind of destruction has he caused?" Jase asks, honeyed eyes wide with exaggerated worry as he looks me over. He makes a move to grab my elbow, but I sidestep him. "Any broken bones?" he continues, not one to be deterred, "Blood? Lost clothing? I only left him alone for two seconds!"

"It was four, actually," Alden pipes up; he's now helping himself to my tater tots. He holds one out to me. "These are quite good today. Crispy. You should try one."

With an exasperated sigh, I turn towards Jase who just shrugs with an easy smile. "It means he likes you," he explains, stepping up behind his friend and promptly whacking him upside the head.

Alden lurches forward, coughs against the potato now lodged in his throat, and recovers by smirking so sweetly that his childish dimples nearly take up his entire face. "I like anyone who can beat your ass, Clancy."

Annabelle watches Alden dunk another one of my tots into a pile of ketchup he's poured onto my plate. Her nose scrunches up in distaste, and she leans as far away from him as she can get without falling off her seat and onto the floor. "I thought you said you were going to keep him leashed," she accuses of Jase.

"Lassoed," Alden corrects, "but Jase knows I can't be tamed."

Jase ignores him, his eyes back on me. "So, no concealed weapons today?" When I hold out my hand in a show of surrender and shake my head, he snorts happily. "Good, then I suppose I can sit here without fearing for my life." He takes a seat beside Alden and pats the spot next to him. "Put your feet up, Catwoman."

I tell myself that I really have no other option before I lower into the empty seat next to him. "No lunch today?" I ask, eyeing his lack of a food tray.

"Senior lunch is almost over. You were just lucky enough to catch us," he explains with a flash of a wink before snatching my lunch out from beneath Alden's thieving hands. He slides the tray back my way. "Don't say I never did anything for you."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Emmaline leans over the table towards Jase, her blonde hair falling from the messy bun on top of her head. "I was surprised to hear you didn't take up the senior class presidency this year, Jase."

Class president? Lacrosse captain? Mysteriously good archer? To think that I couldn't even handle being a sister, daughter, and full-time demon chaser. Jase rests his hands on the edge of his seat and reclines backwards in an act of humility, stretching out his legs beneath the bars of the table. "Didn't want people thinking I was trying to run a monopoly on this place," he answers with a chuckle before inclining his head towards his pushy, ball-loving friend, "but I'm sure Alden will be a great replacement."

Annabelle splutters. "You can not be serious."

"Darlin', relax," Alden croons, "you know I don't do work."

With a bit of a self-satisfied grin, amused at his own joke, Jase spins his body at me, his knees knocking against mine as he straddles his seat. "Any plans to save the world this weekend, Guinevere?"

Well, I certainly hope not. Not unless a demon decides to hunt you down and burns your name into my ring. I startle at the thought, wanting to slap it out of my own head. Besides, I remind myself that my ring currently lies somewhere in the Orbs Hall, tucked away, gathering dust, I suspect. I gather up my hair, yanking on it slightly as I braid the ends of it distractedly. "I'm out of superhero commissions, as a matter of fact."

"Shame for the world; good news for me," he states, lowering his voice as he pushes closer. My throat goes dry when I catch a hint of his slightly spiced scented soap. Or is it deodorant? Is he old enough for aftershave? Jase clears his throat as if he can hear my rambling thoughts. I decide to breathe through my mouth from now on. "Every year, I host a start-of-the-year bash at my parents' place—"

"Aptly named 'Start-of-the-Year Bash,'" Alden interjects. "Really stretching that creative bone, Clancy."

Jase just waves him off with a dismissive sweep of his hand, still watching for my reaction. "It's being held this weekend. We even have cattle, horses, two goats—" he trails off, gasps in a loud way, and then slaps his forehead so quickly that my left foot jumps. "Wait. I forgot. You're from California; you're probably more interested to hear about the pool, aren't you, Cali?"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you ever going to call me by my actual name?"

He shrugs. "Sure, Guinevere." His eyes are bright with laughter when I huff in protest at his not-so-subtle diss. "Anyways, you're coming."

I try to keep my expression from twitching. "It doesn't seem I have much say in the matter."

"You really don't. I'll sic Alden on you otherwise." He snatches one of the napkins from the plastic, blue holder placed on the center of the table, grabs a pencil from his back pocket, and scribbles his cell phone number and address onto it. "Five o'clock. Saturday. See you there."

The bell rings, signaling the end of the seniors' lunch period. Alden groans at the noise, flipping the alarm system the bird, cursing some calculus equation under his breath. Jase, however, simply moves forward, closer until he's practically in my seat with me. He catches my wrist between this thumb and forefinger and flips my palm up, dropping the napkin into it. His eyes catch mine, and I can't help but glance at his face when he's this close. The tip of his nose is a bit sunburned and splattered with light freckles. I quickly avert my gaze when the corners of his lips tip upwards as if he enjoys making me feel uncomfortable. The collar of his shirt loosens and gapes open at his collarbone when he leans even closer.

"Don't be late for archery," he warns in a low voice.

I swallow, distracted by the shape of his neck. "I believe you were the late one last time."

"Yes, but you see? Fletch actually loves me." He looks me over once with a touch of mocking amusement. "If only you had my charm, Guinevere." He finally straightens, pulling away from me with a chuckle. I exhale slowly, watching him drag Alden away from our table. The air feels thicker than normal; someone should really turn on the air conditioning unit. The two of them participate in a lot of back slapping and name calling as they stride away, and I realize that I'm still watching his retreating back.

It isn't until Jase flips around to walk backwards, waving at me for a few more steps, that I see it, glinting in the fluorescent overhead lighting of the cafeteria. The reason that I stared at his neck when he spoke to me with the front of his shirt dipping low.

Jase fiddles with a bronze chain that hangs underneath his shirt, dropping it further beneath his high collar, hiding it from view once more.