should learn to cook, too.”
“I wish I could cook like you do.”
Anita shook her head. “You are meant for far better things, my love,” she said, stroking Dylan’s head gently. “One day, you will change the world.”
It had seemed like the same, comforting words anyone might say to a child. But now, with a different light shining on them, the words seemed to hold so much power.
How? Dylan wanted to ask now. How would she change the world?
She didn’t even know where she was or where she was going.
It would all be so funny if she hadn’t been so completely frightened.
Dylan walked quickly, moving over the unfamiliar terrain without concern to her safety. She just wanted to find a safe place to hide. Somewhere she could think, somewhere no one could find her. No one and nothing. But she knew that was a stupid thought.
She knew gargoyles were capable of amazing feats. What would stop them from finding her now, after they had found her so easily so many times before? And angels. And whatever else might be out there. Was it really possible for her to hide?
Exhaustion caught up with her just an hour or so before the sun went down. She found a tree that seemed to offer some cover, its branches low hanging and heavy, low enough that she could lie beneath them, against the trunk, and be nearly invisible to anyone passing above or below. A brilliant idea. At least, she had thought it was.
Dylan fell asleep almost immediately. She dreamed of Wyatt, saw him walking in a ruin that was filled with odd shapes and angles. She didn’t see buildings, but she saw circles and triangles, saw animals that were painted cheery colors, train tracks that lifted off the ground, boats that had no water on which to sail. He was alone, his clothes dirty and torn in a few places, as though he had been in a great struggle recently. And there was an expression of determination on his face, a look that suggested wherever he was going was of great importance.
Where?
Another question that was likely to go unanswered.
The dream melted, all at once, and morphed into something else. A dark room. A man, his arms in shackles above his head. Blood ran down his arms where he had tugged at the restraints and tried to free himself. His back was bloody, too, covered in thin lines that overlapped one another, making the flesh look like it had been ripped apart by many clawed hands.
Dylan wanted to reach out to the man, wanted to offer some solace. But as she reached her hand out, he lifted his head, and she could see that his hair was a bright red, so red that it was almost unnatural.
Stiles.
She cried out so suddenly, so forcefully, that it brought her out of her dream. She sat up and grabbed her head, a pain bursting between her temples. She gasped, tears falling against cheeks that were already wet.
It was still dark, that part of the night when the stars were gone, but the sun had yet to begin to appear in the morning sky. The darkness was so complete that Dylan wouldn’t have been able to see her hands a few inches in front of her face if she had opened her eyes and given it a try. But she could still hear. Despite the pain pounding in her head, her hearing was still perfect, maybe even stronger than usual because of the darkness. And she heard footsteps.
She pulled back into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs to make the smallest target of herself as she could. She should have stood. If she were on her feet…but it was already too late. The footsteps had come to the base of the tree under whose foliage she hid.
She tried to hear thoughts, hoped maybe she could figure out who it was. But she couldn’t get anything.
It was like when she tried to read the gargoyles.
She waited, all her senses hyperaware of the night around her. The footsteps moved around the tree, impatient hands moving aside branches that hung low with their thick leaves blocking her from view. And then the sounds moved on, to the other side of the tree. And
“I wish I could cook like you do.”
Anita shook her head. “You are meant for far better things, my love,” she said, stroking Dylan’s head gently. “One day, you will change the world.”
It had seemed like the same, comforting words anyone might say to a child. But now, with a different light shining on them, the words seemed to hold so much power.
How? Dylan wanted to ask now. How would she change the world?
She didn’t even know where she was or where she was going.
It would all be so funny if she hadn’t been so completely frightened.
Dylan walked quickly, moving over the unfamiliar terrain without concern to her safety. She just wanted to find a safe place to hide. Somewhere she could think, somewhere no one could find her. No one and nothing. But she knew that was a stupid thought.
She knew gargoyles were capable of amazing feats. What would stop them from finding her now, after they had found her so easily so many times before? And angels. And whatever else might be out there. Was it really possible for her to hide?
Exhaustion caught up with her just an hour or so before the sun went down. She found a tree that seemed to offer some cover, its branches low hanging and heavy, low enough that she could lie beneath them, against the trunk, and be nearly invisible to anyone passing above or below. A brilliant idea. At least, she had thought it was.
Dylan fell asleep almost immediately. She dreamed of Wyatt, saw him walking in a ruin that was filled with odd shapes and angles. She didn’t see buildings, but she saw circles and triangles, saw animals that were painted cheery colors, train tracks that lifted off the ground, boats that had no water on which to sail. He was alone, his clothes dirty and torn in a few places, as though he had been in a great struggle recently. And there was an expression of determination on his face, a look that suggested wherever he was going was of great importance.
Where?
Another question that was likely to go unanswered.
The dream melted, all at once, and morphed into something else. A dark room. A man, his arms in shackles above his head. Blood ran down his arms where he had tugged at the restraints and tried to free himself. His back was bloody, too, covered in thin lines that overlapped one another, making the flesh look like it had been ripped apart by many clawed hands.
Dylan wanted to reach out to the man, wanted to offer some solace. But as she reached her hand out, he lifted his head, and she could see that his hair was a bright red, so red that it was almost unnatural.
Stiles.
She cried out so suddenly, so forcefully, that it brought her out of her dream. She sat up and grabbed her head, a pain bursting between her temples. She gasped, tears falling against cheeks that were already wet.
It was still dark, that part of the night when the stars were gone, but the sun had yet to begin to appear in the morning sky. The darkness was so complete that Dylan wouldn’t have been able to see her hands a few inches in front of her face if she had opened her eyes and given it a try. But she could still hear. Despite the pain pounding in her head, her hearing was still perfect, maybe even stronger than usual because of the darkness. And she heard footsteps.
She pulled back into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs to make the smallest target of herself as she could. She should have stood. If she were on her feet…but it was already too late. The footsteps had come to the base of the tree under whose foliage she hid.
She tried to hear thoughts, hoped maybe she could figure out who it was. But she couldn’t get anything.
It was like when she tried to read the gargoyles.
She waited, all her senses hyperaware of the night around her. The footsteps moved around the tree, impatient hands moving aside branches that hung low with their thick leaves blocking her from view. And then the sounds moved on, to the other side of the tree. And
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