The Gathering by K. E. Ganshert Page B

as clover and as deep as the ocean. Strands of dark hair stick to his forehead. I want to reach out and press away the furrow between his brow. See , I want to say, just because you can’t throw a shield doesn’t mean you can’t protect me. Somehow, I don’t think the words will bring him much comfort. So instead, I say a simple thank you.
    Luka shrugs it off.
    Across from me, Link peers at his iPad, deep in focus. Jillian sits beside him, clicking her lighter so the flame dances to life and dies, dances to life and dies, over and over and over again. I pull the dream phone off my belt loop. Jillian looks at me over the flame. “The light turned green after you passed out. Luka went in your place.”
    I pull down my sleeves. “Did Cap have news?”
    “Nothing, really,” Luka says. “He just wanted to check in.”
    “Any word from Sticks and Non?”
    “They arrived at headquarters.”
    “Are they okay?”
    “They’re fine.”
    Then why is Luka avoiding eye contact? Did Cap tell Luka his theory about the ramifications? “What aren’t you telling me?”
    “It’s nothing.”
    “It’s obviously something.”
    “Cap doesn’t want you obsessing over it.”
    “Obsessing over what ?” But as soon as the question escapes, I know. And the knowing has me sitting up straighter. “It’s about the Fighter, isn’t it? Sticks and Non heard something.”
    “There’s been rumblings of another altercation.”
    My skin tingles.
    Link winks at me over his iPad. “Looks like Xena finally has some competition.”
    *
    The train rumbles along the tracks, carrying us south. I sit on the edge of the railcar, my feet dangling over the side. Sun shines through the pine trees rolling past, dappling shards of light across the pages of the journal in my lap.
    Behind me, one of my sleeping teammates stirs.
    I flip another page, skimming the familiar scrawl as if clues about the prophecy might suddenly appear. I search in vain. I’ve studied these journals extensively. There’s nothing but one vague reference.
    Link scoots beside me and rubs his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep?”
    “Not really.”
    He runs his hand over the crown of his shaggy hair, momentarily flattening a cowlick. “Find anything interesting?”
    I close the composition notebook and shake my head, inhaling fresh air deep inside my lungs. “Do you think we’ll make it to the Rivards?”
    “Of course.”
    I wish I could have some of his confidence. Honestly, it all feels a little hopeless. Between our faces everywhere on the news and my ruined ankle, I have no idea how we’re supposed to get anywhere, especially without Luka’s cloak. I can’t shake the feeling that this moment—right here—is one final, fading snippet of calm before the end. It doesn’t seem like we can climb out of this particular hole. But then I remember the blast of heat and the trail of light that chased the barking dogs away. “Hey Link?”
    “Yeah?”
    “What do you think happened with those dogs?”
    The evening breezes past the open railcar, ruffling his hair. He folds his hands between his knees and gives me a telling smile. “Come on, Xena, you know.”
    He’s right. I do. But sometimes it’s nice to hear the things I know verbalized. Sometimes it makes me feel less crazy. Or at least less alone in my craziness.
    “We had help,” he says simply.
    I scratch my wrist. “Why don’t you think we have help all the time?”
    He gives me a light nudge with his elbow.
    “What?”
    “Just because we see supernatural things, doesn’t mean we see all of it, all the time.” I must look confused, because Link sighs and tries again. “Help might not always be as obvious as it was back there in Greeley, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less present.”
    “So you think we have help all the time?”
    “It’s just a theory, but yeah. I guess I do.”
    His just-a-theory has memories wiggling to the front of my mind, one sharper than the rest. I’m back in Motel California with