The images swirled again, became mist. He felt something settle into place inside him as the mist re-formed into a crystal chalice, its shattered pieces carefully fitted together. Black mist filled in the cracks between each piece, as well as the places where tiny pieces were missing.

He felt brittle, fragile.

A finger tapped his chest.

A thin skin of black mist coated the chalice, inside and out, forming a delicate shield around it.

The finger tapped again. Harder.

He ignored it.

The next tap had an unsheathed nail at the end of it.

Cursing, he shot up onto his elbows. He forgot what he’d intended to say because she was straddling his thighs and he could have sworn he saw little flashes of lightning deep in her sapphire eyes.

*Snarly male,* she said, tapping his chest again. *The chalice is back together, but it’s very fragile. It will be strong again if you keep it protected long enough for it to mend. You must take your body to a safe place until the chalice heals.*

*I’m not leaving without you.*

She shook her head. *The misty place is too dark, too deep for you. You can’t stay here.*

Daemon bared his teeth. *I’m not leaving without you.*

*Stubborn snarly male!*

*I can be as stubborn and as snarly as you.*

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He responded in kind.

She blinked, huffed, and then began to laugh.

That silvery, velvet-coated laugh made his heart ache and tremble.

Before, he’d seen Witch beneath the child Jaenelle. Now he saw Jaenelle beneath Witch. Now he saw the difference—and no difference.

She looked at him, her eyes full of gentle sadness. *You have to go back, Daemon.*

*So do you,* he said quietly.

She shook her head. *The body’s dying.*

*You could heal it.*

She shook her head more violently. *Let it die. Let them have the body. I don’t want the body. This is my place now. I can see them all when I stand in this place. All the dreams.*

*What dreams?*

*The dreams in the Light. The dreams in the Darkness and the Shadow. All the dreams.* She hesitated, looked confused. *You’re one of the dreams in the Light. A good dream.*

Daemon swallowed hard. Was that how she saw them? As dreams? She was the living myth, dreams made flesh.

Made flesh.

*I’m not a dream, Lady. I’m real.*

Her eyes flashed. *What is real?* she demanded. *I see beautiful things, I hear them, I touch them with the body’s hand, and they say bad girl to make up stories, those things are not real. I see bad things, cruel things, a twisted darkness that taints the land, a darkness that isn’t the Darkness, and they say bad girl to make up stories, bad girl to tell lies. The uncles say no one will believe a sick-mind girl and they laugh and hurt the body so I go away to the misty place to see the gentle ones, the beautiful ones and leave them ice that hurts them when they touch it.* She hugged herself and rocked back and forth. *They don’t want me. They don’t want me. They don’t love me.*