The hoofbeats stopped. Ricky stood there, watching the forest shift as the moon slid between cloud cover, the trees going light and then dark, the branches above and all around rolling like waves. A horse snorted. He turned fast but saw only trees. Even when the moon snuck out, one patch of forest stayed night-dark. He strode toward it, one hand clenched in a fist and the other holding his switchblade, the weight comfortable and reassuring. He flicked the blade then shut it again, never looking down, no need to look, the move reflexive.

A horse whinnied and stamped. Still the patch of forest stayed dark. Ricky pushed aside branches and stepped into a clearing to see a man astride a stallion. The horse was as black as the surrounding night, and it towered above Ricky. Its eyes glowed a faint red. The man wore a cloak so dark it looked black until Ricky’s eyes adjusted enough to see it was black and green, decorated in a swirling Celtic design.

I know that design.

The connection wouldn’t quite close, and he turned his attention to the man instead. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed, dark beard stubble obscuring the bottom half of his face, but even at a glance Ricky knew it was no one he recognized.

And yet it was . . .

Again, the connection wouldn’t form, like a smashed bridge over rapids, no way across, the thunder of water drowning out thought. The thunder of one question drowning out all others.

“Where is she?” Ricky said.

“Gone.” The man looked down at him. “He couldn’t stand to lose her and neither could I, so in the end, we both did.” Pain darkened the man’s eyes to black pits of grief and guilt. “But no one lost more than she did. No one.”

“I don’t under—”

“Find her.”

Ricky jolted from the dream. He pushed up so fast one hand buckled under him and his foot slid in the dew-damp leaves. He patted the ground beside him, not trusting his eyes despite the moonlight flooding through the trees. He reached and he looked, but he knew what he’d see: an empty spot where Liv had been sleeping.

He scrambled to his feet.

“Lose something?” a voice asked.

Ricky spun as Beau sauntered out of the forest. His gaze slid down Ricky. “I’ll give you a moment to get dressed.”

“Where is she?” Ricky advanced on Beau.

“You sure you don’t want to put some clothing on?”

He grabbed Beau by the throat. Fingers closed on warm skin, and he felt the throb of a jugular, and then his hand snapped shut on air. He blinked and stared at the empty space in front of him.

“We do have time for you to get dressed,” Beau said, now ten feet away to his left.

I’m still dreaming.