Little twelve-year-old Ash turned around, startled by my arrival. Standing, with her nine bodyguards seated in a circle around her.

Their faces: horrified. Frightened.

And then, as one, their nine faces went from horror to anger. Fury. They stood up all at once.

Thunder boomed outside. The night had suddenly gone from clear to stormy. Rain fell in heavy battering sheets.

That storm. The Night of Red Diamonds.

Just two days before my abrupt eviction from the Palace.

The memory went no further. It faded out, like the smoke dispersed by the wind as soon as I breathed it out. What did it mean? And why was I remembering it now?

I looked at my cigarette. Sucked air in, watched the little fire blaze up.

And saw . . . something else. Some other place.

Smoke billowing up from a bonfire on a chilly beach. The fire lighting up the faces of strange men—overgrown boys, really—making them look feral and wild and exaggerated. A bell tolling, from one of the buoys out on the river. Lights glimmering on the far side of it—but how was that possible? No one could see to the other side of the riversea. What was I looking at? Was this a memory, or a vision?

Whatever it was, Ash was there. I saw her standing in the wind. Unafraid. Unsedated.

My other side. That’s what I was seeing.

I didn’t even try, this time. Didn’t try to fight it, didn’t try to force it. It just happened. That’s the only explanation I can offer, for why I might have been able to access my ability in that moment, without going into a full-body freak-out. The fear I’d already been feeling, over what I’d seen the night before, was amplified by the fear I felt at seeing Ash in peril.

My spine shivered. I let it. I let the tingles roll all through me. A long low moan escaped my lips.

And then, a second moan sounded, this one from above me.

The dragon wasn’t angry anymore. It was afraid. And animals who are afraid are the most dangerous of all. It reared up onto its hind legs, kicking at nothing with its forefeet. It lowered its neck to bellow at the kids, who as far as I could tell hadn’t done anything new to annoy it. In fact, nothing had happened that could have turned its anger into fear.

Nothing except . . . my own fear.

It roared again, and swung its tail, shattering the plate-glass window of a shiny luxury shopping center. The sound of breaking glass was so loud.

“Calm down,” I whispered, as much to myself as to the dragon. I took one deep breath in, and then let it out slow. Did that nine more times.

The dragon blinked, and lowered a foot that had been set to kick out at the kids. Went back to calmly munching eucalyptus leaves.