Not the dark, she thought. Anything but the dark.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, something said very softly, Move.

She got to her feet, then reached out. Her hands touched nothing. She took a step to her left, and her foot splashed into water. It almost sent her off balance and tumbling, but she recovered.

Where am I? she wondered frantically. And then she remembered hazily from that other place before Talas—that place that must be a dream—that there were catacombs under the city. She’d forgotten about them.

GodOhGodOhGod don’t let me be stuck in the dark. Because she remembered what she had forgotten. No, never forgotten, just shoved away far and deep. They’d locked her in the closet. And left her there for hours at a time. No light reached inside. And things were in there with her. Things that only lived in the deepest, darkest blackness. She may have been a child, but she knew that much.

“Shut up,” she whispered. She hit herself in the face. “Shut up. Shut shutupshutupshutup.”

And then things began slithering.

Fear and a sick rage combined in her. She didn’t have much fat, but she could kill whatever it was in the dark. Can you? Can you kill what you can’t see?

Whatever it was, she would make it bleed. And that made her smile.

Move, the voice said.

Michelle cocked her head the way a dog might at a confusing command.

Move.

Something scuttled in the dark. There was a whisper of air as it brushed past her. She shrieked and let a tiny bubble escape. It burst against a wall, and for a brief moment there was a tiny flash of light. What she saw was an eyeless creature. Its body was the shade of necrotic flesh. It had long, vicious claws, a dent where its nose should be, and razor-sharp teeth.

Can’t hurt me. Can’t hurt me. Yes, yes it can. No. No! NO!

The fear was like a live thing inhabiting her chest. It was sucking the air from her lungs and it felt as if a stone had settled on her chest.

Move, the voice said again.

She took a large step to her right; this time her fingers touched a wall. It was rough and the edges bit into her fingers. That was good. It hurt a little, but it gave her a minuscule amount of fat. Little bubbles, she thought hysterically. Little bubbles are all I got.

She took a tentative step forward. Then another. She giggled as she realized she could be stuck down here forever—or until she died of starvation. At least there was water. Foul-smelling, stagnant water. No doubt with some kind of blind fish living there. Or maybe something worse. Something with teeth and claws and malice.

The pounding in her head was still there. The buzzing was back, along with those chanting, humming voices that had never quite gone away. They made her furious, and she hit herself in the face again and again. Sadly, it didn’t add any fat.