I had said that, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to be in this manner. Before I signed on for senseless beating, though, I summoned my own magic and attempted to change the setting into something more hospitable. But when I tried it, I met firm resistance and understood better what Nina had meant. It wasn’t exactly spirit I felt keeping the dream in place . . . but very much like will or intention, just as she’d said.

Unable to alter the dream’s larger context, I imitated her and used a small burst of spirit to create a cudgel of my own. I wasn’t usually violent in nature, and as I swung toward the lava monster—on which Nina had made significant progress—I reminded myself that he was just a dream creation and not a real living thing. When my cudgel struck the creature’s stony hide, I nearly fell backward at the jolt of the impact. It rattled my bones and teeth . . . and didn’t seem to make a difference to the lava monster. Nina paused to glare at me.

“You need to fill yourself up with spirit when you hit it,” she explained in frustration. “That’s the way to fight through.”

She was certainly practicing what she preached. Brimming with magic, she was like a spirit torch beside me, and I was a bit taken aback by the amount she was wielding. It wasn’t quite as severe as the burst used in restoring a Strigoi or bringing back the dead, but it was a notable amount to be holding and sustaining over an extended period of time. Reluctantly, I summoned some of my own—not nearly the amount she was using—and used it to blast the creature when I swung my cudgel. This time, I too cracked the surface.

“More, more!” Nina cried.

“There’s no need,” I said. “This still has impact—without as much magic. It just takes a little longer.”

“We don’t have the time!”

I didn’t understand what she meant until our collective efforts finally defeated the lava monster, and it crumbled to dust before us. Nina sprinted into the cave, and with the creature gone, she seemed to have regained control of the dream. The setting around us changed, and suddenly we were running into the white country house in Wisconsin. I just barely caught sight of Olive in the shadowy corner of a living room, her body obscured by that same billowing cloak from earlier.

“Olive!” screamed Nina. “Show me where you are!” More power surged through her, and the room started to flicker. I could feel a little of what she was doing, and I was astonished. She was trying to make the dream reflect Olive’s surroundings—something even I hadn’t known was possible.

But Olive was fading before our eyes. “I’m sorry, Nina. Please—please stop trying to find me. It’s better this way.”

“Olive!”