And like that, I started to feel the dream slipping away from me. Despite my hold, Olive’s will was still winning out. Cracks appeared in the wooden walls. The wicker furniture crumbled to dust. The windows filled with sunlight went dark. I called on spirit’s power, pulling more magic through me in order to fight back against Olive’s usurpation. Spirit burned within my body, but she’d already changed the face of the dream. The house was gone, replaced by what looked like a hotel parking lot. A flickering streetlamp cast weak light down on us, eerily supplemented by the red glow of a neon sign hanging in the lobby’s window. What normally might have been busy streets surrounded us, but no traffic flowed on them in this dream. Eerie silence dominated until I spoke.

“I’m sorry, she was too fast,” I said to Nina. “Where are we?”

She took a step closer to me, her face filled with fear. “This is where we were attacked with our dad. When Olive was turned. There were Strigoi—”

Before she could finish, two menacing figures emerged from behind the dark shape of a parked Buick. The phantom lighting made their pale white skin look even more gruesome. I couldn’t see the red in their eyes, but the evil within came through plainly, no matter the dim conditions. They snarled, revealing fangs similar to mine, save that their only intent was to kill.

I gripped Nina’s hand and slowly backed up. “They can’t kill us in a dream,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Not really.”

“No, but we’ll wake up,” she said. “And Olive will be gone again.”

“Not if we annihilate them first.”

Terror filled me, even though I knew the Strigoi were only part of the dream. I’d been too conditioned against them my entire life to feel anything except fear. But what I’d said was true: You couldn’t die in a spirit dream. You would simply wake up. And before that, you’d feel deep, excruciating pain. They aren’t real, I told myself. This is a dream, and I still have some control.

Olive had taken charge of big things—like the setting—but little things were within my grasp. Here, I could wield fire as deftly as Christian or Sydney. A fireball appeared in my hand, fueled by spirit magic. I felt magic surge in Nina too, and I was quick to chastise her.

“No—let me handle this.” If I was caught in this dream, I might as well fulfill the original goal of keeping her away from the brunt of spirit. “Just assist. Don’t wield too much.”