He stared at it, transfixed, unable to look away. He forgot what he had come for in the first place. After a few moments, the fascination turned to something else.

Desire. He had to have this thing. It was meant for him. It had called him to take it, called to him out of the darkness. He must take it—

He reached out for it, slowly, with his free hand—

And something hit him from the side, knocking all the breath right out of him, sending him sprawling.

He had not been ready; he had not even been close to ready. He hit his head on the hard ground as he toppled over, and that partially stunned him. On top of that, his attacker had knocked the breath out of his lungs with the blow, something that hadn’t happened since the last time he’d been “sucker-punched” in grade school. He and his assailant rolled over and over in the dirt, finally coming to a halt a few feet away from where he’d been hiding.

He tried to suck in air, flailing around for balance, or to put up a pretense of defense. All he could manage was a vague idea that his attacker must have been one of Calligan’s hired stooges, a rent-a-cop or something. But he was too busy trying to force a breath into his lungs, which burned with pain, and felt as if they’d collapsed. His attacker ignored him, and scrambled to his feet.

Finally, after a terrible muscle spasm, his chest unclenched, and he sucked in a long and painful breath in something close to a sob; a breath that hurt so much that his eyes watered. He looked up, through tearing eyes, to see who had hit him—

Jennie? What the hell?

She stood over him, her face set in a tight, fierce mask, a she-wolf defending her cub. That was when he looked at what she was looking at.

And nearly stopped breathing all over again.

His mind babbled that he wasn’t seeing this—he couldn’t be seeing this—that it was all a hallucination.

No. Oh no—I’m going crazy. I’m seeing delusions. I’m still knocked out—

But shaking his head didn’t make them go away. And despite all his rational thinking, college learning, and disbelief, they were still there.

The Osage Little People.

He knew what they were; old man Talldeer had spun a tale or two for him and the rest of the neighborhood kids, back when he and Jennie were both in grade school. And any Indian kid in Claremore knew about Claremore Mound, the Little People there, the things that would happen to males who were stupid enough to climb it; boys used to dare each other to go up on it, and none of them ever would.