THE SICKENING CRACKLE of the corn-husk rope pulls me from
sleep, down the hall, up the stairs, and out into the
night. The sky is the strangest color, a dusky gray rose.
Dark blond hair skims the ground as it disappears into a
patch of tall prairie grass.

Tearing through the coarse grass, I try to reach her. As
I break into a small clearing, I catch a glimpse of her
face—eyes wide and lifeless, she stares back at me as her
body’s being dragged into the corn.

Sensing a presence, I turn to see a winged figure made of
smoke move toward me, but I’m not afraid. The scent of
freshly rained-upon soil, salt, hay, cloves, sandalwood,
and saddle leather perme¬ates the air. It’s the most
beautiful smell in the world. I close my eyes to breathe
it in, hoping it will imprint on my memory. And when I
open them, the smoke has sharpened into the face of Dane.

I reach out to touch him, but he flinches away. I can’t
help but laugh. Even my illusion of Dane won’t cooperate.

My skin is pulsing with light. Faint at first, the golden
light soon grows into a soft halo that wraps around me,
illuminating the protection marks.

I stand perfectly still, coaxing the golden light forward
to reach him. As soon as it meets his skin, I can feel
him, just as if I were touching him with my own fingers.
Every bit of our connection is alive and electric as it
flows through me and into him, back from him to me, and
around us.

I feel his spirit, damaged and beautiful. Perfect in its
flaws. Suddenly, I become worried that he can see all of
me, too; something in me wants to cover up, to hide my
imperfections. I feel vulnerable, like a gaping wound
with salt water lapping at the edges.

“Do you see the light?”

“There’s no light,” he answers.

It makes me so sad he can’t see or feel what I feel.
“Just because you don’t see it, doesn’t mean that it
doesn’t exist.”

Dane’s shadowy figure takes an unexpected step toward me.
Even though he’s only a hallucination, I swear I can feel
his gentle breath on my face. He leans forward, pressing
his lips against mine. I can taste him, along with the
salt of my tears that stream into our mouths. Sadness and
ecstasy consume me.

I open my eyes to find Dane has vanished, along with
every bit of light that beamed from my skin. I hear the
crops rustle behind me. I turn and step toward the corn.
As I peer through the stalks, a feeling of dread presses
down on me, crushing me, holding me in place.

The dead girl’s hand emerges from the corn, clasping my
ankle. “I thought you loved me,” she whispers.

“Ashlyn.”

I awoke sometime before dawn, sprawled on top of my
cov¬ers, a thick sheen of sweat covering my body. I
stirred; my muscles ached. My feet gritted against the
sheets. Looking down, I found them caked in dirt.

I leapt out of bed.

“What’s going on?” Rhys mumbled.

“Nothing. Just need to get ready.” I escaped into the
bath¬room and rested my forehead against the closed door.

“This is real,” I told myself as I pressed my fingers
into the cool wood grain. I stole a glance at myself in
the mirror and did a double take.

Threaded into my tangled hair were coarse strands of
prairie grass. In a panic, I checked the rest of my body.
“Holy shit.” I exhaled when I discovered a bloody
handprint coiled around my left ankle.

I’d gone outside without a clue of how I got there or how
I got back. I’d lost time again. Maybe hours. Was
Coronado’s black magic trying to lure me into the corn?
But it felt deeper than that.

“Are you okay in there?” Rhys knocked on the door,
star¬tling me.

“Find another bathroom,” I snapped as I pumped water into
the washtub. I stepped into the cool water and scrubbed
my legs with a washcloth until they were raw, then pulled
the plug, watching the dirty water swirl around my ankles
and disappear down the drain.

The dead girl spoke to me. She touched me. She wanted me
to find her in the corn. And Dane could take me there.