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around her pinky finger. She usually did a pretty good job of blocking the memories of the night she’d been Chosen. But ever since the moment Bastian had said they were going after the Ninth, the horrible details of that night, coupled with the last image she had of her parents had been creeping into her thoughts like a poisonous weed. She swallowed and closed her eyes as she felt them curl and twist through her mind, strangling her heart with painful memories.
    The distant voice of Bastian explaining the legend seemed to echo through the years and fill the room. The Ninth will be the last hope for the survival of the races . . . If the Ninth should fail, the Balance between good and evil will collapse, and evil will roam free . . .
    Her heart stuttered in her throat. Ten years ago she held her shard for the first time and from that moment she was able to actually see the horrifying hand of the Dark. It was then that she’d witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the demon Raksasha and felt the staggering power of the Shadow Wraiths. The idea of that kind of evil roaming free with no one to stop it . . .
    She pushed her fists into her eyes. Don’t think about it! But the darkness behind her eyelids only created the perfect backdrop. Black memories rushed in—the sounds and images as fresh as if she stood once again in their tiny kitchen.
    The Raksasha jumped through the window, shrouded by the swirling mists of the Shadows . . . her mother screamed and her father pleaded uselessly for their lives . . .
    Sick waves of fear crashed over her, her chest heated up and the Kuna tingled in her palms. Breathe, just breathe . . . stay calm!
    But once the memories were free, they couldn’t be stopped, and her fear had her cold. Horrible pictures of every monster she’d ever fought against for the ignorant human race filled her mind’s eye. Crawling over the planet, unstoppable, killing ruthlessly, and not caring if the victims were innocent children or the elderly—until nothing remained but the Dark.
    She forced her eyes open and focused on the hideous flowered bedspread, trying to stop the flood of terror. But the flowers turned into the weeping faces of the defenseless, curled into the disgusting, twisted features of Raksasha, and the writhing mists of the Shadows. The moldy, rotting smell of the stained carpet filled her lungs and became the smell of death and decay.
    She folded her arms tightly over her stomach and rocked back and forth. Intense pain, worse than any physical injury, clouded her mind and crushed her heart. The Kuna burned in her palms and she knew she couldn’t hold it back much longer.
    Mom, Dad, I need you! She gasped for air; broken, tearless sobs forced their way free. No, don’t think about them! She couldn’t breathe . . . Bastian!
    The door flew open. Bastian met her gaze for an agonizing second before he gathered her into his arms, and pulled her next to him.
    She gagged. The images . . . Bastian, please make them stop . . . the Kuna . . . I can’t hold it back . . .
    Bastian wrapped her hands in his huge ones tenderly and she felt the heat lessen, but her mind was held fast. “Macy, LaUnahi , you are safe! I promise you are safe. All is well my little bird.” He rubbed her back and began to sing, in a voice as soft as a whisper, the Soothing Song in the language of the Hidden. She didn’t understand all the words, but slowly the peaceful calm only Bastian could bring, started at her toes and pushed the pain from her heart and the pictures from her mind, like sunlight piercing fog.
    Bastian pushed a strand of hair off her sweaty forehead. “I am so sorry, LaUnahi . I have been far too preoccupied.” He cradled her against his massive chest and wrapped his arms tightly around her shaking body. “Forgive me, my little bird. I promise I will no longer be distracted from your needs. You are, and always will be, my first priority.”
    Macy sat up, took a deep breath and leaned out of his arms,