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for the bead of scarlet blood to seep out, and it took even longer for it to subside. I set the knife down and held up my dagger, cutting myself once more. As expected, the cut healed in seconds.
    “I can’t cut myself with my own dagger,” I whispered hoarsely. “That’s pretty freaking awesome!”
    I stuck the still bleeding finger in my mouth, debating on whether or not I should try re-cutting the wound with my dagger to see if it could heal over. Deciding not to chance it, I sat down on my bed. Water rolled down my hair and splashed onto the sheets, reminding me that I was still naked.
    Leaving the dagger safely under my pillow, I toweled off and got dressed. Buzzed on fear, adrenaline, and now bewilderment, I wasn’t tired in the least. For the next hour, I went over everything in my head.
    I knew the dagger incident was real, and, more so, it made sense to me. The daggers were made by magic for magic, and only those who possessed that magic could work them. Of course the makers would work in some sort of safety clause. How they gave the metal a memory was beyond me. But I didn’t want to question something I was eternally grateful for, though I was curious to what a fatal stab would do. Was it possible to heal in time? That was another thing I wasn’t willing to try.
    The Burning Man, the whispers…there had to be something to connect them. Two years ago, I wrote a report on the effects of sleep deprivation. I hadn’t been sleeping well since Ethan and Hunter left; maybe that was the culprit? Deep down, I knew it wasn’t true.  
    At four-thirty, I felt the drag of exhaustion. I let out a deep breath and tried to go to sleep. When that didn’t work, I recalled a meditation technique I had read about in the psychic self defense book. I imagined that a ball of positive energy was floating above me, encasing me with its protective white light. Even I felt a little hokey summoning a ball of imaginary energy, but it worked and I didn’t wake up until late the next morning.
    ~*~
    Ethan called as soon as I was done feeding the horses to tell me he had just left and would be home in time for dinner. Explaining to him that I discovered I couldn’t cut myself with my own dagger wasn’t fun; he didn’t take me seriously until I sent him a video. I was afraid he would run the SUV off the road in shock. I shared my fear of not wanting to test out the healing of a deep cut, and Ethan agreed. He asked me to stop self mutilating until he came home to see it in person.
      I rode both horses, cleaned the house, and relaxed by taking the Book of Shadows and a blanket up to the turret. The spring air was growing warmer each day; if it wasn’t for the breeze, I wouldn’t have needed the blanket.
    I flipped through the old pages to a section I had been skimming over the last several weeks. Whoever wrote it was a fan of small cursive writing, and I guessed that it was written by someone left handed, as the writing was smeared and nearly indiscernible at parts. I bent over for a closer look at the tiny black letters that spelled out ‘The Nether’.
    From what I was able to read, The Nether was an entirely different dimension than the one I was living in. The thoughts of different dimensions and planes were confusing enough on their own. Add the impossible handwriting and an hour later I had a headache.
    I closed the book and leaned back on the bench. I had only just relaxed when I felt it. I shot up, my heart swelling with something bigger than joy. As if a part of me I didn’t know I was missing was suddenly back, Hunter’s thoughts connected with mine. He and Ethan were close. I couldn’t judge the distance but I could feel the familiarity in Hunter as he looked out the window. Hunter was able to sense Ethan’s excitement to be home, which, somehow, I could feel.
    “Holy crap,” I stated to myself.   I gathered my stuff and raced inside. If Ethan left at a normal morning hour, then he shouldn’t be this close to