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Rowan shrinks into his coat, deep creases of concentration lining his forehead. He scowls out at the rain, blowing in from all sides, bouncing off the forest floor like coins thrown at a trampoline. Above, they sky is the colour of stagnant water. The wind hurtles in from the coast like an angry tide: tearing along the ground, reaching up to grasp bedraggled trees that creak and grown in anguish. Rowan and Snowdrop have found a kind of shelter in the boggy entranceway of this half-roofed sheep-pen. Theyre only a mile or so from home and probably cant get much wetter but the rain has throbbed them into submission. They shiver in the doorway, faces pale, hair slick, the fronts of their jackets three shades darker than they should be. They have their heads together. Samara! He would have let her see any secret if only the pain would stop. Insane? Gilliad smiled his thinnest smile. My sister called me mad too. Maldrine told me that she would betray me, and he was right. Its the nature of the True Blood, to betray. Its a shame no one warned you. Sighing, he reached for the black-handled knife still strapped to Shans side. It had amused him to leave Shan all his weapons knowing that he couldn’t reach them. Gilliad ran his fingertips along the blade. She could protect herself. She knew that now. With her sword, with her knife, even with her magic if needs be. The sound of swords drew her back from the quiet, from safety. Elayne nodded and chewed on her lower lip.Are you... I thought it might help to talk. She looks up at him in dazed bafflement. Hes talking to her like shes a senior reporter on an editorial team. He waves an apology. Gives his attention back to his sister. Oh yes? asks Eve, conversationally. Who? Ask Violet, she says, childlike. Violet remembers more than me but if anything like that had happened she would have told me. Shes friends with Eve. And Eve looked after us. Violet should never have started making me remember. She was happier not knowing too. All that stuff with drugs and chanting and drums and that horrible thing she painted on the wall. I thought she was trying to scare it all out of me. Cool. Ive got dibs on the master bedroom. Did you see that bath? Its a freaking Jacuzzi. It was that or go grocery shopping. Honestly, Gabriel, Im not surprised you dont have any mice. The poor creatures would starve to death in a week. Karen said she wouldnt help me remember. If I dont remember, Bethany Phillips is going to continue to suffer and die, and Emma will be raised by Salyer. I cant have more blood on my hands. Australian Shadows Award finalist D. I. Russell has been published since 2003 and featured in publications such as Dead on Arrival 2 and 3, Pseudopod, and Andromeda Spaceways Inflight Magazine. He was also the former vice-president of the Australian Horror Writers' Association and was a special guest editor of Midnight Echo. Striding to her desk, she clicked on the lamp and rummaged through the accrued mess. Make up brushes and hair ties were swept onto the floor. Paperback novels, deserving more respect, were quickly set aside in a small pile. Handouts from art class, outlining the course, timetable, and assignment requirements, were still scattered beneath the mess from the first week of college. Satisfied, Samara pulled them free and turned the sheets of paper over to hide the text and reveal thepotential. Dropping into her chair, she snatched up a sharp pencil and touched its tip to the paper. A plethora of nightmares struggled for position in her frantic mind, fighting to emerge victorious, to be rewarded, to emerge into the real world, born by her hand, delivered in hard, dark strokes. Eh? asks Violet, the noise coming out like spit. Wheres that from? She grimaced around the tip of the thin brush pinched between her teeth. The sight of the meat failed to disgust. How can one sit and eat a rasher of bacon or pork chop and be turned off by such images? No, her displeasure belonged to the limitations of the photograph. The heart of the pig had been removed, and it had probably been days since blood had circulated through the animal. Happy with her glistening bones on the canvas but unsure exactly how the fresh blood should sit, Samara heaved a sigh and replaced the picture. Plucking the brush free, she leaned in once more, dabbing blotches of subdued crimson where bone met muscle..