My face burns red when I meet Kivuli downstairs. I can't believe I just did that. Asking her to squeeze me. Gushing with water. But it wasn't me. It was the slime's mind! She understands. She has to, right?

But still. I was in that body. I was the one who begged her. I was the one that gushed. Me! What the heck is wrong with me?

I tuck the green shirt into the trousers, tie back my hair, and I grab the shoes and my hat from beside Squishy. I can't even look Squishy in the eyes, but both slime minds inside me want to be squeezed again. It's not till Kivuli clears her throat and hands me a long dark cloth that I can breathe again.

“For you,” she says. “A shaman cloak. Well, all cloaks are just cloaks but mine have shadow pockets.” She's decidedly looking to the side, not at me, and I can tell she's just as flustered as I am.

I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse, but I mumble a thank you when I accept the cloak. It's yet another gift she's given me. I have to repay her kindness as best I can.

The cloak is dark and long. It has full, heavy sleeves, and the material itself reminds me of felt but thicker. There's a hood and a clasp on one shoulder where I imagine I can attach the opposite end of the cloak to keep my entire body covered. It's fancy.

Kivuli clears her throat again, turning toward the door. “And about what happened... probably best if we never mention it again.”

“Agreed,” I say quickly. My ears feel so hot I swear if we visited that snowy forest, the entire place would melt.

“At the very least, we've learned something valuable,” she says, adjusting the clasp of her own cloak. Then she looks right at me, her brows furrowed slightly, all traces of embarrassment gone. “You have a lot of training ahead if you wish to master your abilities.” With that, she heads out the door, into the rushing storm.

There's no arguing with what she'd said. I sigh as I step into the shoes. They seem to fit better than before. Did they shrink after drying out? Do shoes do that? I put the hat on. But then the cloak’s hood won't fit, and it'd just get soaked in the rain, so I try the shadow pocket. It's on the inside of the cloak, on the left, like the pocket of a jacket or a coat, except I can stick my entire arm in there. Right up to the shoulder. I could climb inside the pocket if I wanted to; how far does it go?

Wait. There's an end. It's not infinite, maybe about the size of a school locker. I slip the hat inside carefully, and it enters in a smooth, swift motion. I take the notebook out of my pants pocket and slip it in too. I can't even feel the hat or the notebook now that they're inside. No weight. No bulge in the cloak. I wonder how Kivuli created this. Is it connected to her shadows somehow?

Is it a part of her? Or did she stick the cloak's own shadow inside itself and make a pocket dimension... ah! I have so many questions! I want to be upstairs again. Or at the table. And I just want to ask her everything so I can write them down and learn.

The bell rings again, and I almost flinch. There must be some kind of magic that fills the cottage with its sound even though it's so far away.

Kivuli sticks her head back inside the cottage. Her silver eyes flash. “Samiya, you're taking way too long.”

“Sorry!” I follow her outside, and she rushes ahead, using her staff, speedwalking over the mud like it's not wet and thick at all. A few steps later, we've completely left behind the comfort of the cottage by the lighthouse, and we're making our way down the hill. Wind billows through the tall grass. The sky is darkening, but there's just enough light to see things leaping in and out of the grassy waves, and I wonder what kind of creatures they are.

What might it be like to swim through grass like a dolphin in the sea?

There's so much I want to try! My heart pumps with excitement and I try my best to keep up with Kivuli. It's hard to walk through the mud, and my legs are already burning with exhaustion, but the cloak keeps the rain off, and the shoes actually do fit a little better. I wonder if Kivuli did something to them, but there's no chance to ask her. She doesn’t seem to be in a talking mood anymore. The bell rings again, hurrying up the hills as if to remind us: there is something wrong.

The sky is almost pitch black when we reach the final hill, and Kivuli comes to a stop. She points with her staff. “Down there,” she says.

I hold my hands up to my forehead, shielding my face from the rain, trying to see through the storm. There's one little flicker of orange light where the road splits. Someone's standing underneath the cover of the trees, and they have what looks like a horse with them. An actual horse, not a lizard-bird-like creature. What did Mia call hers? A kaballus? I should write that down as soon as I get the chance.

"Doesn't smell right," says Kivuli.

"Smell?" I ask. All I smell is rain and grass and cold. Night completely falls as we finish our way down the hill, and then I finally see who rang the bell.

It's a boy holding a lantern. But not a lantern lantern. There's no fire; it's another Ember Slime! I think I'm right about slimes being inherent to society here.

His horse neighs beside him, and he places a hand on its neck, steadying it. It really does look like a plain horse. Well, I say plain. It has sleek brown fur and a flowing white mane, and I think it looks majestic. Strong legs lead down to surprisingly large hooves, and the closer we get, the more enormous the horse looks. I wonder what it would be like to rush through these hills as a horse. All that power surging through my legs...

The boy looks young even though he's almost my height. He could be twelve or thirteen. Wet blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and he's wearing overalls with a white T-shirt underneath. I really like his boots. They're made of dark leather, and they go up to his knees, protecting him from the mud, but as soon as he raises his slime lamp, my heart thuds into my throat, and I hesitate.

Dark marks cover his face. His lips are busted open and there's an ugly purple ring around one eye. He looks like he'd been crying, and with injuries like that, who could blame him?

Did an evil spirit do that? Fear prickles my insides as I remember Kivuli coming home last night with a bloody gash on her forehead.

Suddenly, my bravado flickers. Why did I volunteer for this again? What good am I gonna be in a fight? Maybe this whole apprenticing with the shaman thing is a mistake.

"Rory?" asks Kivuli loudly as she steps up to him. "Rory is that you?"

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"Yes, Madam," he says in a weak voice. He glances at me and bows his head slightly. I return the gesture.

"Rory, tell me what happened." Kivuli sounds mad. I wonder if this has to do with the evil spirit that got away from her.

"It's my Pa," he whispers. Then he clears his throat. "Something's got into his head. It's making him see things. Do things... and he keeps thinking someone’s trying to rob him."

"Did he do that to you?" asks Kivuli coldly.

The boy shakes his head, but he stares at the muddy ground.

“Rory.”

“No, madam,” he says. “I swear it.”

She takes a step toward him, and he flinches, but she pulls something out of her cloak and places it firmly in the boy's hand. “Eat this. Chew thoroughly and then swallow. It'll help."

Rory looks up at her nervously. Then at me. I nod at him like yes, please do as she says, and he brings it to his lips with a shaky hand.

With that settled, Kivuli turns to me. She's frowning in the orange glow from the lantern. "His father's a drunk," she says in a very low voice. "Can't maintain his farm. Lost his wife and daughter. It's not a pretty sight." Rain splatters her hood, and she shakes her head. "This may or may not be an evil spirit, but it's our duty to investigate."

There's a lump in my throat when I look at the boy again. He seems more relaxed now, and there's that hopeful look again, even though his face is still bruised. That shimmer in his eyes. Something that illuminates him from the inside, and I think about the pink woman and her children, and how lost they all must've felt to ask for help out of such sincere need.

And I know how difficult it is dealing with an alcoholic parent. I can't bring myself to speak, but I nod, and Kivuli approaches the boy.

"We'll come take a look, Rory. Everything will be alright."

Rory sniffles and bows deeper this time. Then he hands Kivuli his slime lantern and says we can sit in the wagon. He'll ride on Beauty, and we'll be at his father's farm in twenty or so minutes.

Another gust of wind slams through everything, and Kivuli steps onto the wagon in a graceful motion. I follow her, nearly slipping when I grab the rain-wet edge but manage to climb inside. There's a bench for us to sit on, but now that we're not hurrying down the hills, the rain and wind seem more biting. Rory climbs onto his horse, Beauty, and we trek up the road, away from the cottage and away from town.

She sets the lantern between us so we can share in the slime's warmth. The creature inside the glass looks just like Squishy, though it's bigger and rounder. It seems to be asleep with its mouth squiggling gently, but its light casts a halo of warmth around us, illuminating the road and casting our shadows toward the trees. The horse's tail flicks ahead of us, and Rory seems tall and gallant on horseback. I really do hope we can help him.

Hugging myself beneath the cloak, I whisper to Kivuli, what is that creature?

"It's a unicorn," she says.

“What?” I stare at the horse's backside as she neighs. Her brown fur looks so sleek in the rain. A unicorn? I haven't had a chance to see her face yet, but I wonder if Beauty has a beautiful horn. Her muscular legs have no trouble at all with the muddy road, and like Kivuli, she seems to almost glide over it with ease. She’s not splashing through the mud!

Kivuli glances behind us, leering at something in the dark. But she explains further about unicorns. “The males are rather pretty. They have glowing fur and some of them can even sing, though they're far smaller and nowhere near as powerful as the females. Some people keep them as trophy pets or breeding stock. And if you head towards the mountains, you can catch unicorn races.”

She says all this like it’s normal everyday knowledge, and maybe in this world it is a very usual thing, but for me? Growing up, Jia would tell me so many things about unicorns and how they could whisk me away to a magical world where I might be a princess with powers and have my own castle and I could do whatever I wanted. But I have to know. “Does she have a horn?” I whisper, failing to contain my excitement. If I touch her, I can be a unicorn!

“Yes,” says Kivuli. “Though only during mating season.”

I try to settle my thoughts. Now is not the time to be excited about this. I try to quarantine the excitement for now; once we’re finished, I’ll indulge. Right now, I have to be the Shaman’s apprentice.

The boy was injured, and we have a potential evil spirit to deal with, and I raise my face to the cold rain. I have to focus. I stare at the boy’s back thinking about how young and frightened he’d looked. How relieved he’d been when Kivuli said we'd help. I almost hope it's an evil spirit for his sake. That it wasn't his father that hurt him.

"So, what will we do if it's a spirit?" I ask.

"If it's what the boy says it is, then it should be low-grade."

"Low-grade? What will it look like?" I think about the creature that knocked on the door last night and stole Jia's voice. What did that thing look like?

"Evil spirits are invisible for the most part," she says. "Remind me, there's an excellent book I want you to read and take notes from when we return. It'll teach you how to distinguish them. But the general rules are:

“Low-grade evil spirits have no form. They're mischievous and induce anxiety. They are born from and feed on negativity, so as they gain power, they infiltrate dreams. Waking nightmares. Paranoia.”

I'm not sure if it's the cold rain, but I can't suppress the shiver as I remember all the times I woke up paralyzed. Unable to move a finger. Stuck in my body, on my bed, as something dark looked over me. I’d thought I was possessed for the longest time until Jia explained what sleep paralysis really was. But that didn't seem to be the case in this world.

"The danger," continues Kivuli as the wagon lurches. The road is turning. Beauty neighs ahead as wind shoves the rain into our faces. Kivuli lowers her voice as if to make sure Rory can't hear. “The danger is when they get a taste for blood... among other things. Then they grow vicious and become much more than a nuisance."

I swallow hard. “Will this be that bad?” I ask quietly.

"I don't believe so," she says. She pulls something else out of her cloak and hands it to me. It's a seashell, spiral in form, smooth to the touch. Like living rock. "Keep this on you. It's the only way to contain Evil Spirits."

I feel the seashell all over. It looks pinkish red in the lantern light, and I hold it up to my ear.

“What are you doing?” asks Kivuli, sounding alarmed. "Don't do that!"

"I... I was told you can hear the ocean if you listen to these." I lower the seashell, feeling embarrassed. Like a child being chastised.

"Well, if there's an evil spirit inside, that would be a fantastic way to introduce it to your head."

"Oh." I don't like that thought. Things crawling in my ear. I used to have nightmares about bugs scampering inside, their tiny legs scratching the walls and my eardrums, and I'd just hear them. Hissing. Wandering deeper inside. Burrowing. I slip the seashell into my shadow pocket, trying not to think about my ears, and wondering how these shells would hold a spirit.

I have more questions, but Kivuli falls silent, and I get the sense she's meditating. I've pestered her enough, so I try to mediate too. To calm my thoughts. To not think about bugs or the cold or anything except for what's happening around me.

The wagon rocks beneath us. The large wheels squelch and squeak through the mud. It's nowhere near as smooth as Bluebell’s wagon, but I don't imagine anyone else can build something as well as he can. I tug on the hood lower and try to focus on the warmth emanating from the lantern. Trees rush by around us, and there seems to be way more of them now. I wish I could look at the detailed map over my bed and track where we're going. I have to learn all that. I have to always know.

Wind chases the rain through the branches overhead, and I think about Isabelle. My hand goes to my shirt pocket. Was this the direction she'd run? I don't remember. She hadn't taken the road, so maybe not. I wonder what she's doing.

Rory says something, and I look up to see a bunch of lights ahead on the road. I wonder if we're at their farm already, but Kivuli grabs the lantern.

"Trouble," she whispers.

A few seconds later, we hear a shout. "Halt!"

“Whoa, girl.” Rory brings Beauty to a stop. The wheels stop turning. And I clutch the wagon’s side, my heart pounding, wondering what to expect.

It was a man's voice that called out to us. And he shouts again, "Who goes there?" A large silhouette carrying a lantern emerges from the darkness. Behind him are several more, and I'm pretty sure they have rifles aimed at us. They must be like the soldiers I saw in town earlier.

“Gilded soldiers,” mutters Kivuli as she hops off. “Stay in the wagon.”