I’ve always been impressed by how real some dreams can feel, and that night’s dream felt as real as could be. At first there was darkness, with me aware that I was asleep but not dreaming, exactly. Then light surged around me and my eyes adjusted until I was able to see that I stood next to a pile of hay, a barn not far off, and the sun was setting. Muddy slop under my feet pulled at my shoes as I attempted to take my first step, working my way toward a small, makeshift fence.

Something grunted behind me and I turned to see a large pig staring me down. At first, I thought nothing of this. It was a dream. A pig in a dream wasn’t normal for me, but not a big deal, either.

Another step, and then more grunting came, sloshing, and I realized the pig was charging for me. My legs couldn’t move fast enough, and in a matter of seconds—as my first foot lifted to go for the fence—the pig slammed into my stable leg, knocking it out from under me. I landed in the mud with a sucking sound, tasting it in my mouth like shit and grass and rotten oranges. Then the pig was there again, coming right at me.

Scrambling to get out of the way, one thought hit me as hard as a kick from Ebrill in the nuts—this wasn’t a dream.

No dream I’d ever had felt so real. Tasting the shit in the mud? Feeling the ache in the back of my leg where that Mr. Bacon had rammed into me? This wasn’t right. I managed to reach the fence, kick back, and catch the pig on the snout with enough momentum to push myself over.

This time I landed with a thud on mud-splattered dirt and grass, where I lay staring up at the orange-speckled sky for a few moments. Wake the fuck up, I told myself over and over, that voice in the back of my head arguing each time that it wasn’t a dream. But it had to be one, because how the hell else could this make sense?

A voice sounded. A figure blocked out the sky and then there was another. Both were speaking in a harsh tongue I didn’t understand. One knelt down, sniffed me, touched my shirt, and shouted something.

Starting to freak out, I closed my eyes, again willing myself to wake up, or at least understand what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, their words made sense—not like they were speaking English, but like I could tell what they were saying even without really understanding. My powers, like with Ebrill, I imagined… although my powers had never worked in a dream.

“… men aren’t fucking witches!” the first man said, who I could now see was older, with a gray mustache and peppered, long hair.

“Do you not see his clothes? His… his everything! A witch, I tell you!”

It only hit me then that, maybe, just maybe, this was the same way I had been communicating with Ebrill. Now that I thought about it and had something to reference it against, her voice had this similar sensation to it, as if my mind were converting her language, and mine to hers.

If that was true, I could respond to these guys.

“I’m not a witch,” I said, interrupting the second one’s argument about burning me.

Both turned to me, eyes narrowing. Now even the older one nodded as he said, “Damn, you’re right. A fucking witch.”

“No, I—”

A thud hit me, and I was out. I would have thought that would be it, that the pain would end the nightmare. Nope. Instead I faded in and out, groggily processing being dragged across the ground, tied up in the barn, and left there while the men went off to fetch someone.

As annoying as the rope was on my wrist, this at least gave me time to think. By this point, I had accepted that it wasn’t a dream. Maybe someone was using magic to get into my head? I wouldn’t put it past Steph and whoever she was working with, not after the way she had betrayed me. So, this was clearly some ruse to get me to give up information, or maybe my body was sleep-walking through it, opening the door to invite the demons in again.

Whatever it was, I needed to keep my wits about me. Play it smart.

All of that thinking went out the window, though, when I noticed a small head and beady little eyes watching me from a rafter above. It vanished in a flash of little wings, leaving me to wonder how including a fairy in this little mind-fuck helped their cause. In any other situation that might have completely thrown me, but since my body was currently being cuddled by a gargoyle and I’d been fighting witches and death knights, maybe not so much right now.

What did throw me was when a set of yellow, snake-like eyes set in a green, goblin face appeared directly in front of me, glaring. Its skin was wrinkled and leathery, teeth pointed and black, and breath like the inside of a dead rat’s intestines.

“This one?” the goblin asked, close enough to lick my cheek, but thank God he didn’t. “Let’s see if we can’t get it out of him.”

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He was nude aside from a belt with a loincloth, but pulled out a serrated dagger from the back of his belt, holding it at my neck, letting the cold steel test my resolve.

“So, boy, which coven do you belong to?”

I stared back, not showing any weakness, resolved to find a way out of this. Clearly, denying being a witch wasn’t going to work, and as I had recently found out, I actually was one. No point in lying. But I didn’t belong to a coven.

His blade bit me, surely drawing blood.

“District of Colombia,” I blurted out. “And it’s a big fucking coven, too.”

The goblin snarled and leaned in, licking his lips. “Fucking?”

Realizing my mistake in language choice, I rolled with it. “All the time. Witches, so many witches who want to fuck. Cast spells, take a break to fuck. Have dinner, then a nice fuck. It’s tough being a witch, sometimes.”

He chuckled but then glared again, as if remembering himself. “Why is it that I haven’t heard of this District of Columbia coven?”

“Ask him,” a dark, hissing voice demanded.

The goblin froze, clearly terrified of whatever it was that had spoken, then brought the knife up to my eye, pointy end right at the edge so that it was too blurry to focus on. “You belong to such a big fucking coven, you’ll know, won’t you? You’ll know where the Liahona is.”

“I don’t—” The knife pinched my eyelid and I cursed.

“The Liahona,” the creature snarled. “Tell me, or you lose this eye first. Then your other, followed by your tongue—”

“If you cut out my tongue, how would I tell you where it is?”

“You’d walk me to it, you nasty shit!”

Mocking the little guy probably wasn’t the best move, as his eyes had just slanted into a mischievous glare, the knife twisting. Clearly, I still had no idea what a Liahona was, but since everyone kept asking about it, the thing must have been important.

“Taking you is the only way,” I blurted out, not sure what to do, but knowing that would buy me time. “There’s a magical barrier set up. It needs me to go through, to take it down.”

“He’s lying,” the voice said, and the goblin shook its head, then laughed. It pulled its blade back, licked its teeth, and plunged.

In that moment, though, I used my elemental strike to freeze my bonds and break through them, then catch him with an ice punch to the elbow as I threw my head out of the way of his blade. The result was that his arm froze and snapped in two from my punch, then shattered on the ground.

The goblin shrieked, staring in confusion. I didn’t stay to find out what would happen next, knowing that I didn’t want to meet his colleague.

Charging out of there, I emerged to find myself surrounded by large tents, lines of them, and fires beyond. Big warriors with shades of green and even purple skin were throwing back drinks while others practiced swordplay.

I didn’t waste any time wondering where I was, simply darted left and ducked under a large oak, out of the light of the nearest fire. Where I was supposed to go, I had no idea, but I knew I didn’t belong here. Shouts sounded from behind and I threw myself to the ground, hoping they wouldn’t see me. The cold night was so dark it was almost impossible to see anything. I pressed low, branches and rocks scraping my forearms, and crawled away from the camp as fast as possible, only stopping when I noticed eyes staring at me from the darkness ahead.

Heart racing, I froze, hoping whoever was out there hadn’t spotted me. Two seconds later, a flash of steel caught my attention, then more. Forms were moving. A sudden roar filled the night and they were up and charging. My gut clenched and my hands shook as I started to push up, but they charged past me, drawing their weapons. They weren’t coming for me at all, I realized, throwing myself down next to a tree, but storming the camp!

I saw one man coming from my left so went to go right, when I slammed into the side of a charging horse, fell back, and whacked my head on a tree.

Any hint of light that had been there a moment before faded. When the noise of my harsh, wheezing breathing woke me, and then the darkness faded, I realized that someone was talking.

“Thank you, Irla,” a voice said in a whisper. “You’re sure he’s one of ours?”

“Only what I was told,” Irla replied.

“A witch?”

I processed someone approaching and blinked as my vision cleared. As far as I knew, I had a concussion and needed medical attention. Instead, I was on a thick blanket on a stone floor, this woman staring down at me. Again, I blinked, and this time I made out that she was petite and wore a gown of purple, cinched around the waist by a cord-style belt. Her fiery red hair was pulled back, and she eyed me with very blue eyes.

“You’re not with us,” she said, starting to turn.

“You can’t just leave me here,” I mumbled.

With a glance back, she scoffed, “Can’t I?”

“The Liahona,” I blurted out, taking a gamble. “If you leave me here, they’ll get it instead of you.”

That caught her attention. “You… know?”

I nodded. “And my goal is to keep them away from it. So…”

Another moment of thought, and then she was back at my side, first looking at my shirt, then kneeling to run her fingers along my jeans. “What are these clothes you’re wearing?”

The answer to that question was simple, but complicated. For one, would telling her that I was from the future mess with her head, or threaten to ruin my time? The question in itself was flawed, because while this had many similarities to a medieval time of my past, there were goblin creatures and other things here, I imagined. For all I knew, I was learning that my past had these, as my present—their future—had gargoyles and demons. What I had always thought might be an aspect of my imagination was actually magic, it turned out, and my aunt was part of some magic plot where an enemy group was trying to find something before her, or she was hiding it. Frankly, nothing was simple anymore.

Instead of giving her an answer, I responded with a question. “Who are you?”

She frowned, hand still on my leg, and said, “Aerona.”

I nodded, glancing at her hand on my leg, then back up at her captivating eyes, wondering what exactly was happening here and what the purpose of this whole experience was. Before I had a chance to find my answers, though, it all started to fade.

“He’s leaving us,” Irla said, as I felt my body fading.

A glance down confirmed this, just as a third woman entered the room. There was something special about this one, though. Somehow, I knew her.

Tall, slender, wearing a red robe drawn around her shoulders to cover the gold-plated armor beneath. Wavy black hair fell over her left shoulder. Her eyes met mine, and then I knew.

“Ebrill?” I asked, her eyes widening in surprise as I was pulled out from that world.