“I’m not sure how I feel about this.”
“I personally feel stabby.” Her grin was a little too excited.
“Obviously.”
“I will allow you to choose where the needle goes, however.”
“So kind.”
“I thought so.”
I surveyed my body. A hint of weakness still lingered, but I had enough strength for this.
And if it worked . . .
Not much of my skin was visible outside my clothing. Just my hands and head.
Clearly I didn’t want to be stabbed in my head.
Grimacing, I held out my left hand, palm down.
“Hand it is.” Chiara’s grin morphed into maniacal.
“Should I be concerned over how much you seem to be enjoying this?”
“Probably. Now make that hand physical.”
Pulling in my concentration, I pushed my entire hand fully into the physical world.
The pain was blinding. Scorching heat and flame.
True to her word, Chiara stabbed my hand, the needle skewering me. A branding iron of red-hot agony.
I cried out, my concentration shattering. My hand rebounded.
The needle tumbled to the floor.
The memory of the pain lingered. Blackness washed over my eyes.
“Damn. I really thought that would work. So ancient myths don’t seem to be the answer,” Chiara’s voice came from nearby. My vision was still dark. “I wonder if fairy tales would make a difference?”
“Like what?” I mumbled, trying to force back the creeping fuzziness.
“I don’t know. Lock you away in a tower. Find a dragon to guard you.”
“Make me suffer through true love’s first kiss?”
Chiara laughed. A trilling noise that seemed to sound from down a long tunnel.
“Jack? Jack!” Her voice, so concerned. “What’s wrong? Talk to me!”
The world went black.
ELEVEN
Chiara
Jack’s eyes rolled back in his skull and he went limp, hanging in air like a marionette supported by some giant hand. A trickle of blood traced the back of his hand which had faded into near invisibility, just like his mouth and finger had done earlier.
