I arrived back in my layer, smack dab in the middle of a large puddle, muddy water soaking my shirt and jeans. I cursed Mr. Pale under my breath for the indelicate manner in which I was returned, but my annoyance quickly dissipated when I looked up to see streaks of black and blue lightning rippling across the sky.

A white veil--as delicate as Crispen's lacy, black parasol--hung over the town, weighed down by Gideon's magic. I was sure, as had been the case with Crispen's umbrella, that if he commanded his magic to not break, then it wouldn't. Or at least, I hoped that to be the case.

With socks soggier than my cereals, I ran toward the fighting, following the plumes of dust and smoke rising up from a clearing to my right. I know. I'm stupid to run toward the fighting, but haven't we gone over this already? Anyway, as I ran, something in my liver told me I wasn't running fast enough. That time wasn't on my side.

With all my might, I ran toward where seas of blue flames were snuffed out by a blanket of black. As the field came into view, I realized it was the same field my father had taken me star-gazing. I looked up hoping to see the constellations of fall smiling back at me. Foolish, I know. Gideon's storm had clouded over the sky and not a single star was able to break through his grey. Everything, nature included, had sought shelter from Gideon.

My lungs on fire, I crested the last small hill before the land flattened out into the field. As I did, I saw my dad fly backward, heard the sound of his back smacking off a tree.

"Dad," I whispered. Hurry! No time, my liver told me. I saw a creature of black blink into existence beside where my dad laid.

Gideon? No. Something far worse.

Goosebumps formed on my flesh. I wanted to hide. I wanted to turn away and never return. Something deep down, not my soul, maybe my magic, was telling me that that creature was more dangerous than a hundred Gideons.

My eyes glued on my father and the odd creature, I heard the creature laugh, saw my father sit up, and then, I saw him fall backwards. What happened? Where was Gideon? What was that thing?

A voice I had heard before, invaded my mind.

I do hope we can meet in person soon. Talking to you above that school wasn't nearly enough. We both hold limitless possibilities, I wonder which of us will get their way?

What was that? Who was that?

I rushed down the hill, ignoring everything inside me that was telling me to stop, to turn the other way, go back and not look. Nothing good awaited me in the field. I would not find the stars that my father and I gazed on with loving eyes. I would not find my father smiling at me while he ate a piece of chocolate.

What would I find? What would be waiting for me--

Don't look, Nep. Crispen?

Please don't look. My magic can't erase what you'll see.

"I have to look. My father's in trouble."

And look I did. Lying in the grass was my father, shirt torn, scratches all along his face and arms. His eyes closed, breathing shallow. His hand covered a hole in his gut the size of my fist, blood pouring out of the wound staining sprigs of lavender red.

"Dad?" With trembling fingers, I touched his cheek. Cold. "Dad, come on. I thought death wasn't permanent. You told me it wasn't."

His body lay still, but it was suddenly so hard to see him.

"All you sorcerers are full of bloody contradictions! Say one thing, do the next. Say that death isn't permanent and then go and...and d-die."

"Nep." I looked into my father's face, hopeful I'd find him smiling at me, color in his cheeks, his wound gone. It wasn't him who had addressed me. It was Gideon, the boy in black who looked down at me with pleading eyes. He called me by a name he shouldn't have, killed the man who gave me that name. Fists balling at my sides, I felt my magic swell inside me.

"I didn't--" he started, his whole body trembling. He looked miserable and I felt an urge inside me to make him even more miserable. "I've never--"

"This is your nature, isn't it, Gideon?" I looked toward my father's murderer. "To bring pain to others?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I just wanted--"

Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out Gideon's heart. It wasn't trembling as I cried, wasn't warm under my touch. It sang no soothing melody and the stars had died. This was Gideon's true heart- fleeting, empty, imaginary. Try as he might, Gideon was a refracted and they were all creatures without hearts.

With all the rage I could muster, I threw the coin at Gideon. It bounced off his chest and fell pathetically to the ground.

"Take it back!" I yelled. "Take everything back!"

He drew near, but I refused to look anymore at him. Instead, I kept my focus on my father's corpse; it was the second time he had been ripped out of my grasp.

Create. You can create. Rayburn's blood runs through your veins. Use It, Miss Auttsley.

Mr. Pale? Was that his voice? And what did he mean? What point was there in creating something when all you had to draw with was ash? Something pricked my side. Looking down, I saw a purple glow emanating from my pocket.

Reaching into it, I pulled out my pen. Was this what Mr. Pale had meant? Am I to use this to save my dad? How? All I knew how to do was write.

Write.

Immediately, I ripped off the pen cap and took to writing, making cursive strokes of purple magic in the air.

Peneloper Auttsley had found herself in quite the pickle. She needed her father's advice to make everything a bit clearer. So at her heart's beckon, her father fooled death and made the journey back to the living. The hole in his stomach mended, his heart began to beat. With eyes full of love and a little bit of pride, he looked upon his eldest once more. "I'm glad to be back."

I didn't know if what I was writing would work or if it just served to make me look silly. But the letters I drew stayed in front of me, pulsing against the night sky, bright then dull until they popped and littered the ground with purple stardust.

"I'm g-glad to be back," my father mumbled, turning over in the grass. "Though you could have used your magic a bit quicker. I hate being dead."

He groaned as I thrust my arms around him, disregarding the bloodied, muddied heap he'd become. He smiled and looked from me to the pen in my hand.

"That's how your magic manifested?" He nodded toward my pen. I nodded, taking the moment to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "Makes sense."

I couldn't help but laugh. "No, it doesn't. It's silly. But not as silly as a magical flask."

"Or a parasol," he added.

"What do--" Oh my goodness. Crispen's weapon was his parasol. His lacy, southern belle, parasol! How adorable.

"Where's Gideon?"

I grimaced and turned away from my dad. Gideon was still standing in the field, letting his storm ravage him. He looked despondent and confused.

"Nep--" my father started but I let him go and moved toward the boy who had captured my childhood. "It wasn't Gideon."

"Something took me over. Pushed me out of my body. I've never felt so strange before," Gideon said as I approached. His hands clasped the bird skull tightly to his chest. "I was scared, Peneloper." He turned toward me. "I've never been scared before but that had to be what it was."

I looked at the soaked mess before me. He wasn't a nightmare or a raging storm. He wasn't a Refracted. He was a trembling boy. What had made him this way? Was there something even more dangerous lurking beyond the layers? Was something even sorcerers in the know didn't know about?

I shuddered and locked that thought away. I had more pressing matters. I had to save Gideon. And I would create that salvation. Taking my pen in front of me, I started to write, waving it around like some might do with a wand. I was sure I looked ridiculous.

Gideon Darqish could have a good heart, if only he had a heart. So the coin he gave Peneloper all those years ago, became a heart only a boy like him could have. It was shaped like a clock, that made tiny ticks and tocks. It had layers upon layers. Some of which smelled bad while some were certain to make your eyes water, but a good deal of them were sweet. Just like the boy himself. Gideon Darqish would have a heart, and he would learn to wield it and overcome his nature.

Gideon followed my words as I traced them into the air. Each letter was glowing, softly illuminating his rounded features.

"Nep," he said as he turned to face me. "I don't deserve this."

I shook my head. "You were my friend once, Gideon. And I would like you to be my friend again. Friends help each other."

Before I could speak any further, my words popped out of existence and littered the ground. I fell with them, my whole body thoroughly exhausted.

"Finally succumbing to the swoon?" a voice asked. It was Crispen. I chuckled.

"I'm just tired, Mr. Heavensley, though I thought I told you I would never swoon for a man of this world."

"I'm not really of this world."

I felt Crispen's arms pick me up. His warmth was nice against my skin. I was probably blushing, but this time I didn't care.

"Am I melting? I feel like I'd be melting."

"A little," he whispered.

Who knew being a sorcerer could be so exhausting? I thought magic was supposed to make life simpler, not multiply the bizarre factor a million fold.

"Can I please not go to school tomorrow?" I asked.

"I'll ask your father, but I'm sure he'll make an exception."

Ah. That's right. How was--

"He's alive, Nep. Because of you. We're all alive because of you. Now get some sleep. You did well."

I nodded and closed my eyes tighter. The smell of decaying leaves and rainfall wafted into my senses. Definitely not the worst way to smell, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. The last things I remembered hearing were Crispen's soft laughter and what sounded like the most darling little tick-tocks I'd ever heard in my life.

-END-