Cold air settled on Martha's skin like the first frost on flower petals clinging to life. The winter came early, and so did their death. It felt to Martha like she was the flower caught unprepared, frozen, and lifeless in her most vulnerable state. The sky had gone from late afternoon to the haunting dim light of dusk. She was kneeling as before, but her hands hovered around the temples of a head that was no longer there. Martha's fingers fluttered to the ground and were swallowed by the fog. Martha felt the grass tickle her palms, but it was somehow wrong. All was silent, dead. There was no wind, no creatures chirping or rustling in the leaves. The scent of sulfur burned her nostrils. The strangers who'd surrounded her were nowhere to be found, only rows upon rows of quiet graves. 

Witches were attuned to the world around them. One with the unceasing thrum that pulsed beneath their feet and through each blade of grass. It was gone now, silenced and locked away. Without it, Martha felt like her life force had been severed. She was only a fraction of the woman she was. Martha's magic would be of little help in this realm if she had no connection to the power of Diana. Martha lifted her chin to search for the moon, for some reassurance that she wasn't alone. If there was a moon, she couldn't find it. Clenching her jaw, Martha pushed herself up to stand.

She needed to be quick, find Max, figure out how to wake her up, and go home. Psychic spells were not something to trifle with. The mind was a fragile thing, and by leaving her physical body and opening herself up to another mind she left her own exposed. A bundle of nerves clenched in Martha's chest. A salt circle would be feeble protection if this creature decided she was a better target than Max.

"Lucas! Lucas, help!" Martha's head snapped to the right. "Please, help! Dustin!" Three rows away, a girl wailed into the still night. Her voice echoed off cold headstones and pierced the silent night like a dagger through satin.

"Max!" Martha recognized her instantly. She wore the same blue sweatshirt and disheveled auburn hair tied back in a low ponytail. Martha fought back the urge to run to Max by baring her palms in a show of innocence. Max took half a step back, her eyes scanning Martha's body language for any sign of threats.

"Who are you?" Max called to her. Martha began to close the distance, passing the first row of the dead with agonizingly careful footfalls. At any sudden move, Max would bolt, and Martha's chance would be stamped to dust.

"My name is Martha Labelle. I think I can help you get out of here, but I need you to listen to me." They were separated by a single headstone now, and when Martha's next step caused Max to mirror it in the opposite direction, she stopped advancing. Max stared at the woman before her with wide eyes. Martha wished she could tell what color they were in the dark.

"You're not real." It was hardly more than a whisper. In the silence, it felt much louder. Martha shook her head.

"Yes, I am. But this place," Martha swept her right arm out to encompass their surroundings. "This isn't. We are in your head, but we aren't alone here." Max's brows furrowed, the muscles of her freckled, fair skin taught. Martha knew Max didn't trust her. Why would she? Martha wouldn't in Max's position. For a second, she thought about grabbing Max and dragging her away. But where? If Martha was honest with herself, she didn't know what she planned to do once she gained Max's trust. Was it as simple as waking up a dreamer? Or was Max trapped by something more than her subconscious? How far did this monster's power reach?

"You're not real. You're just another trick." Despite her denial, there was the slightest edge of curiosity. Martha took another step, ignoring Max's flinch.

"Max, you've gotta trust me on this. Your body is in a graveyard surrounded by your friends, and they need you to fight this. It's your mind. Whatever is keeping you here, they only have so much power."

"I don't know you. How am I supposed to trust anything you say?" Max's nostrils flared. Martha was teetering on the edge of a cliff, where the slightest breeze could send her hurting over the side. If she made the wrong move, Max would be lost. Martha pleaded silently with her to listen, to take her hand. Max couldn't rely on her friend's cries alone. At that moment, this was all she had. Martha reached out to touch her.

"We don't have time to go over everything, but if you come with me--" Martha knew she'd made a terrible error as her fingers brushed Max's arm. Max pulled from her grip, stumbling back in terror. Martha's stomach dropped, and she felt nausea surge as she saw the look in Max's eyes. It was that of a startled animal. She didn't understand that Martha was there to help. She didn't know that without it, she would die.

"Get away from me!" Max spat, gripping her arm as if the touch burned like a hot poker.

"Max, I know this is hard to understand." Martha's muscles coiled tight. She felt Max slipping through her fingers like water. "I'm here to help you--"

"Leave me alone!" Max stumbled away, holding out a hand to warn Martha back. The window of opportunity to convince Max was slammed down hard between them. "Lucas, help! Help me!"

"Shit." Max turned and bolted in the opposite direction, towards a wall of crimson fog in the distance. "Max! Stop!" Martha yelled after her, but the moment she took a step to follow, her blood drained to her feet. Something trickled down her spine, an extra sense that she was not alone. Against her better judgment, she turned.

Martha stared into the eyes of the very creature she'd been hunting. They were undeniably human, the color of glacial water, disarmingly sharp. His body looked like the skin had been peeled back, leaving a raw mass of coiled muscle and bone. Where his nose would've been, was a carved-out divot, the cartilage either removed or worn away by decay, exposing the thin strip of bone within. Martha's body went rigid. She wanted to back away, to put any space between her and this demon incarnate. But for all her mind screamed, her limbs refused to budge. The monster studied her for a moment, his head tilting as if he'd found something intriguing about her. She didn't want to know what it was or why he stood there pinning her with his gaze.

"You do not belong here." His voice was a rumble of an impending storm, its vibration shaking her to the core. His energy was suffocating, invading her pores and drenching her in a cold sweat. It was the same energy she'd felt at each site when he'd mercilessly murdered children for his sick enjoyment. Martha swallowed hard despite the terror coursing through her veins. She lifted her chin in defiance.

"Neither do you." Martha's voice didn't tremble, even when every other part of her did. The monster didn't react initially, but then what Martha could only describe as a smirk lifted the exposed muscle of his lips.

A hideous hand shot out and clamped around Martha's throat like a noose. Then she was shoved back toward the foggy ground at an impossible speed. She fell like Alice down the rabbit hole -- down, down, down. Her body flung like a ragdoll. Abigail screamed as Martha slammed into the gravestone with a sickening thud. Her body crumpled to the side, her head hitting the grass hard. Sunlight pierced Martha's eyes like needles in a pin cushion. White hot pain coursed through her skull as she struggled to draw air to her lungs. Instinctively her hands flew to her head as she choked and coughed violently.

"Martha, holy shit!" Abigail loomed over her, a blur of black, beige, and purple.

"What just happened?" Martha couldn't place the voice, couldn't place anything. Not where she was, not what was happening, or who the panicked man was peeking over Abigail's shoulder. Martha was faintly aware of a jumble of cries somewhere close. But then she felt the buzz of life all around her. There was once again sunlight and a cool breeze upon her skin. She was in her reality, back and present within her body.

"I don't know!" Abigail threw her hands up and cried out in frustration. "Martha!" Martha pressed her fingers into the earth, calling on its power to anchor her. She sputtered and choked as she struggled to breathe evenly. Her vision sliced the scene in two, movement exacerbating the injury to her head and rocking her like a boat on choppy seas. Abigail placed a hand on Martha's back and pulled a clump of curls from her face. It was then that the situation dawned on Martha. The blurred shapes sharpened into a scene of absolute horror. The girl, Max, sat in the same state as before, her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

Martha had trouble identifying the concoction of emotion that raged within her chest. Sorrow, defeat, and anger. She wasn't enraged by Max's refusal but by her own failure. Martha failed to help her, and now Max was going to die a gruesome death. Martha loathed herself more than she ever had. A rumbling forceful cry of pure agony and frustration ripped through her throat and out into the crisp air. The cold kiss of furious tears trailed down Martha's cheeks.

"What did you do?" Steve's accusatory voice drew Martha's attention. Despite his tone and blatant suspicion, his expression held a flicker of hope. She felt he wanted her to give him something to cling to, to nurse into a possibility. Martha wished she could. Wincing, she shook her head. Her face softened as she saw the light fade from Steve's chestnut eyes.

"She wouldn't listen. She doesn't know me." Martha croaked out, her eyes narrowing. She was so sorry, so unbelievably regretful, and agonized by her failure. It was a familiar feeling she'd fought tooth and nail to avoid since the night her mother died. Martha wasn't strong enough to save Max or anyone. Steve ran a hand through his hair and looked to the sky as if to ask the heavens for interference. But Martha knew the heavens had never done anything to help them before, and they weren't about to start. The younger boy looked between them, panicked. Then he gripped Max by the shoulders and shouted into her face with renewed vigor.

"Max, you gotta get out of there! Can you hear--"

"Guys!" Martha flinched as a much louder scream joined their group. There was a clatter of plastic as the newcomer dumped a collection of cassette tapes unceremoniously to the ground before them. The boy was the same age as the other children with tan skin and chin-length brown curls topped with a bright blue trucker hat that said, 'Thinking Cap', across the front in block letters. He only spared Martha and Abigail a brief and startling look before he dropped to his knees and began sifting through the tapes.

"What is this?"

"Her song! Lucas, what's her favorite song?" Curly hair, who Martha now realized must be Dustin, practically spat the question like a mouthful of cinnamon. Lucas shook his head in bewilderment while Steve furrowed his brows in question. Abigail helped her sit up. Martha clutched her head which now roared with a full-blown debilitating headache.

"Why?" Lucas asked.

"Robin said if she listens-- it's too much to explain now. What's her favorite song?" Curly hair jerked his hands towards the pile. "Which is it?" After half a second, all three dove into the pile, flipping and checking every title while Lucas frantically deliberated between them.

"You alright?" Abigail scanned Martha swiftly from head to toe, finding no visible injury beyond the grass stains on the seat of her jeans.

"We need to help." Martha tried, in vain, to stand, only to collapse before she'd even straightened. Abigail glanced helplessly towards the children and the girl, who would soon be another body in a growing count.

"How?" Abigail asked, her voice meeker than Martha had ever heard it. Her best friend was never one to be so broken, so helpless, and yet, Martha felt the same unshakable sinking feeling. She loathed it, loathed being so useless when innocents were suffering. Martha swallowed hard as the steaming fury burned back in her chest. The monster she'd seen in Max's mind, she would be the one to kill him. He was responsible for all of this, for Max, for Chrissy, for Fred, for Silvia Labelle, for every single witch they'd lost along the way. Martha would protect her coven just like those before her. She refused to fail again.

"It's right here! It's right here. I got it!" Brandishing the chosen tape, Lucas clumsily inserted it into the Walkman while Steve secured the headphones on Max's head. With a fateful click, the music started, and everyone fell into eerie silence. Martha could hear the faint melody pour from the speakers and into Max's mind. Now they could only pray to Diana that the song would pierce the veil between the waking world and where Max was trapped.

Martha wiped a stray tear from her cheek and set her jaw. Perhaps she did fail, but if all she could do for Max was be by her side until the brutal end, she'd do it. So with the last dregs of her strength, Martha crawled toward Max and her three desperate friends as they screamed and pleaded with her to return to them. Her muscles screamed, and her head pounded like a sledgehammer, each of the boy's screams tearing deep gashes through her mind. Martha kept moving. Abigail held a hand on Martha's back, keeping her steady until she reached Max's side. Steve was the only one to look at Martha as she leaned toward Max's ear.

"Come on, Max," Martha spoke so calmly and with such resolution, that she surprised herself. She wasn't sure she still had such conviction left in her. Lifting a hand, Martha stroked Max's auburn hair back with the same tenderness that her mother once had to her. "You can do it. He's in your mind, it may not feel like it, but you have the upper hand. Kick his ass to the curb."

Max began to lift. Starting from the head, her neck tensed, veins bulging on the verge of bursting. Then her chest was dragged to the sky. As if pulled by the strings of an invisible puppet master, her legs left the ground and dangled lifelessly. Martha fell back onto her heels with a start. It was happening again, and she'd failed to stop it. Max's friends would watch as her limbs crunched and snapped, her eyes burst from her head in a shower of blood, and Max was left a shell of a girl.

"Max!" Tears streamed from Lucas's eyes, Steve prepared to snatch her from the air, but there was no telling if it would do any good. Martha and Abigail craned their necks and watched in helpless silence as a chorus of agony erupted around them, and Max floated above them. The sick and dark energy was stronger than ever. Martha wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes and cover her ears, but she stared. She felt she owed it to Max not to turn away. But just before the horrendous energy reached its peak, Max's eyes cleared, and the strings holding her aloft were snipped. Her body dropped like a stone.

"Max!" Steve lunged, arms outstretched. With a grunt, he grabbed Max before she could hit the ground, doing his best to cradle her head as the others helped to lower her to the ground. Lucas pulled her towards him until her back was pressed to his chest. Max's eyes pooled with tears, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Abigail hurried over to them, her hands ready to cast and heal any injuries. Martha watched it all with tears of pure, uncontainable relief. The weight of the monster's power disappeared as Max fell, his plans thwarted by the girl he made his prey. Martha raised her eyes to the sky, where the faint outline of the moon was visible between the clouds.

"Thank you," Martha whispered through a sob. Diana was with them even now. She was watching over her children.

"I'm still here." Max sputtered, chest heaving, "I'm still here."

NOTE

FINALLY AN UPDATE! I've been struggling to keep up with my books while keeping my deadlines for my original but I managed to get this done. Im gonna try to get another chapter done for halloween so expect a little treat. This chapter was action packed but next chapter we will get some actual conversation as the 2 groups catch up and meet each other officially!