MirrorWorld

This is different from the oscillium. The pendant’s metal and plastic weren’t designed to switch frequencies in response to a change in bioelectromagnetism. But that doesn’t mean it’s stuck in one frequency. Allenby said it was theoretically possible, and I proved it by somehow bringing the pendant with me. But how?

Force of will, I think. The object around my neck feels like part of me, so when I fell through the tree, whatever part of me has changed took the pendant along for the ride, letting it piggyback through the frequency shift. Just like the food in my stomach, I think. It’s not technically part of me, but it comes along for the ride. I’m no scientist, but it’s the layman’s explanation that makes the most sense. Maybe Lyons will be able to explain it? What’s important is that it is possible.

I close my eyes, will with all my heart and soul that the plastic charm will stay with me, and lean forward. For a moment, I feel nothing but the pull of the chain on my neck. The tug becomes a strangle, the chain taut, stuck inside the bull. C’mon! I think, hoping the chain won’t snap. C’mon!

A sharp sting, like a razor’s cut, or how I imagine a tight garrote must feel, slides across my throat. Am I killing myself? Am I sliding my body through the chain? These possibilities cause me no fear, but I’d prefer not to have a metal chain embedded in my neck. A sharp tingling sensation seeps out of my neck, and for a moment I can feel it reaching out, stretching along the notches of the pendant.

I pitch forward, freed from resistance. My first thought is that the chain broke, but when I open my eyes again, I’m free of the bull and the pendant hangs around my still-tingling neck. I clasp my hands around the rainbow-colored mystery, more thankful for its presence than surprised I’ve just moved a nonoscillium object between worlds. My hands travel to my neck next. There is no wound. The pain was caused by the shift. Back in the world between, closer to my original sensory self, the discomfort is once again a dull ache.

With all of my accoutrements freed from the Dread world and the bull’s body, I’m able to step away and look at my fallen foe. It’s dead, that’s for damn sure.

And I’m as naked as a hairless cat, but not quite hairless. The mud from the other world is gone, left behind when I shifted back home. Machete in hand, I scramble back to the pine tree, body protesting with every movement because of the lingering effects of shifting between worlds, not to mention getting clubbed by the bull. My clothing is plastered around the trunk where my body should have struck. I peel the articles away and quickly dress.

After slipping on my second shoe and tugging the laces tight, I sense a presence and, without thought, focus on the world around me, in multiple frequencies. The sudden surge of extrasensory input hits the inside of my forehead like a sledgehammer, but I manage the pain with the knowledge that it is temporary. Clicking screeches, which I can clearly hear, mix with the strange whispering that feels more … in my head. I plug my ears. The clicking stops. The whispering continues in my head. I turn slowly, keeping my body concealed by the pine tree and ATV.

Several small Dreads, the size and energy level of pugs, swarm around the fallen bull. They’re focused on the wounds, twitching back and forth, sniffing the body and the air. Are they scavengers? I wonder, but the things never take a bite.

I count seven of them.

A shriek interlaced with frantic clicking turns me around.

Make that eight.

The small creature inspects me, oblivious to the fact that I can see it, too. Its four eyes match the bull’s, two vertical rectangular pupils joined in the middle to form a ragged H surrounded by luminous green. Its body is small but armored, like the bull, and a lattice of glowing veins coat its hide. Is it a baby bull? Did I kill these things’ mother?

The rest of the pack tears around the tree, checking me out.

Then, one by one, they vibrate. They’re trying to frighten me, I think. But why? Do they want me to run? Am I supposed to panic and fall to the ground? Or are they hoping I’ll lose my mind and fall on my sword?

Whatever it is they’re expecting, I don’t do it, and suddenly they’re on to me. They’ve switched from casual inspectors to on-guard watchdogs, each facing me, coiled to spring. But in which direction?

While I have no fear response, I’m careful to not look the things in the eyes. That, I’ve learned, is a dead giveaway. Right now, they’re just confused, but—damn. I turn away from the bunch on the ground and face the pine, where a ninth mini-Dread clings to the bark, upside down, staring straight at me.

I try to look away, but it’s too late. Our eyes connect.

Moving slowly, I take hold of the bow, and nock one of the black arrows. Though none of my movements are aggressive, the small creatures are backing away. If they’re any kind of smart, and I think they are, they’ve put two and two together.

“That’s right,” I whisper. “I killed your big—”

The things grow rigid.

Surprised.