They went to the hospital after that, since Ileana was still very weak, and Olen was happy to tag along. Sorin made a bit of a fuss when Lucas indicated that Olen was coming, saying that he’d already been saved and what he did now was none of their business, but Ileana just narrowed her eyes at him and asked, “So everything would’ve turned out fine if I’d never contacted you again after saving your life?”

  That shut him up.

  All five of them walked to the far end of the clearing, with Ileana being supported by Maite and Lucas, her arms draped over their shoulders. Slowly but surely, they came to a small ring of daisies set apart from the rest of the wilted field by their flourishing state. The daisies formed a perfect circle just wide enough for one person to stand in, and so Sorin carefully stepped inside.

  Lucas looked at Olen and asked, “Do you recognize what we’re doing?”

  “Of course,” Olen replied. Pointing at the ring of daisies, he explained, “That’s a teleportation Circle. If you try to teleport without standing in one, you’ll always wind up at the Circle nearest to you, but once you stand in it, you can teleport to any other Circle in the world.” Looking at the others, he continued, “Since everyone but Sorin is a human, he’s the only one who can teleport. We’ll need to stay connected to him.”

  For some reason, Olen felt a bit weird referring to himself as a human.

  Lucas nodded. “Good, you understand. Sorin’s going to teleport us to Seattle’s Circle.”

  “Seattle? Is that where you guys live?” Seeing Lucas nod again, Olen added, “Where are we now, anyway?”

  “Germany,” Ileana said. “Somewhere near Stuttgart, I think. It’s, uh, a long story.”

  Olen knew by the tone of her voice that she wouldn’t be telling him that story anytime soon, and he didn’t really mind. He knew she’d saved him, and that was enough.

  Sorin held out his hands, and Maite grabbed his left hand. Ileana moved so that she was holding both Maite’s and Lucas’s hands, and then Lucas took Olen’s hand. With his remaining free hand, Olen took Sorin’s right hand, completing the circle.

  “Brace yourself,” Lucas warned Olen. “Teleportation can be rough on humans, since we’re not innately magical.”

  The teleportation itself was quick; there was a loud crack, the world blurred and shifted, and then they were standing in what looked like some sort of unfinished abandoned building, concrete all around. Seattle’s Circle wasn’t nearly as pretty as the one near Stuttgart had been — it was simply a ring drawn in chalk.

  Immediately after the world was stable, everyone let go of each other’s hands. Lucas stumbled back a few steps, wincing, while Maite held her stomach and groaned. Ileana was affected the most, crumpling to her hands and knees and dry heaving. Sorin ran to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder and asking her if she was okay in the kindest tone Olen had ever heard from him.

  “I’m fine,” Ileana squeaked out, pushing herself into a seated position. “I just need a moment.”

  Olen frowned. Whatever she did to save me must’ve taken a lot out of her. I can tell she’ll be okay, but…

  While Maite joined Sorin in helping Ileana, Lucas awkwardly leaned against a nearby wall, looking away. His eyes fell on Olen. “How are you feeling? I know teleporting for the first time can be —”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Olen interrupted. “I don’t feel any different.”

  Lucas’s brows furrowed, and Olen knew he’d said the wrong thing. “No nausea? No headache? Aren’t you at least dizzy?”

  Olen shook his head. “No. Is that bad?”

  “It’s not bad, it’s just weird. Humans aren’t really meant to teleport, especially not long distances, and this was your first time, too. The first time I tried to teleport, I blacked out and woke up in Baltimore. Sorin thought it was hilarious — brought it up daily at first, and then at least twice a week for the next few months.”

  “So you and Sorin have known each other for a while, then? Balauri don’t usually associate with humans much, but you were enhanced before all this, right?” Seeing Lucas giving him an unreadable look, Olen explained, “Back in Germany, not long after she woke up, Ileana said something about you having powers. Humans are never innately magical, so I figured you must’ve been enhanced.” Olen leaned in a little, looking at Lucas more closely. “Or did you have some kind of artifact to empower you?”

  Lucas stepped back, creating just a little more distance between him and Olen. “You really shouldn’t listen in on others’ conversations.”

  Olen rolled his eyes. “You call that eavesdropping? If you people didn’t want me to hear what you were saying, maybe you should’ve waited until I wasn’t standing four or five feet away.”

  Really, he hadn’t heard everything they’d said; with how quiet they’d been, he’d only made out a little more than half of the conversation. He wasn’t about to admit that to Lucas, though. It would dilute the point he was trying to make.

  Lucas just stared off into the distance for a long moment, then let out a sigh. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. As for your questions…” He trailed off, looking deep in thought, then nodded to himself and began again. “Yes, Sorin and I have known each other for about ten years at this point. We were very young when we met — I was nine, and he was only five. He was hostile to me from the beginning, and once I was enhanced, and started to take a more active role in the group, we developed a pretty heated rivalry. We would spar all the time, and despite the age difference, he could trounce me easily — at first. As the years went by, I started improving faster than him, to the point where we couldn’t really be called rivals anymore, since I clearly outclassed him. Sorin hated me for that, and for taking the attention he thought was rightfully his.”

  “Attention from who?” Olen asked. “Ileana?”

  Lucas shook his head. Lowering his voice, he explained, “When I mentioned a group, I didn’t mean this one. I’m not really sure how much I should tell you; I’ll have to work that out with Ileana and the others later. We don’t want to put your new life in jeopardy.”

  Olen didn’t reply, and Lucas seemed more than happy to let the silence last until Ileana had recovered enough to walk.

  In Germany, Olen had seen the sun rise, but Seattle was many hours behind, and therefore was still cloaked in darkness. It was a bit odd, Olen thought, to have his vision limited so greatly by such a trivial thing as what time of day it was, but this was normal for humans, right? Still, even with the meager vision he had, he could see that something had gone wrong.

  Seattle looked like it had just been through a hurricane — minus the rain. Perhaps a comparison to a tornado or earthquake wrecking the city would be more apt? Really, though, the visuals spoke for themselves.

  Deep cracks lined seemingly every wall of every building. Broken glass littered the street. There was so much debris, so much damage, and yet everything was so quiet. The few people Olen and the others passed walked slowly, trance-like, not seeming to notice them. Their eyes were bleary and they winced a little at the few streetlights that still worked.

  “They’ll wake fully before long,” Ileana explained, “and then everything will go back to normal. Most people will brush the destruction off as caused by an earthquake or something, and after it’s fixed, they’ll act like it never happened. Their minds will sort of…how should I put this? I suppose their minds and memories will just pass it by without really seeing it.”

  Maite nodded. “It’s like when you’re looking for a certain aisle in a grocery store, but you walk right by it without noticing.”

  “So this has happened before, then?” Olen asked, looking around curiously.

  “Yes, many times,” Ileana said softly. “Not always in the same place, or in the exact same way, but this has been going on for over a thousand years — since the middle of the ninth century, if I remember correctly. It’s a cycle; the humans are put to sleep, and their nightmares cover the world, but then the girl chosen as Stardust drives the nightmares back so a new day may dawn.”

  Ileana’s words had become more and more stilted as her explanation progressed, as if she was reciting a speech she’d memorized. She had a rather distant look in her eyes, and so Olen elected not to mention that it was still night.

  “Usually, this puts things back to normal for around thirty to fifty years,” Ileana continued, “but it can be less or more, depending on the strength of Stardust’s final attack. The Stardust before me, my bunic? — my grandmother, I mean — put so much power into that last blow that the world was saved for seventy-one years. That was in 1950. Of course, you’d be lucky to see any record of anything strange happening that day. Perhaps there would’ve been a bit more awareness of the cycle back in the Middle Ages, before people stopped believing in things like magic, but…”

  “Humans don’t like the idea that there’s more to the world than all the boxes and structures they put everything in, and the rules and conventions they made up. They’ll call you a bleeding heart if you even start to imply that the world and everything in it doesn’t exist solely for the benefit of humans. Of course they don’t believe in magic. It’s something they can’t control or define, something that goes against their precious status quo,” Lucas said derisively. His voice was still quiet and flat, almost monotone, but Olen could hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Same with Innates. Their existence is inconvenient for human society, so humans would rather write them off as legends and folklore, nothing more. Otherwise, humans might have to rethink the way they live, the way they think of the world, and that’s much too hard for most of them.”

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  An awkward silence followed. Ileana looked over her shoulder at Lucas, giving him a stare that probably would’ve been meaningful if Olen knew more about their history.

  “I’m not gonna hurt anyone anymore,” Lucas muttered. “You know that. But I think I still have the right to complain.”

  Now that was odd. Lucas was clearly a human — even if his appearance and relation to Ileana hadn’t been dead giveaways, he also used the term Innates, an umbrella term for all innately magical species that the actual species themselves rarely ever used. So why did he speak about his own kind with such vitriol? Humans were social creatures, pack animals, always dependent on each other, so why was Lucas acting like he wanted nothing to do with human society?

  Olen shook his head a bit, staring at the ground. He needed to rephrase his thoughts — after all, he was a human as well now, right? Or had he always been one? No, definitely not. He couldn’t remember exactly what he’d been before Ileana had saved him, but he was quite sure that he’d been something more than human. Then again, he also had the feeling that he hadn’t been an Innate, so…

  Well, it didn’t really matter. He’d been saved, and now he was fine.

  As the group got closer to the hospital, Ileana and her companions discussed what they’d tell the staff. The final story they came up with was that Ileana, Maite, and Lucas had been caught out in the “storm” and, while looking for shelter, they’d found Olen lying unconscious on the road.

  “When they ask,” Ileana instructed Olen, “tell them that you don’t remember anything at all. Act like I’m just the person who first spotted you, nothing more. And as for your name, say that it’s just something we picked to call you until you remembered your real name, okay?”

  “But Olen is my real name,” Olen said.

  “It is, and I’m glad you understand that,” Ileana said, “but the hospital people won’t get it. They’ll be trying to contact your parents — I know you don’t have parents, but they won’t understand — but they won’t find them, and eventually, they’ll give up. When it becomes apparent that you might never remember your so-called real name, they’ll start thinking of you as Olen. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Ileana paused for a moment, then continued. “Sorin will probably just wait outside, but if he does come in, pretend he’s a human. Most humans don’t…”

  “Want to accept the existence of things they can’t control,” Olen finished. “Got it.”

  Ileana let out a small sigh, shooting Lucas another look that Olen couldn’t read, but said nothing.

  The group carried on in silence; not an awkward silence where no one knew what to say, but a heavy silence weighed down by all the things that could be said, but weren’t. Olen was sure that the others would have a nice long conversation about everything that had happened once he was out of earshot.

  There were clearly a lot of things that Ileana didn’t want Olen to know, and frankly, Olen didn’t really care, but he still wondered what would happen if he brought one of those sensitive topics up. If he casually dropped, say, Lucas’s enhancement into an innocent question, acting like he didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret, how would the others react? Would Ileana tense up? Would Maite glance around uncomfortably as she not-so-subtly tried to change the subject? Would Sorin angrily demand where Olen had heard about that?

  And if Olen told Sorin that Lucas had told him, would that provoke Sorin even further? Or would there just be more significant shared glances?

  In the end, Olen decided to remain silent. Any entertainment value that his predictions coming true might have would be canceled out if Ileana looked even the slightest bit disappointed in him. Somehow, he had the feeling that Ileana knew him inside and out. She of all people would know that he was anything but innocent, that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  And for some reason, he wanted her approval — or did he just not want to see obvious disapproval from her? He wasn’t sure. It was a strange feeling, like something he wasn’t accustomed to.

  Did he feel this way because she’d saved him? Come to think of it, he was sort of…indebted to her, right? But it wasn’t like he had any way of repaying her. Even if he had the riches of a great emperor, and could give her gold, or land, or a position of power, or even all three, it still wouldn’t be enough. What was the value of a life? It probably couldn’t be measured in material wealth. Magic, on the other hand…

  But Olen was human, and therefore had no magic of his own. It still felt weird to describe himself like that, but it was a true fact.

  Well, he could think about all that later. The hospital was just coming into sight now. It was almost time to put their little cover story into place and hope that it was believed.

  And then…

  Olen wasn’t entirely sure what came next, but he’d find out soon.

  Just as the group was coming within a block of the hospital, Olen saw Ileana lean over and quickly whisper something to Sorin, then jerk back like she hadn’t wanted anyone to see. Or, more likely, like she hadn’t wanted Olen in particular to see. Or hear.

  Ileana’s worries were unfounded, though; Olen had only heard the last bit. Something about moving it to a back alley where someone would find it before long. Olen had no idea what it was, and judging by the little tremble in Ileana’s shoulders as she spoke, Olen figured he probably shouldn’t ask. Sorin gave Ileana a solemn nod, then split off from the group to walk down a side road, keeping his head down.

  “Sorin’s going to wait around here while we’re getting things sorted out,” Maite told Olen, as if the loud crack of teleportation hadn’t just rung out the moment Sorin was out of sight. Did these people think he was stupid? It was starting to get on his nerves.

  Olen stared at Maite, silently making eye contact for almost a minute until he was sure she was very uncomfortable, before finally saying, “Sure, whatever you’d like to tell me.”

  Before Maite could respond, Ileana looked over her shoulder at Olen with an expression of pure exhaustion. “Can we not do this right now? Please?”

  There was a strange sensation building in Olen’s mind, pooling in the bottom of his gut. It felt like regret mixed with something he couldn’t place. Why was Ileana affecting him so much? Surely this wasn’t how it usually felt to be in debt to someone…

  He had to figure out how to get even with her, and fast. This was getting annoying.

  In the end, Olen couldn’t think of a way to repay his debt — though not from lack of trying. He thought about it as they entered the emergency room and Ileana immediately collapsed into a chair while Lucas went to speak with the receptionist. He continued to think about it as he was checked for injuries and asked question after question about what had happened. An eye for an eye, a life for a life…right? No, that wouldn’t work. That was for murders, a justification for giving murderers the death penalty. Ileana, who had done the opposite and given him a second life, deserved…

  Hmm. Well, if she had any remaining enemies, he could kill one of them. Would that work? It could maybe count as saving her. Nah, not unless her life was directly in danger. Besides, how would he do it? With no magic, he was about as strong as the average eight-year-old human.

  And on that note, being an eight-year-old human seemed to make the hospital staff incapable of believing a word he said. He didn’t remember a thing; how many times was he going to have to repeat that simple fact?

  No, he didn’t remember his old name. No, he didn’t remember how he wound up in the so-called storm. No, he didn’t remember any family of any kind. No, he didn’t remember his last name — had no one paid any attention to the questions he’d just answered? Were these nurses incapable of putting two and two together?

  They didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t injured, either. No matter how many times he insisted his head was fine, they still kept doing scans, kept asking him if anything hurt or felt off, kept having him do stupid exercises to prove that he hadn’t had a stroke or something — give us a smile, raise both arms, repeat after me, walk across the room, stand on one foot, now the other…that sort of thing. They tested his vision and hearing, took his blood pressure, weighed him; all the results were just about perfect.

  When the doctors and nurses finally got it through their heads that Olen had no physical issues, they came to the conclusion that his problem must be purely psychological, some sort of odd trauma response. Unfortunately, as his alternating sessions with two child psychologists showed, that meant that they thought he didn’t really have amnesia, but instead just didn’t want to talk or think about his past; in other words, they thought he was faking it, which inevitably led to more of the same stupid questions he didn’t remember the answers to.

  None of these adults seemed to think, “I don’t know,” was a satisfactory answer, and so they kept pressing and pressing, as if that would somehow lead to a different response. Out of boredom and frustration, Olen eventually started asking repetitive questions of his own, questions he knew the staff wouldn’t answer; in other words, questions about Ileana.

  They couldn’t tell him much, due to medical privacy policies and such, so the most information Olen could really glean was that Ileana was somewhere in the hospital, still recovering, though what the doctors thought she was recovering from, they weren’t allowed to tell.

  On a few occasions, Olen was given paper and crayons and asked to draw anything he remembered, anything he couldn’t put into words. Olen always replied that there was nothing he couldn’t put into words because there was nothing there to begin with, and then he colored the whole sheet black.

  Even if he had anything to draw, it wasn’t like he could actually draw a clear picture. For some reason, he was terrible at using crayons, pens, pencils — any type of writing utensil, really. They felt strange and unfamiliar in his hand, and he never really knew how to hold them right when he was pressing them to paper. His handwriting was very wobbly and took up way too much space: even writing just his name took up at least three lines on regular lined paper, and he couldn’t figure out how to make his writing smaller. He knew that in this way, he was way behind other kids his age, and he wouldn’t stand for it; he had to get better quickly.

  The nurses provided him with blank paper when he asked for it, so he spent a lot of his free time practicing writing. Over and over, he wrote interesting words, common phrases, random things that popped into his mind, and most of all, his name: Olen Doe. Doe, apparently, was a placeholder used when someone wished to remain anonymous or otherwise couldn’t be identified; females were called Jane Doe, while males were called John Doe. Since Olen had already been given a first name, he only needed a placeholder last name for the hospital’s files and documentation.

  Of course, he knew that “Olen Doe” wouldn’t just be a temporary placeholder, but his permanent name, and he was fine with that. Doe wasn’t a bad last name, all things considered. Deer were pretty nice, especially water deer, the kind with tusks instead of antlers. Really, he’d much prefer to be surrounded by water deer than by medical practitioners right now; the deer wouldn’t be able to ask him annoying questions, and they’d probably just leave him alone.

  Olen found the most peace in his dreams.

  Every time he went to sleep, he invariably found himself sitting on the roots of a huge mangrove tree, looking up at its spreading branches. Around the mangrove was an endless lake of black water, completely still and silent, dotted with countless black lotus flowers resting on wide black leaves. Every blossom was shut tight, but something faintly glowed within each one, providing a small measure of light to the area. Olen could wander around this space as much as he liked, in whatever manner he so chose; this was his dream, after all, so he could do as he pleased. If he wanted to float, a mere thought would raise him several feet off the ground. Usually, though, he walked. The water could bear his weight just fine, so he walked from lotus to lotus, trying to catch a glimpse of the glowing things that lay within.

  However, he soon found that although he could move however he wanted to, he couldn’t affect the area he was in in any way. He couldn’t make the lotuses open, even if he wrapped his fingers around the petals and pried with all his imagined strength; though they were soft, like petals should be, they held as firmly as stone. He couldn’t dive beneath the water’s surface, or break even the thinnest of the mangrove’s branches, or tear off its leaves or bark.

  Still, he wasn’t bored at all. This silent, peaceful place filled his mind with a sort of tranquility. He could stay there for hours and hours and still feel completely content, just laying on his back on the perfectly still water with his hands behind his head, looking up at the pitch-black starless night sky.

  On the third night, however, he was rudely interrupted.