the stands, dozens of players on the field. Didn't anyone else see him? How could the dream face be here? Was she dreaming now?
A sickening feeling of frigid dread flooded through her again. Please, she wished, let it be my wild mind, let it be, like Mom says, my overactive imagination.
"Snap out of it, Cam! Now!" Beth Fish was in her ear, leading a shrill chorus of their teammates. "What are you waiting for? Do it! Kick!"
Cam tried to focus. She forced her attention back to the field. The ball was in position. Summoning all her strength, she willed her foot to fly out and send the ball hurtling toward the goal.
It never happened.
Frozen in place, Camryn Barnes, the player formerly known as Marble Bay's ace forward, was wide awake—and caught in the icy grip of a very real nightmare.
Chapter 4 — Alexandra
Artemis, arise! She needs you. Go with her.
As if carved of bone, a chalk-white face, all glaring planes and shadowy sockets, grinned at her.
Alex's eyes popped open. Sunlight blasted through the rust-stained, broken blinds of her cramped room. It stung her pale gray eyes. Dazed, she squinted against the glare.
She was drenched in sweat. Her choppy, blue-streaked hair, dyed to startle and offend, was soaked. Her heart thudded, pumping fiercely against the torn, now-soggy T-shirt she'd worn to bed.
The sheet beneath her was tangled. It gripped her ankle.
Where was she? Who needed her? Who was she supposed to go with?
Then she heard the strangled gasps, the wheezing, and she realized who needed her. She smelled coffee brewing and the bitter fumes of her mother's first cigarette of the day. And she knew she was home.
Home for Alexandra Nicole Fielding was the rented trailer she shared with her mom twenty-five miles from what passed for civilization in Crow Creek, Montana—the nearest McDonald's.
Hardy Beeson, the Fielding's' rancid landlord, called the leaky rust bucket a "modular dwelling." But the kids at Alex's school knew it for what it was.
"Trailer trash," Ina Barrow had called Alex and her friends. But she'd only said it once—in the gym, about nine months ago, right after Alex turned fourteen.
She never would say it again.
Not after the basketball Ina had been holding leaped suddenly, sprang up out of Ina's own two hands, bloodying her nose, knocking Ina Barrow out cold.
That was when they'd started whispering that there was something weird about Alex, something witchy.
"Mom! Are you smoking?" Alex called. Then, sitting up abruptly, she smashed her head against the shelf above her narrow, built-in bunk.
Alex threw her hands over her head and ducked.
Books and magazines rained down, along with a couple of CDs. Last month's issue of People —the one with Marleigh Cooper on the cover—tumbled into her lap.
Marleigh Cooper. White-blond hair. Blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Skin flawlessly white over gently jutting cheekbones.
There was something about the young singer... something about the whiteness of her face, her white teeth, pale skin... delicate bones.
Alex remembered the dream face, the one she'd dreamed before, the skinny old man's face. His lively eyes buried in deep dark sockets, his voice a whispery rasp.
No way, she thought. The dream face was frail, ancient, scary looking. How could anything about Marleigh Cooper, who was only a few years older than Alex and famously beautiful, who seemed so nice, such a genuinely good person, remind her of that haunted grin?
Then the last book fell.
Luckily, it was a paperback. It bounced off Alex's head, tumbled over her protectively raised arms, and landed in her lap, eclipsing Marleigh's photogenic grin.
"Oh, nuts," her mom called, a chuckle in her raspy voice. "Did you bet beaned by the shelf again? Are you okay?"
In a heap of books and bedclothes, Alex laughed. "I asked you first," she hollered, then
A sickening feeling of frigid dread flooded through her again. Please, she wished, let it be my wild mind, let it be, like Mom says, my overactive imagination.
"Snap out of it, Cam! Now!" Beth Fish was in her ear, leading a shrill chorus of their teammates. "What are you waiting for? Do it! Kick!"
Cam tried to focus. She forced her attention back to the field. The ball was in position. Summoning all her strength, she willed her foot to fly out and send the ball hurtling toward the goal.
It never happened.
Frozen in place, Camryn Barnes, the player formerly known as Marble Bay's ace forward, was wide awake—and caught in the icy grip of a very real nightmare.
Chapter 4 — Alexandra
Artemis, arise! She needs you. Go with her.
As if carved of bone, a chalk-white face, all glaring planes and shadowy sockets, grinned at her.
Alex's eyes popped open. Sunlight blasted through the rust-stained, broken blinds of her cramped room. It stung her pale gray eyes. Dazed, she squinted against the glare.
She was drenched in sweat. Her choppy, blue-streaked hair, dyed to startle and offend, was soaked. Her heart thudded, pumping fiercely against the torn, now-soggy T-shirt she'd worn to bed.
The sheet beneath her was tangled. It gripped her ankle.
Where was she? Who needed her? Who was she supposed to go with?
Then she heard the strangled gasps, the wheezing, and she realized who needed her. She smelled coffee brewing and the bitter fumes of her mother's first cigarette of the day. And she knew she was home.
Home for Alexandra Nicole Fielding was the rented trailer she shared with her mom twenty-five miles from what passed for civilization in Crow Creek, Montana—the nearest McDonald's.
Hardy Beeson, the Fielding's' rancid landlord, called the leaky rust bucket a "modular dwelling." But the kids at Alex's school knew it for what it was.
"Trailer trash," Ina Barrow had called Alex and her friends. But she'd only said it once—in the gym, about nine months ago, right after Alex turned fourteen.
She never would say it again.
Not after the basketball Ina had been holding leaped suddenly, sprang up out of Ina's own two hands, bloodying her nose, knocking Ina Barrow out cold.
That was when they'd started whispering that there was something weird about Alex, something witchy.
"Mom! Are you smoking?" Alex called. Then, sitting up abruptly, she smashed her head against the shelf above her narrow, built-in bunk.
Alex threw her hands over her head and ducked.
Books and magazines rained down, along with a couple of CDs. Last month's issue of People —the one with Marleigh Cooper on the cover—tumbled into her lap.
Marleigh Cooper. White-blond hair. Blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Skin flawlessly white over gently jutting cheekbones.
There was something about the young singer... something about the whiteness of her face, her white teeth, pale skin... delicate bones.
Alex remembered the dream face, the one she'd dreamed before, the skinny old man's face. His lively eyes buried in deep dark sockets, his voice a whispery rasp.
No way, she thought. The dream face was frail, ancient, scary looking. How could anything about Marleigh Cooper, who was only a few years older than Alex and famously beautiful, who seemed so nice, such a genuinely good person, remind her of that haunted grin?
Then the last book fell.
Luckily, it was a paperback. It bounced off Alex's head, tumbled over her protectively raised arms, and landed in her lap, eclipsing Marleigh's photogenic grin.
"Oh, nuts," her mom called, a chuckle in her raspy voice. "Did you bet beaned by the shelf again? Are you okay?"
In a heap of books and bedclothes, Alex laughed. "I asked you first," she hollered, then
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