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off the lights, the darkness seemed absolute until her eyes adjusted, then she could see a faint glow of light through the door curtain. Burke and Loch took the top bunks, she and Addie had the bottom ones.
    Spirit was so tired she ached, and her head was still throbbing, but she didn’t think she could possibly sleep.
    “Goodnight, John Boy,” Loch said suddenly.
    “I can’t believe you ever watched that show,” Addie said.
    “Hey, when you’ve spent as many days in random hotel rooms as I have, you become a connoisseur of stupid Seventies television,” Loch answered.
    “Yeah, whatever,” Burke said. “Shut up and go to sleep.”
    And in the silence that followed, somehow Spirit did.
    *   *   *
    The wind was cold, whipping her hair and pulling her cloak away from her shoulders. She could smell the coming winter on the air.
    I’m dreaming, Spirit thought. She struggled to open her eyes—not to wake up, but to take control of her dream. Lucid dreaming was one of the many things they taught at Oakhurst. It interlocked with many of the Schools and Gifts, but you could do it even if you didn’t have magic.
    Why didn’t I ever try this before? she thought. I’ve had this dream before. I know I have.
    In the way of dreams, she knew what was around her—open land, grass and morning sunlight—but she couldn’t see it. She struggled to open her eyes and see what was around her, but the only thing that changed was what she could hear. Over the rustling of the wind, she heard a woman’s voice shouting for her to hurry, to awake, the battle was joined and it was almost too late.…
    With a last effort, Spirit forced her dream-self to open its eyes. She caught a glimpse of a horse—impossibly large and impossibly white—with a rider, a woman, her face contorted with urgency. She was the one whose cries Spirit had heard, and Spirit opened her mouth to answer, but when she moved, the dream twisted and jumbled and vanished. Instead of cold wind in her hair, she felt the lumpy hardness of the mattress at her back, and the air was still and metal-smelling.
    She was awake.
    She tried to hold onto the fragments of the dream—to make sense of them—but they were already becoming vague and meaningless. A woman on a horse, telling her to hurry. I’ve dreamed about her a lot since the February Dance, Spirit thought, frowning. Is she a Reincarnate? Is she me? Who is she? I wish they all came with labels.…
    The idea that she was a Reincarnate was somehow even more disturbing than knowing she’d gotten her magic—not that she had any idea of what it was. Maybe Vivian or Merlin could help.…
    The last of the dream faded. She realized the lights were on, and she could smell breakfast—somebody was frying bacon and toasting bread. The smell reminded Spirit that she hadn’t eaten in an awfully long time. She opened her eyes, swung her feet over the side of the bunk, and sat up cautiously.
    Addie was still in bed asleep, her black hair spilling across her face as she clutched her pillow. The bunk above—where Loch had slept—was empty. When Spirit got to her feet, she saw Burke’s bunk was empty, too. They were probably where the food was. She sorted quickly through the clothes they’d left in such a mess last night, and found a pair of jeans that looked like they’d fit, and the disco-is-dead pink sweater Addie had rejected last night: it had a wide V neck, and a bunch of glittery silver bits woven into it, but at least it wasn’t in the Oakhurst colors, and it was warm. There were even a pair of canvas slip-ons she could wear—years of shopping in secondhand stores had made her a good judge of sizes. And Burke had found socks last night for both of them. She bundled the garments up with a sigh before sorting through the underwear. None of it was really in her size, and there weren’t any bras at all. She was stuck with the one from her prom outfit, and it was strapless.
    As she went down the hall to the