Author's Note:

Well, to say I've been busy lately would be the understatement of a lifetime haha. I recently picked up a third part time job (nobody's hiring full time around here, those big dummies), and I have to defend my thesis on Monday so I have to prepare for that. Luckily I had this chapter already in the works before that all hit the proverbial fan, and I've also got another Starfire one-shot and the fifth chapter of this fic drafted, so hopefully things will keep on rolling. Writing is my decompression, it relaxes me, so even when I'm stressed out I try to write at least a few lines. Slowly but steadily, am I right? ;)

Momochan77: Good news! Your speculations will be answered in this chapter. To an extent, of course. (Mwahaha)

Anyways, please enjoy, and review if you can, I always love reviews!

Christmas Day went about as well as expected. Randy and Carol pawed all over each other as they gave each other gifts, then they all had to sit through about an hour of Carol opening presents for Harold because he was too little to work wrapping paper. Cassandra got a ten dollar gift card to the local gas station from her dad (apparently he thought she'd like their sandwiches), and a box from Amazon from Barb, which she hadn't been expecting at all. She cut it open with a kitchen knife to discover a black and sky blue bathing suit inside. Carol had a good laugh over that ("Its winter for crying out loud!"), but Cassandra found a printed note card inside the box that read 'For Saturday swim.' She thought it was the perfect gift.

She put it to good use, too. As soon as Barb came back from New Jersey, she invited Cassandra to the pool, and before the girl could even realize what was happening the two of them had made a weekend ritual out of it. Swim until noon, then the deli for lunch (Cassandra never did use that stupid gas station gift card), and finally a quiet afternoon in Barb's living room. Saturdays became the highlight of Cassandra's week, especially when Randy and Carol started fighting. It started out as stupid little couples' spats that resolved pretty quickly, but by February they were having full-on shouting matches. This, of course, made Harold cry a lot, which further aggravated Carol and made her screech more, which obviously didn't help matters. More than once Cassandra got sick enough of the racket that she picked up the baby and carried him over to Barb's. The woman didn't even have to ask; she could hear the escalating noise through the walls.

When she couldn't escape the fighting, Cassandra distracted herself by practicing her magic. Locked in the safety and privacy of the bathroom, sometimes for hours at a time, she perfected the art of sculpting flawlessly detailed snowflakes. (It was a rather stupid thing to master, really, but she figured finesse was just as important as brute power when it came to magic, so it shouldn't be neglected.) She also spent quite a lot of time sending yellow sand figures, animals mostly, gliding or prancing around the room. The whimsy of it appealed to her, even though the careless freedom those creatures enjoyed left her feeling a little sad.

One night when the yelling was particularly brutal, a very strange mood struck Cassandra Fisher. She wasn't sure what prompted her to try, as she was still feeling a bit guilty over what had happened with those boys and was therefore rather leery about the whole thing, but it was probably when Carol screamed that Randy could go fucking die for all she cared. That comment shouldn't have bothered her, as she wasn't exactly attached to her dad, and yet it filled Cassandra with some dark, sinister emotion that she couldn't quite name. It pulled at her, called forth the darkness within her and prompted the shadows around her to shudder and creep up the walls. She lifted her hand, and with a bit of concentration discovered that she could now summon black dream sand—nightmare sand—just as Pitch Black could.

It felt…exhilarating! And empowering!

…and intimidating…

Little by little, she practiced with that sand, and though she didn't dare try to give anyone a nightmare, not even herself, she discovered that the sand was quite apt for making weapons. That she learned rather on accident. One moment she was sitting against the bathroom door listening to Carol's screeching voice, the next she glanced down and, startled, realized she was clutching a black sand knife. She hastily shook her hand to disperse the weapon, startled by its sudden appearance. But a few nights later she was tempted to try shaping one again, and came to discover that this newfound ability was just like her other powers. With regular practice, it was a cinch.

So that was what she did: she practiced regularly. After all, it would be stupid of her to waste a magical gift.

Right?

February fourteenth, Valentine's Day, found Cassandra lying on the couch enjoying a moment of peace and quiet. Her dad had placated Carol enough that the two of them had gone out for a late night movie, leaving Barb to watch their kids. She was currently in the kitchen trying to catch up on some work, the tap-tap-tapping of her laptop keyboard echoing faintly down the hall. All of a sudden, Cassandra was overcome with this intense feeling that something just wasn't right. She sat up, frowning slightly in concentration. She couldn't hear or smell anything amiss, and Barb didn't seem to have noticed anything either, but something was definitely wrong.

Leaving her blanket pooled on the floor, she wandered towards Harold's nursery, peering curiously into rooms as she went. When she got there, she stepped into the doorway and stopped dead in her tracks.

"What are you doing?"

Pitch Black turned his head to smile at her. He stood beside Harold's crib, hands clasped loosely behind his back. When he replied, his words were smooth and silky.

"I just wanted to meet the newest addition."

"Leave him alone."

He scoffed, waving one hand slightly as if shooing away a fly. "I never bother when they're this young. Their dreams are pathetic and boring, hardly worth the effort."

He stepped away from the crib. Cassandra saw a tiny ball of yellow dream sand hovering over her brother's head, and, true to what Pitch had said, the dream Harold was experiencing really wasn't anything worthwhile. In fact, it was hardly a dream at all; just vague shapes swirling in and out of focus.

He must be too young to have a proper dream.

She kept her gaze fixed firmly on Pitch. It had been months since she'd last seen him, and finding him in her baby brother's room after so long was incredibly suspicious.

"What do you want?" she asked, practically daring him to try and come up with a plausible excuse.

Turned out he already had one ready.

"I want to show you something."

Cassandra's expression darkened. The last time he'd said that to her, she'd ended up in some kids' bedroom shaping nightmares. She hadn't forgotten that night, and hadn't quite forgiven Pitch for talking her into doing it in the first place.

Her response was abrupt. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Not tonight, perhaps," he replied with easy confidence. "But you will go. Curiosity will get the better of you. It always does."

"What are you talking about?"

Sharp teeth gleamed in the semi-darkness. "Go to the pond outside of Burgess," he instructed, "after darkness falls on a night when the moon does not shine. Onyx will take you from there."

"Who?"

A smugly satisfied chuckle was all the response she got before she was left alone again. Cassandra growled and raked a hand through her hair. He really needed to stop doing that. Forget playing games and leaving her questions half-answered, his habit of constantly disappearing in the middle of a conversation was grating on her nerves.

It reminded her too much of her mom locking herself in her room whenever she didn't want to see or talk to Cassandra anymore.

She moved across the room to check on Harold. Her brother was fine, sound asleep with his tiny fists clenched on either side of his fat head. Reaching out with her magic, Cassandra searched but found no trace of shadow or lingering nightmare sand. It seemed Pitch really hadn't done anything to him.

What a weird guy.

Hesitating by the crib, she idly watched his shapeless dream and wondered about Pitch Black. As dark and twisted and cunning as he inherently was, it seemed there were limits to his wickedness. She recalled, vaguely, how he had seemed personally offended when she had insinuated that his touching dreams somehow hurt the children. That was a very strange thing for a spirit, the Nightmare King no less, to grow upset about, wasn't it? As far as humanity was concerned, it seemed his evil only extended as far as to torment and frighten kids.

And bothering Cassandra.

With a weary sigh, Cassandra left her brother's room and returned to the sofa. She would consider Pitch Black's offer, but only because she was, indeed, immensely curious over what he could possibly want after all this time. Why did she have to wait until the new moon? And just who the hell was Onyx? Another spirit perhaps?

She honestly had no idea.

At school the next day, she used a library computer to look up when the next new moon was. Turned out they'd just had one, and she would have to wait until mid-March for the next phase. She sighed and closed the internet browser. How very much like Pitch to give her specific directions only to make her sit around and wait for the appropriate time to carry them out. He must find annoying her deeply amusing.

In the time leading up to the new moon, Cassandra kept herself busy. At Barb's urging, she signed up for spring sports. She wasn't much into teambuilding and sportsmanship and all that, but it got her out of the house and gave her something to do now that she'd explored just about every inch of Burgess. Although she hated running, it took far less skill than either tennis or lacrosse, her only other options for the season, so she signed up for track and field. The first few weeks of practice were held indoors in the gymnasium, as there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, and while Cassandra really couldn't stand how gossipy the other girls were, she had to admit that it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd expected it to be. There were a lot of workouts and stretching exercises, and they all got to try their hand at each event so the coach could get an idea of the kids' strengths and weaknesses and make recommendations. Cassandra liked Coach Sophie. She was pretty easy to get along with, and while she commanded respect, she did so without being overbearing. As long as you kept quiet while she was talking and did what you were told to do, she didn't have any rules, so it was a simple enough thing to keep her happy. Apparently she taught Phys. Ed. at the high school, which Cassandra found terribly ironic since the woman was quite the klutz. She was constantly dropping things and falling down for no apparent reason, the hapless aura she exuded oddly reminiscent of Barb.

Unfortunately, her opinion of the coach soured a bit on the eighth day of practice. Cassandra and the other girls were just getting ready to leave when one of the team members called, "Hi Mr. Bennett!"

Stifling a groan, Cassandra hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and tried to leave the gymnasium, but the doors were blocked by the inevitable horde of hangers-on gathering in the corridor.

"Hey, guys!" his unmistakable voice replied. "Sophie still here?"

"She's in the locker room!" somebody told him, which prompted a groan from Mr. Bennett.

"Well, I can't go in there, can I?"

The girls all laughed and tittered, though Cassandra couldn't imagine what was so funny. She pushed and shoved her way through the crowd, trying to escape before she had to listen to any more nonsense.

To her great annoyance, Mr. Bennett spotted her. "Hey, Cassandra Fisher! Fancy seeing you here."

Cassandra glared at the teacher. He saw her every damn day, so what was he so excited about? The man waded towards her, his path gradually clearing as student athletes began to disperse, and stood grinning down at her.

"So you signed up for track, huh? Good choice! Sophie's a great coach isn't she?"

"Uh huh." She was growing less and less appealing by the second, though. Just how the hell did the coach know this insufferable blabbermouth? Were they dating? Just the thought of that made her nauseous.

Sensing the unspoken question, Mr. Bennett explained, "Oh, you're probably wondering why I'm here, huh? Everyone else knows 'cause we've lived here forever. Sophie's my sister!"

Oh.

"We have a soccer team in the summer, part of the regional youth league. You should join!"

Not in a million years.

Coach Sophie appeared at that moment, lugging her heavy duffel bag across the gymnasium, and Cassandra took the opportunity to escape.

It was eight p.m., and the early March air was chilly. Not that Cassandra minded, of course, but the wind was starting to pick up, which was annoying. Her hair was coming loose from its ponytail, and brown strands kept whipping her in the face, temporarily blinding her. She stopped once to fix it, and after that gave up and just let the wind have its way with it.

Crossing the main road, she cut through a back alley, a shortcut to the duplex. As it was growing late, she hoped Carol and her dad would be quieting down for the night, but her mind understood the fallacy of that unspoken wish. Carol was bitchy no matter what time of day, and lately it was just growing worse. She had a nagging suspicion the two of them would be breaking up soon, and she couldn't help but wonder what that would mean for her. Would her dad give her the baby's room once it was cleared out, or would he throw her out with the rest of the trash, clearing his daily life of obstacles so he could enjoy some freedom from responsibility?

She honestly had no idea.

Distracted as she was by her thoughts, Cassandra didn't realize she was being followed until it was far too late. She was slammed up against the side of the building, her breath escaping her on a heavy "Oof!" as a thickly accented voice declared, "Finally caught you, you sneaky rat!"

Hands balled into fists as she instinctively moved to defend herself, but the face that was suddenly very, very close to her own was so positively bizarre, she froze with her arm barely raised. Her protective mask of perfectly sculpted indifference fell completely away, leaving her jaw sagging stupidly as she gaped at what was unmistakably an enormous, gray, talking rabbit.

What

The

Hell?

The giant rabbit frowned, but made no move to remove himself from her personal space. If anything, he moved closer, eyeing her with growing confusion that didn't quite dispel the anger and frustration that was clearly evident on his overly hairy face.

"You're human?" he questioned. He drew a long, deep breath through his flat nose. His frown deepened. "It's you, all right. But that's impossible. You're human." The grip on her arm tightened considerably, stopping just shy of hurting her. "Who's helping you? Who's been letting you into my tunnels?!"

Tunnels? Cassandra's eyes widened fractionally. This giant animal was part of the spirit world too? And he could make tunnels just as she could?

Wait…Pitch had joked about her hearing and sense of smell reminding him of a rabbit. Could he have meant…?

Oh great.

"Let go," she said, firm voiced and stony faced. As bizarre as this situation was, she wasn't about to allow herself to be manhandled by anybody, rabbit spirit or no.

"Not 'til you tell me who's been helping you."

With a scowl, Cassandra drew upon her magic. The wind was already strong, so it didn't take much to convince it to help. A subtle motion with one foot was all it took, and a heavy gust shot down the alley towards them, knocking over a nearby garbage can. The heavy metal bang made her ears ring, and judging from the flinch on that too-close face, she was sure the rabbit spirit was in just as much pain. The falling garbage can knocked into something else, sending a whole lot of debris crashing to the ground. As expected, her accoster turned to see what was going on, momentarily releasing her as he dropped to a defensive crouch, almost as if he expected someone else to be there. In that moment of distraction, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and fled. With his back turned, the rabbit didn't see her go, and though his attention was diverted for only a moment, it was enough. He realized she was gone and cursed freely, a mixture of accented slang and rather choice English, but Cassandra didn't hang around long enough to hear more than a bit of it.

She sped home as fast as she could, emerging from the safety of the shadows only when she stepped around the corner of her dad's half of the duplex. She trotted up the steps and ducked inside, closing the door quickly behind her. Slumped against the cheap false wood, panting from a mixture of exertion and shock, she thought: What the hell?!

What was that?! The hell kind of a spirit was a giant rabbit? And what did it want with her?

After a moment of breathless silence, she laughed quietly. His tunnels? Who was he to claim sole ownership over dirt? She'd never seen hide or hair of him in all her years traveling underground, so what gave him the right to act indignant over what were clearly her tunnels?

She shook her head. Whoever that rabbit was, he was truly arrogant and stupid.

Here's hoping we never meet again.

That particular thought gave her pause. The rabbit spirit had said that he'd finally caught her. That meant he'd been looking for her, didn't it, and for quite a while too. It was unlikely he'd give up just because she'd slipped away from him once, especially now that he knew where she lived.

She pondered her options. Burgess wasn't that big. Sooner or later he'd stumble upon her again, possibly even here at the duplex. It was strange for people to see Pitch Black, but the Nightmare King had said that other spirits could be seen. The last thing she wanted was to try and explain to Carol and her dad why there was an enormous talking rabbit in the house.

But she couldn't leave either. The only other relative she knew was her mom, and no way in hell was she ever going back there. She might just as well walk herself to the nearest Child and Family Services office and turn herself into foster care. And that was her only option if she packed up and left: foster care. Barb might take her in for a few days, but nobody would put up with her forever, not even the blonde. Besides, it would be pointless to go to Barb's, as it was literally next door. If the rabbit could find her here at her dad's, he could just as easily find her on the other side of the duplex.

Staying was always an option, of course, but who knew what would happen when she and the rabbit spirit met again. One could hope he'd do the decent thing and wait until she was alone, right?

Cassandra heaved a long sigh and straightened up from the doorframe. Tomorrow night was the first of the new moon. She would wait and hope the rabbit spirit didn't turn up before her appointed meeting with Pitch Black. While she couldn't always trust what he said, the Nightmare King knew far more about the spirit world than she did, and, at the very least, knew who the rabbit spirit was. Maybe he could give her some information in addition to whatever else he had planned.

Maybe…

"Find him?"

"Oh, I found her all right. Then the sneaky little hoon got away again!"

Jack cocked one slim eyebrow. "Quite slippery, is she?"

"Oh, rack off!" Bunny snarled as Jack sniggered. "This ain't funny! This ain't some spirit getting on my nerves, this situation is serious!"

"Serious?" North stuck his head around the doorway. Considering Christmas was several months behind them, the big man had found himself with quite a bit of time on his hands, which he seemed determined to fill by eavesdropping. "How serious?"

"Get this." Bunny's furry arms crossed over his chest, his face set into an irate scowl. "The one getting into my tunnels ain't a spirit. It's a human!"

"A human?"

"Yeah, and she's got someone powerful helping her. They teleported her away the second my back was turned!"

Jack frowned as he pondered that.

"Where you find her?" North asked, striding into the room to properly join the discussion.

The Guardian of Hope barked out a humorless laugh. "That's just it. The ankle biter lives in Burgess."

"Ankle biter?" North repeated at the exact same moment Jack echoed in confusion, "Burgess?"

"Yeah. It's a wee kid, 'bout ten or eleven maybe. And she lives in Burgess, of all the bloody places."

Jack heaved a long sigh. "Why is it always Burgess?"

"Dunno. Magic seems drawn to that place like flies to dung." Uncrossing his arms, the Pooka announced, "I'm going back."

"Huh?"

"I'm going back to find her. I don't care what anyone says—I wanna know who it is making those tunnels and why they've enlisted some human's help."

"Sounds like mule," North rumbled gravely. "Chose child for work knowing you would not hurt her."

"Yeah, but why? What's the ratbag up to that he'd use a human like that?"

"I'll help you," Jack declared before the Russian could reply. "I know Burgess better than anyone, and I know most of the kids. Maybe we've met before." Just the thought of a spirit taking advantage of a child, particularly a child of Burgess, his own hometown, infuriated him. He'd help Bunny out in any way he could.

"Bring her here," North instructed them. "Must talk about this." He started to walk away, but had an afterthought. "Bring Jamie too. If Jack is not her friend, having another human here will help."

Jack and Bunnymund both nodded. It was a good idea. On the off chance this child wasn't familiar with the Guardian of Fun, the presence of a believing human would certainly make the bizarre situation easier on her which, in turn, would make things easier on everybody.

"Have some yetis ready," the Pooka advised the Guardian of Wonder. "If this spirit is malevolent, he won't take kindly to us interfering with his plans. We might need the extra muscle."

North's expression was grave as he nodded. "Will do."

"Ready?" Bunny inquired of Jack, tapping open a tunnel.

"Yep."

Bunny leapt easily into the opening, and Jack soon followed, pausing only to snag a snow globe from a nearby table.

Just in case.

The following day passed by without Cassandra catching sight of the rabbit spirit. She didn't see Carol at all, either, as the woman had apparently decided to spend a few days with some friend across town. (Bitch had friends besides Barb? Now there was a big surprise.) While she was more than happy to have the house to herself, as the sun began to set on the horizon and her dad still hadn't come home, Cassandra began to wonder where he was. After a bit of contemplation, though, she shrugged.

It really didn't matter where he was. He could be on the moon for all she cared. It was quiet, and she was alone, meaning she wouldn't have any trouble meeting Pitch Black tonight.

Perfect.

Leaving the bathroom after brushing her teeth, Cassandra happened to glance into the living room and thought of the memory box. It was still hidden under the couch, for she hadn't thought of a better place for it yet. As small of a town as Burgess was, it was perpetually busy, and she just hadn't found a truly safe space to stash her memorabilia.

She sighed. She'd worry about that later. Right now, she had something important to do.

To avoid the risk of Barb spotting her and asking uncomfortable questions, Cassandra slipped into the shadows and did not emerge again until she was down the street. It was a quick walk to the pond now that there was no snow to slow her down, and when she reached the water's edge she stopped. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her lightweight spring jacket (worn purely for show), she waited for this Onyx person to appear.

And waited.

And waited…

After nearly an hour of standing there feeling stupid, Cassandra started to get annoyed. Was this some sort of joke? She wouldn't have expected something this petty from the Nightmare King.

But then again, he always was flipping the script on her in regards to his character. Dark and threatening one moment, downtrodden the next. At first smug and haughty, then suddenly distant and distracted.

She'd probably never understand him.

Her keen hearing suddenly picked up the sound of an approaching creature. She frowned slightly. Judging by the gait, the creature had four legs, not two, so it wasn't Pitch or any other humanoid spirit. And it couldn't be that strange gray rabbit…the steps weren't soft enough.

Curious, she turned her head to look, and from the darkness emerged a horse, black as the sky with glowing, pupil-less golden eyes. It took only a moment for Cassandra to realize that the horse was shaped from nightmare sand.

That could only mean one thing.

"You're Onyx?" she asked.

The horse stopped a short distance from her. Though its eyes barely moved, Cassandra could tell that it was staring her up and down and was wholly unimpressed by what it saw. The girl glared shamelessly back.

"You're here to guide me, not judge me," she snapped.

Rather than react negatively to those sharp words, however, her irritation (for whatever reason) seemed to impress the black sand horse. It whickered faintly, turned, and trod back into the trees. Cassandra followed at once, any hesitation or irritation blasted away by the return of her curiosity. Could she also learn to shape horses like that? She realized then that she had never tried to make animals with nightmare sand before, and wanted to slap herself for sheer stupidity. Shaping animals out of dream sand was as natural as breathing, so why hadn't she ever thought to try and shape nightmare sand animals before?

And this one was moving independently, as if it had a truly sentient mind, whereas her sand creatures were always limited in their mobility and cognizance. It was simply fascinating.

Onyx led her through the woods for a ways before disintegrating into a thick sand tendril and disappearing down a hole. It wasn't a rabbit tunnel, Cassandra knew that right away just from looking at it, but she wasn't entirely certain why Pitch Black would lure her underground. Was he trying to give her an advantage to make her feel more secure? Somehow she didn't think that was the case. Peering over the edge, she couldn't see or hear anything of note, but that only served to make her more suspicious.

Well, she'd come this far, and like it or not she needed information on that rabbit spirit.

Looked like she was going down.

With the wind to lighten her fall, Cassandra dropped into the hole. The opening deposited her into some sort of cavern, which she negotiated with ease thanks to her keen night vision. It was remarkably gloomy, and the deeper into the hole she went the louder her shadow magic called out to her. It felt like there was a tsunami building up inside her body, a towering wall of power, gathering and gathering, just waiting for the right moment to break free and crash through her and back out into the world.

It was the most exhilarating and alarming thing she'd ever experienced in her life.

Stepping out of the cavern at last, Cassandra found herself in some sort of massive room. It looked like it had once been a massive great hall, but it was predominantly collapsed so that much of it was wholly unrecognizable as anything other than piles of broken black rock. There was a crumbling walkway high above her head, and as she craned her neck to look at it, she spotted what appeared to be dozens of black iron cages hanging suspended from the ceiling.

That was definitely weird.

"Welcome."

The disembodied voice of Pitch Black startled her, and when she jumped she heard him chuckle. She glared around the room, but of course couldn't see him.

"What is this place?"

"So many questions," he sighed. He appeared from the shadows nearby, striding towards her with the ease and comfort she'd come to recognize as his signature when he felt completely in control. Casting a careless glance around, he inquired, "What do you think?"

"It's…" Cassandra honestly couldn't think of an appropriate adjective. 'Nice' was condescending, and far from the truth, but 'horrible' was just as wrong. She didn't hate it, but it wasn't very appealing, either.

"Maybe with some renovations it would be acceptable," she grumbled at last.

Pitch threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, well, I have no patience for such tedious activities."

"Do you live here?" She could picture it, the so-called Nightmare King living in a place like this. It was certainly grand enough in size to assuage the conceit of a king, yet was dilapidated enough to all-but confirm for Cassandra what she'd already come to suspect.

Pitch Black was a powerless ruler, a king without subjects or authority or even basic respect.

And his house looked like a bomb had exploded inside of it.

Pitch made no effort to answer her question, but as the answer was pretty obvious she didn't fault him for it. Something else had drawn her attention, anyway: a large metal object on the far side of the room.

"What is that?"

Pitch glanced around. "Ah, that. That is my globe."

He gestured towards it, indicating without words that she could take a look. Aided by the wind, Cassandra did precisely that, leaping lightly over scattered debris to stare up at the massive black sphere. It was dotted with countless golden lights, which glimmered faintly in the dark as the globe spun slowly on its pedestal.

"Are the lights other spirits?"

The Nightmare King made a noise between his lips. "I wish."

She studied the lights, thinking hard. They were not spirits, so they had to represent people, right? But there were far too few for there to be one for every human in existence. She examined the globe carefully, noting how there seemed to be more lights on certain continents (and, in fact, in certain countries) than others. That had to mean something.

"Are they humans who can see spirits?" she said at last, the words coming out slowly as she was unsure of her own answer.

A leering smile spread wide over Pitch's gray face. "Clever for a brat, are you not?"

She scowled at him.

"Each light represents a child who believes," he explained, ignoring the dark look she was giving him. "In time more will be added, while others eventually go out. They are always shifting."

Cassandra thought about that, eyeing Australia as the island continent slowly but surely made its way past her. "They lose their belief as they grow older, right? And not all children believe because of different cultures and upbringings."

"Precisely. You know, I really do enjoy a sensible conversation. Stupidity irks me like almost nothing else."

Oddly enough, she had to agree with him on that.

"So why do you have this?"

"What?"

She turned her head to look at him, studying his expressive face as he responded to her question: "I know humans do not see you. That's why you found it so odd that I can. So why do you have a globe that shows children who believe in spirits and can see them if these lights mean nothing to you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say 'nothing,'" he said with a cunning smile. "Let's just say that I have a…invested interest in those children who believe."

"Does it have to do with the Guardians?"

He stared at her for a moment before responding. "Perhaps," he purred evasively, that smug smile not wavering one bit.

Cassandra had suspected as much. From what little she knew about them, the Guardians seemed to be Pitch's enemies, so it only made sense for his fascination with those globe lights to be somehow connected to them.

"Is a giant gray rabbit one of the Guardians?"

The smirk finally faded as he blinked, surprised. "You saw him?"

"Yesterday on my way home from school. He jumped me in an alley."

"He attacked you?"

He sounded incredibly skeptical, though she didn't bother to ask why. Pitch was in a rare, loose-tongued mood tonight, and she wanted to keep pertinent information flowing out of his normally tight lips for as long as possible. Wasting time on pointless questions would be stupid.

"I wouldn't say 'attacked', more like accosted. He demanded to know who was helping me get into his tunnels." She scoffed at the very idea. His tunnels, indeed.

Dark brows lifted when he heard that. He murmured in a voice so quiet she barely heard him, even with her incredible hearing, "It would seem it's not as preemptive as I'd thought."

"What isn't?"

He looked startled for a moment, as if he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud. Then his smile swiftly returned, only this time it was overly pleasant, like a con man trying to charm his way into getting what he wanted. "I have something for you."

Cassandra's response was immediate. "I don't want it."

"No? I thought children loved presents."

"You don't seem the gift-giving sort." Not unless it was a cobra in a box, or some other horribly twisted gift.

He didn't even deny it. "Normally I'm not, but I decided to make an exception for you."

"Thanks," she said, the word positively saturated with sarcasm. She repeated her earlier declaration. "I don't want it."

"Your birthday is in two weeks, yes?"

"How did you know that?"

He grinned wickedly. "You'll be surprised by what I know."

She didn't like the sound of that.

He continued without pause. "Just think of it as an early birthday gift, if that is what you prefer."

With a casual wave of one hand, the gift appeared out of nowhere, riding a small cloud of black nightmare sand. It wasn't wrapped, not that she'd expected it to be, and even with the distance of about half a dozen yards separating them, Cassandra could see that it was some sort of folded cloth.

"Clothes?"

"Take it," he offered, still holding the present aloft. "You'll see."

"What's the catch?"

"No catch. It's just a gift."

She wasn't sure she believed that, but even so she was loath to reject it. She'd never received a birthday present before. Her mom had never given her a single cake or card (honestly, Cassandra didn't think the woman even remembered when her own daughter's birthday was), and her dad had made no mention of it either, before or after he'd started fighting with Carol. Barb had given her a Christmas present, but that was different. Cassandra had never been fond of Christmas, as she'd never understood the point of such a dumb holiday. Birthdays, however, were a mark of not only how old you were, but a celebration of the fact that you'd been born at all. It always made you think: Just how in the hell did two tiny cells filled with random information make me? For Cassandra, those questions burned especially hot with each passing of March the twenty-eighth, because she wasn't just an oddity. She was an impossibility. A human with magic? Born from her parents? The odds were so impossibly slim, and yet it had happened. While other kids were always so excited about cake and presents and making ridiculous wishes as they blew out pastel-colored candles, all Cassandra wanted each year was to finally get some answers.

What Pitch was offering to her right now wasn't an answer, but it was a rather nice gesture all the same. Regardless of whether or not there were dark strings attached to his gift, the simple fact that he'd made the effort to find out her birthdate was, on it's own, enough to make her want to accept.

Stepping forward, Cassandra gingerly took the present from him. It was, indeed, clothes, but not what she was expecting. It was a long black cloak, made from material similar to Pitch's own trademark robes. The globe's golden lights reflected off of the iridescent cloth, giving it an ethereal glow. As she held it at arms' length, studying it with rapt attention, Pitch spoke to her again.

"Try it on."

She complied, swinging the cloak around her shoulders and fastening the clasp. As soon as it settled against her body, she felt the first flicker of…something. Raising one hand, she deftly drew up the hood and had to stifle a gasp.

Being inside the cloak was almost exactly like being inside her shadow sanctuary. It was warm and comforting, a gentle yet powerful embrace, wrapping her up in darkness to keep her safe. It was like she was invisible in the middle of the room, even though she knew she wasn't really because Pitch Black was still watching her, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you," she breathed, reaching out a hand to stroke at the folds of material.

"So you accept?"

"Of course. Thank you, Pitch."

So distracted was she by admiring the cloak, she missed the truly wicked leer that flashed across his face.

"You're very welcome my dear."

A short time later, Cassandra was back in Burgess, heading home. Her cloak was folded neatly and zipped up inside her jacket, safe and hidden just in case her dad was home when she got back. She didn't need him shouting at her about accepting gifts from strange men.

How old is he anyway? She wondered. Did age even matter for spirits?

Why was she even thinking about that? It was stupid and pointless.

She made it home without incident, and was relieved to know from the silence and darkened rooms that neither Carol nor her dad was home. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was nearly midnight. It was a Friday, so her dad was probably at the bar having himself a grand time without Carol there to bitch at him.

Enjoy it while you can, she thought ruefully, heading for the living room. She was just about to unzip her coat when she caught whiff of something that was, unfortunately, quite familiar.

"Hello, mate."

Cassandra whipped around. There was the rabbit, leaning against the doorframe leading to the two bedrooms. His arms were crossed, long ears pulled back as he scowled at her.

"Bit late to be wandering around alone, ain't it?" he asked, his accent annoying her far more than it should.

"You're not the boss of me," Cassandra snapped childishly. She was too irritated by the intrusion to care. "Go away and leave me alone."

"Can't do that." The rabbit straightened up, arms falling to his sides. "See, here's the thing." Slowly but surely he started to move towards her, talking as he went. "You're a human, but you dabble with spirits. You don't believe in us Guardians, but you can still see me."

Well, that certainly answered her question about whether or not the rabbit spirit was a Guardian. Pitch never did give her an answer to that particular inquiry, and she'd been too distracted by his gift to even think of it.

She stood her ground firmly even though the rabbit didn't stop until he towered over her, emerald green eyes boring into her brown ones. Her one saving grace in this current mess was that, from the sound of things, the rabbit spirit didn't think that the magic was her own. It seemed he thought she was allied with another spirit, and that they were the one making the tunnels and had helped her escape the other night.

If she played her cards right, maybe she could wiggle her way out of this without revealing the truth.

"Who are you?" the rabbit asked, flat nose twitching as he eyed her.

Her response was exceptionally cool. "Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"

Strange. She distinctly remembered having this conversation before. Was every member of the spirit world this rude and demanding?

She sure hoped not, otherwise it would prove to be a great disappointment.

The rabbit's lip curled into a sneer, revealing large front teeth. "I asked first, mate. And I ain't the one messing with other spirits' property!"

"I don't recall anyone putting a claim on dirt. Do you get mad at everyone who uses subway trains too?"

A snicker drew her attention briefly from the rabbit and to a nearby window. To her shock, it was the white-haired teenager that always hung around Mr. Bennett, crouched on a chair like some sort of monkey. That stupid stick of his was cradled against his shoulder.

"She's got you there, Bunny," he said, grinning at the large rabbit.

"Shut up," the rabbit spirit said rudely.

This boy could see spirits too? But neither Pitch nor this rabbit had ever mentioned that he could or seemed interested in his ability to do so.

Wait…wait, did that mean he was a spirit too?! She'd been seeing a spirit all over Burgess for months and hadn't known?!

She wanted to slap her own forehead for the sheer stupidity of the situation, but instead covered her surprise with a scowl.

"Did you let him in?" she asked the boy, flicking her dark gaze towards the rabbit spirit, who was still looming over her.

"Hey, don't look at me," the boy said, lifting his hands, palms-out, as if to ward off her accusations. "I followed him, not the other way around."

The rabbit growled low. "This ain't getting us anywhere! Tell us what's going on, and we can forget about all this."

"But North said—"

"I don't care what North said," he interrupted the boy spirit. He turned his attention back to Cassandra, but not before the girl saw a look of dawning understanding cross the white-haired spirit's face. So they're trying to play me, are they? "Give us some answers, kid," the rabbit spirit continued, "and we'll let this alone."

She folded her arms, firmly yet silently declaring her refusal, and stood glaring mutely at him. As she still wasn't entirely sure how she ought to go about getting herself out of this, she decided to wait until these spirits made their move. A good rebuttal was better than a weak—or, worse, potentially damning—slew of unguided words.

Unfortunately, her plan backfired miserably. Upon realizing that she wasn't going to answer, the rabbit heaved a sigh. "Well, guess that answers that. Jack."

The white-haired boy flicked his wrist, tossing something towards Cassandra. She quickly side-stepped, but it turned out he hadn't been aiming for her at all. Rather, he'd thrown the object behind her, and before Cassandra could get a look at it and discern what it was, the thing had burst into a blinding show of shimmering light and color.

What the—?

Briefly distracted by the impressive demonstration of magic, she didn't see the rabbit spirit move. Smoothly adjusting his stance, he lashed out with a sharp but precise kick, unceremoniously pushing her into the swirling magical portal. She fell, and fell hard, momentarily blinded by light and deafened by whooshing wind before landing heavily on solid ground. Breath was instantly knocked out of her, and she lay for a moment of time, gasping.

"Cassandra?"

The sound of her name, spoken in a tone that was pure surprise, seized her attention at once. Still lying there on the floor, Cassandra turned her head and saw none other than big-mouthed Mr. Jamie Bennett staring down at her, his face twisted with confusion. Standing with him were a fat, balding man with a long white beard, a tiny little man who was entirely yellow, and something that could only be described as a flamboyantly colored bird-lady, who had three smaller bird-like things hovering over one shoulder.

Only one word came to her mind:

Shit.