Author's Notes

Rise of the Guardians belongs to Dreamworks. I don't own anything about it.

Enjoy

The lights are going out.

This globe, a smaller, hollow imitation of the one I saw back at Santoff Claussen, is going dark. A few days ago, millions of children believed in the Guardians. They practically lit up the world like one giant bulb.

Now though, where there were millions, I can only estimate a handful, and even that's quickly diminishing.

A feeling of dread rises in my chest. I am honestly shocked by this turn of events. Some of the fairies, including Baby Tooth perched on my shoulder, bear witness to this globe's dying light. I can hear the despair in their squeaks and screeches, their bird-like noises.

This is bad. Much worse than I imagined it would be. Everything is unravelling fast, the children all over the world are losing their belief in the Guardians. They don't believe in Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny or the Sandman anymore. Their dreams are coming to an end. Now all they will have left to live out the rest of their childhood is one scary story: the Boogeyman. Just like Pitch was after. And now he's showing us just how clever he's been. He knew what he was doing, knew how best to tip the scales, and not just by giving the children nightmares but by eliminating the roles of the Guardians, too. By sabotaging their progress, everyone began to doubt their existence. No fairies collecting teeth in exchange for coins, no dreams from the Sandman, no eggs for Easter. Pitch counted on fear and disappointment to achieve his goals, and it's working. There's no way they can make it through to Christmas, and even if they did, Pitch would surely pull out some other device to cancel it.

This is all my fault. I let this happen. The exhilaration I felt after I regained my memories and fixed my staff has vanished. I feel myself panicking, my composure to stay calm crumbling. I don't know what to do. My plan to release the fairies from their cages won't do anyone any good now. If only I had freed them earlier, I could have stopped this from happening. Or could I?

Many of these lights reside in parts of Europe, the United States and Canada. They're flickering but still alive for the time being. Not for long, I bet. They'll go out like the rest soon. I try to work out the best course of action. How can I keep these lights aglow? How can I reverse the damage Pitch has done? Is the damage even reversible? I have to think it is, surely. Should I go and seek these children out, protect them from Pitch and his nightmares? That seems the only feasible option under the circumstances. But these lights are going out fast and are spread out rather thinly amongst themselves, separated by thousands of kilometres. I'd have to choose one child to protect, just one, and even if I get there there is no guarantee they would still cling on to their belief. Then what would I accomplish? A battle I have no chance of winning? Or nothing at all? That would be a waste of time.

I wonder what the Guardians are doing right now. Are they out there trying to salvage what's left, or have they given up entirely, locked themselves away in their homes, waiting for the inevitable? Have they decided there's no point in fighting now that they have one foot each in their graves? I think back to my last interaction with them after Pitch destroyed all those eggs. The disappointment, the horror, the accusations and fury. I can still feel the burn of it, like a hot branding. And I feel it even more looking at this globe before me. No doubt they blame me for this aberration. If only I had listened to Baby Tooth.

My thoughts then turn to Pitch Black. I imagine him riding his battalion of horses across the seven continents, his nightmares swarming over the cities, the quiet homes of children, as he gallops all the way to victory, his evil laughter rising the closer he gets. In fact, his laugh sounds so real to me, I glance out of the corner of my eye, half expecting his yellow eyes to pierce through the darkness, watching with a satisfied smirk as I realise what my mistakes have cost me. But there's no one there. Nothing to see. That brings me no comfort whatsoever. I stare back at the globe.

The lights grow fewer and fewer until there is only a measly number of seven.

Seven lights left. Two in Europe, one in the United Kingdom, one in Canada and three in the United States.

My heart skips a beat. The fairies let out anguished cries as if stabbed with pins. Baby Tooth squirms and doubles over, slipping off my shoulder.

'Baby Tooth!' I gasp. I let go of my staff, falling to my knees and catching Baby Tooth in my hands. 'Are you Alright?' I ask, even though I can see that she is not. She's gritting her teeth and paling, fighting a pain someone who's used to being believed in can feel, something I can only imagine. She shivers, and I wonder if it's me that's making her cold. Out of nowhere, a dark disturbing thought hits me and the reality of the situation makes my eyes sting. I didn't think it was possible before, couldn't even imagine it. But here we are, and the truth is hard to stomach, even harder to reject: Baby Tooth is going to die. They're all going to die.

No, she doesn't deserve this. She's too small and innocent and beautiful. Too beautiful to suffer. I feel something inside me crack, like the surface of a frozen lake.

Sitting here, cradling Baby Tooth in my hands, I start to cry. Tears cascade down my face and freeze over my skin. One tear lands on Baby Tooth's wing and a pattern of ferns dance over them. She doesn't seem to have noticed, is barely aware of her surroundings. My heart aches with grief and she's not even gone yet. I never cried in front of anyone before, and I have to admit the sensation is bittersweet, as if I've been given a release after all these years.

She looks up at me, tears in her own eyes and I feel wretched. I was supposed to save her, supposed to save all of them and I failed.

'I'm sorry, Baby Tooth,' I whimper, struggling to keep my voice steady. 'I'm so sorry.' She squirms in my hands.

I look up. The lights in Europe and the UK are gone.

Just four lights left. Then three. Two. One.

One.

I glance back down at Baby Tooth again. She's resting on her side, cold and sickly as a hummingbird reaching the end of its life. It looks as if she has accepted her fate. It would appear, to my shame, that I have too.

My mind flashes to the first time we met, when I rescued her from that horse at the Tooth Palace. She was scared but healthy, grateful to be saved. I remember she was just as energetic and bright as Tooth was, although not as enthusiastic about the big wide world as she was, since Baby Tooth and the fairies were the ones travelling to and fro collecting teeth and were familiar with the environments out there. They saw the world change year after year like I had. She was full of life back then. And now there's hardly anything left of her. It's depressing how she went from that to this.

I don't look away. Not yet. If what Pitch said about the Guardian's fading is true, I want to saviour one last moment with Baby Tooth. I want the small connection we made a few hours ago to last a little longer before it's severed for good. I don't want the little fairy to die alone. I will not abandon her again.

'Thank you for my memories, Baby Tooth,' I whisper. 'I'll cherish them for the rest of my life. I promise.'

Baby Tooth, with the last of her strength, smiles at me despite her pain. She's not angry at me, like the Guardians are, like I am. She has forgiven me, even when no one else will. I know I shouldn't be because I don't deserve it, but I'm grateful. It's nice to have someone else in the world who holds nothing against me, even in their final moments.

I give Baby Tooth a gentle stroke, and bring her up to my face. We touch our foreheads together, closing our eyes as we do.

'It's been an honour fighting alongside you,' I say. She gives a little chirp. The honour is hers, she's saying. I look back toward the globe, bringing Baby Tooth down from my face, holding her close to my chest. I don't want to see the process of her fading away. I don't want to ever know what that looks like. It will haunt me forever. So instead, we watch the final light, silently saying our last goodbyes.

And we wait. And wait a little longer. But nothing happens.

We stare at the globe, at the last light; it's not going out. I stand up, frowning, and wipe at my face, wondering if the tears are playing tricks on me, but no. It's still there. Not even flickering. I don't know why I hadn't noticed before, but it seems to be shining brighter whereas the rest were growing dimmer, as if it is determined to stay alive. Confusion sets in, and all my melancholy thoughts vanish, if only momentarily. What is going on? Why is that light still shining? I look at Baby Tooth but she's clearly just as mystified as I am.

Retrieving my staff, I hop onto the globe and position myself to get a closer look at it. Upon further inspection, I can tell there's something peculiar about this light. That it feels familiar to me, although I cannot say why. Not yet. I see that it resides in the state of Pennsylvania somewhere to the western side, flanked by New York, Vaginia and Ohio.

With that information, something clicks in my mind: Western Pennsylvania. That neck of the woods is usually secluded, often in the vicinity there are small villages and local towns, dominated by views of fields, forests and mountains. A lifetime ago, coal-mining operations were the only jobs that put food on the table and clothes on your back. Reminds me of home.

Home.

My eyes fly open as realisation dawns on me. I look closer still. Yes, this light's location is my home. Burgess.

Suddenly, I understand what's happening, why that last light isn't going out, and a grin stretches across my face. I think I might just be laughing, with Baby Tooth chirping excitedly on my shoulder.

Suddenly, I know which child this light is.

Jamie.

It started off funny to me that the Guardians were accidentally discovered bickering over our teeth collections, even funnier when Abby started chasing Bunnymund across the room. I'd never forget the look on his face. But even though it was inconvenient, it has actually worked to our advantage, because even in the midst of all this terror, Jamie is still latching on to the idea that the Guardians are real. Having seen living proof that Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and the Sandman exist, he has made a lifeline of himself for them.

Which means Pitch will be on his way.

I have to get going. I have to find Jamie and fast. He doesn't know it, but he's the last thing standing between Pitch and his reign of terror. No doubt he will be sending his worst nightmares his way. Pitch must not have anticipated this. I get a small but immense satisfaction at the thought of Pitch gritting his teeth in anger, furious that his pre-eminence has been thwarted by this single child. What a laugh. He'll be eager to snuff out that light now that he's close to destroying them all. I have to get to Jamie before Pitch does.

I carefully lift Baby Tooth off my shoulder and place her on the cold, hard ground in front of the Globe.

'I can't take you with me, Baby Tooth,' I say. 'It's too dangerous. You should stay here with the fairies.'

I don't particularly like the idea of abandoning Baby Tooth and the rest of the Fairies in this place. It's dark and gloomy, and home to the same monster that's trying to kill them. And after what happened with Easter and my memories, and being trapped here all week, it feels awfully wrong to leave them down here a second longer. But I know it's the sensible thing. None of them can fly anymore, they cannot defend themselves, and there are sure to be thousands, maybe millions of nightmares out there that could easily crush them under their hooves. There could be a whole lot worse just waiting to hurt them. There's no other alternative. The tooth fairies are about as safe as they can be here in the lair of the Boogeyman. The irony is almost comical. In any case, they need to look after the stolen memory boxes that have been stashed away like dragon's treasure.

But Baby Tooth understands this. She chirps encouragingly and nods, excited all over again like she's willing to beat the odds. Jamie's steadfast light has invigorated her spirits, but only for a while. And the way she looks at me…

I want to cry again. Baby Tooth still believes in me, even though the others don't anymore. She knew I never meant to hurt anyone on purpose. She knows I mean well, despite everything. And she believes I can fix this. And I will. For her, for the Guardians, for the children.

For my sister.

It's not too late to set everything right.

I stand up and make my way hastily out of the cave, taking one last look at the fairies trapped in their cages. I make a promise to return before I take my leave.

I exit the cave on the wind. The sun is just setting on the horizon, signalling the end of the day. The Moon will be watching me when he rises. He's counting on me, as are the Guardians and the children and Jamie, although none of them except the Moon know it yet.

My mind turns to the Guardians back at Santoff Clausen. They too will be on their way to meet Jamie, if they were watching the globe as carefully as I was. I hope so anyway. It would be better if we banded together to defeat Pitch, but it's hard to tell if they can still trust me at this rate. Somehow I will need to convince them that I have always been on their side, that there is nothing distracting me from my responsibilities any longer. We need to work as a team if we have any chance at winning.

But then something else occurs to me. I think of the tooth fairies, their inexplicable inability to fly all of a sudden. They looked so fragile, so helpless without the aid of their wings. Clearly this has to do with the belief of the children running on empty. And if they can't fly, then how are the Guardians faring? In what condition have they been reduced to now that every child except one has stopped believing? I'm guessing Tooth too has lost the ability to fly, but what of North and Bunnymund? How might they have grown weak? And what about the yetis and the elves, the remaining eggs and statues? What has happened to them? Have they all lost their strength and their powers along with the lights?

If so, then our fighting chances against Pitch are minimal at best, which won't be enough. What's more, I'll be in the position to protect all of them alone. The thought terrifies me, going up against Pitch by myself, defending the others. I am brought back to the moment when Pitch tricked me into sneaking into his lair. I remember how he got into my head, tapping into my worst fears with only the spoken truth. I remember how easily he deflected my icy blows back at Antartica, and I ended up trapped in a chasm, my staff broken in two.

Even with my powers, I could be as vulnerable as they could be. Still, I did get my powers back and managed to fix my staff, so there is a way around these things. And perhaps Pitch has no idea that I escaped the chasm. He must still think I'm trapped there and won't be of much use to anyone, including myself, in which case he won't perceive me as a threat. He might be preoccupied with the Guardians, but that doesn't mean he won't send accomplices to get the job done. I can handle those at least. Didn't I freeze them all into oblivion last time when I tried to save Sandy? I don't know how I did it, but I'm sure I can do it again if I focus hard enough.

On the way, I occasionally swivel my head left and right, straining my ears to listen, my staff charged with my magic, ready for any sort of attack. But as far as I can tell, there are no threats looming in the distance. There's nothing except the mountains and the valleys and roads, the forests with their frozen streams and trees dusty with snow. That's good - I can't afford any distractions. Not after last time. But I don't see the Guardians either.

The flight to Burgess is uneventful. I arrive just as night falls. The Moon hangs in the sky. Nothing appears out of the ordinary. The village is silent, the street lights illuminating the empty roads. Most of the town has gone to sleep, but a few downstairs windows are lit up, probably with parents and grown ups brewing coffee or watching the TV or whatever other stuff they do at this hour.

There is no sign of Pitch or his nightmarish minions, not in the sky or in the streets, or lurking in the windows of children's bedrooms. I listen, but all I can make out is the wind roaring in my ears. Tonight looks like any other cold night in Burgess.

That doesn't mean I can let my guard down. Nightmares could show up anywhere at any minute, if they aren't here already. The night is young, so I imagine they're preparing for a world of terror soon. I soar over the rooftops, over stores and apartments, past the same statue in the centre of town where Jamie was ploughed down by that sofa. The banners advertising the Easter hunts have been stripped down. They must have done so as soon as they realised that there was no Easter this year. I think of Bunnymund, his anger directed towards me. Guilt crashes over me in a wave, but I clamp it down for the time being, heading straight for the park where the kids play. I'm so close now.

And then I see Jamie's house, looming in the distance about thirty yards away. I'm flooded with relief. The journey here took hardly any time at all, but it felt like hours, Jamie a million miles away from me in my race against Pitch.

All the lights are off in the house. Everyone must be in bed. This makes me anxious. Asleep, Jamie will be at his most vulnerable if Pitch or a nightmare were to appear, and what little dreams he has left will be twisted into something horrible. I hope he's awake like he is most nights, when he's excited about visits from the Tooth Fairy or the Sandman. Clearly his friends no longer believe in the Guardians. I wonder what effect that had on Jamie, being the last one left believing in fairytales. They must have thought he was being ridiculous, crazy even. Possibly they've shunned him, just like the Guardians have shunned me. He must feel awfully lonely, a trait I regret to say we have in common.

I land on the rooftop and slide down to the gutter in front of Jamie's bedroom window and find it slightly ajar. The glass is frosted over, obscuring my view inside, and so the only way to look in is through the gap. Which is to say, there is nothing to see. Just darkness.

A light snow is starting to fall and a chill hangs in the air. The wind blows, a draft making its way into the bedroom, moving the window an inch. It is eerily quiet.

Somewhere unexpected, I sense dread creeping up on me. Burgess has a particularly cold climate most days of the year, even in summer. Its general location is prone to snowy weather and freezing winds with plummeting temperatures. Okay fine, I take a little responsibility, but even before I was Jack Frost, Burgess was relatively cool back in the day. Warm clothes were a must, especially at night.

Still, even though the residents here are used to the cold, nobody goes to sleep with an open window. And if Jamie was awake his bedside light would be on, which means, to my growing concern, he must be asleep.

I climb up onto the windowsill, scraping away the frost that has latched itself onto the glass and cup my hands around my face to peer inside, but it's like looking down an abyss. I can make out dark shapes, but nothing more than that. I exhale and the glass frosts over again faster than when I wiped it off. I stare, a little transfixed by the icy ferns creeping up the grids.

There's no point in observing out here, I'm going to have to go inside myself. Normally trespassing into bedrooms is not my style, but Jamie is in danger. What choice do I have? I put a hand to the window but then hesitate. Something deep inside of me is urging me not to open that window, that I won't like what I see inside. I'm perplexed by this sudden feeling. Not only that, but it's begging me to abandon Jamie and save myself, fly into the sky and disappear into the clouds where nothing can hurt me.

I'm momentarily disturbed. But then I shake my head when I realise how ridiculous this is. I can't just abandon Jamie, not when he needs me the most. I'm a Guardian, for heaven's sake. For all I know, I may need to defend not only him, but the Guardians as well. If they are in as bad a condition as the tooth fairies or worse, then I'm the only hope anyone's got.

Taking a deep breath, I open the window. It creaks as it swings inward. Moonlight spills into the shadowy room, picking out things I hadn't seen through the frost-covered glass in complete darkness. Nothing looks suspicious. I see the bed, the space-themed covers, the shelves of books and toys, the posters and drawings taped to the walls. I see the drawing of Jamie torpedoed through the air on his sled, watched by the rest of his friends on the ground. The drawing he made the same day when I took Jamie on a dangerous sledding tour of the town roads, when I accidentally got his tooth knocked out and all conversation diverted away from the fun we just had to the Tooth Fairy. The same day I was apprehended by Bunnymund and the yetis, shoved into a sack and tossed through a magic portal. Looking back, it feels like a hundred years ago.

And lying in bed is Jamie.

He looks like he is asleep. I'd have been frantic, except he looks rather peaceful. He's lying on his side, his back to me and the window. I catch the fabric of his pajamas, the mass of brown hair on his head. He's not tossing and turning like most people do when they have nightmares, not groaning or crying. No black sand is swirling around his head. Jamie seems to be having a dreamless night. Dreamless, but harmless.

I survey the room, the far end where the moonlight doesn't reach, but there is no sign of Pitch, no one to be frightened of. Abby isn't here, like she usually is, which means she's sleeping in the corridor or downstairs. I sigh in relief, stepping into the bedroom, scooting past the telescope arranged at the window, and make my way towards Jamie.

When I reach his side, I realise I have a problem: I'm still invisible to him. Another obstacle in my way. Dammit! I cannot believe it. It's a three hundred year old problem and I forgot. How did I not think of this on my way over here? Have I been so excited about the last light on the globe and redeeming myself that I didn't bother to remember my own inaccessibility? My unbreakable curse? That's a reasonable assumption, isn't it? I guess anyone in a state of giddiness can jump straight into action with a little oversight, even if they have ruled out a few factors.

Now I grimace. He can't see me, hear me, or touch me. He doesn't even know I exist. Nobody does. My memories may have revealed my origins, but they haven't given me any clues on how to make myself seen. How am I supposed to convince Jamie that he was right all along, that the Guardians are in fact real when I have no means of communication with anyone? A horrible thought occurs to me. With the whole world and all of his friends abandoning faith in the Guardians, it may very well be a matter of time before Jamie starts to doubt what he saw that night. And time would be all that Pitch will need to achieve his goal. Even if I could keep him and his nightmares at bay, if Jamie so much as questions his own beliefs, it will all be over. Unless he sees proof, there's nothing that can be done. If only the Guardians were here now.

One thing I can do at least is wake Jamie up. I'll work out a plan afterwards. I find the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, which reads 11:28, and clonk it on the top with my staff. It rings loud and clear, the little hammer banging rapidly against the two twin bells on either side, enough to wake the entire house up. I get a little sense of deja vu, my mind flashing back a few nights ago when I did the exact same thing, only with the the Guardians in this room and the look on terror on Bunnymund's face before Abby started diving for him, and Sandy misfiring his dream sand at everyone. Oh Sandy, I think plaintively. We could really use your help right now.

The alarm clock rings for about five - ten minutes - and then abruptly goes silent. Jamie hasn't woken up, not even stirred. He just lies facing away from me, apparently having heard nothing at all.

A frown crosses my face. Okay, the alarm clock didn't do the trick, which is weird. But I guess it's not that uncommon to sleep through them.

So I try a different tactic; if loud sounds wouldn't wake him, maybe something cold to the touch will. This is typically mean and I don't do this, unless it were Bunnymund perhaps, but I have to wake up Jamie somehow. I conjure a snowball in my hand and drop it on his head. It crumbles, soft white sticking to his hair. It should have been as shocking as a paintball or a balloon filled with water. And yet Jamie sleeps on.

I look at him, confused. Why isn't he waking up? There are no black horses here, no sand swirling around his head. He's not having a dream or a nightmare.

Or is he?

It hits me that I have never seen a nightmare interact with a child before. In my brief alliance with the Guardians, I only knew how they operate based on North's theories, which have been as accurate as my own. Pitch essentially has the same kind of power as Sandy, only darker. We all assumed Pitch gives the children nightmares the same way Sandy gave them dreams. Sand above your head at night, off to dreamland you go.

But what if we were wrong? What if it isn't the same with Pitch? Does he have more than one way of invoking bad dreams into the minds of children, subtly as well as obviously? Are there nightmares in Jamie's head right now, and he's in too much of a comatose state to react? Come to think of it, I've never seen him this still.

The fear I experienced outside the window comes flooding back with a vengeance. Something is dreadfully wrong, I knew it the minute I saw how dark the bedroom was. If I can't get Jamie up with an alarm clock or a snowball, then he's too far gone in a way that suggests something otherworldly is the cause of his sleeping beauty state. This could be the work of Pitch Black. He's here, he's put Jamie to sleep, and now he's stuck in a nightmare.

I have to wake him up.

Grabbing his shoulder and shaking him, I am momentarily confused and awed by the feel of the fabric over his skin, my fingers able to find purchase on the solid contact of another person. I don't know how or why, but my desperation to wake him is stronger than my need for an explanation, and shove the notion out of my mind for now.

'Jamie,' I say urgently. 'Jamie, wake up!' The little boy doesn't stir or groan or give any other indication that he's heard me. He continues to sleep on. I shake him more firmly. 'Jamie! Come on, buddy, you have to wake up. Wake up!'

No response.

I stop shaking him and he just lies there, still. A distinct feeling of hopelessness settles over me. I feel the same as I did watching the lights go out on the globe, watching the light going out of Baby Tooth's eyes. But this time it comes with a sickness deep in the pit of my stomach. I stare at this child, this sweet innocent child and my face goes slack, my limbs too weak to carry my body. Numbness and shock register as the reality I dreaded comes crawling back, slapping me right on the face.

I am too late. The last light is gone. Pitch has won after all, encased Jamie in a surreal world of terror, one in which I cannot break him out of. All his hard work has paid off, and now the world is his oyster.

The room seems to grow darker, despite the moonlight coming from the window. Something wet freezes over my face and I realise I'm crying again.

North, Bunny, Sandy, Tooth.

All gone.

Baby Tooth, her sisters, in the Boogeyman's lair, now their tomb. And I have broken my promises yet again. No memories, no hope, no dreams, no wonder. There is no joy to be found. Just an everlasting nightmare from which we could never wake up from.

I'm alone. Again.

I suck in a breath, but my lungs feel as if they're about to burst. This makes me sob harder. Tears drip down off my chin and freeze on the covers, the little spaceships and planets. Bunnymund was right, the Guardians should never have trusted me. If they hadn't they may still be alive right now. I'd still be wandering the world, oblivious to my past or potential, unable to reach out to anyone, child nor spirit. But who cares? The Guardians gave the children a happy childhood, protecting them from the nastiest threats lingering in the shadows. And then I came along and made a mess of everything, just like Pitch had said.

I don't know how long I've been standing here over Jamie, watching him like a big brother, the way I used to watch my sister fall asleep sometimes. I have a sudden longing to return to that time when things were simpler and everyone was happy. Would it have been better if I had stayed dead in that lake? What was the Man in the Moon even thinking, bringing me back? Did he predict this? If so, then what was the point? Three-hundred years of isolation, loneliness and depression covered up by the fun times. Three-hundred years of no contact, no friends or family, questions unanswered by the Moon every time I asked him when I was at my lowest point. And for what? If I was destined to fail, why did he do this to me? Was his faith in me truly misguided? Did he see something in me that isn't really there? Did he just want to watch me suffer?

A surge of fury shoots through me at this suggestion, the Moon finding my own pain and anguish amusing. I want to go out there and scream at him, scream until my breath runs out, for putting me here and putting me through everything that happened to me. He is the cruellest entity in the universe.

Well congratulations, now everyone gets to suffer. Not just myself. And that one's on you, Man in the Moon. You should have just let me rest in peace.

After a moment, I take a deep breath and slowly return to my senses. He wouldn't do this to make me suffer. I don't believe that is true, I realise. Maybe he really did have faith in me, honestly thought I had what it takes to be a Guardian. I don't know. But it doesn't matter anymore, whatever the reason. I have failed.

Jamie feels cold. An odd sort of cold. I've been too busy lost in thought to notice, but now my attention is back. I'm still gripping his arm and it is as cold as ice. The window is open, blowing freezing air and snowflakes into the room, but something about the temperature of Jamie's skin frightens me and has nothing to do with that. As a winter spirit, I can detect how cold something is, right down to the core. And Jamie's body really is that cold to its core. I don't experience it often, because I don't search for it. It is a dreadful and sad thing. Out in the streets, I feel it in the bodies of rats or homeless people in the back alleys, filthy, stinking, limp as ragdolls, once they have kicked the…

My eyes fly open, I can feel my heart hammering away in my chest. The moonlight has vanished completely, leaving the room entirely shrouded in darkness. No, it couldn't be. It can't possibly be. I don't detect any heat within Jamie's body. Even with the window open, he should have at least a few degrees with those clothes and the duvet covering him up. No heat means…

I grab his shoulder and roll him onto his back, his face sliding into view.

My scream cuts through the air.