(A/N): The series, Night World, does not belong to me (obviously) and Fayth was created by L.J. Smith, but all the OCs are mine! Enjoy (^3^) PS: I know the series was written really really long ago, but I just had to write this. It tells the story of Fayth, the girl Rashel meets during the slave trade in The Chosen.

1

Dreams and Fire

The chilly autumn wind rustled past her as she hurriedly climbed the large stone steps of the building, clutching a duffel bag to her chest. Mrs. Templeton glanced up at her from the main desk as she burst in through the wide glass doors, breathless and pink from the cold.

"You're late today, sweetie." Mrs. Templeton said, re-adjusting her glasses. She pointed down the hall briefly before turning back to the stack of paper on her table.

"They're down in Study Room 2, down the stairs and round the first left."

She nodded in thanks and rushed on, nearly slipping on her way down. When she finally swung the door open and stumbled to a halt inside the room, all eyes immediately turned to see who'd come in so late. She felt herself go red, and a few girls stifled their giggles. Gina raised an eyebrow at her, then turned back to reading the essay she'd written on the latest book assignment the Waterton Library Club had been given.

The WLC were a group of children who were interested in literature and language, or just books in general. They met at Waterton Library every Friday to talk about recent books, share ideas, maybe do some research on a certain piece of literature they were interested in, or just sit and read anything they wanted to. She'd always been interested in books and writing, so she usually looked forward to the two-hour-long sessions.

Usually.

It's not your fault, a voice in her head whispered. It was the dreams...

The dreams.

Light flared painfully behind her eyelids, and there was a broken world, there was smoke and dust and death

"Fayth!"

It was gone, then, and she was standing at the doorway of the little study room, and her head was spinning…

"Fayth! Over here!" The voice came again, and she whirled around to see a familiar face waving her over. She hurried over to the back of the room and sat down next to the boy who'd called her name, who was sitting at a bench in the corner fiddling subconsciously with a Cheshire Cat keychain. He looked up most disapprovingly at her and, then, with his arms spread out in front of him, announced dramatically, "Ladies, and gentlemen, today we observe a true miracle! The one and only Fayth Caroline Olsen has arrived late, yes, you heard me, late, by thirteen whole minutes for the very first time in the seventeen long years of her life." He shook his head sadly, "Ah, this fateful day shall go down in the greatest history of all histories and be remembered forevermore as the Day When We Lost Faith – " He paused, and then smiled rather smugly as an idea began to take form in his head. "Or should I say, the Day When We Lost Fay – "

"Don't you dare, Sam," she warned. Sam stuck his tongue out at her, but shut his mouth. She rolled her eyes. "It's nothing really, I forgot my handbook at home and had to go back to get it. And thirteen minutes isn't going to make much of a difference – it's not like we're paying attention to whatever new hogwash poem Gina's come up with this time."

Sam looked delighted. "I think 'hogwash' is going to be my new favourite word."

"Well," she started, "Considering that your last favourite word was 'bumfuzzle', I'd say this is quite an improvement."

He threw his keychain at her.


Fayth's fingers fluttered on the pages of her handbook, and she kept glancing up nervously in case Sam noticed anything was wrong, but he continued his good-natured banter without paying much attention. She hated lying to her best friend, but she couldn't risk mentioning the strange visions she's been having lately. He would've laughed and called her delusional if she told him she'd suddenly blanked out in the middle of the sidewalk, images of black fires raging across the city and pale-faced women with liquid silver eyes and fanged smiles slashed across their faces racing through her mind until she'd crumpled to her knees and vomited into the bushes. It had been a good amount of time before she'd managed to regain her composure and set off for the library.

She shuddered at the memory of the recent bout she'd had. It had been the worst one yet, and she was afraid she was going mad, and would have to visit the doctor soon, or maybe even a psychiatrist. The visions hadn't always been this bad; they'd come to her one night as a bad dream, and she'd awoken in cold sweat, images of roaring dragons and witches gathered over a bubbling cauldron still lingering in her mind. Then they'd come again and again, frequenting her nightmares and haunting her conscience. She was caught between the past and the future, forewarnings of an age of great destruction and endless fires to come, glimpses of years long gone.

It was like she herself was remembering, revisiting her memories, but she'd never actually experienced these things. A Roman war tent, feeding an unfamiliar man grapes from a silver casket as he smiled lazily at her. Surrounded by giggling women wearing lace petticoats and holding ridiculous little parasols to hide their faces. Cold winds howling around her as she pulled herself over the rift in the snow, hail hurtling down from the grey skies. They were there and gone, little bits of someone else's experiences, yet somehow she had a sinking feeling in her gut that something was missing, though her memory did not accept these visions as her own. It was beginning to scare her, these eerie premonitions of a terrible fate, a lone wolf howling at the moon from atop a pile of boulders…

"…and then she said that Simon had told her that he'd heard Gina tell Mora that Lexy thought I was cool, and – " It was like he'd hauled her out from beneath dark waters, and suddenly everything was clear and bright, and she blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on his voice. A pair of bright grey eyes peered out at her from beneath a messy mop of dark curls.

"Fayth? Are you listening?" Sam bent over to look at her open journal, his hair brushing her shoulders. He looked rather apprehensive. "Is that… a wolf? I didn't know you could draw! I can never draw wolves without a reference, they end up looking like the Tasmanian Devil from Loony Toons – "

Fayth released the pencil suddenly, and it clattered to the floor. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it. There, scrawled on the paper, was a howling wolf shockingly similar to the one she'd seen in her hallucinations. She had no memory of drawing it.

Sam frowned at her, bending to retrieve the fallen pencil, looking a little startled at her sudden reaction. "Okay, something is definitely wrong. I've been trying to ignore it, but you have been acting strange lately. You know you can tell me anything, right? I'm here for you."

I can't Sam, I'm sorry.

"Of course I know, I guess I'm just tired; it's been a long week."

"Are you sure?" Sam pressed on.

No, I'm not alright, I need help, I need –

"I'm sure."

He didn't look satisfied, but he shrugged and seemed to accept her lie. "Just know that I'll always be there for you. After all," he added, "I drag myself every week to this ponderous, dreary old library just for you. Truthfully, my mother shoves me out of the door, drives me here and pushes me down the stairs, but the dragging does happen in immense quantities to get all the way to this lonely little desk so far, far away from the door."

She couldn't help smiling a little, and the tension in her chest eased a little. Since he'd moved to Boston in first grade with his family from Spain, they'd been best friends, and he had always been there for her through her life. She remembered swinging together on the tyre swing hanging from the tree outside his father's farmhouse, finishing his overdue homework so he wouldn't get in trouble, dressing up as pumpkins for the school Halloween festival, building sandcastles and collecting shells washed up by the gentle waves onto the wet golden sand, picking out an outfit for him the day before the junior prom, laughing as he jiggled his nose at her, his eyes crossed and a bit of food stuck between his teeth. It was a tangle of sunshine and warmth and happiness.

She looked at him now, at his disorderly sable hair pushed carelessly behind his ears, his mischief-lit ashy grey eyes, the freckles sprayed unevenly over his nose. "You and me both know the real reason you are motivated to take those few steps to the back of the room and plonk your royal behind onto one of these benches is Lexy Lawrence."

His ears at once turned a peculiar shade of pink. "That is absolutely untrue, I do not whatsoever have an immense crush on her and definitely do not come here faithfully every week just to ogle at her godly beauty– "

She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him. Lexy had joined their school last year, and had at once become part of the popular clique. Fayth had rarely conversed with her, though she was kept updated on her life by Sam's continuous commentary. He knew her favourite jelly bean flavour (raspberry) and her favourite lip gloss colour (French rose) and which days she went for ballet lessons (Saturdays). The funny yet not-so-surprising thing was, Lexy did not know Sam even existed – well, not really. Fayth smiled a little, remembering the day Lexy had spoken to Sam for the first ime, and he'd proceeded to have a three-part breakdown of his stature.

"Hey, Samuel right?" she'd said. "Would you mind shifting over a bench so Mora could sit behind me?" Of course, Sam had chosen to sit right behind her so he could marvel at the beauty of the back of her head while she sat in front of him, unaware.

At being personally addressed by his one true love, Sam had seemingly been overtaken by speechlessness. Going red from head to toe, he'd slowly shrunk into the wall behind him, face completely blank. Fayth had kicked him under the table, and he'd yelped back to reality.

"Love, I'd sure to – I mean sure, I'd love to – move to the other bench that is. Nope, don't mind at all!" he'd shouted, stumbling over his words.

Lexy had given him a strange, confused look, and he'd retreated hastily to a bench at the far corner of the classroom, muttering dolefully to himself – something of a self-consolation, she supposed.

Something touched her shoulder lightly, and she blinked back to reality. Sam looked exasperated. "I know I talk way too much, but you're the only one who ever tolerates it, so you've got to stop zoning out on me like that. I was going to say – Lexy isn't even here today." He looked around mournfully. "Oh Lexy, Lexy, wherefore art thou, Lexy?"

"Maybe you should save the Shakespeare for literature class next week – I'm sure Miss Amanda would love to finally have some contribution from your side. Besides," she added, "Wherefore in literal terms means, 'why', not 'where', so – "

" – So you'll stop ruining my moment before I throw my keychain at you again," he warned, holding up the little Cheshire Cat keyring.

It smiled heinously at her from beneath his fingertips.