[b][i]Chapter Two[/i][/b] [right]11.[/right]

	She stood in the entrance of the hallway that lead into the living room until her brothers turned to look at her. They stared at one another as Jenna contemplated the words she wished to speak. Eventually, she slowly walked past them into her bedroom and gently closed the door. Their hushed voices were audible as Jenna dressed herself for bed. Once clothed, she re-opened the door and sat herself down on the couch at Penelope’s feet. She looked to Dillon.

	“Where’s Cole?”

	“He went to shower,” he said uneasily.

	“What’s wrong?”

	“Nothing.”

	He was standing by the door, barefoot and filthy. Lightly, he leaned against the front wall and chewed on his lip.

	“You’re special, Jenna,” he finally said in a soft voice.

	“Am I?” asked she, leaning back comfortably against the couch cushions. “How?”

	“You weren’t dreaming,” said Dillon, crossing his arms. “Your magic, the Hell Hound - it was real.”

	“You’re lying. Stop joking,” she laughed weakly.

	“I’m lying?” he scoffed. “Then how did I know what happened, if it was a dream?”

	Jenna didn’t have an answer. She stared at her feet while searching for a logical reason Dillon could have known about her dream. When she looked up, he was standing in front of her, shirtless and sporting four bright pink, long and puffy scars along his left side.

	“No,” she gasped. “It was real? No. I’m still dreaming!”

	She puts her hands to her cheeks and pinched them hard, sucking in a sharp breath when it stung. Her eyes turned upward and soaked in the image of her scarred brother. Again, she laughed.

	“I’m magic? I have powers?”

	“We all do,” he said softly, crouching down to look his sister in the eyes. “And that’s why we have to leave. We have to go.”

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