Free Out of This World by Charles De Lint Page B

do-over before I escaped the dogs by coming here in the first place? Make that before I let Ampora chase me out of Papá’s house.
    The raggedy man reaches out toward my brow with a finger and I flash on Cory doing the same thing with Theo, back on the headland near Tiki Bay.
    Oh, God. Is he going to step inside my head, or my dreams, or whatever it was Cory did to Theo?
    But then my head fills with a flash of—not exactly light. It’s more a momentary rush of information that flares inside me like stepping out of a dark house into the noontime sun. I see how to pull off the trick. I also see a cascade of confusing images that I realize are pieces of my companion’s life. It’s like watching somebody flip pages in a book, but they flit by so quickly, it’s almost like they were never there in the first place.
    â€œNow quickly,” he says in a soft voice. “Disappear.”
    I use the new information he stuck in my head and discover that he was right. It is like enfolding yourself in an imaginary blanket or a cloak. I imagine a blanket that I pull over me and I guess I go invisible. I know I did everything just like the infodump showed me. Except …
    â€œI can still see my hands,” I say.
    â€œBut I can’t.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œYes. Now, on our lives, be still.”
    I’m about to ask why, when I hear the soft pad of paws on the other side of the wrecked car. I grip my length of pipe and hold my breath.
    The dog is there, standing as high at the shoulder as a wolf. It’s the same breed as the pack that came at me in the park.
    That reminds me of the one I hit with the chain last night. I hope I didn’t kill him.
    I get a flash in my head of the surveillance video footage where Josh is killing that ValentiCorp researcher while he’s in his Wildling shape, quickly followed by the memory of the torn-up remains of Vincenzo that Josh left in the otherworld.
    I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to be like that.
    But today I don’t have to fight. The dog looks right at us— no, right through us because his gaze slides away as though we’re not even there. He shifts in a blur of movement and the dog becomes one of those tall men in a duster. He pulls a horn from an inside pocket and blows a quick call to his companions.
    The sharpness of the sound, coming from so close, startles me. I can feel my imaginary blanket slide a little from my imaginary shoulder and reach up to adjust it. It’s only when the man turns in my direction that I realize I forgot I was supposed to imagine the adjustment. Instead I reached with my hand and the movement broke the spell.
    His eyes widen in surprise at my sudden appearance and then he grins before lifting the horn again.

My butt is starting to hurt. We’re sitting crossed-legged on one of the big flat stones, facing each other under the morning sun. I’m supposed to close my eyes and use all my other senses to “see” Tío Goyo, then when I’m locked into him, I’m supposed to use my tracking sense to place him in the landscape.
    â€œHow long before we finally give up?” I ask after we’ve been doing this for a half hour. “Something about this place is blocking my ability to find that GPS I had in my head.”
    â€œWe’re not going to give up,” he says.
    â€œYeah, but—”
    â€œIt will return,” he tells me before I can finish. “Trust me. We can try other exercises, but let’s not abandon this one too soon.”
    I think of montages in movies where they fast-forward through the hero’s training to the beat of some rocking tune. Why can’t that work in real life?
    â€œLet’s give it another few minutes,” Tío Goyo says, “then we’ll take a break and try something else.”
    I nod and close my eyes. His breathing is quiet, but I can easily find it. Ditto his scent. But when I reach