Those weren't Fiora's last words to Kim. For Damon was clearly heavier than she had expected, and it took her some time to ascend towards the ceiling. After breathing hard for a bit, she shouted: "Just remember, you are not your bad memories. Good luck, Frizzie! You made it further than most idiots."

  "The proper use is farther, not further!" Kim yelled, but Fiora and Damon were now too far away to hear her grammatical correction.

  The departure of her friends hit her full force. Kim's arms and legs were like lead, and, as if it were attracted to a magnet, the tip of her blade hit the floor. She kept her grip on the pommel. The mutt mindslayers, who had looked up at their escaping quarry, turned to observe their only remaining prey. Instead of pouncing, they all hummed a very soft wordless song. The tune was again something her uncle would sing along to with embarrassing abandon. That stupid but catchy 'Pour Some Sugar on Me'.

  Abandoned! People were always abandoning her.

  It was like her dad's death. Again. She suddenly saw the coffin at the front of the church, felt the cold pew beneath her. Kim's mom, who never cried, was weeping, her wailing as loud as an air siren. The rest of the family were in black, crying silently.

  Something thucked against Kim's forehead and stuck, but she didn't bother brushing it off. In a dreamlike shifting of scenes, she now stood at the graveyard, wet snowflakes falling on her long black coat as she watched her father's coffin being lowered into the ground.

  She fell to her knees in front of the grave and heard something metal clatter on stone—a distant sound. And unimportant. She stared at the coffin. Saying goodbye to her father. She wanted to throw herself into the same hole. The snowfall grew thicker, the wind harsher. Making her colder and colder until her thoughts slowed.

  Another thuck hit her skull, and her sadness deepened. The hymns from the church and her dad's favourite song, 'Hallelujah', played in the back of her mind. It was almost as if something were draining the music from her. The power of the notes was being sucked away.

  The world grew quieter. She stared down.

  Abandoned. Alone. It was time to give up. All was lost. Surrender was the only option.

  Then she heard snow crunching behind her. Someone touched her shoulder.

  She turned her head. Uncle Gord stood there. He looked boyish—both his fall coat and his suit were too small.

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  "Just remember," he said. "You are not your bad memories."

  "Huh?" she replied. But he didn't say it again. She turned to stare at the dark hole in front of her. The vortex in her life. The place all the pain came from, but where the pain ended, too. It was time to fall into the grave with her father. At least she wouldn't be alone.

  He wouldn't be alone.

  But Uncle Gord had never said those words. At the funeral—the real funeral? she wondered—he had put his hand on her shoulder and whispered, "He will always love you." Which sounded phoney then. But now, it was more solid. It was truth.

  But who had said, "You are not your bad memories?"

  Who?

  Then came the image of a dragon creature rising into the air, looking down at her. Leaving those words behind.

  Someone flying in the air? With wings. That had to be her imagination. But she had to see.

  Kim opened her eyes.

  The mutt mindslayers were kneeling right in front of her, eyes closed, each whip-like extension that came out from the back of their heads attached to her skull—they were sucking out her memories and singing lightly. The chorus sounded as if they were singing, lovin' every minute of it. They then switched to a familiar song about a photograph.

  It took her several slow blinks to believe what she was seeing was real. It was as if they worshipped her. But this was not worship; it was a feeding, and she was their meal. She would do better to picture them as a pride of lions munching on a gazelle.

  A few blinks later she had a burning thought: This gazelle will not go down easy. And as she thought that a chord played in her mind. As if the Notes of Power she'd gathered now rang out as a chord and gave her energy. Pumped her up.

  Strümbringer lay on the ground. She crawled her hand over to grasp the pommel and, even more slowly, tried to pull it back, but one of the mutt mindslayers had knelt on the blade, trapping it against cold stone. She pulled harder until the sword slid out and she fell backward, at the same time guiding the blade in an arc that sliced through the whips attached to her head. Three mindslayers had been close enough to be beheaded.

  She braced herself for three bad memories to slap her mind, but they didn't come. The mindslayers opened their eyes as one and groaned. The photograph song stopped.

  A small chest rattled from one head, rolling like a die and stopping right in front of her, already open. She saw a tiny pair of shoes on a chain—something one might hang on a backpack. She lifted it up, surprised that the shoes were metal and had sharp teeth and demon eyes. They were also warm. She attached them to her belt.

  Kim stood unsteadily. She had beaten them. With her mind. With her memories.

  And with help from Fiora's last words. She waited for the Notes of Power to hit her, and bring her more strength, but they didn't appear.

  Whatever, Kim thought. It's not like I understand the rules of this world. She took one step away. Then another. The mindslayers didn't move.

  Then one opened its mouth and whispered, "Sugar."

  And another said, "Pour."

  And a third added, "Some on me."

  Then they all shouted as one: "Now!"

  Several of the mindslayers stuck their mindwhips together and, with a groaning and shuddering, squished and scraped and formed together, their legs and arms becoming larger, body taller, all the time humming that song. Within moments, a giant single mutt mindslayer hovered above her, blasting out 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' but at an ear-melting volume. The monster was surrounded by several smaller mindslayers.

  "Oh, dear," Kim said.