The Echoed Realm

by A. J. Vrana

  They followed a two-pronged dirt path that looked ploughed through the tall, unkempt grass. No one was around, and it didn’t take long to spot several new graves with fresh dirt swelling before the tombstones.

  “There,” he said as they passed one. “Sydney Maria Baron.”

  Her name was carved in dark stone that glittered in the moonlight. In the center was a sepia portrait of a young woman with shoulder-length, curly hair. Beloved sister and daughter, the epitaph read. Kai was surprised by its simplicity, as though the brevity revealed how much couldn’t be expressed.

  A bunch of white roses in a blue-tinted vase sat next to the slab. They seemed freshly snipped off a bush, lacking the polish of a store-bought bouquet.

  “White roses are my favourite,” Miya said softly. “It’s strange, feeling sad while admiring something you love.” She crouched down. Her fingertips grazed over the petals before she pinched a thorny stem and plucked a flower from the bunch. “This’ll work.”

  Kai raised an eyebrow. “A single rose?”

  “I can feel so much on it.” Miya examined the flower, still speckled with dew. “Crowbar got these recently. It’s like they absorbed all her emotions the way they absorb water. But there’s more—something under the grief. Something…sticky. Unwelcome.”

  Kai dropped his nose to the flower. It was true—he detected Crowbar’s scent, but it mingled with something else: the same rancid odour he’d picked up in The Mangy Spade. The thing that’d breathed down his neck.

  “Let’s get a hotel room,” Miya instructed. “I’ll need someplace quiet to concentrate, and the trail won’t last more than a few hours.”

  Without waiting for his input, she turned on her heels and headed down the slope. It was the three-legged race again, and Miya always led the way. Perhaps if he knew why they were tethered—why he had to shadow her every move—he would have felt more at peace with it. He wondered if she even noticed he was like a dog on a two-foot leash. She had the freedom to move between worlds; he couldn’t even stay in this one without her.

  Back on the main road, it didn’t take long for them to spot an inn close to Kai’s new watering hole—a three-story, yellow-brick townhome with a sign out front that read Mildred’s Guesthouse. As they stepped through the whining door, Kai was assaulted by the smell of dust. A bespectacled woman with greying hair looked up from her mystery novel, apparently befuddled by the presence of customers in her establishment. She was accompanied by a bean-shaped, bushy-tailed tuxedo cat loafing on the desk and a cross the size of a welcome sign hanging on the wall behind her. The cat stretched and yawned, then slithered around the woman’s hand before hopping to the floor.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, her tone nasally and suspicious. She glanced at the clock—half-past ten.

  “We’re looking for a room,” Miya said.

  The woman—presumably Mildred—blinked like her brain was processing at the pace of a ’90s PC. When she finished computing, her mouth popped open, and her eyes widened. She looked between the two of them, then asked cautiously, “Two beds?”

  “One bed,” Kai warned. Fuck her puritan virtues. That, and he was short on cash.

  Mildred shrank back, her disapproval quickly buried under Kai’s menacing glare. “Of course.”

  Miya thwacked his thigh and hissed, “Be nice.”

  Just then, the stubby feline brushed against Kai’s leg, its plump tail snaking around his ankle. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as he beat down the urge to consider the cat a dinner option.

  Lambchop shot him a warning look, and Kai glowered back, then picked up the fat cat. Nose to nose, he stared the furball square in the eye as its limbs dangled pathetically. “You’re a meager shadow of your ancestors.”

  Miya’s hand shot in front of his face as she clasped the aluminum nametag between her fingers. “Petunia,” she read aloud, “is adorable.”

  Mildred looked perturbed, but Kai wasn’t finished. “This is how I feel about golden retrievers,” he said. “Your species has ruined a perfectly good apex predator.”

  Miya frowned. “What’s wrong with golden retrievers?”

  “They eat rocks and cat shit! They have floppy ears!”

  Miya blinked at him, then smiled pleasantly at Mildred. “How much for that room?”

  “Eighty dollars please,” she stammered, closing her book. “We take credit.”

  Kai slung the cat under his arm like a football and dug through his pocket. Miya was uncomfortable charging for her services, but Kai understood the world ran on money, not kindness. Those plagued by a need to showboat their wealth made easy targets, and Kai’s deft hands never missed their mark.

  His lioness tolerated it so long as he stole from the right people, and Kai was always happy to ruin a rich man’s day.

  He moseyed over and slapped the dough onto the desk with one hand, then plopped the cat down with the other. Petunia trilled and scuttled into her owner’s lap, pleased to have her feet on something solid again.

  Mildred cleared her throat. “Thank you.” From her drawer, she retrieved a key with the number 301 written on the attached tag, then reluctantly surrendered it.

  Kai closed his fist around the faded digits and blithely smirked back. “You’re welcome.”

  The room was one of two on the third floor—small and simple, with cream-coloured carpets, a brass-framed double bed, and a back lane window adorned with peachy drapery. The walls were pastel green, decorated with dried flowers locked behind picture frames.

  “Yuck,” Kai said as he inspected the bedside table only to find a bible.

  “How’s that libido?” Miya snorted.

  “Like I stuck my dick in the freezer.”

  Miya wandered into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, then returned with her rose safely resting in a glass of water. She set it down by the lamp and tugged on Kai’s belt.

  “What happened to fading trails of demonic energy on delicate flower petals?” Kai asked, his eyebrow arched.

  Miya shrugged. “I said it’d be good for a few hours. The rose can wait twenty minutes.”

  His mouth quirked as he was pulled towards the bed, his hands sliding up the inside of her shirt. “Sage words,” he cracked as their clothes came off piece by piece.

  She was right; being naked and alone was better than desperately fumbling in an alleyway. He pushed Miya onto the bed and pinned his knee between her thighs, then cast the rose a cursory glance. “We won’t be long.”

  Miya burst into laughter and pulled him into a hungry kiss. Her body rose to meet his, her lips tracing his jaw as she whispered breathily against his ear, “Let’s give Mildred something to blush about.”

  8

  MIYA

  Miya closed her eyes and let her fingers run over the petals, feeling every vein and groove for what she knew didn’t belong—something she couldn’t name. All she knew was that it felt wrong, like a viscous powder layered over the rose, slowly snuffing it out. Miya’s brow creased as she concentrated. The residue stirred as if responding to her call, but the moment her concentration slipped, the dregs of its foul odour fled back into the flower.

  Miya’s eyes shot open. “This isn’t working.”

  Kai was still lying in bed, watching her idly. Their clothes were back on, but he’d opted to remain horizontal while she worked. “I witnessed no failures,” he quipped.

  She turned to him, her tone apologetic. “I need to get closer.”

  His lips pursed into a tight line. “…In the dreamscape?”

  Miya nodded, her stomach churning with guilt. She held out the rose. “I can’t tap into it from here. I’m not good enough yet. But if I dreamwalk, I should be able to learn more.”

  Kai let out a shaky breath and sat up. He ruffled his coarse hair, and for a moment, Miya swore she saw a tremor in his hand.

  “I won’t be long—fifteen minutes at most. My body will be right here; it’ll be like a power nap,” she promised. “I just need to see if th
ere’s some memory I can access. I can do that more easily from the dreamscape.”

  “I know,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on the duvet.

  “Please, Kai?” She crawled over to him and wrapped her arms around his midsection. “Have a little faith.”

  His face twisted like she’d stuck a knife in his side, his gaze halfway between torn and angry. “You know I can’t stay here alone, even if you’re just dreamwalking. I want to, believe me. But I can’t.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “I know it’s scary, but you have to trust that I can do this and get back in time.” She reached up and cupped his face with both hands, searching him for a shred of confidence. “I will be back in time.”

  His breath halted, and the moment drew out for what seemed like an eternity until he finally nodded.

  Miya pressed her mouth to his. “It’ll be okay,” she reassured, but he remained guarded. They could physically go back to the dreamscape together, but each trip through dimensions was a burden; one too many in succession and the tether would snap. Kai could get stuck between realms—a gamble with too high a price.

  “If you don’t want me to—”

  “No,” he said evenly. “I trust you.” His shoulders finally let go as he exhaled. “Just feels like I’m on a leash sometimes.”

  Miya bit back the bitter taste in her mouth. She knew he felt trapped. She knew he hated being stuck in a world of endless illusions. He missed being here, where touch, smell, and sound reigned—where it was imminent. It was the one place he’d lost the freedom to go.

  Miya opened her mouth to apologize, to swear to find a way to break his shackles, but she was arrested by an abrupt change in his expression. His eyes were frozen wide, staring at something in the distance—something that made his hands shake and his muscles harden with fear. She heard him swallow, his breath hiking behind his clenched jaw.

  “Kai?” She grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

  He jolted back, blinking away whatever had gripped him. His brows knitted together as his lips pulled back into a grimace. “Nothing.”

  “That’s a fucking lie,” she rebuked.

  Kai closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It is, but now’s not the time for my shit.” He nodded towards the rose. “You’re on a time crunch, yeah? We can talk about me when you get back.”

  Miya was about to protest when her confidence faltered. Even if she had a few hours, she didn’t want to cut it too close. The vestiges of otherworldly energy were dissipating with every passing moment. “All right,” she reluctantly agreed. “We’ll talk about it when I get back.”

  She settled back onto the bed and looked up at Kai. He tangled his fingers with hers, running his thumb over the back of her hand. Miya touched the rose to her mouth, letting the floral scent intoxicate her as the plush petals brushed against her nose. If there was anything she’d gotten good at, it was descending into the dreamscape without Ama’s help. She felt it calling her back the same way the Dreamwalker had three years ago. Miya wondered if her connection to the dreamscape was like an elastic band. It stretched as far as she needed it to when she traversed the physical realm, but eventually, it snapped back into place, pulling her along with it.

  She could feel it tugging on her now, straining to hold an impossible tension.

  Miya’s eyelids grew heavy as she imagined the deathless star in the sheer white sky, the shimmers of purple, azalea, gold, and emerald—like the dream stone hanging around her neck. If anything helped her find her way, it was the stone Gavran had gifted her.

  Slowly, the sensation of Kai’s skin against hers melted away, until their hands felt as one. Miya’s body sank into the abyss, below the seams of the material plane, and far into the boundless world of dreams.

  9

  When Miya opened her eyes, she didn’t expect to find herself staring at a row of metal bars. They fluttered like hummingbird wings as the air danced and undulated in a hazy, milk-coloured current. The quivering iron emanated a low hum that ricocheted off the walls of the enclosed space. The song grew louder—more urgent—until the quiet buzz ripped into a shriek.

  It was a nauseating orchestra of pain and vertigo, and an icy draft battered Miya’s right shoulder. Distant, muffled cries filtered through her awareness as she swooned, then caught herself on the bars. The quaking stopped, and the room stilled as the voices grew louder, clearer. Miya’s vision focused, and she homed in on a large mass on the floor. A man was crumpled in a fetal position, his eyes wide and blank, his mouth agape.

  “What the hell happened!” someone demanded as they barged into the cell. “Suicide? How?”

  “Maybe he OD-ed on something?” a second guard suggested.

  “How, genius? We searched him! He had nothing!”

  “Heart attack?”

  Silence. A defeated sigh.

  “Maybe, yeah.”

  Miya needed to get closer. The moment of death had just passed. She could still reach him and uncover what happened. If she could touch him—

  “I’ll spare you the trouble, Dreamwalker.”

  Miya’s breath caught as the stench of decay assaulted her. She clamped a hand over her mouth and gagged, her body lurching forward. Her watering eyes darted across the room in search of the figure.

  “Right here,” the voice, smooth as silk, directed Miya to a shadow lurking in the corner. The creature stepped forward, and although she was familiar, it took Miya a moment to place her. It was no wonder why; during their first encounter, her flesh was old, sagging leather. Her pallid skin was now firm and smooth, her shark-eyes vibrant where they were once hollow. No longer like tangled algae, her slick, dark green hair flowed over her breasts and clung to her curves like a perfectly draped garment.

  “You killed him,” said Miya as she backed away from the foul odour.

  The demoness lowered her gaze to the body. “Vincent here took his own life.” Her ashen-blue lips widened into a curved bow. “We made a deal, he and I.” She stepped over the body, droplets of water stippling the tiles and burning through like acid. A black spider with a taut, bulbous body scuttled out of Vincent’s ear and up the woman’s leg. Its thin, disjointed limbs left needle-point impressions as it routed over her arm and settled on her fingertips. “In exchange for his life and his soul, he’d be spared a dreadful fate.” She opened her mouth wide, her jaw unhinging as the spider crawled back home.

  “What could be worse than having your soul devoured by a rotting swamp monster?” Miya retorted.

  The insult rolled off her as she laughed, the sound sickly-sweet. The bars were shuddering again, the thrum pounding through Miya’s skull. “You of all people know what happens to spirits who die in great agony, who struggle to forgive their own mistakes.” The demoness canted her head, her eyes softening, her smile almost sympathetic. “Do you really want another Abaddon?”

  The evocation of his name was enough to thrust Miya against the cell wall, but her body didn’t hit the concrete slab. She fell through like a stone in an empty pool and plummeted into a shallow stream of cloudy bog-water.

  Where are you? a familiar voice implored. Just give me a lead, anything!

  Miya swivelled on her knees to find herself staring at Mason Evans’s back.

  She’s alive, I know she is, her mother cried desperately from somewhere within the fog.

  We’ll find her, Andrea, I promise.

  Miya wheezed painfully as a figure walked straight through her—his anguish, frustration, and stubborn determination crashing over her in a thundering wave. It was her father.

  I won’t give up, his voice shook, I’ll never give up.

  Her parents joined Mason. He was staring at a map of the United States, a single thumbtack piercing the town of Summersville, West Virginia.

  Mason and her family were searching for her.

  Her insides clenched until her ribs began to ache. Her parents hadn’t moved on. Mason hadn’t moved on. They were still clinging to the threads she’d lef
t dangling behind her, hoping those traces would lead somewhere.

  “No,” Miya found herself muttering. “No, no, no!” She climbed to her feet, stumbling as the world teetered. “I’m fine,” she called to them. “Please, just let me go!”

  “Leave them,” a voice hissed in her ear.

  Miya didn’t bother turning; she knew it was her predecessor—the original Dreamwalker.

  “They cannot know you live,” she warned.

  “Why not?” demanded Miya.

  “They were not made for this world.”

  Miya sucked in a shaky breath and faced the raven-beaked mask. Violet-black feathers licked her skin as they flickered from the spirit’s iridescent cloak. “I’ve tried not to think about it,” she confided. “I can’t, or I’ll hate them.”

  For three years, she’d evaded the memory of that night. She knew her parents had been complicit—that they’d participated in the town’s bloody hunt for the Dreamwalker’s newest victim: their precious daughter who they hardly knew. Would her father have murdered her just as Elle’s father had? She’d never know for certain, but historical precedent was enough to scare her out of finding out.

  She wanted to hate her parents, but realizing they hadn’t forsaken their search for her tore open the near-mortal wound they’d inflicted. Why were they looking for her? They practically built the pyre; all that’d remained was to pour the gasoline and light the match.

  Because they love you, a tiny voice chimed. They’re your parents.

  They hadn’t acted purely of their own volition; she knew they’d been manipulated by Abaddon, yet this was no salve. Yes, Abaddon might’ve twisted them up, but there must’ve been something for him to grasp onto first.

  They love you, the voice repeated.

  God, how much easier it’d been to cast them off when she believed they’d let her go. Now, she just wanted them to understand.