“Yes, that was it.” The Colonel stares at me for a long moment. I know this look of his—the Colonel’s debating whether to tell me something else. At length, he drops his chopsticks on the table. “And that’s the end of my story. Afraid I must be going.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“The fae are going to war. I have my duties. It’ll only be a day or two until I return. You’ll be fine for that long.”
My jaw falls open with shock. “You always say you’ll return in a few days, and it always takes you weeks or months.”
“If I could stay, believe me, I would. But I’ve got a war to deal with. Besides, Reggie will watch over you until I’m back.”
My jaw-opening routine turns absolutely fishlike. I’m not only staring at the Colonel with my mouth open, I’m also periodically gulping at air like a guppy. “Reggie. You mean that psychopathic brain-eating mummy-zombie?”
“That’s the one. He’s smarter than he looks. Or acts. Just trust me.”
Taking in a deep breath, I get ready to explain the dozen or so reasons why the Colonel’s plan to leave me with Reggie is a loser. But before I can get out a single word, the Colonel raises his arms. Instantly, the kitchen fills with a thick haze of fairy dust. A moment later, the silver cloud of fae power is gone.
The Colonel has disappeared as well. Crud.
I cup my hand by my mouth. “Colonel, I know you can hear me. Get back to the kitchen and finish our talk. I know you’re holding out on me.”
Instead of a reply from the Colonel, I hear raised voices echoing from the living room. I set my hand on my throat.
Elle!
In all the excitement, I’d completely forgotten about Alec and my best friend. The Colonel had cast a protection spell to keep the pixies in the kitchen, but his magic had also fallen apart. What if some of those evil green buggers broke through? Tempting as it is to keep yelling for the Colonel, I must find out if Elle’s okay.
Rushing out the exit archway, I hightail it for the living room. There, I find Elle and Alec seated on the couch with their backs to me. The two are still playing their game. Things look okay, but when your life involves magic, you never really know.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” says Elle.
My chest constricts with worry. “What’s wrong?”
“This loser right here.” Elle glares at Alec. “He went into battle again without taking any healing potions to recover from the last fight.”
“Potions.” I let out a long breath. If that’s what she’s worried about, everything is totally fine.
The whole potions thing is an ongoing fight between these two, by the way. Alec hoards healing potions. He has like five hundred at a time, and he refuses to use any of them. I don’t blame Elle for getting irritated. She has to cast healing spells on his hoarding butt.
Did I mention that it’s lovely to be worrying about things like video games instead of the lying old fae who was in my kitchen? It is.
Alec shoots a quick glance my way. “How’s our Knox?”
“Good,” I reply. “Out for a run.”
“Ah, so Ty must’ve called again.” Alec winces while still focused on the screen. He’s really into this game.
“Yeah, she called, all right,” I say. “Knox chucked another phone against the wall.”
“No worries,” says Alec. “I’ll redo the blocker spells when he gets his new cell.”
At the mention of that particular item, I remember my promise to Knox. “Elle, mind if I borrow your phone?”
“Which one: official, anonymous, or burner?” As a con artist, Elle has a variety of phones for different occasions. She does it all for a good cause, though. Elle specializes in returning stolen jewelry to its original owner … for a fee, of course.
“Your official one, please,” I say. If I want to call Knox, that’s the one with my number preloaded.
“Sure, it’s on the coffee table.”
I scoop up the phone in question and drop it into my pocket. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Their only reply is more clicking of keyboards and complaining about healing potions, so I head back to the kitchen.
After all, I never did get dinner.
For a long time, I stuff myself with egg rolls and lo mein. Once my belly is full, I head off for bed. All the while, my mind spins through everything that happened today. Ty’s call. Knox’s pain. The Colonel’s non-story stories. Finally, I decide to hit the mattress and at least try to snooze. I slide under the covers and text Knox with my latest super-secure chat app.
* * *
OnlyCallMeElle: It’s Bry. Hope you have a great run. See you in the morning.
* * *
He texts back right away, which makes me smile.
* * *
Just arrived at the Adirondacks and about to shift. Sleep well, my mate.
* * *
At those words, my grin grows wider. It definitely helps to know that Knox is safe and happy. Sadly, the moment my head hits the pillow, any happy thoughts of Knox get buried under an avalanche of worries. Jules. The Colonel. Elle. School. My lack of parents. It takes a while, but eventually, I fall asleep.
My dreams start off a little weird, but not especially frightening. Something in my soul tells me that won’t last long, though.
These days, it never does.
Chapter 6
In my dream, I stand in a snug room that seems carved from layers of shale. A kid-size bed sits in one corner; a small sandbox, in the other. Drawings made by a child decorate the walls. They seem to have been hung by a kid as well. The tops of the paper have been crammed between the stones to stay put. Someone didn’t want to throw a single thing away. The thought makes me smile.
There’s something safe and comforting about this place.
I’ve been here before; I know it.
White mist rolls across the floor, covering me to my knees. Looking down, I notice that I’m wearing a gray hooded cloak, which is strange. I went to sleep wearing boy shorts and a T-shirt, like always.
What an odd dream.
All of a sudden, a child’s laughter echoes behind me. Turning, I try to see who’s here, but I only see the flash of a small body racing around.
A girl. Perhaps six years old.
I cup my hand by my mouth. “Who’s there?”
“You.” She giggles. “Me. We’re the same thing, silly.”
My breath catches. This has never happened before.
I’m dreaming, but not about Ancient Egypt. This is about me as a child.
Shock and excitement zing through my nervous system. This is huge. I don’t remember anything from when I was under six years old. All my memories are of my aunties, and I came to live with them at age six.
I straighten my spine and ask another question. “Are you saying that you’re a version of me at six years old?”
“Yes, and we’re in a dream.” She’s so young, that last word sounds more like dweam.
I spin around, searching for her in the mist. “Where are you?”
“Come and find me!”
I stumble about, searching for the child version of me. Small glimpses of her appear in the haze, and I chase after them with gusto. Still, I can’t get a clear view. And no matter which direction I run, the tiny room seems to stretch on and on.
Stupid dreams.
Even so, a few details become clear. Child Me wears red, silver, and gold. I race harder, but the room keeps extending. Soon, I give up on a face-to-face chat with her. Instead, I opt for more questions.
“Why don’t I remember you when I’m awake?” I ask.
“Poppa had to hide our memories. They’re still locked down tight.”
Bands of anxiety tighten around my throat. “Poppa? Who do you mean?”
“Who do you think, silly? He’s standing right here.”
A dragon’s tail swooshes by my feet. After that, I glimpse the curve of a massive scaled back. There’s a flash of red spikes jutti
ng out from along the spine. Dragon. And I’d know this particular combination of black scales and red spikes anywhere.
“Colonel Mallory.” I take a half-step backward. “You’re my Poppa?”
The tail flicks once before the dragon vanishes into the mist.
“Colonel Mallory? Are you here?”
There’s no answer. And the dragon doesn’t reappear, either.
My head spins from all this information. There’s a six-year-old version of me locked inside my soul. For some reason, she thinks that Colonel Mallory is her Poppa. That doesn’t make sense. Colonel Mallory is one of the best-known fairies in the world. If he had a child, it wouldn’t be a secret for long. A chill crawls up my limbs.
Is that why my memories are locked down? The Colonel might have been trying to keep me hidden. My ribcage seems to swell with excitement.
I might know who my father is.
Scanning the mist, I look for Child Me again. Will she look like the Colonel? I call out to her again. “Why did Poppa hide our memories of him?”
“Because of the man in the angry mask,” says Child Me. “We couldn’t let him see us. Later, we couldn’t remember him at all.”
With that, a man appears in the corner of the small room. All of him is hidden in mist, except for his golden helmet and faceplate. What I can see of him positively screams Ancient Rome. The helm even has those tall, red plumes along the top. Plus, the faceplate is shaped into the image of a man with narrowed eyes and a deep frown. Could that be Jules … or perhaps one of his minions? Back when Jules was Julius Caesar, he had a large Roman army at his disposal.
The Roman man disappears.
Well, if Jules or one of his minions was after me as a child, that would explain a lot. If the Colonel hid my memories of Jules or his warriors, it was probably to keep me safe. After all, that’s why the Colonel locked up my powers—to keep them hidden from Jules. Why not hide my memories for the same reason? I shake my head. That doesn’t make sense, though. If all this were true, why wouldn’t the Colonel release my memories after Jules died?
I press my palms against my eyes. This is a whole lot of guessing based on some little girl’s ramblings in a dream. Maybe I just want to know who my parents are, so I’m making up this stuff while I sleep.
That has to be it. Colonel Mallory is not Poppa material.
Around me, the haze lightens. My heart pounds faster. Child Me speaks once more, only closer this time.
“Bet you can’t find me,” she calls.
I tilt my head. Should I chase this child?
Little girl laughter echoes again through the mist. The giggles are high pitched and sweet, like the tinkling of tiny bells. I can’t help but smile. A weight I didn’t know I carried seeps off my shoulders. In my deepest heart, I know what I need to do. There is more to this dream than conversations in the mist. I need to see this girl face to face.
I cup my hand by my mouth. “Coming to get you!”
More sweet laughter follows. “Watch where you walk!”
Mist rolls away from my feet, revealing a sandbox. In it, Child Me has drawn the rough image of a pyramid. I lean in for a closer look. Child Me added the picture of an eye above the pyramid’s peak. My mind churns over this image.
Pyramids and eyes. I’ve seen this before. But where?
Before I have time to think things through, Child Me sounds behind me, closer than before. “Catch me! Hurry!”
A realization flows through my soul, one with all the clarity that only a dream can give. If I can just catch this girl in the mist, I’ll have what I’ve always wanted.
Answers.
Spinning about, I step forward. Sure, there may be other obstacles hidden in the mist, but I don’t care if I trip over them. Instead, I rush forward, blindly grasping at anything in the clouds around me. “Ready or not, here I come!”
Her laughter fades. “I have to go. The bad people are coming.”
I pause.
Around me, the shale walls heave as if the room is taking in a breath. The air becomes so cold, I exhale puffs of white cloud. Long shadows creep down the walls, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, except for one fact.
Nothing is causing them.
The shadows lengthen, seeping down the walls in a way that reminds me of so many drips of dark gray paint. Once the darkness reaches the floor, the shadows consolidate into a pair of humanoid shapes. These creatures are tall, slender, transparent, and gray. There’s the slightest curve in one silhouette; that one might be female, while the other’s male. Each creature has bulging eyes that are all white and glowing.
An electric charge of awareness moves through me. For weeks, I’ve been struggling to remember what happens in my dreams.
But I know these creatures.
Hazy bodies.
Many voices.
Beings made of shadow.
What are these creatures called again? The name is so close. …
I scan the room. Around me, the mist dissolves into darkness. All signs of Colonel Mallory, Child Me, or the mysterious Roman soldier disappear. The walls of the underground chamber melt into utter blackness.
My dream is over.
And this is something else entirely.
The creatures stare at me, their bulbous eyes glowing more brightly.
“You’ve come to visit me,” I say.
They nod.
“This isn’t the first time.”
They nod again.
There is almost an audible snap as whatever held back my memories breaks in two. Once, I couldn’t recall anything about my nightmares. Now, all those nightly visions return in a big way.
All-white eyes.
Gray limbs.
Dark intentions.
“I remember you,” I say in a rush. “You’re the Shadowvin. The Void is your master.”
They nod one more time, and the motion sends adrenaline zooming through my bloodstream. More memories appear. The Shadowvin and Void keep visiting my dreams. Every time, they ask me to find some artifact related to the fountain.
No, they don’t ask.
They insist.
Threaten.
Terrify.
I scrub my hands over my face. So why don’t I remember any of this when I wake? The answer appears in a flash. The Shadowvin’s magic stops me from recalling what happened. My chest tightens with anxiety. Now, I’m back with the Shadowvin.
Definitely time to run.
I survey my surroundings. Pitch darkness still stretches in every direction. Not exactly ideal conditions for an escape. I straighten my back. Whatever. It’s not in me to stand around while the big bads get closer.
With all my will, I try to move. It’s no use. Although I twist and squirm, my feet stay rooted to the spot. Panic streams through me.
The two Shadowvin stride closer. Then they pause. My limbs tremble with fear.
“A new world is about to dawn,” says the female Shadowvin. My eyes widen as I remember her name from previous dream visits: Tithe. When she speaks, Tithe’s voice sounds like a dozen old ladies speaking at once. “We come to offer you eternal life and youth in this upcoming era.”
“You have been chosen to translate the Book of Isis,” says the second Shadowvin. His voice sounds like a dozen old men whispering at once. I remember him now; this one’s name is Slythe. “In it, there’s a description of an important artifact—a device called the Codex Mechanica. Vow to find this machine and use it willingly. Then, you shall be rewarded with life eternal.”
“And youth eternal,” adds Tithe.
“Will you vow to help us?” asks Slythe.
Out of reflex, my hands cross my throat. This is what the Shadowvin have been offering me, night after night, only the curse wipes away the memory afterward. And every time they appear, I always refuse them.
No question why I turn them down, either.
These two creepy alien-ghost creatures won’t explain what they want with me and the Codex Mechanica. All they talk abou
t is my vow both to find and use it. PUH-lease. I know how magical vows work. If these Shadowvin have enough power to wipe out my memory, they have enough magic to hold me to my promises. And if I agree to find some weird artifact here in Dreamville? I’ll be mega-compelled to do just that when I’m awake. Even worse, I’ll have no idea why I’m under a compulsion.
Magically forced to help the Shadowvin? Uh, no.
“We’ve had this chat before,” I say. “There’s no way I’m helping you.” Besides, I’m not sure where these two got the idea that being an eternal teenager is so awesome. Even so, it’s what they keep offering me, over and over.
“This is your last warning,” says Tithe.
Slythe’s eyes narrow to glowing slits. “We’ve protected you by erasing your memories come morning,” he growls. “A few twinges of fear, that’s all you know of us.”
“But that will change, unless you agree right now.” Tithe’s many female voices take on a menacing hiss. “You don’t want to live in terror of us. It will drive you mad.”
“Vow to translate the Book of Isis,” adds Slythe. “Vow to hand over the machine and use it. Our magic will hold you to your promise.”
“Let me think about that.” I purse my lips in mock consideration. Inside, my heart is pounding away, but I don’t want to the Shadowvin to know they’re getting to me. When I next speak, I take care to use my calmest voice. “You want me to commit to you in my dreams, get stuck in some kind of magical vow, and then not remember anything in the morning. That way, I’ll be forced to keep my word without ever remembering why. Plus, magical vows have other nasty side effects. I won’t be able to get any aid to stop …” I wave my hands around “… whatever all this is.”
“You don’t mean that,” says Slythe.
“This is me, meaning every word.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Like I’ve told you before, bring on the daytime memories. No problem. I almost had my brains eaten by a zombie version of Julius Caesar. I can handle remembering a few googly-eyed shadows.” By the way, I’m really happy with how serious I come off here. I mean, I’m trapped in a bad dream with shadow baddies. By rights, I should be blubbering on the floor.
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