by C. J. Valles
When he arches his eyebrow, I blush.
“Well, there are a couple of things wrong with that,” I point out. “First, I’m not a prince, or even a princess. Second, you held a blade to my throat the second you woke up. So—”
He pulls back and looks me over, clearly amused.
“I must say I respect your wardrobe choice. Very fashion forward.”
“Hey! I thought I was going to show up to rescue you in pink pajamas. I say this is an improvement.”
He touches my cheek, his eyes instantly serious again.
“I thought I would never see you again,” Alex says quietly.
“You saved me. I figured I’d return the favor,” I shrug, trying to sound indifferent.
The expression in his eyes changes.
“You said you could love me in another lifetime.” He pauses as he stares down at me. “This is another lifetime, Wren. … And you’re all I’ve wished for during an eternity of pain.”
His words shatter me into a million tiny pieces, but before I can start crying again, his arms slip around me. I don’t fight it. I don’t question it. And when I finally meet his eyes, he bends toward me. I don’t have time to regret my decision as his lips come down on mine, causing a rush of relief and electricity to course through me.
My hands slip into his hair as he lifts me into his arms. If I had doubts about my physical form in this dimension, they’re gone. I can feel every inch of my body, which is burning against his. And in this moment, I give up everything else.
In this moment, there is only Alex.
Then I hear the sound from my nightmares. Clapping. The same as the night Alex took Ashley, when I still knew him as Iago, the traitor. My eyes fly open and my muscles tense as Alex sets me down. Turning to face my nightmare, I’m stunned by how beautiful she is. Her flowing red hair is a striking, unnatural shade of crimson. And her eyes. Glowing with blue fury, they reveal her madness.
“You’ve brought me another toy,” she says sweetly to Alex.
The floor-length gown she’s wearing is black, iridescent, and mostly sheer—the evil stepsister version of Cinderella’s gown for the ball. When she begins to glide toward us, I put my hand on the blade at my side. She just smiles and keeps walking.
“We could have so much fun,” she says with revolting seductiveness. “With both of them.”
My lip curls as I realize that she’s A) talking to me, and B) referring to torturing Alex … and Ever.
“Join us,” she purrs.
“Give me one good reason.”
“Because I shall allow you to keep your toys … and I will teach you how to be much more creative. After all, two is better than one.”
Her blue eyes sparkle with mad glee as her gaze shifts to Alex.
“Or how about I trap you here with no toys at all?” I hiss.
Taking the blade from my side, I plunge it into her chest without hesitation, watching in horror and fascination as she freezes into an ice statue. Then, for several seconds all I can think is: That was way too easy. By the time I turn back to Alex, he’s immobile again, his eyes locked onto the ice princess.
“Which way? How do we get out of here? Alex!”
He tears his attention from her and stares at me blankly. I shiver. What did she do to him? Reaching up, I slap his face hard and wince as pain shudders through my hand. When he blinks, I take his hand and begin yanking him toward the tower window that has suddenly appeared straight out of the Rapunzel fairy tale. At the edge, I look at Alex again.
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
He smiles, suddenly his old self again.
“I would follow you anywhere, Ms. Sullivan.”
Good, I think to myself, because I have no idea what I’m doing.
“First …” Alex leaves my side, and I watch as he wrenches the blade free of her chest. He walks back to me and holds out the blade. “We’re going to need it.”
I watch in horror as black smoke begins pouring from the princess’s wound, and my eyes widen as her appearance begins to change. Laughter fills the air as the princess’s flowing gown takes on the appearance of black scales while her pale hands have become talons. Even her face begins to change, growing longer and less human-looking as fire flashes in her eyes. I shiver. Maybe this is what she really looks like, and my brain was only imagining her with human features.
Turning back to the turret window, I take Alex’s hand again, remembering the end of Sleeping Beauty—when the evil queen turned into a dragon.
“Freaking fairy tales,” I mutter under my breath.
When a wall of flames erupts towards us, I leap into nothingness with Alex’s hand gripped tightly in mine.
18: The Poison Apple
My eyes snap open, and for several seconds I’m afraid it was all a dream. I can’t remember anything after jumping from the castle—only the hope that we would survive the fall. With a jolt, I look around for Alex, remembering that he can be hurt here, while somehow I heal. Sitting up, I scan the shoreline, first searching for signs of the castle. My panic fades when I see its shiny façade far in the distance. I don’t know whether we moved or it moved, and I don’t care.
Looking in the other direction, I find Alex lying several feet away, motionless, with his eyes closed. Scrambling over to him, I kneel down and touch his cheek. He’s cold to the touch. Frighteningly so. I whisper his name, but he doesn’t move.
With Alex unconscious and me not knowing when the castle—complete with dragon princess—will randomly reappear in front of me, I realize that I wasn’t prepared for this. I don’t think I ever could have been, but now I have to prepare myself for the possibility that I may never leave this world. Taking Alex’s limp hand in mine, I pull the blade from my belt and slice at the air, waiting for a black seam to rip open and pull us back to reality. Nothing happens.
“Dammit!”
Dropping down with a sigh of disappointment, I search Alex’s perfect face, waiting for his bright blue eyes to open. Then I hear a low wail, a sound that chills me to the core. Looking out into a velvety purple darkness, I see glowing red eyes watching us in the distance.
“Alex!” I whisper frantically.
When he doesn’t move, I do the only thing I can. I run. I run toward the darkness and the glowing red eyes until I can feel the burning cold that I felt the first time I looked into Ever’s eyes.
This is what hunted him.
I can feel its hatred the way I did that day in the classroom, and the closer I get, the colder I feel. And the smell. Acrid and putrefying. Something evil, driven purely by hatred. When the smell overwhelms me and the cold has frozen me into immobility, I scan the darkness.
What emerges causes me to stumble backward. Four beasts as large as horses but with features resembling wolves. Rising up behind them is a vast forest of trees illuminated only by a blood-red moon. One of the beasts stalks closer to me, and my stomach lurches with terror as its shape begins to change. Black fur melting into black clothing, fiery eyes turning coal black. Silver hair. Without meaning to, I take a step back.
The horsemen. Of course they take the shape of blood-lusting monster wolves in my deranged imagination. The Big Bad Wolf times four.
“Such a pity you’ve come to us,” he chuckles with disappointment. “It’s so much better when they try to escape.”
One of the other beasts takes shape as the girl with carrot-colored hair.
“Yes, brother. This one knows no better, but she will learn.”
Pulling out the blade at my side, I hold it up, allowing it to gleam in the unnatural light of the moon.
“I used this to turn your princess into a shish kabob.” Their expressions briefly shift from amusement to befuddlement. “Come on. Really? You don’t know what a shish kabob is? Well, which one of you wants to find out first?”
I was trying to sound fearless and menacing, but what he says next deflates any false bravery I may have had.
“You can stop only one of us,” the
silver-haired horseman purrs. “Then what will you do?”
Okay, scratch that plan. The problem is: I don’t have a better one. I keep an eye on the other two, who I imagine are the silent young man with long snow-white hair and the girl with coal black hair. They remain as wolves, and I wait nervously for them to break off in search of Alex. If they get close enough, I might be able to give one of them a good jolt, but that’s not going to be enough to save me from all four.
“Come and get me, then!” I scream hoarsely. “What are you waiting for?”
“Fear,” the silver-haired horseman whispers.
An orange glow begins to build around the carrot-topped girl, and I think of Audra and our trainings sessions as a wave of energy rolls toward me. I manage to brace my mental wall just before the wave knocks me clean off my feet, leaving me feeling seared and raw. Getting up, I expect to be bloodied and battered by the blast, but I’ve already healed. The pain, though, is not something I want to suffer again. I scream as a silver thread cuts through the air, leaving a jagged wound across my leg.
Not waiting to see if I’ll heal again, I turn and begin running blindly toward the gnarled darkness of the woods. Something claws at me as I race into the trees. For a second, I’m terrified that one of the wolves or horsemen—whatever they are—has already caught me. Looking around in desperation, I see the branches reaching out and cutting my skin like knives. When a howl pierces the silence of the darkness, I begin running faster, not caring if the branches tear at my flesh. Seconds later, I stumble into a clearing bathed in a bright white light. Stopping, I blink and stare. At the very center of the clearing, there’s … an apple tree. With a single apple. A bright, shiny red apple.
“Really?” I mutter as the howling gets louder.
I’m being chased by the Big Bad Wolves, and now I’m standing in front of the poison apple from Snow White? The apple should have a flashing sign above it: Go ahead, idiot! Eat me!
But what other choice do I have? I start running toward the tree when pain suddenly grips me. Pain like nothing I’ve ever felt, like I’m being stabbed in the gut by a thousand knives. I fall to my knees and look up at the silver-haired horseman. Before I can move, he grabs a fist of my hair and lowers his face to mine.
“When I’m through with you, you shall wish for oblivion.”
Reaching up, I place my hand on his chest and lash out with as much energy as I can. His hand loosens, and I run as fast as I can. A poison apple is better than the alternative—because I don’t have to imagine very hard how bad things will get if the silver-haired wraith gets his hands on me. A shudder runs through me at the thought, and without hesitating I rip the otherworldly apple from the branch.
Taking a bite, I feel my eyes snap open. I’m on my back, staring at the ceiling.
It was a freaking dream?
Yep. I’m in bed. I wait, breathing quietly, for something or someone to pounce on me. But there are no poison apples or Big Bad Wolves. Then I notice soft music playing, and I groan, wondering how many times my playlist repeated while I was asleep. Stretching, I roll over and stifle a scream when I see Ever lying next to me. His perfect profile is illuminated by moonlight—his bare chest rising and falling with each … breath. Wait—what?
He’s sleeping? He’s breathing? He’s in bed with me? Shirtless? Wrenching back the sheets, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and jump down, my bare feet smacking the cool surface of the hardwood floor.
I spin around, staring at my surroundings and trying to get a grip on reality. I know where I am—I’ll never forget this little island in the Maldives—but being here is impossible. Impossible … impossible like everything else since I first laid eyes on Ever. Running toward the moonlight, I launch myself into the sand and run out to the water’s edge like the shimmering liquid somehow holds the answers.
What happened? How did I get here? Looking around for some sign of reality, I start crying.
If this is real, then it means I never found Alex. My mouth opens, and a frustrated whimper escapes my lips just before a hand comes down on my shoulder. Screaming and jumping back, I turn and stare at Ever, who’s wearing pajama bottoms and rubbing his eyes like he just woke up—which, again, is impossible.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“Well,” he inhales, like he’s decided to humor me. “We were married nearly thirty-six hours ago. … Then we took a grueling twenty-hour flight—then a seaplane—to get here.” He touches my chin as I begin shaking my head. “And earlier tonight you made me the happiest man on this Earth.”
He smiles as his hands slip around my waist. Sneaking a look at myself, I see that I’m wearing a black lace and silk nightgown. Then I flinch as I realize that Ever’s skin is cool, and his eyes … his beautiful green eyes no longer have the supernatural glow they’ve always had.
“No …” I whisper.
“No, what?” he smiles.
I keep shaking my head, trying to wake up. This has to be a dream.
“It’s not possible. I was just with Alex. I—”
Ever’s grip tightens around my waist, and his eyes harden.
“I haven’t asked very much of you, Wren. In fact … that’s the only thing I’ve asked of you—never to mention that name again.”
He throws his hands in the air in an uncharacteristic gesture and stalks several feet away.
“Of all the times to say his name, you choose our wedding night?” he spits.
I feel the blood leaving my face. Our wedding night. This is wrong. Everything about it is wrong. I start shaking my head again.
“I crossed through the mirror to find him,” I whisper. “I had to. I’m sorry.”
“The mirror?” he repeats skeptically.
I nod, feeling tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as I look at this strange version of Ever. When he touches my cheek I jerk away from his oddly cool touch. Is this my punishment, I wonder, for trying to save Alex?
“Wren? When did you stop taking your medication?”
I flinch.
“Medication? What are you talking about?”
“The doctor warned us about what would happen if you went off the medication. You could suffer a relapse. Paranoia, disorientation, hallucinations …”
He reaches out and wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“Ever?” I whisper.
He looks down at me as he begins ushering me toward the bungalow.
“Who do you think Alex is?” I ask desperately, waiting for something—anything—to start making sense.
Ever’s jaw clenches.
“I think he’s your ex—and the man who tried to ruin our wedding.”
Breaking free from his grasp, I run past him inside, searching for signs that I haven’t completely lost my mind. Panting, I reach the kitchen and my eyes lock onto a rack holding half a dozen sharp, gleaming knifes. I grab one and spin around just as the alternate-reality version of Ever walks in. Seeing the knife I’m holding, he raises his hands.
“Wren? Put down the knife.”
I shake my head, crying, as he starts walking toward me. If this is my reality, then I don’t want any of it. Suddenly I know with cold certainty that I prefer immortal warfare to my worst nightmare—which is everyone thinking I’m crazy. Even Ever. Especially Ever.
Looking down at the knife in my hand, I have an idea, but I know it’s a bad one. I lower the knife and wait for him to come closer. Then, just as he gets within reach, I lunge forward and slice him across the arm. He roars in pain, and I watch as a slash of crimson appears on his forearm.
I drop the knife to the floor and feel everything spinning around me. Sinking onto my knees, I stare at the blood on the smooth marble floor. Ever’s blood. He curses and stalks out of the room, and I blink, wondering how much of my life—the life that I love and remember—has been a hallucination. I’m afraid to find out. No … I’m terrified.
Ever walks back in, his left arm covered in white gauze that’s already stained with b
lood. He goes to the cabinet and retrieves a glass, which he fills with water before kneeling down next to me. I look down at his other hand. In his palm is a small, robin’s-egg-blue pill.
Taking the pill between my index finger and thumb, I study it warily before popping it into my mouth and reaching for the glass of water. I swallow it and wait for something to happen, but nothing does. Cautiously, I look up at Ever, who’s still kneeling beside me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper listlessly. “In my alternate version of reality, that wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“I’m indestructible in your non-medicated reality?”
He laughs, but not in a mean way. He’s laughing in a gentle, humoring way, which makes it worse. I sniffle.
“You’re indestructible, immortal, mind-reading …” and I love you—the you that maybe never existed except in my head.
He wraps his arm around me and begins leading me back toward the bed. I sit down on the edge, and as he looks at me, I shiver. Then he touches my cheek with his oddly cool hand.
“I’m going to sleep in the hammock,” he says gently. “If you need me, I’m only steps away. … I love you, Wren. Everything will be better in the morning. I promise.”
I nod, even though I know he’s wrong. Sitting back on the bed, I watch as he walks out onto the deck. Then I start crying again. Had it all been a dream? Is that even possible—to dream your entire life?
I lie back and close my eyes, waiting to fall asleep. But I never do. I lie awake for hours without feeling tired. Then, finally, I sit up and watch the unbelievably perfect sunrise over the water. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that it makes sense that the Ever I loved never existed—that I just dreamed him up. A hero—someone perfect and immortal—to protect me.
Getting up, I wander into the bathroom and look around. I don’t need to go to the bathroom. I’m not thirsty. I don’t feel anything. Suddenly I feel a jolt of adrenaline, and I hurry toward the kitchen, looking around desperately, searching for proof that this is the bad dream and not my reality.