A nervous laugh bubbled from my chest, and I straightened to find a loom taking up nearly the entire space. Black threads passed over the beams, casting the room in an eerie glow. Wood creaked, parts of the loom moving, guiding new threads through from an invisible source. I stepped toward it, and the smile fell from my face. The Weaver had to infuse the thread with his power to make his nightmares which meant...
A bench scraped the floor, clattering as it toppled, and the machine came to an abrupt stop. My heart sputtered. I didn’t see the Weaver, didn’t hear his footsteps, until he was right in front of me, his hands around my throat. “Hello, Dream Keeper.” He beamed.
My mouth dried, my tongue sandpaper in my mouth. His grip was tight enough to keep me from speaking but not hard enough to prevent air from reaching my lungs.
“How brave you are,” he continued, unruffled. “How stupid he is.”
I gripped his arm, the solid muscle flexing beneath my hand. Thin, wispy filaments hung limp at his shoulder where he must have ripped the cut threads from his sleeve. The embroidery on his vest, missing. I drew a shallow breath, refusing to meet his stare. A pile of thread pooled at the corner of the loom, a single piece running into the machine four feet away, gold-filaments twined throughout.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled. I forced my eyes up to his, and he dragged me away from the machine until my back slammed into the wall. The knife jammed into my spine, and I cringed. “You were right; I underestimated you. It won’t happen again.”
Except you already have. I opened my mouth to tell him to go to Hell but only a wheeze came out.
He gave me a crooked grin. “The Sandman is foolish enough to expect me outside right now, isn’t he? Why else would he send you in here alone? But I am not so vain as to need to take him down personally. What good is an army if they don’t fight for you, hmm?”
My heart leapt to my throat. I dug my nails into his arm, but his grip was steel. He stepped forward, leaving no space between us. His breath tickled my cheek. “I am faster than you, stronger than you. Did you think you could steal my thread again without being caught? That I would let anyone bind me a second time?” He forced my chin up and smoothed the hair from my forehead, staring at the space between my eyes. “Give me the dream.”
“No,” I squeaked.
The muscles in his jaw jumped. “You don’t want to play this game with me, Keeper. You’re in my house now.”
Of course, I didn’t want to. I wasn’t giving up yet though. If things went wrong, the Sandman would do as I asked and take the dream, even if he hadn’t made the promise.
Be braver than I think you are, Kail had said.
With my body screaming in fear, I didn’t feel very brave. The Weaver was in front of me, choking me, promising to torture me, yet I hesitated because the Sandman wouldn’t like it. Because the balance was so important to him.
But I knew I couldn’t go through this again. Even if the Sandman took the dream from me after rebinding the Weaver, I wouldn’t be safe. Not really. The next time he broke free, I would be first on his list. No. Not first. He would kill the little family I had left before he got around to me, but he would get to me for everything I’ve done. It wouldn’t be a quick death either. My stomach rolled, and I wedged a hand between my back and the wall, gripping the knife. The handle was icy against my palm.
“Listen.” The Weaver pushed the hatch open overhead and a dozen different horrifying cries bounced off the domed ceiling. “He can’t save you. Give me the dream now, and I’ll allow you to return to your regular life. Keep testing me, and you won’t be the only one to suffer.”
“Why?” I croaked. I was stalling, biding time before I made the switch from prison guard to executioner. His death wasn’t necessary. Not for the rest of the world anyway. He could be rebound, live his life here until the next time the magic wore down, but this was personal. And it was time I did something to save myself instead of worrying about everyone else. “Why do you want to let them out?”
His gold eyes glimmered. “This place is suffocating me, Dream Keeper. Can you imagine being trapped in a single room for your entire life? Watching millennium pass by while your four walls stay the same? I want more from life, and so do my nightmares. Things were never supposed to be like this—I told you that.” His grip loosened ever so slightly. “The Sandman and I… we did this to ourselves, you know? But this is going to fix everything.”
His words were a lightning bolt to my chest. A twist to my gut. Randy was dead. The cashier. Natalie. Emery. My father. All of them murdered on his order, my sister trapped and tortured in a cave, because he had a severe case of cabin fever. Because he thought bloodshed would fix something.
“What are you talking about?” I rasped.
I flicked the snap holding the knife in place. The hurt and anger I’d kept locked away boiled over, the flames licking through my body. Burning my veins. Scarring my heart. I tightened my grip on the handle. The Weaver tipped his head toward the hatch and closed his eyes, inhaling the acrid scent of metal and decay that wafted from the opening.
“Smell that, Keeper?” he asked, ignoring my question. “Death is coming.”
The world slowed. My arm moved as if detached. As if I had no control. A brief flicker of recognition lit the Weaver’s face as he sensed the knife’s magic, but it was too late. I rammed the blade into his chest. It tore through flesh. Ripped past muscle. Scraped against bone. Sunk into his heart. I stood immobile. His gold eye dimmed, his mouth hanging open. It might have been my imagination, but I swore I felt every flutter of his pulse echo through the weapon.
He stumbled away from me then. Air whooshed into my lungs, and I nearly collapsed. The Weaver tumbled into the loom, his boots crushing the pile of thread. It bucked and coiled beneath him until he fell to the ground. Blood oozed from the corner of his mouth, and a cough sent it flying at my knees.
I knelt beside him and gripped the gleaming handle. “You’re right.” My voice was low and scratchy, and I yanked the blade free. “Death is coming.”
A bittersweet grin played at his crimson lips. His hand snapped out, gripping my wrist. “You have no idea what you’ve done to yourself, Dream Keeper.”
Stars danced in my vision. I shook my head, blinking hard. “What...?”
“Dreamer, Dreamer. Couldn’t redeem her.” The Weaver’s half-cough, half-laugh splashed hot blood across my cheek. “You stupid, stupid girl. I wish—” Another cough. “I wish I could be here to see the Sandman’s face.”
A whistle rose up from nowhere, growing louder and louder until I was sure my eardrums would explode. I tried to tug myself free of the Weaver’s grip, but he held tight. His lips were moving. Speaking. Saying something. My body seized. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Feel. See.
Then the Weaver’s hand fell away.
My senses returned one by one.
The Weaver’s body slumped against the loom. His blood pooled around us on the black and gold marble, soaking through my pants. I took a single shaking breath, and a burst of agonizing pain sent me flying backward. My skull cracked against the wall, my brain rattling. It was as if I were on fire. As if every bone was breaking. Every vein collapsing. The room blinked in and out. I struggled to my hands and knees. I had to get out. To run before any of his creatures found me like this and tried to avenge their leader. I needed the Sandman.
The woven thread snapped up, circling the same wrist the Weaver held moments ago. I gripped the coil, yanking it, but it only tightened. The blood flow ceased, and my fingers tingled. I screamed then. An angry, tormented sound rising from the depths of my soul. Waves of pain rocked my body. My muscles tightened and cramped. I was going to die here. Alone. In a puddle of the Weaver’s blood.
I fell to the cool, slick marble. My legs convulsed, splashing blood across the floor. With my last burst of strength, I screamed again. This time a name. The only name I ever loved. The one I had just betrayed.
“Sandman!”
29
The Sandman
The field was stained red and black with blood, both mine and the nightmares’. Mostly theirs. It weighed down my sleeves and dripped from my fingers. I stood in the middle of the carnage, panting. Each breath was tight against my broken ribs. Giant cats, humanoid beings, and a prehistoric creature littered the yard. At least fifty different nightmares, some powerful, some not. But Despina was different.
I held little hope of truly defeating her before my power ran out. For a spine with two forked hands and a giant skull, she was clever. There wasn’t much to aim at. She had no vital organs, she felt no pain. I wasn’t sure who I hated facing more—her or the Weaver. I needed to hurry though. Nora should’ve made it to the tower by now, and the Weaver was nowhere to be seen.
I stepped around and over lifeless forms, my boots sloshing against the blood-soaked ground. A cut in my leg still oozed, and my jaw throbbed from a punch I took. Despina’s clicking bones sounded behind me. I scooped a handful of sand from my satchel and tossed it out in front of me. A giant web sprung between two trees, and I leapt through a rectangular gap. I heard the soft thud of her over-sized head hitting the fine strands, but I was already sprinting. It wouldn’t hold her long, but I only needed a head start. Once I reached the stairs, I could better deflect her attacks. She wouldn’t want to break what was left of the Weaver’s home which meant she would pull her punches. At least until I reached the top where she would have me cornered, but by then I should have the thread I needed.
An explosion of terror shot through me. Not mine, but his. The Weaver’s fear, close and undiluted. I spun around, grabbing another handful of sand. Despina was still untangling herself, but there wasn’t another living nightmare to be seen. My brows lowered, and I scanned the area. Where are you, Weaver? And what are you afra—
Sharp, blinding pain lanced my chest. Stinging. Burning. My heart sputtered, and the ground rose up to meet me.
I lay there, in the blood and dirt, gasping for what were surely my last breaths. I rubbed a shaking hand over the fatal wound, but there was no mark. A cloud descended over me, wrapping around my mind. No matter which way I looked, I understood nothing. Nothing but blazing agony. Nothing but a desire for it to end.
I flipped to my back to find Despina hovering over me. Only her hair moved, her empty eye sockets focused on the fortress. Nora. A crackling breath broke free from my throat. Something went wrong. The Weaver never came... I forced myself up onto my elbows and scrambled out from under the skeletal nightmare. Despina didn’t so much as glance in my direction, and I willed myself onto unsteady feet.
Ice filled my chest, chasing the magic from my center. Each breath threatened to crumble my lungs, each step, my bones. My jaw trembled. Teeth clacked. I wasn’t going to make it. I stumbled over my own feet. The ground warped before me, an upheaval, and I flung my arms out to catch my balance.
A scream blasted across the battlefield, nearly sending me back to my knees. Then another scream. “Sandman!”
“Nora,” I tried to call back, but my voice was gone. Lost. I sucked in air. What was he doing to her? What had she done to him? Despina’s bones clacked again. Quick. Erratic. I tried to move faster, to run, but my vision blurred. The nightmare zipped past me, the wind she kicked up the only thing to touch me. A blur of ivory bones snaked up the side of the black wall.
The pain gripping my chest faded. This was surely what dying felt like; the bliss before the nothing. But then my vision cleared. The shaking in my legs dulled to a tremor. Heat exploded behind my tattoo, branching out through my arms. The sand at my hip buzzed through the satchel with new vigor. I flexed the numbness from my fingers.
A cry rang down from the distant sky. Something large and angry was coming. I could question everything later, after I found Nora and we were out of danger. My boots pounded across the lawn, the memory of pain slowing my movements, and my ragged breath echoed in my ears.
“Nora?” I propelled myself up the outer stairs. Despina clicked and scraped her way over the domed roof. We reached the door at the same time, and I threw a handful of sand at her. It exploded in a series of tiny white fireworks. She reeled back. I flung myself inside and slammed the door behind me.
“Nora?”
Blood was everywhere. Splattered on the walls. The loom. Pooling beneath the bodies. Bodies.
The air left me, wringing my lungs. Suffocating me.
I was wrong. I hadn’t been dying before. This was dying. This was death.
I slid across the soaked floor on my knees and scooped Nora into my arms. Her skin was like ice, her face white as a sheet. Blood matted her hair and speckled her face like a second layer of freckles. Tears pricked my eyes. “Nora?” I smoothed her hair back, wiped at the blood on her skin. It smeared, the streak reaching all the way down her jaw. “No, no, no. Open your eyes. Please, Nora. Please, wake up.”
Another screech joined the first outside. Let them come. Let them see their master dead on the floor. Let them see who did it. Let them rip me apart so that my body matched my heart.
I glared at the knife in Nora’s hand with its red, glowing center. Recognition struck, and my stomach churned. I hadn’t seen it in a thousand years. The Weaver and I had agreed... My mouth ran dry. It was supposed to be lost. Buried. Burned. At the bottom of an ocean. Destroyed. Somewhere neither the Weaver nor I would ever find it and try to demolish the balance. I hooked my arm under Nora’s shoulders and leaned forward, yanking the blade from her grip. No one should have this much power. No one. I leaned away from the Weaver’s body, resting on my heels.
“Why?” I choked. “We had a plan.”
She answered with a groan.
“Nora!” The knife clattered to the ground, and I lifted her up. “Nora? Can you hear me?”
She winced. “Sandman?”
I crushed her against me. Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “You’re alive.”
“Debatable,” she mumbled into my chest.
“What happened? You were only supposed to get the thread. Where did you find that knife?” I blurted, the words overlapping.
“I...” She shifted, and I loosened my grip. “Rowan and Kail gave it to me to kill him. I wasn’t sure I would be able to do it, but he... I had no choice.”
Rowan and Kail. But how did they find it? My fingers dug into Nora’s shoulders, and she sat up gingerly. We were supposed to bind the Weaver. That was it. Anything else had the potential to destroy the Night World, and now... My eyes locked onto the Weaver’s waxen face, and I stilled. My friend. My enemy. Emotions funneled through me faster than I could register them. My entire life was woven with strands of his existence, and now… Now it felt as if my heart was cleaved in two—his half gone and Nora’s hemorrhaging. “You killed him,” I rasped.
She nodded, and her hands flew up to press against her temples. Beneath the Weaver’s blood, her fingers and hands were black, the mat color reaching up toward her elbow like a glove. Each of her frantic heartbeats sent a visible pulse of gold along the veins beneath. Thread coiled around her wrist like a manacle, the other end still attached to the loom. My blood drained to my feet. Magic. The Weaver’s magic. The pain I felt outside... That was the Weaver’s death, and the release of it was because the balance was restored. My connection to the Weaver wasn’t gone—it was transferred.
To her.
My jaw hung open, my voice raw. “No.”
“I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t the plan, and I should have told you.”
I pried her hands away from her head, holding them between us. “Look.”
Her eyes flashed. She snatched her arms from my grip and scrubbed frantically at her skin. “What is this?”
Outside, the creatures had arrived, screeching over our heads. Others came too. Bellowing and shouting and roaring. No one had come close to killing one of us before, and with the nightmares, there was no way to know if they were here for revenge or to welcome Nora as their new lord. Lady. But whatever their r
eason, now wasn’t the time. We had to get out of here and regroup.
“We have to leave,” I said. She didn’t move except to continue scratching at her arms. “Now.”
I scooped the blade off the floor, tucking it into my belt, and hauled her up by her elbows. A low moan beat against my eardrums. The Blood Army. Rowan and Kail had come to claim their prize—whatever they hoped it would be. I grabbed the thread where it connected to the loom and raked it across a sharp metal edge. It whipped itself free of me and fastened around Nora’s arm, melding into the sleeve of her black T-shirt.
“Sandman,” she cried.
The terror in her voice cut like glass, gouging my soul. Pain poured from the wound and spread its acidic burn through my body until every beat of my heart made it feel as if I would combust. Nora… My Nora. What had she done?
I spared a final glance at the Weaver’s corpse and regret pinched my chest. Surely, this wasn’t real. He would open his gold eyes and bark out a loud curse any moment now. Much worse had happened to us in the past and he—we—survived. Except I’d seen too much death since our creation not to recognize its pallor. My power pulsed at the brutal realization, threatening to knock me off my feet.
The Weaver, my friend, my nemesis… was gone.
But this wasn’t the time to mourn. If I should mourn at all. So I steeled myself and gripped Nora’s hand. The color on her arms would fade as the magic sunk deeper into her being, but the consequences of her actions—never. “I’m sorry,” I whispered and ripped her from the Nightmare Realm.
Her realm.
30
Nora
The pain continued to tremble through my body. A pinch here, a poke there. My muscles cramped, and joints ached, but the worst of it had faded. My vision was clear by the time the Sandman escorted me back to the beach. He released his grip on my elbows, and I fell to my knees into glorious, glorious sand. A sob stuck in my throat.
Dream Keeper Page 24