Waking Nightmares

by Christopher Golden

  Octavian squeezed Amber’s hand, glancing up at Keomany. But beyond the earthwitch, he saw Charlotte watching him, and the urgency in the vampire’s eyes startled him. He had taken too long. Sympathy for Amber, an attempt to be kind and gentle, had felt like the right thing to do, but he wondered what it might have cost them. Even now, the wraiths might be committing murder. And he had no idea what Navalica might be doing. Breaking down the barrier between worlds? Searching for her demonic spawn? He felt certain of only one thing: the infection of her chaos would be spreading.

  He nodded at Charlotte. The girl might be a rogue vampire, but she had made it clear where she stood in this battle. Another rogue, one who believed the teachings of Hannibal or this new coven master, Cortez, would have surrendered immediately to the rush of chaos, to the insatiable hunger it created, and rejoiced in it. But Charlotte fought, and he was happy to have her on his side. Professor Varick’s death had been regrettable, but she could not be blamed for that any more than the dogs driven mad by chaos could be held responsible for turning wild.

  Octavian reached into the chest and began to remove its contents and set them out on the coffee table. The scrolls he placed on the floor in front of him—it would take him only moments to master the spells therein—and he arranged the stone jars of dye and the ampoules of liquid in even rows. The tiny bone knives and the pair of iron needles were last.

  “You said her heart was in there?” Keomany reminded him. “But we didn’t see any trace of organic tissue. Do you think Dunne took it out? Did something with it?”

  Octavian’s pulse quickened with her nearness. He breathed through his mouth so he would not inhale the scent of her. He thought of Nikki and wondered how she could possibly understand the world he had brought her into, and whether she could forgive him having rough, hungry sex with Keomany the way he forgave Charlotte for murdering Miles Varick.

  A foolish question. Of course she could not. She would never understand the dark currents that ran behind the veil of the world or what had to be done to combat them, no matter how many times he pulled back that veil to show her.

  “I think it must have been a real heart once upon a time,” he said. “But she is a goddess. An entity like Navalica is not of flesh and blood the way we understand it. Her heart went into this box, but it was just as much her spiritual heart, her core, as it was a physical thing.”

  “And so, whatever we do,” Charlotte said, “it has to start with ripping her heart out?”

  Amber made a small noise. She looked up, wiping away tears, coming to terms with having her entire life redefined.

  “I’m on board for that,” she said. “All of this . . . this is my legacy. My family’s entire history is wrapped up in keeping this bitch down. I’m not going to turn away from that now. Especially after what it’s done to my parents, and to me.”

  “Good,” Octavian said. “Because I have a plan.”

  “Finally,” Charlotte muttered.

  Octavian glanced at her. “Go and get Dunne. We all have a part to play in this. Even you.”

  THEY took the police car. Keomany drove, with Amber in the passenger seat and Octavian sitting in the caged backseat next to Norman Dunne, who held the iron chest in his lap. He had his eyes closed and rocked in the seat, murmuring to himself, a tiny smile at the edges of his mouth. The man’s mind had been polluted by Navalica, and it pleased him to serve his goddess.

  The wind and rain buffeted the car, but Keomany kept her hands tight on the wheel.

  “It’s hard to see,” she said. “I wish I could clear us a path.”

  “You need to conserve your magic,” Octavian reminded her.

  She gave him a sharp look in the rearview. She didn’t need reminding.

  “Do you think Charlotte will be all right?” Amber asked. She turned to look through the grating of the cage, her skin a deep purplish-black in the darkness inside the car.

  “There’s very little that can kill a creature like her,” Octavian replied.

  Amber nodded thoughtfully, wondering, he presumed, what it would take to kill her, now that she was no longer human.

  Octavian closed his eyes a moment, thinking, running it all over in his head. When he breathed in, he could taste her magic, and he could feel the rough caress of chaos on his skin. It prickled his flesh, made him keenly aware of his body and his carnal desires, in all forms. He forced his breathing to remain steady, but he could feel Keomany in front of him, so close, and he had seen the way she had been reacting to his presence, perhaps unconsciously, back at the Morrissey house. The way she stood, as though magnetism drew them toward each other. The way she licked her lips with nervous anticipation. Octavian felt as though they prowled around one another in hungry circles.

  When Navalica had been defeated and the chaos magic swept from Hawthorne and cleansed from their bodies and minds, he would have to decide if any of that attraction had been genuine. But not now. For now, he hated Navalica for making him jittery with sexual energy, for making him feel such bestial lust.

  The plan, he thought. The magic. Focus.

  In truth he did not need to go over the words in his head, to sketch at the air in rehearsal for the finger-contortions and hand gestures that would sculpt the magic he summoned into its proper shape, into the spells that would end this, if all went well.

  If. Two letters. The most troubling word in the English language.

  There were so many ways his plan could crumble into catastrophe, but he had not shared those concerns with the others. If it had been only Keomany, he might have been more up-front with her about the risks, but with Amber and Charlotte—he just needed them to perform the tasks he had assigned to them, and trust that he knew what he was doing. That he could win.

  Keomany slowed, the tires skidding in the slick, sticky rain. She pulled to the curb and killed the engine.

  “We’ll have to walk from here,” she said.

  Amber was the first to get out, hot rain making her wine-dark skin gleam. It sluiced over her, sliding down her flesh as if she were made of glass. Her clothes clung to her, but they seemed strange now, hanging on her new form.

  Keomany climbed out and opened the back door for Octavian. When he stepped out of the car, Dunne seemed to wake up from his peculiar, chanting trance. He scuttled along the seat with the iron chest on his lap, but Octavian slammed the door, trapping him inside, at least for the moment.

  So close to Keomany, his hands shook with desire. He forced himself to look up the street.

  The storm churned in circles above them, the wind whipping at them, rain falling in blood-warm sheets of gummy liquid. Reapers wove in and out of the clouds, circling like carrion birds. People staggered in the street, wandering into the town center, tilting their heads back to peer up at the city hall clock tower. Outlined against the glowing face of the clock, Navalica conducted the storm like a symphony, her arms outstretched, indigo hair burning with flames that no rain could extinguish.

  The Reapers brought their bounty to her, undulating masses of shifting color, amorphous things that might not be souls, but which Octavian felt certain were some piece of the human spirit, some essential bit of ordinary chaos, perhaps the capacity to love or to imagine or to dream. They fed her, and she consumed those spirits, those elemental slices of humanity, with a voracious appetite.

  Wraiths perched on the roof of the church.

  “That’s supposed to be me up there,” Amber called, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. “In my vision, I was one of them.”

  “So what you saw has changed,” Octavian said. “It was a warning, not a prophecy.”

  Amber glanced at him, expressionless, but then her eyes narrowed and he saw hatred and determination there. Her upper lip curled, revealing a bloodlust just as deeply ingrained as Charlotte’s. But Amber did not want to drink it, only to spill it.

  She opened the back door of the police car, reached in, and dragged Norm Dunne out. There was no need—he would have come eager
ly—but Octavian understood the ferocity simmering inside of her, now boiling over at last.

  “Walk,” Amber said. “Go! Take it to her!”

  Dunne did not acknowledge her, but he started walking, carrying the iron chest in his hands, raising it up as an offering, though they were still a block and a half from the clock tower. Her vision had been the key to this moment. Octavian knew that Norm Dunne was meant to be here, meant to bring Navalica that chest. And he saw no reason for her not to have it.

  CHAPTER 17

  KEOMANY could barely focus on keeping one foot in front of the other. It felt as though her entire body were being torn apart, as if at any moment she would lose control. They walked the town square, where the church’s bell tower and the city hall clock tower faced one another across the intersection. But with every yard, the air grew thicker with filthy, wild magic, and the rain turned so hot it almost scalded her. It stuck to her skin and created a film on her clothes, and she wanted to put her head back and howl.

  Octavian matched her pace, just off to her left. Amber had gotten a couple of yards ahead. She’d been hesitant to let Norm Dunne just walk away, but Octavian had insisted. The three of them had hung back a little while Dunne lugged the iron chest along the block toward the intersection. Even now, through the rain, she could see him moving among the people gathered there. They parted for him, as if sensing that what he carried was important to their goddess. A low chant could be heard above the thunder and the rain. Blue lightning flashed every few seconds, illuminating the entire scene.

  People had gathered in the intersection, many on their knees in worship to Navalica. But others had given in to their base urges, fucking and fighting with abandon. Sex and blood seemed almost indistinguishable in that gathering, and goddess help her, Keomany wanted to join them. She felt sympathy for Amber, for what the girl had endured, but she also wanted to hurt this strange wraith-creature, because she had seen the way Octavian had admired her new body.

  Kill you, bitch.

  Keomany faltered, staggering a few feet, and then halted. She forced herself to breathe. Back at Bill Hodgson’s house she had been able to concentrate enough to sense the presence of Gaea beyond the fringes of Navalica’s influence. She had touched the true nature of this world and it had restored her, allowed her to withstand the corrupting influence of the wave of chaos magic that had exploded from Navalica as she finally shattered the spells that had kept her ignorant of her true self, and woken.

  But every step brought her closer to Navalica, and deeper into the heart of chaos. She tried to concentrate, to push her awareness out toward the edges of town in search of her goddess, but the pure carnality forcing its way inside her, polluting her mind and soul, made it impossible for her to focus. Her skin prickled and her hands shook, so powerful was the lust within her. Aroused as she was, just walking—the friction of her stride—sent shivers of pleasure through her.

  Get a hold of yourself, Keomany. This is it. The fight is here, and he needs you.

  She took a trembling breath and covered her face with her hands, then slapped herself twice, forcing her eyes open.

  Octavian stood in front of her. Startled, she jerked backward, but only for a second. Her breathing became ragged and her chest rose and fell too rapidly. Despite the rain her mouth had gone dry, and she wetted her lips with her tongue.

  “Kem . . . you okay?” he asked.

  His voice was shaking. Goddess, no, she thought. Bad enough that her own magic wasn’t sufficient to fight the primal urge of chaos . . . What was she? Just an earthwitch! But if Peter Octavian, with all of his sorcery, could not keep himself from being corrupted, what hope did they have?

  Octavian reached out to touch her arm, a fierce hunger in his eyes.

  “We can do this,” he said, and she could see him fighting it.

  But then he touched her, and her knees buckled, and he had to catch her, and Keomany could not fight it any more. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and as he picked her up, she dragged him close and their lips met, and her whole body burned with desire for him. They kissed violently, mouths mashing together, tongues sparring, and she felt his hands on her, thrusting beneath her clothing, searching and probing, and she grabbed his face in both hands and guided him down, both of them buckling now and lowering each other to the slick pavement, that oily rain scalding them, rivulets running down the street toward the center of town.

  Her mind retreated, surrendering to hunger. She scratched him, nails biting deep, and he bit her lip and made her bleed, and it made her shiver into orgasm. Her fingers worked his belt, then his zipper, and the rest of the world vanished. Octavian growled as he kissed her, tearing her blouse to get at her breasts, and as his rough tongue ran over her nipples and then he bit her there, she came again, this time with such ferocity that she nearly fell unconscious, tiny stars going supernova at the black fringes of her mind.

  Nothing else mattered now. Keomany and Octavian had abandoned themselves to chaos.

  AMBER peered through the rain. Her senses had been enhanced by her metamorphosis, but still it was difficult to keep track of Norm Dunne as he moved through the crowd of worshippers. The wind gusted and she let it pass around her, rising off the pavement, intention alone enough to give her momentum. She hoped that in time, if this worked and they all survived, Octavian could help her discover what she had become and what it meant. It frightened her, but not as much as perhaps it ought to have. She felt powerful and beautiful and imbued with purpose, and those things were all very new to her.

  Sounds behind her gave her pause. She frowned and turned, her mind already putting images to the sounds. Up ahead there were people who had given in to the chaos having sex in the rain. But the voices behind her had become familiar. She knew them. To hear them moaning and whispering in passion made no sense. But there they were, tearing at each other’s clothes in the middle of the street. Keomany’s breasts were bare, her jeans down around her knees. Octavian had his pants open and Keomany had torn his shirt to get at his flesh. Her fingers were twined in his hair, and his were cupping her ass, and—

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Amber shouted.

  They seemed not to hear her. Amber shook her head, reached up to grab fistfuls of her own strange new hair. She felt the sexual abandon that came with the chaos magic, along with the savage aggression, but it had diminished after her transformation. Now she stared at Octavian and Keomany and then glanced at Navalica atop the clock tower, blue lightning dancing around her, illuminating her naked indigo flesh. The goddess’s fire-hair had become a burning mane, a halo of infernal blue. More of the wraiths had begun to land on the ledges of the church’s bell tower across from her, and some on the clock tower around her, all of them with heads bent, wordlessly chanting along with the humans below. Rows of people knelt in the town square, and now she could see Dunne again, far away, approaching the base of the clock tower.

  This was happening right now. Right now!

  With a furious snarl she darted toward Octavian and Keomany, floating by instinct, embracing the thing she had become. She alighted beside them, saw a flash of pale flesh as Keomany prepared to guide Octavian inside her, and Amber screamed.

  “Enough!”

  She picked Keomany up by one arm and the tangled clutch of denim between her legs and tossed her away. The earthwitch hit the pavement and rolled, and Amber didn’t give a shit about scrapes or bruises. Half naked, exposed, Octavian looked up at her with a mad lust in his eyes. Amber leaped astride him, and he bucked against her as if he thought she meant to finish what Keomany had started. Instead, Amber grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to the street.

  With the talons of her other hand, she slashed his chest, cutting deep enough to make him scream.

  “This is magic!” she shouted into his face. “This is what you do! You have to be stronger than her!”

  But even as she said it, she understood. Octavian might know a thousand different kinds of magic, might have extraord
inary power by any human standard, but he had known that he was not strong enough to defeat Navalica face to face. Not with her in the flush of her newly awakened power. He had intended to use cunning to defeat her. That was why he’d made a plan.

  Octavian looked down at his chest, saw his blood seeping from the gashes there, and glared at her with murder in his eyes.

  “You little bitch,” he growled, still poisoned by chaos. She’d hoped pain would wake him from its influence, but—

  Something struck her, knocked her off Octavian, and she hit the street with metal and rubber clattering around her, disoriented. Blinking, she willed herself to rise, and felt herself fade right through the thing that had crashed into her and landed atop her.

  Oh my God what am I now I’m like a ghost just passing through things . . .

  Terror swept over her as she saw that what had struck her was a bicycle. Keomany stormed toward her through the rain, wind churning like a baby tornado all around her, and Amber understood that the witch had used the elements to hurl the bike at her. She should have been afraid, but she was not.

  Her feet touched the pavement, solid again. Keomany had elemental magic in her hands, but she wasn’t in her right mind. And Amber had become something supernatural, too. Her heart might still be human, but she had lost the fragility of human flesh. For now, she allowed that to be a good thing.

  “Turn around, dumbass!” Amber said, pointing toward the clock tower. “It’s happening right now! What we came here for!”

  Keomany only sneered. But Octavian had begun to rise from the ground, one hand clutched over his torn-up flesh and the other hauling up his pants, trying to regain some of his dignity and self-control. She had gotten through after all, at least a little.

  But not to Keomany. The earthwitch leaped at Amber, rage overcoming logic. Amber grabbed her, an unnatural strength filling her. She wrapped one arm around Keomany’s neck and forcibly turned her to see the events unfolding in the town square.