Dark Consort

by Amber R. Duell

  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her voice warbled, and she pinched her lips together to stop them from quivering.

  “It’s not over, you know,” I said with an edge. “Learning who you are. You’ve barely scratched the surface, so when this is done, I’ll give you the space you need.”

  Tears flooded down her cheeks. “Without you, I’m this other thing, but I don’t want to be. I want to keep being Nora.”

  “You are.” And she was. I wanted to believe she would stay that way forever, but some part of me knew she would eventually adapt to her surroundings. Maybe not to the extent the Weaver had, but enough. Besides, she was young. It was natural she would grow and change.

  She shook her head and fell to her knees. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to be about me. When you asked to see me, I wanted to apologize about everything, but especially—” She paused and wiped her face off. “Especially that last night in the Day World.”

  “You needed to distract me,” I said and swallowed a lump in my throat.

  “No.” She winced. “No, that wasn’t why. You said you were selfish for keeping me in the Day World because you didn’t want to lose me. I didn’t want to lose you either. And, before you say it, I know logically that I wouldn’t have, but I stopped thinking logically a long time ago. I knew what it meant to you, but I didn’t let it stop me. So just hate me, okay? I need you to hate me.”

  My heart broke for us both. Its contents were a swirling mass of anger and sorrow and regret. Everyone had their breaking point, and, while this would be it for some, I wasn’t close to mine. Not when I understood first-hand how hard learning to be a new version of yourself was. Before the Weaver and I banished Mare, altering the Night World and ourselves, I was less kind. Just as the Weaver wasn’t always wholly malicious.

  Hot tears stung my check, and I joined Nora on the clothes-covered floor. “I love you.” When she opened her mouth to issue a rebuttal, I stopped her with a kiss. “I love you, Nora. Always.”

  Her hands trembled as she cupped my face. “I’m sorry,” she whispered softly.

  “Shh,” I said against her mouth and kissed her again. “We’ve forgiven each other. Whatever comes next, we’ll figure it out.”

  Nora kissed me then, her lips scalding. It was a desperate thing seeking comfort. I matched it and poured every second of longing into her. Her touch erased everything, leaving nothing but us. This time, it was me who tugged off my shirt. Me who guided hers over her head. The black threads winding over her skin drew my attention, and she paused.

  “I can’t take them off,” she said, drawing away.

  My eyes met hers, and I pressed her hand against my exposed tattoo. “I can’t take mine off either.”

  Her breath caught, a small smile appearing across her lips, and she climbed onto my lap. Our kisses softened and slowed, grew explorative. Until we couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Are you sure you want to do this again?” Nora asked.

  My body shook in anticipation. “Absolutely sure. Are you?”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” she said with a hint of laughter.

  And that was all either of us needed to hear.

  That night, on the cusp of a new future, we brought the Dream and Nightmare Realms together. Only time would tell if we could keep it that way.

  30

  Nora

  Blue and white crystal pillars stabbed the sky in all directions. The columns stretched for miles, forming a dense maze of tunnels and holes for us to climb through. After an hour, I was covered in sweat and more than ready to level the entire landscape, but that would ruin the whole sneak-until-we-can’t-sneak-anymore plan. And, on the other side of this ridiculous obstacle course, we would rendezvous—Kail’s word, not mine—with the Sandman after he replenished his sand supply.

  I leapt at the side of an extra wide piece of fallen crystal, searching and failing to find something to grab onto. Halven made climbing over it look so easy. Of course, Halven was practically a giant compared to me. But then, most people were.

  Suddenly, Kail grabbed my ankle. I squeaked and kicked out. “Kail!” I hissed. But he just grabbed my other leg and slid me up the side of the chipped pillar.

  “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. I straddled the crystal and glared down at him. “What? Would you rather keep practicing for your breakout roll as a rabbit?” He gripped my thigh, just above my knee, and pretended to yank me back down.

  “No,” I said quickly, squeezing my legs to stay put.

  Kail chuckled and hauled himself up beside me with an embarrassing amount of grace. “A little trust, Lady.”

  “There is no trusting you,” I mumbled. I was beginning to sound like a broken record.

  He gave me a withering look. “I thought we were past all that.”

  I wanted to be, but there was no reason he would stay loyal after he got what he wanted. True trust didn’t come with an expiration date. “You scratch my back, I scratch yours. Don’t read too much into it.”

  “I won’t kill you,” he insisted, suddenly serious.

  “Do you say that to all the girls?” I batted my eyelashes at him sarcastically. “Rowan trusted you enough to show her weakness, and look where that got her.”

  “For what it’s worth, she didn’t trust me either,” he said, aloof. “Listen, I don’t like being vulnerable. Halven and I waltzing around separately puts us both at risk.”

  It did. And it gave me something to hold over them. Halven was much better company. I could keep him at my side and use Kail to do my dirty work. It would serve Kail right for deceiving me for so long. I wrinkled my nose, annoyed with myself for even thinking it. “Who isn’t trusting who now? I said I would put you back together.”

  The muscles in his jaw twitched. “All I’m saying is, if you do this for us, we will always be grateful enough not to stab you in the back.”

  “The Weaver was stabbed in the front,” I deadpanned.

  Kail rolled his eyes. “And make myself the most wanted man in the Night World? Pass. If the Sandman didn’t kill me, everyone else would try. At least take comfort in my instinct for self-preservation.”

  Now that I could trust.

  He slid down the other side of the pillar, landing neatly on his feet. I followed suit, though much less smoothly, and we walked the rest of the way in a strangely comfortable silence. My ears picked up on every little sound, just as Halven’s and Kail’s seemed to, but the three of us were together. For now. Maybe I should give them long-term benefit of the doubt. Or maybe that was what they wanted. Once they were put back together, who would they be? Kail or Halven? Neither? Which personality would stay, and which would go?

  “Hey,” the Sandman whispered, suddenly at my side.

  My heart jumped, and I reached out for him. He took my hand. “Baku can’t find any trace of Rowan’s second group of nightmares, but the Blood Army is waiting on the other side of this landscape.”

  The tell-tale sign of red mist reflected through the crystal, distorted. We had to be close. “How did they know we were coming this way?” My voice shook. If the Blood Army was waiting for us, there was no getting out of this end of the landscape unseen, and it would be all too easy to send nightmares after us from behind. We would be fish in a barrel.

  “We need to distract them,” Halven said. “I’ll go.”

  “Like hell you will,” Kail shot. “We are not dying today.”

  “Someone needs to.”

  “No, they don’t,” the Sandman said. “They’re not overly intelligent, right?”

  Kail shook his head. “They follow orders. Nothing more.”

  The Sandman dipped his hand into his satchel and tossed sand straight up into the air. As it fell, the particles swirled into a shape. My shape. It wasn’t a completely believable clone—the image was slightly grainy and partially transparent—but it was definitely me, down to every last freckle.

  “Good enough for them?” the Sandman asked.

  Kail nodded, i
mpressed. “Should be.”

  Tiny wrinkles formed around the Sandman’s eyes as he concentrated on the figure. She—it—disappeared to the left, and the Sandman motioned for us to follow him in the opposite direction. A few more hurdles, and the end of the crystal obstacle course peeked through the openings. Mist licked at the very edges, but there was only silence, which set me on edge worse than if the robed figures of the Blood Army had moaned. We approached slowly, all of us wary. My heart beat wildly in contrast, and I barely drew breath for fear something would hear. The Sandman looked down at me with a small smile. It’ll be okay, his smile said. You can do this. I hoped he was right.

  Suddenly, the Blood Army wailed violently.

  My head swam. They saw us. This was it. We wouldn’t even make it to Rowan. I closed my eyes and waited for the blistering pain.

  “Nora,” the Sandman whispered. “It’s working.”

  My eyes snapped open to find the Blood Army drifting away from us. The mist receded, leaving a straight line of sight to a row of trees. Only, they weren’t really trees at all. Dozens of stumps of various heights lined a dirt path, and the tall, scraggly trees lay to the side like a hundred corpses. “It’s supposed to look like that, right?” I asked with rising dread.

  They didn’t have to answer. The Sandman and Kail both wore matching looks of shock, while Halven shook his head in disbelief.

  “We’ll buy you time,” the Sandman said. “As much as we can.”

  I swallowed hard. “But—”

  He kissed me, quick and passionate. “Go, before they realize they’re chasing the wrong Nora.”

  The grin rose to the challenge, forcing my feet to move. I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to fight. To fail. Forget looking like a strong, powerful leader. I needed help. What were they thinking, sending me after Rowan on my own? The darkness in me didn’t care how afraid I was, and it kept me on a direct path all the way to the edge of the tree trunks.

  A loud growl echoed from the other end of the path. I stumbled on a pile of crushed red berries, but the grin widened. It only took a moment to know why. A dog—the first nightmare I created—leapt off one of the tall crystal pillars and raced after the Blood Army. I didn’t know how he found me. Didn’t care. Relief that he made it out of the tower swept over me, only to vanish the moment I heard a familiar voice.

  “I was beginning to think my informant was wrong,” Rowan crowed.

  My brain fired a million thoughts all at once, but I understood zero of them. Hot. It was so hot here. The ground dropped out from under me, but the darkness broke the fall. Black talons dug into my muscles, fused with my bones. The grin twitched eagerly as my hand reached unconsciously for a thread.

  A flick of the wrist.

  A puff of sulfur.

  Beside me stood a creature nearly as tall as I was. Its elongated body was made of layers of thick, overlapping triangular plates the color of new copper. Its nose came to a sharp point, capped in tiny burrs. I didn’t have to say a word for it to identify the enemy. Red berries popped under its hooved feet as it barreled toward Rowan.

  The darkness didn’t bother watching what happened next. Instead, it slammed my hands against the nearest trunk, and the grin pursed in concentration. The knotted thread that emerged was bigger than the one in the museum, bigger than the one in the Blood Tower. It shifted around itself like a ball of snakes, feeding the entire tree-lined path. How was I ever going to find the right piece in time? I would need to destroy the entire landscape.

  The nightmare that went after Rowan let out a death squeal that rang in my ears and flamed my anger. I almost didn’t look, but I had to. Rowan’s jagged, broken wings bent over her shoulders, spearing the nightmare through the eyes. More time. The need for it pounded through me almost as fast as my pulse.

  Two more threads exploded before I realized I pulled them from my arm. An orange dragon the size of my palm zipped overhead. The other—a purple alien-like creature with oozing pustules and wheels for feet—cackled. It was hard throwing them at Rowan when I knew their inevitable fate. Harder still not to lunge in and take care of her myself. Sadly, the Weaver’s powers didn’t grant me the same ability the Sandman’s did. The nightmares were my power, my strength, and they were doing their job. I had to do mine.

  I pressed my palms against the nearest stump again, feeling desperately for a frayed end. A weakened middle. Anything that would tell me where to press. How to destroy it. An orange blur thwacked the side of my face. I gasped as the small dragon flopped over, dead, at my feet.

  “You’re just like your predecessor,” Rowan called, sounding almost bored. “But what you’ve failed to realize is that I’m the Weaver’s strongest creation. I couldn’t kill him, but there are no nightmares that can kill me.”

  More time, more time, more time. I pressed my palm harder against the rough bark. Where are you?

  Rowan’s wings flared behind her. The black blood of her victims oozed down the jutting branches and dripped onto the red silk of her dress. She eyed the thread on my arm with hungry eyes. “Give me the threads, Dream Keeper. You never wanted them anyway.”

  As if the threads were what mattered. Without the magic in my veins, in my head, my body, the threads might as well be given to the Doll Maker to sew on buttons. “I’m not a Dream Keeper anymore,” I said with all the bravado I could muster. “I’m the Lady of Nightmares, and you will stand down.”

  Her laugh was genuine and harsh. “So much confidence.” She stalked toward me. “Though I suppose it’s hard not to feel like you’ve won when your lapdogs are circling.”

  Lapdogs. The darkness sent out a silent thrum that left me feeling as if I were in the passenger seat again. “It’s only fair we do this one-on-one,” I forced myself to say. “No armies. No tricks. Just you and me.”

  The grin snarled at me, the threads convulsing against my skin. Relax, I snapped at it.

  “Come on,” I goaded, abandoning my search for the frayed thread. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Rowan plowed into me before I saw her move and knocked me off my feet. My back hit the ground, the air whooshing from my lungs, as she reached for my exposed throat.

  Immediately, I wrapped one of my legs around hers and flipped us so I was on top of her. And that was the last thing I remembered. The Sandman’s training, everything I’d learned since, all of it swirled in technicolor as the darkness regained control. I blinked rapidly, trying to get my eyes to focus, but it was as if I was looking through a frosted window. Things faded. Blurred. I floated away to that place where I’d been every night after I’d fallen asleep in the Day World.

  The next moment, everything was crystal clear. I was on my back, and the large dog I created was dragging Rowan down the path by her broken wing like she was nothing more than a stick to play fetch with. I staggered to my feet at the same moment Rowan grabbed one of the dog’s back legs. His howl of pain would forever scar my mind. I screamed my rage and leaned forward to tackle her. That was as far as I got before the grin peeled upward, and the blackness shoved me down to my knees. Things swirled again. Nothingness. Everything. Hypersensitivity followed by numbness.

  The grin grew and grew, and my face bunched against it. The dog continued howling as he dragged Rowan to me. Mentally, I beat against the spreading grin, tears welling in desperation, but it ignored me completely. With one hand still pressed against the ground, pinning the frayed thread down, my other palm slammed against Rowan’s chest. My vision blurred, allowing only snapshots to register. Rowan’s panic-filled gaze. The frayed thread pounding violently at both ends. Creaking wood. Screams—so many screams. My throat burned as if I was the one crying out, but my teeth were bared in agonized concentration.

  The world washed over me like a tidal wave. The sharp ache of the alteration. The shredding pain of Rowan’s touch on the exposed skin right above the Sandman’s glove. Flashes of gold as the thread knitted back together. Each reattached fiber sent jolts of electricity through every cell
of my body. The darkness swept over me again, numbing me to the pain.

  And then something cold and wet brushed against my cheek.

  My eyes flew open with a startled gasp only to find the massive dog nudging me with his nose. No. Rowan hadn’t won, or I wouldn’t be here. But where was she? I flew off the ground and spun around. My heart stopped. Instead of a field of broken trunks, there was a path neatly lined with bare trees. A fresh layer of red berries coated the ground. More noticeable was the tree now towering over me. Branches were missing and broken, its trunk covered with charred bark.

  “Oh,” was all I could say. Hundreds of ravens croaked in response, their wings beating like drums overhead.

  Rowan. The tree. Rowan was the tree. I wanted her dead, but this—this was almost better. In death, she could become a martyr. In life, she could become a warning. But to be so peacefully rejoined with her former self seemed almost like a reward. I scanned the other trees—all of them connected—and knelt in the center of the path.

  There was no crippling pain this time, no black moment. It was as easy as adding the doorknob to the museum door or turning a cell into liquid silver. The grin looked greedily on as the darkness helped me ease pieces of their thread away and mold it into something different. They were slight changes, all carefully calculated. A sense of hearing for Rowan, a voice for the others, causing just enough pain for them each to cry out in a chorus of different pitches. Paired with the rhythm of raven wings, even I was delightfully horrified.