Beautiful nightmares, p.55
Beautiful Nightmares, page 55
Though the memory seemed to be at an end, my younger self genuinely appearing to fall asleep, Oliver and I didn’t move.
It was a good thing we didn’t, because a few seconds later, we watched the other Fortuna creep from a bed we still couldn’t see. I wasn’t surprised when she opened the door and crawled down the hallway—eavesdropping was an interest I’d developed early in life.
“Typical,” Oliver said under his breath, bumping me with his shoulder. I gave him a watery smile before I turned back to the surreal play.
We still couldn’t see other walls or rooms, but I knew my younger self was heading toward the kitchen, which was on the other end of the house. She slowly poked her face around the corner. Dad was on his knees, picking up shards of a broken wine glass. He must’ve dropped it when they heard the roof shattering.
The glass slid into a trash bin, and then Dad turned to face Mom. “It’s time,” he said.
Christine Sworn didn’t answer. She just blinked rapidly, her lips pursed. In that moment, it fully hit me, how much I resembled her. I’d stared at myself in the mirror while I was trying not to cry—my face looked exactly like Mom’s did now.
“She’s seven years old,” she said finally. “She’s only seven.”
Dad looked like he was in pain. “And if she’s this powerful now, imagine what it’ll be like once she hits puberty.”
And with that, like the final scene to a play, the memory went dark. I stayed where I was, staring at nothing. I could still see my parents standing there, the air ripe with their dread.
“This is what sent them to Tamar’s,” I said, feeling dazed.
My abilities had been so potent that I was causing things to happen. My fear had been trickling into reality. There was nothing that could’ve prepared Mom and Dad for it—such unchecked power was unheard of in a child.
Oliver put his hand on my shoulder. “Fortuna?”
“What was your technique again? No, wait, don’t tell me,” I said abruptly. My mind loosened as I remembered, as if it had been twisting into anxious knots. “Picture the worst possible outcome. That’s what you told me. Damn, I really should’ve tried it. I wasn’t ready for this, Ollie.”
My voice broke.
I told myself it was just the stress of this endless night, but then Oliver put his arms around me. He rested his chin on top of my head. I waited for him to say something, because this was Oliver. He always knew the perfect way to offer comfort. But he stayed silent.
Something about that silence was my undoing.
I pressed my face into Oliver’s chest and started to cry. I cried in a way I hadn’t let myself since that day next to the garage, when Laurie had been the one holding me. The sobs wracked my entire body. Through it all, Oliver still didn’t speak.
Eventually the sobs faded into hiccups, and the hiccups gave way to a hollow silence. My cheek rested against the front of Oliver’s damp shirt and I stared toward the trees without seeing them; I was picturing the expression on my parents’ faces again.
“They were scared of me,” I whispered.
Oliver tightened his hold, as if he could use his body to shield me from the pain. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, though. I can’t even blame them. Somehow, I was manifesting…” I sucked in a shocked breath when I remembered those creatures. Those red-eyed hounds that had appeared in the woods during one of my jogs. Finn and I had killed them. The incident felt like a lifetime ago, and so much had happened since then that I’d tucked it away, always meaning to go back to it. Wonder where those things had come from.
There was still no other way to explain them. This was the piece I’d been missing, the knowledge I’d been seeking when I asked Dracula about the forgotten stories of my kind.
Somehow, my own fears had the capability of becoming reality.
What if… what if I could use this? I had no idea how that part of my abilities worked, or whether there were unforeseen consequences to using it, but that didn’t matter. Any of it.
Could it be possible to make Oliver part of my world? To bring him into the living, breathing, real place he’d been painting for as long as he’d existed?
In that moment, I imagined a future I’d only allowed myself to picture during my weakest moments. Oliver, standing across from me, not as an impossible dream, but as a surreal reality. Oliver, waking up beside me in the bed I’d fallen asleep in. Oliver, fucking me in the shower as he got ready for the day. Oliver, flashing his shy, crooked grin as he rushed off to whatever life he’d chosen for himself—art school, maybe, or working in a job that focused on helping people. Oliver, waiting for me at the end of an aisle, wearing a suit and my family standing all around. Oliver, holding my hand in a delivery room while I fought to birth the family we’d created together.
The pain struck me with the force of lightning, because it had become instinct, to feel this pain after allowing myself to think of the life we would never have.
Then I remembered what I’d learned tonight.
Hope flared inside me, and the force of it felt as if fireworks were erupting within my rib cage.
“Fortuna? What can I do? Talk to me. Please.”
I could tell from his concerned expression that Oliver hadn’t even considered what this new ability meant. That thinking of his own gain wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. And I wondered, not for the first time, how I had managed to create someone so pure in the darkest parts of me.
“I love you,” I said, the words coming more freely than they ever had before. They just… spilled out of me like a dam within my heart had broken.
A frown hovered at the edges of Oliver’s mouth. “I love you, too.”
All I wanted was to tell him what I was thinking, but something this big needed to be processed. What if I got his hopes up only to crush them later? What if I was wrong about this? I forced myself to take subtle, even breaths through my nose. That jittery feeling left me with every exhale.
Once I felt calmer, I lifted my head and met Oliver’s gaze. We were still on the ground, our knees touching. Our faces were so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Would it be okay if we stopped for the night?” I asked. “I should really get some REM sleep.”
“Of course,” Oliver said instantly, but his frown hadn’t faded. “This grove is big enough that we can find a site far away from this memory. Preferably not close to the water, though.”
I nodded, and he helped me up. Oliver never let go of my hand as we ventured away from the memory of my parents. Within minutes, we found a good spot. Oliver and I slid off our backpacks in perfect unison, neither of us saying a word, and started setting up camp.
As we built the tent, I caught Oliver looking up more than once. He was worried Echidna’s children would come back, I thought. We went inside our small shelter, and Oliver confirmed my suspicions by muttering, “At least we’ve got some branch cover. We’ll hear it if they try to come from above.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” I reassured him, but the words came out more suggestive than I meant them to. I’d been trying to keep it light, teasing. I needed some normality after all of tonight’s terror and emotional upheaval.
We both let our backpacks drop to the ground, another part of our routine, but Oliver’s expression had become strange. When I saw that, guilt drove out everything else I felt. What was I doing? I’d put him through enough. Oliver didn’t deserve to be treated like a toy, played with whenever I got bored or nostalgic. I withdrew into myself like a creature into a shell, adding, “We’ll have to use the space heater to dry our stuff again, huh?”
Oliver unrolled his sleeping bag. He didn’t look up at me as he said, “Hey, Fortuna?”
“Yeah?”
“So you want to fuck me, huh?”
His tone was casual, but I still froze. “Oh, God. Listen, Ollie—”
He grinned and waved his hand. “We don’t have to talk about it. I realized how badly I treated you before I left. All that said, though… it’s just nice. Knowing that what I felt wasn’t completely unreciprocated.”
My embarrassment faded, and a small, sad smile curved my lips.
“No,” I told Oliver, adding my sleeping bag next to his. “No, it wasn’t unreciprocated.”
After that, we got undressed and set our clothes near the heater. Each of us got into our polyester cocoons, and I quickly learned there would be no sleep for me tonight. Thoughts shot through my mind like bullets, impossible to stop. Oliver breathed behind me, and I listened to every exhale with the thrilling, terrifying realization that, someday, this could be happening. He could actually be sleeping beside me in my world. The biggest obstacle standing in our way might just… vanish.
But where would it leave them, if you made Oliver real? that vicious little voice asked me.
Two faces flashed through my mind. One with silver eyes and a wicked grin. The other with dark hair and a solemn gaze.
As much as I wanted to dismiss that I’d considered Collith, pretend that it was just a moment of exhaustion, I couldn’t. He mattered. He had left a mark on me.
Mark. Spell. Bind. I was Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, flailing through the darkness, unable to catch hold of anything. Except the objects around me were thoughts and memories.
She’s promised to him!
Åsa’s voice screeched through my head, and I grimaced. What had she meant by that? There was so much I didn’t know. Not just whether I could bring Oliver into the real world, but about the past. About the parents I’d loved and lost too soon. What sort of promise had they made, and why did it lead them to that red door? I tossed and turned.
Oliver’s arms came around me again.
Before I could tell him it was useless, I heard it. Music. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, gentle, subtle. The faint melody sounded like hope.
“Are you doing this?” I asked faintly. Oliver didn’t answer, which was answer enough. Concern gripped me. “You shouldn’t, Ollie. You should save your strength.”
“Don’t worry about me. Just listen, Fortuna.”
I could tell from his tone that any arguments I made would fall on deaf ears. Giving in far too easily, I sighed and closed my eyes. Oliver kept using what little power he had left to make me a lullaby. The horrific things I’d seen tonight were replaced by images the notes provoked. Cherry blossoms. Rain. Mist over distant mountains.
Within seconds, I fell asleep.
But when I woke up on the other side of reality once more, I swore I could still hear the music, playing faintly from the part of my soul where Oliver lived.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Lights flicked on and buzzed overhead.
As the insides of my eyelids turned red, Oliver’s music faded. I’d been trying to come awake gradually, but now I was aware of the scratchy couch beneath me. The lights were still buzzing, too. I peeled my eyes open one at a time. Ouch.
I was in the waiting room at Adam’s shop, I realized slowly. The owner himself turned the lock on the door, then flipped the light switch next to it. A sign flickered to life in the window.
“Did I seriously sleep an entire day?” I asked, squinting.
“Day and a half, actually. Must’ve needed it. But the drinking probably didn’t help.”
“Probably not,” I agreed. Adam must’ve been getting a late start, too, if he was just opening. I sat up and searched for my phone, biting back a moan. “Emma must be worried sick. Oh, God, I was supposed to be bugging everyone for their hourly updates.”
“Your family is fine. The werewolf told them you were here. If you want to keep sleeping, you can use my bed.”
The offer made me smile. Something wistful and weary stole over my thoughts. “I wonder what my life would be like if we’d kept dating,” I mused.
“Wouldn’t have worked,” Adam said, pulling up the shades. They made a metallic sound.
Sunlight poured inside and I shielded my eyes. “Why not?”
“I like the quiet. You’re not quiet.” The corners of the vampire’s mouth deepened, not quite a smile, but as close to one as Adam could get. I knew he was trying to soften his words; he hadn’t meant them as an insult.
“I wouldn’t mind a quiet life,” I protested.
Adam just walked out, leaving the door open behind him. I waited for that familiar heavy metal to blare through the stillness, but after a few moments, I only heard the clink of tools. It took another moment to realize that Adam was working without music in case I took him up on the offer to sleep in his room. The vampire really was thoughtful, in his own way.
Tempting as it was to stay here and hide from everything I didn’t want to face, I needed to go home. I had to check on my family, and I desperately wanted to brush my teeth. Biting back a yawn, I found my gym bag and the keys to the van. They glinted in my hand as I bent to write on a sticky pad resting on top of Adam’s desk. Thank you. I set the pen down where I’d found it and left.
I blasted music the entire way back.
As soon as the homestead came into view, I took stock of the cars parked out front. Damon had left for the day, but Emma’s vehicle was in its usual spot. The moment I got out and slammed the door shut, I noticed a figure crossing the driveway. He was obviously just leaving; he held keys in his hand and his sunrise hair was still damp from the shower. I stopped, my eyes widening. “Cyrus,” I said. “Cyrus, I’ve been meaning to—”
“I don’t want an apology,” he said.
I blinked at the interruption. “What?”
“You blame yourself,” Cyrus asserted, his expression strangely calm. “You always blame yourself. But I made a choice, too. I’m an adult and I knew what I was doing.”
A thousand responses clogged my throat. I guilted you into doing it. I took advantage of your kind heart. I put myself first. I still longed to say the words, but was it for Cyrus’s sake… or mine? As we stood there, I resisted the urge to embrace him. Cyrus disliked being touched even more than I did. “Can we hang out soon? Maybe watch an episode of that show you like?” I said after a pause.
His eyes brightened. “Succession?” he replied. “Yes, we left off on episode six, season two.”
I smiled. A real smile. “Great. Text me the nights you’re free.”
Cyrus nodded, muttered a swift goodbye, and walked to his car. He’d forgiven me so easily, I thought. Cyrus Lavender was proof of the good left in this world. Still smiling, I slipped inside the barn and ascended the stairs to the loft. Stanley came around the corner to greet me, his tail wagging so hard that it affected the rest of his body. If he was here, Cyrus must’ve had a long shift ahead of him at the bar. I scratched behind the dog’s ear and kept going up.
A few steps later, the air began to reek of ketchup and meat. I recognized the smell, and then there came the hollow sound of china being placed upon wood. Oh, shit. My stomach curled in dread.
Emma’s meatloaf.
For an instant I considered slinking off to my room. But then I heard her voice drift down the stairwell, “Fortuna?”
Trying not to drag my feet, I nudged Stanley out of the way with my knee and entered the kitchen. I drew closer to the island, setting my bag on the floor. An empty bottle of vodka shone in a ray of sunlight, catching my eye. I didn’t remember leaving it there. Frowning, I started to apologize to Emma. Then she turned. When I saw her expression, I went silent, my throat thick with guilt. The bottle had been put there on purpose.
Emma turned from the stove, holding a glass pan. She didn’t look at me as she came closer and put it down. She pursed her lips at the bottle, driving her point home. “I can’t lose you, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I don’t think I would survive it.”
It felt like someone had rammed a butcher knife into my heart. I thought of the day I’d just spent at Adam’s, and the feeling worsened. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll try harder, okay? I’m going to get better,” I swore.
Falling silent, Emma scooped some meatloaf onto a plate and placed it in front of me. At this proximity, the smell was overwhelming. “I made lunch,” she said.
I plastered a grin on my face and reached for the fork she’d brought. “I see that. Thank you, Ems.”
The old woman mustered a smile, too, and nodded. She pressed her hand on my shoulder before she walked away, heading for her room. I stared at the steam rolling off the meatloaf in front of me, clutching the fork tightly. Stanley rested his big head on my thigh, looking up with pitiful, drooping eyes. Whispering not to tell Emma, I set the plate on the floor and fled.
I was about to disappear into my own room when I noticed Nym’s open door. Curious, I wandered toward it. Hello followed me down the hallway, and she darted through the opening when I poked my head into Nym’s room. The faerie sat on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. His bare feet peeked out from the hems of too-long jeans, and there was a sketchpad propped against his legs. His thin arm moved in quick, rough strokes.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, startling myself.
As my words floated between us, Nym made a dismissive sound. Hello jumped up and curled into a ball against his thigh. “Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone,” he replied.
I ventured closer, peering around at the drawings on the walls. They seemed to be getting darker—several of them depicted a hulking shape, surrounded by smears of darkness that were either flames or shadows, I couldn’t tell which. I wanted to ask about these, too, but one question burned brightest in my mind.
“Have you ever looked into my past, Nym? Maybe when Collith was trying to find me?” I blurted.
Nym shook his head, moving his pencil more vigorously. I’d clearly agitated him. I began to retreat, nodding.
“Okay. I do have one more question, though.” I released a slow breath, pausing. “Do you trust him? Collith?”
