Beautiful nightmares, p.64
Beautiful Nightmares, page 64
“Don’t tell me how I feel, Laurie.” I meant the words to be sharp, as if they were edged with broken glass, but I just sounded tired. Laurie was silent. Staring toward the dark horizon, I felt my lips curve into a bemused smile. “I tell you about the imaginary friend who lives inside my head. I say that creatures from a dream are hurting me. Your response, instead of running in the opposite direction, is to whisk me away on the trip of a lifetime. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to figure out how your mind works, Laur, and I’ve been in it.”
He shrugged, his arm dangling off the center console. “What can I say? Like calls to like.”
I was about to respond when I felt Laurie’s fingertips brush against my stomach. I sucked in a breath, wondering when he’d moved. A moment later, Laurie undid the button on my jeans, and I held the steering wheel tight. “We shouldn’t…”
“Why? Because you’re fucking Collith?” he asked. I went still with surprise, and Laurie flicked his finger inside my jeans. I was still forming a response, or trying to, when he pulled his hand away and left my skin cold. “I agree that we shouldn’t take this further tonight, but it’s not because of anyone else. I simply require my sexual partners to be in the right frame of mind for our exploits, and having attended therapy myself once or twice, I know from personal experience that immediately afterward is not an ideal time to make decisions.”
“Or maybe it’s the best time to make decisions,” I said wistfully, aching where Laurie’s fingers had touched and teased.
He smirked. “Now you just want me because you can’t have me.”
“There you go again, telling me how I feel.”
“I know you feel hungry. I could hear your stomach from across the Atlantic.”
Laurie leaned close. His tongue flicked out and teased the sensitive shell of my ear. Goosebumps raced over my skin, and they lingered when he expelled a faint breath along the curve of my neck.
“How do you feel now?” Laurie whispered.
Then I blinked, and he was gone.
“Frustrated,” I said to the empty van. “I feel frustrated. Confused, too. Oh, and hungry, may as well add that to the list.”
My skin was hot. I rolled down the window and reveled in the icy wind. I cranked the volume up and scream-sang the rest of the drive home.
When I parked next to the barn, I immediately spotted a splash of white on the ground—there was something resting in front of the door. My frown cleared when I remembered Laurie’s comment about my stomach.
In the short time it had taken me to drive home, he had gotten a pound of food and left it here for me to find.
“Show off,” I said, glancing around for any sign of silver eyes or the shimmer of magic. Only snow-covered trees stared back, the air adrift with the faint sounds of winter.
Smiling, I picked up the grease-stained bag and went inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The dreamscape was tinted in shades of pink when Oliver and I emerged from the cave.
We took a few steps into the open, both of us eager to put that eerie darkness behind us. No sound came out of it, but I swore I could still hear the shrieks and calls of Echidna’s creatures. Shuddering, I quickened my pace, and Oliver matched it without complaint. Miles of prairie surrounded us, the needle-thin blades of grass bending in a gentle breeze.
Despite the serenity of our surroundings, Oliver and I didn’t stop until the cave was out of sight. As we slowed, I inhaled the air deeply, enjoying the vastness of it. It smelled like salt, but I didn’t see any telltale glitter in the distance. I raised my hand, shielding my eyes, and took closer stock of where we were.
Nothing, I thought. There was nothing but plains and open sky.
“Ocean is that way.” Oliver nodded, and a gust of wind playfully mussed his hair. “We could hug the coastline for a while, then work our way inward. Any objections?”
I shook my head. “Sounds good to me.”
Once again, we set off to venture into an unknown land.
As was becoming our custom, I told Oliver about all that had transpired since the last time we’d seen each other. The cherubim attack, the opera, my night with Viessa, the encounter with Collith afterward, Savannah’s visit, my therapy session. And even though Oliver must’ve heard something in my voice every time I mentioned Collith or Laurie, there was no pain or jealousy in his countenance as he listened.
I fell silent and waited for any insights Oliver might have, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he turned his head toward the horizon, his lips pursed in thought. Then a line appeared between his brows and he murmured, “What is that?”
I’d already turned, too. There was a black line on the horizon, moving fast in this direction. It took a long time to figure out what I was looking at, and even when I did, my brain struggled to accept the sight.
The black line was an enormous flock, more creatures from Mom’s stories. They had a bird’s body and a woman’s head, along with huge wings and human-looking expressions, like malice and hatred.
Harpies.
“Shit,” I cursed softly. We must’ve entered their territory, which meant there was a memory nearby. This battle was going to hurt—I could already imagine the talons on those things.
“Run,” Oliver said.
We lurched into movement, our backpacks thumping hard against us. An instant later, I could hear them. The air ripped apart with sounds of human-like cries, as if dozens of women were being slaughtered high above.
As adrenaline coursed through me, my breathing hard and fast, I tried to remember what I knew about these things. Harpies were agents of punishment. From what I remembered, they abducted people, tortured them, and consumed souls. Though they possessed human-like intelligence, there would be no deals with these creatures, as there had been with Echidna—harpies were vicious, cruel, and violent.
The ones that came down on us were nothing like the wild, beautiful things I’d imagined. Their hair was ratty and wind-tossed. The fusion of human and bird was jarring, as if two puzzle pieces had been forced together rather than clicked into the correct place. Their feathers weren’t white, or red, or anything mystical and lovely. They were like a seagull’s. Gray.
One of them dove for me, her eyes so big and wide I could see them across the ever-shrinking distance between us. They were bright yellow, with black slits down the middle.
I ran faster, but it was futile. The winged monster snatched me up, ignoring my enraged screams. I longed for the gun I’d lost—Oliver hadn’t been able to make me another one yet—and all I could do was wrench at the harpy’s hold and kick my legs like a child. I’d already discovered that, like all the rest, my powers didn’t work on this creature. My magic went through it like an inconsequential puff of air, and then I was swinging over the frothing sea.
Feeling a chilly spray on my face, I did a wild scan for Oliver. There he was, dangling from the harpy’s other foot. His eyes met mine at the exact moment the creature opened its talons and dropped us. A scream lodged in my throat, trapped by rushing air, and then a jarring impact rocked my bones.
We’d landed in a nest.
A nest, I noticed with a suddenly dry mouth, pushing myself up, that held three very large, very creepy-looking eggs. There were other nests around us, too far away to reach. Most of them, I was surprised to see, were occupied by male harpies. It seemed they’d been left behind to guard the young. It was probably pure happenstance that we’d been put in a nest without one.
I started to ask Oliver about the eggs, but his head was turned, looking toward the land we’d been snatched from. “I think the memory is on that beach,” he said suddenly.
We’d just been snatched by a monster and left in a giant nest dangling over the sea. Normal people would be reeling, and the swiftness of Oliver’s recovery said far too much about how many life and death situations we’d been in lately.
The same could be said for me, as well. I followed Oliver’s gaze to the strip of land, pushing all my other thoughts away. He was right—the harpies had come when we’d started walking in that direction. They were guarding it, just like all the other creatures had been doing.
“Agreed,” I said. “But how do we get there?”
That was the question of the hour. Oliver and I looked around again, hoping the answer would jump out. The cliff above our heads was a flat wall. There were ridges in the stone, bits of moss and roots, but nothing substantial enough to use or hold our weight. Wondering if there was anything beneath us, I climbed up the side of the nest, choosing every step carefully. My palms felt sweaty as I peered over the edge.
“There’s another nest beneath us,” I told Oliver. “No male in that one, either, but the eggs hatched. They look like adolescents.”
Oliver glanced at the eggs on the other side of our nest, whole and still. Though he didn’t voice any of his thoughts out loud, I saw them in the lines around his mouth. Were harpies carnivores? And did that extend to their newborns?
Regardless of the answers, there was nothing to do but wait. Wait for the harpies to come back or wait for a miracle to happen. We were stuck. I settled on the lip of the nest, positioning myself sideways so I could keep an eye on the eggs and watch the light fade.
“Still think my mind is a beautiful place?” I asked lightly, trying to muster a smile.
Oliver didn’t answer straight away. He turned his face toward the ocean, too, and the departing sun bathed his skin in red. The wind stirred his hair, making strands catch the light like spun gold. At that moment, he looked like a stranger to me, and I wondered if I’d ever gotten to know the real Oliver… because I’d never allowed him to be anything more than the boy I had created.
Maybe this was Oliver, the man. A person who had fought past his impossible confines and forged new pieces of himself, finally becoming whole. Complete.
“Your mind has been home to me,” Oliver said finally, holding out a feather he must’ve found in the nest. “I wouldn’t exist without it. For that, I will always be thankful for this place.”
The way he spoke made me frown. I took the feather and touched one of its soft edges. “Are you trying to say goodbye again? I thought we were past that.”
“We’re past the part where I pressure you and act like an asshole,” Oliver said bluntly. “We’re not past me wanting to go, though.”
Hearing this, I would normally remind him that there was nowhere to go. But that was no longer true, was it? I knew what I was truly capable of now. I held the feather tightly and swallowed, unsure why the thought of telling Oliver had transformed my heart into a panicked bird. “Ollie…”
What if I was wrong? What if I couldn’t repeat what I’d done with the tree and the beasts in the woods? What if Oliver and I made plans, real plans, and I broke his heart for the millionth time?
Fear won again.
The stars were coming out now, I noticed desperately. Seeing them brought another conversation to mind.
“It’s not, you know,” I said. Oliver looked at me and I clarified, “Love isn’t worth it. You probably don’t remember, because you were ridiculously drunk, but you asked me once. You were babbling about the stars, asking if they were worth loving. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what you really meant.”
I could tell from his expression that he didn’t remember—no surprise there. But now Oliver thought about what I’d said, completely sober. After a few seconds, he spoke with the same gentle firmness that he used to hold a paintbrush.
“I think it is. Worth it, I mean,” Oliver said.
I looked at him. His gaze was steady, his meaning clear. I didn’t want to demean Oliver’s sincerity or make him feel belittled, but I couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. “I’m literally the only human being you’ve ever met, much less dated,” I told him softly. “What you feel then might utterly pale in comparison to the love you feel for me.”
“You and I have been on a thousand dates. We’ve been to the carnival. We’ve gone stargazing. Swimming. I’ve taken you on picnics.”
“You’re missing the point, and none of that counts, Ollie.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked. There was nothing curt or confrontational about his demeanor. “Because there were no other people around?”
When he put it that way, I knew it wasn’t the reason I’d never thought of our nights as dates. But Oliver gave me a rueful smile, faint lines appearing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m not trying to change your mind about us. But… I’m valid. What I feel is valid. That’s all I wanted to say.”
I held his gaze and nodded to indicate that I’d heard him. That I’d really heard him. Maybe I belonged in a hospital, because it was the truth. By this point, it seemed impossible that Oliver wasn’t real. The world was full of magic. Out loud, though, all I said was, “I like it when you stand up for yourself.”
“Why don’t you try to get some rest? I’ll wake you when I think of a plan.” Oliver tugged at the end of my ponytail, but I saw right through him. He wanted me to fall asleep and wake up in the real world, where it was safe. While he was stuck here, alone, weaponless and vulnerable.
I gave Oliver a dead-eyed look, a clear indication of how I felt about that. “Nice try. I’m not…”
I looked down, and my words trailed off when I caught sight of something buried within the nest. It gleamed through the tangle of sticks, grass, roots, and dirt. My eyebrows drew together. Tucking Oliver’s feather away, I shifted so I was lower on the edge, making it easier to dig. In seconds, I wrapped my fingers around the object and pulled it out. I knew instantly what I’d found.
It was a talon.
I frowned at the deadly-looking point, thinking of ways I could use this newfound weapon. In my mind’s eye, I saw the harpies in the nest below ours. An idea bloomed.
“Ollie,” I said urgently, my gaze flying back to him.
But he was staring at the eggs behind me. I turned just in time to see a head poke through the layer of slime. Eyes, round and dark, landed on me. They lit up with something that was unmistakable. Something that had shone from my own eyes, I was sure, during those dark moments of invincibility, consumption, and power.
Hunger.
“Oh, fuck,” I swore softly. Suddenly it was all-too clear why the harpies had left us here. Being eaten alive by their newborns was not the way I wanted to die. I whirled and climbed the edge of the nest again. “We need to go!”
“Go where?” Oliver demanded.
I halted at the very edge, and he stepped up beside me. “To the nest underneath us! Hurry.”
“Wait! In case we die…” Grabbing my hand, Oliver’s gaze dropped to my lips, then rose back up with obvious intent.
There were so many reasons why I should’ve turned away, and I wanted to defy them all. Fuck it. I grabbed the back of Oliver’s neck and closed the space between us. His mouth opened to mine and his other hand fisted on my lower back.
It was a good kiss. Hard, urgent, and over too soon.
A screeching sound made us break apart. All the hatchlings had broken free of their eggs now. Two of them had started to move toward us, wobbling precariously on the tips of their wings and their stick-thin legs. They’d reach our perch in seconds.
Oliver was still holding my hand. He tugged at me, and I focused on him. There was no time to count or rethink it. In the next breath, we pushed off the edge like this was the cliff we’d spent our whole childhoods leaping from.
For a handful of wild, terrible moments, we plummeted in a freefall. It felt like we’d jumped out of a plane with no parachute. The distance was farther than I’d thought, and though I fought to remain vertical, the rushing air pushed me into a horizontal position. My hair streamed behind me and tears slid from the corners of my eyes.
Then I was hitting the nest, the air leaving my lungs in an agonizing whoosh. I realized that I’d landed on the same side that I had fallen on before. A moment later, I felt Oliver’s hands wrap around my arms. The rough bottom of the nest scraped and poked at my legs as he hauled me backward. Away from the half-grown harpies staring at us just a few yards away.
Both male and female heads followed our movements.
Miraculously, I’d managed to hold onto the talon. I stood slowly, instinctively holding out one hand toward the harpies, as if they were feral dogs. In the other I adjusted my grip on the talon, making it easier to swipe and slash. It wouldn’t come to that, I told myself.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” I said. “But we do need to borrow you for a bit.”
One of them hissed, and I flinched. Great. This would officially go down as my worst idea ever. I was about to attempt talking to the hatchlings again when Oliver walked past me—he must’ve figured out what I was trying to do.
“Ollie,” I growled.
He acted as if I hadn’t spoken, striding right into the cluster of harpies without fear or hesitation. If they didn’t kill him, I’d do it myself, I decided as I rushed forward. Oliver flung his hand out, palm-up. He didn’t look at me, but his message was clear. Stop. Trust me.
“I am like you,” he murmured, keeping his focus on the bristling creatures. The sound of his voice made the loud one cock its head. Oliver caught its gaze and nodded. “I am part of this world. We’re made of the same magic.”
I watched, spellbound, as he moved amongst them. Still offering the creatures calm reassurances, Oliver ran his fingertip along the edge of a wing. The harpy he’d pet made a purring sound. They trust him now, I thought.
A trust that extended to me, we discovered when I tried to approach the loud one again. I half-expected it to gouge me with a talon. The harpy just kept its eyes on Oliver, who swung onto its sibling’s back, a male with dirty hair and huge wings.
Steeling myself, worried I was about to be bucked off and fall right into the sea, I climbed onto the harpy I was still petting.
It didn’t buck me off, but the creatures we’d chosen shrieked and fidgeted, unaccustomed to our weight. There was no time to let them adjust—the adults were nearly upon us now. Oliver directed his harpy with more gentle words, and since I didn’t share a weird, mystical connection with mine, I pressed my heels into its feathered sides.
