Cadence, who owes her something only I’m left to give.
“I’m sorry.” I lay my free hand over hers, folding myself into the form of the child who made a mistake that would cost her parents’ lives and the world’s besides. “I only wanted to help. I didn’t mean for you and dad to get killed. I’m so, so sorry.”
Tears well in our mother’s eyes. She shakes her head, pulls me close. When she died, Cadence was just a child, so I find myself small enough that I have to stretch, lifting onto my toes and reaching to press the loose thread to her heart, even as she bends to press a kiss to my forehead.
The light is blinding.
The darkness in its wake crushes me. Exhaustion and emptiness drag me down even as the renewed wailing of the dead batters at my raw edges.
But deep inside, there’s a spark of this incredible, aching exhilaration. That was a healing unlike anything I could have imagined.
Now I just have to do it again. And again. For a city’s worth of trapped souls. Before the dreamwalkers’ impending strike sends them scattering across the world.
Chapter 32: Deadline
All ghosts want one thing. Or rather, they all want at least one thing. Some of them want so many things it’s like a web, clinging and binding tighter and tighter no matter how I struggle to work myself free.
But, in the end, it comes down to a single thread. And, after I heal the first few dozen, I don’t even really have to guess what they need from me. A love fulfilled, a loss restored, a regret released. The patterns become familiar, if no less exhausting.
My friends prove the hardest to release, not because their longings and attachment to this broken world are stronger—though in some cases, they are—but because of the inescapable intimacy of piecing together their deepest selves and then the wrenching pain of letting them go.
Mostly, I get good at running away before the end. Identify that final tie, figure out what I need to say or do or become so they can accept it, and turn tail before that awful, glorious light overwhelms everything and leaves me stunned and exposed in the waking world.
The youngest are the easiest to release. Not emotionally, but practically. They take back their dreams with both hands at the slightest opportunity, as if welcoming old friends. The very old are sometimes like that, too.
Ange fights peace even harder than I expect. So does Ravel, newly dead and, as it happens, not at all attached to his now-Mara-inhabited physical form, despite his quips.
I manage to draw away before the light comes to take them. Ash’s freeing, too, I can’t stand to watch. Nor Grace’s.
Her death is the first sign I’ve been moving too slow. It’s not the last. I’ve been so preoccupied with Refuge that I missed the moment when the Mara realized the fissures in the barrier were deep enough to sneak out through.
They’re growing desperate. I’ve been stealing their food, snatching their power back from them. The embodied ones are trapped now by the rising floodwaters like their prey so many generations ago, unable to flee the tower. The remainder of the formless Mara squeezed out and pounced on the nearest source of energy they could find—Ash’s Spectre squad, Steph’s Nightwitches, and a few others from Nine Peaks as well. I’m shocked to find Susan in her most recent memories. Our grandmother hadn’t abandoned us after all. The dreamwalkers, elder and trainees alike, must have been waiting to help the refugees as Ravel spirited them across. He really was on our side all along.
The young dreamwalkers are fighting as hard as they can, but the Mara are reckless in their hunger, willing to risk the flashing silver blades to steal the energy of the living.
Grace’s memories tell me all this and more as I race to release her and catch up to the monstrous nightmares. With each ghost I can steal back from them, their threat diminishes. Soon, even trainee dreamwalkers should be able to contain them.
But the fight is wearing me down, too. In each new spirit’s dreamscape, I grow more and more transparent. I look more like a ghost now than they do.
I can’t afford to rest, to retreat. But I know if I stopped to inspect the fabric of my own soul, I would find it threadbare and ravelling, too many strands stolen to bolster another’s healing.
It’s okay, though. It is.
It doesn’t matter that I don’t have the energy left to turn back Nine Peaks’ attack. There’s no one left in the city but monsters wearing human skins. And they’re hardly even monsters now.
I’ve released all the ghosts but one, and without the trapped spirits to feed on, the Mara have become simply creatures. They leave their skins behind and drift, lonely and formless and, if not entirely benign, at least neutral. Like the forest’s strange, shifting tree-like form that I first encountered in the forest outside Nine Peaks, or the sea creatures who saved Ash when his ship was sinking, the Mara had been simply responding to the pain they felt humans were inflicting on them.
No humans, no pain; no pain, no counterattack. Or so they convey, wordlessly, apologetically, even, before pressing on me a swirling little ball of fog, not the diseased yellow of my city’s toxic fumes, but nearer the pure silver light of a dreamwalker’s power.
If I weren’t refusing to acknowledge its existence, I might name it—
“Puffy, right?” the last ghost says. “You have the worst naming sense ever. It should totally be something cool, like Zephyr or Atmos or something. All your ideas are so lame.”
“How are you talking right now?”
“How are you talking right now?” she mimics in a squeaky, high-pitched tone. “Please. Don’t lump me in with all those other pathetic ghosts. It’s not like I’ve never been bodyjacked before.”
I’m too tired for this. But I can’t rest until she’s free. It’s time I finally let her go.
“Don’t you come near me,” she warns, skipping back.
“It won’t hurt, Cadence. I promise.”
She squeals, darting away almost playfully. But there’s a real edge of fear to her screech when I draw close.
“Stop it! I don’t like this!”
“It’s okay. It’s not scary at all. You should have seen mom—she was so beautiful. And then when dad went—” I keep up a steady stream of babbling as I reach for her, soothing her with stories and memories and promises of a world better than this one, the way she once distracted me. I don’t think she even notices the moment we slip into her dreamscape.
It’s solid, fully formed and bright as if she’s still a living human. But it’s also small, full of brilliant primary colours splashed across a landscape no larger than Susan’s great room. And then there are the cracks in the paint, the gaps that look out onto nothingness.
Cadence glares. “You’re really planning to send me away, aren’t you?”
She’s wearing her child form, still clinging to the past. She even has the same streak of mud on her cheek that she had that awful day her world fell apart.
“I’m sending you to the same place mom and dad went.” I kneel in front of her. I’m about the same size as our mother was when she died. Maybe that’s why Cady sighs and leans into me instead of fighting.
“I didn’t mean it,” she whispers, clutching her small, unmarred fists on the cloth of my shirt. “I just wanted to help.”
“I know. They forgive you.”
Her inner fabric is remarkably even, bright and tightly woven, but so small. If I’d still had any doubts, seeing her deepest self would have resolved them.
I am not Cadence and she is not me. I don’t know any more than that, not how it’s possible that we are separate, not how it came to be that I became, and grew, and changed, and wore myself threadbare trying to heal everyone else, nor how she came to be frozen on the edge of childhood.
But the fabric doesn’t lie.
There is surprisingly little to do. A few snagged threads to nudge back into place. A raw edge to smooth. A few tarnished spots to wipe clean again. The stains crumble like dried blood and blow away on a breath. I don’t mean to weave myself
into the healing this time any more than I did the last dozen—or hundred. I’ve lost track.
But when I drop back into her dreamscape, that one loose thread that always remains has itself wound deep into my very soul. Just the slightest tweak on it has me keeling over.
Cadence peers down at me. “Is this what’s supposed to happen?”
I shake my head, gasping.
“Oh. Well, maybe you should take a break? And come take a look at this—”
She points. I crane my neck—and her small hand at my back shoves me into the void.
I WAKE UP STIFF AND smelling of seawater.
“Took you long enough,” Ravel says.
“She was busy,” Ash shoots back, leaning over to push me back down when I start to rise. “Better take a minute, C. Most of us didn’t get a full-system saltwater cleanse while we were out.”
I flinch, frantically replaying his final moments in his head as my skin heats. What had I said? What had I promised? I wasn’t expecting to have to face him again.
“So, was I a pretty monster?” Ravel croons, shouldering his rival aside. He bats deep brown eyes at me—the inhuman gold apparently stripped from his body along with the possessing monsters—and lifts one eyebrow, as if in reassurance that, yes, it’s definitely all him in there.
Ange grabs him by the back of his shirt and yanks. “Leave the poor girl alone for five minutes.”
A groan comes from somewhere behind me. Everyone looks. I take the opportunity to spit up some more water and then cradle my aching head.
“Ah, here comes your drowning buddy,” Ange says dryly. “Right on schedule.”
I set my teeth in the briny-tasting flesh of my inner arm and bite.
“Whoa, okay,” Ravel says. “So, yeah, you’re alive. Not a dream. Try not to hurt yourself.”
Ash wipes blood off my lip and slips an arm behind me so I can look around. It’s an unremarkable Refuge workroom, chairs overturned here and there, consoles in pieces on the floor, and a half dozen or so familiar faces staring back at me.
“How—?”
Ange shrugs. “I was pretty sure I was done for. Then I woke up here.”
“Same.” Ravel waves languidly. “One minute the monsters were knocking down the door, the next—boom.”
Ash sighs. “Don’t let them bait you. I’ve already explained everything they need to know.”
“‘Monsters go bye-bye’ isn’t quite doing it for me.” My attempt at snark is interrupted by a coughing fit. The water burns on its way out. “You’re alive.”
If Ash weren’t propping me up right now, I would be flat on the floor—and not just because I have never been more exhausted in my life.
“Mmhmm. So are you,” Ange says. “Life all around. Ash tells us you beat the Mara into submission, so they spit us back into our bodies.”
“Uh, that’s not exactly what I—” He starts, looks down at me, and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. We can hash out the details later. Right now, let’s just be happy everyone’s safe and leave it at that.”
“Everyone?” I crane my neck, counting.
Liwan takes that moment to stroll through the door. My jaw drops.
“Everyone, um, intact,” Ravel confirms. “Practically speaking, that means most Mara-taken over the last few days or so should have made it back in one piece. Plus, uh, drowning victims, apparently.”
I close my eyes. None of this is possible—which apparently, in my overtired brain, means anything is possible. But Cass isn’t walking through that door anytime soon. Neither are my parents.
“Our parents,” Cadence says. “Also, hi: you’re in my body.”
“That’s enough, Cady. Leave her in peace for five minutes, won’t you?” Ash turns to me. “Don’t worry. She can’t do anything more. It’s really over now.”
“As if,” she sniffs. “You guys forgot about the fogeys, didn’t you?”
“The what?” Ange goes on alert. She’s not the only one who scans the room for danger.
“Nine Peaks,” I rasp, each syllable a stone around my neck. “How long?”
“At least one of you has been paying attention,” Cadence snarks. “Yup, the good old homeland is about to wipe us out in a storm of earth-shattering fire. So maybe everyone should take this opportunity to thank you again for getting stuffed back in those nice, flammable skins?”
Ash stands, pulling me with him. I had forgotten how crushingly heavy a body could be. He tightens his grip as my knees sag. “We should have a little time still. A couple hours. Maybe more. If we hurry, we can—”
“Run away from a volcano? As if. Even if you leave the slowpokes behind, you’ll be lucky to clear the city. And it’s not like molten fire attacks come with pinpoint accuracy.”
“What about the barrier?” Just the thought of the energy I’d need to marshal to even begin to strengthen it again makes my vision go wobbly and dark around the edges, but if it’s the only way—
“Long gone,” Ange says matter-of-factly. “And good riddance.”
This is it, then. I don’t have anything left to give. No one I can use, no power I can draw on, nothing to fight back with. So the world will survive without us. Great. Everyone I care about is in the path of destruction, and all I can do is . . .
“I got nothing.” I laugh a little at the thickness in my own voice. “Sorry. Guess we’re doomed.”
Chapter 33: Linked
First one somber face cracks into a smile, then another. Ravel sputters. Ange snorts. Sure, some of the giggling is a little frantic, but I think hysterics are called for, given the circumstances.
“So, what should we do in the meantime?” I say when the laughter has died down into scattered chuckles and muffled sobs. “Anyone know any good games? Ravel?”
But for once, he doesn’t seem to be in the mood to play. He stares back wordlessly, blinking so slowly I start to get worried.
“Earth to Stupid?” Cadence prompts. “Calling Stupid. Is anyone home?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m thinking.”
“It’s that hard?”
“Shh. Wait.”
His face clears.
“Oop, did it just have a wittle thoughty-woughty?” Cadence singsongs.
If we all weren’t about to die, I would really need to have a word with her about her attitude. Someone’s got to parent the brat. Luckily, I’ll be off the hook within the day.
“Nine Peaks is sending us a volcano, yeah?” Ravel finally says.
Ash wobbles his hand. “Not exactly. More like redirecting the potential force of an eruption through subterranean channels.”
“And that’s the elders’ work?”
“Not necessarily. But most likely.”
“And the elders of Nine Peaks are like you two? Mystical string-pulling powers, right?” He wiggles his fingers in illustration.
“Is that what you think we do?”
“Just answer him,” Ange interrupts, moving closer.
“Cole’s ‘string-pulling powers’ as you put it, are unique. A bonus skill, if you like. But we’re all dreamwalkers, yes.”
“And dreamwalkers can manipulate fire?” Ravel persists. “Send it to attack other cities through—what was it? Underground tunnels?”
“No, that’s—that’s not—”
“But your elders are sending the volcano, right? Your dreamwalker elders? The ones that are the same kind of whatsits as you?”
“It’s not that simple. I can’t—”
“Yeah, we all know you’re useless, glitter boy. But what about her?” Ravel nods toward me, dark eyes gleaming. “She comes with all the upgrades, right? So she can send it back.”
“Whoa, no way.” I hold up my hands. “I don’t have anything left, remember? Even if I did, I’m not even totally sure what a volcano is. I can’t stop it or—or send it anywhere.”
“Maybe you could try, though?” Ravel spreads his arms as if this is some brilliant revelation sent to him from on high. W
hen I stare him down, he shrugs. “Or not. But it’s not just you two now is it? I know you’ve got a whole pack of your kind babysitting the refugees just outside the city. What about them?”
This time it’s Ash’s turn to shake his head.
Ravel hisses in frustration. “How about you just ask them to try, huh? It’s not like we have a lot to lose here.”
“They said no, Ravel. Learn to listen.” Ange brushes past him to take my hand. “You fought hard. Thank you.”
Her touch sends sunlight fizzing through my veins. I clamp down on it like a lifeline. She jerks back, pulling me away from Ash.
The moment I'm free of his support, my knees buckle, the rush of energy snapped off like a switch has been flipped.
He catches me before I hit the floor. “What—”
“Shh.” I stare at my hand, still clamped around Ange’s. The current is back. “Something just happened. Ravel, come here for a sec.”
He trots over, both arms out as if I’ll throw myself into them.
“Don’t let go,” I say to Ash, tightening my grip on Ange at the same time.
With my free hand, I reach out to Ravel. “Take it. It’s not like it’ll kill you.”
He laughs—but this time, when the jolt hits, his eyes fly wide and he tries to yank away. He makes it less than a hand-span before I catch an invisible thread and hold him in place.
“What are you doing to me?” he whispers, staring at his own hand frozen in midair—at least from his perspective.
“Playing.” I pry my fingers from Ange’s, lifting away just enough to catch sight of the shining strand linking our palms. “Aren’t you having fun?”
Ravel bares his teeth, a little frantic. “Always, with you, flame.”
“Cole? What’s happening?” Ash is steady at my back, but his voice cracks.
“Just a little experiment. I need you to try something for me, okay? I want you to take Ange’s other hand. It’s okay. Just go slowly. Good. Now let go. No, of me, not her.”
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