by K. J. Sutton
Over the past few weeks, I’d come to this place enough times that I had learned the guards’ schedules and rotations. I knew it would be Omar and Úna on duty before the door loomed into sight. I avoided the female’s searing gaze. “How is she?” I asked Omar, who no longer cowered whenever I came near.
“It’s a good day,” he told me with a small, welcoming smile. The response sent a ray of light through my heart. I nodded my thanks and passed through the doorway, touching one of the blue flowers as I went. Lyari stayed behind, but Finn’s paws made soft sounds against the packed dirt as he followed me.
When I entered the shadow-filled room, my expression was pleasant. It had taken some practice, because no matter how many times I saw Naevys, the horror struck me anew. It didn’t help that the ground swallowed her a bit more every day. The first time we met, her face had been untouched, for the most part. Now delicate roots covered one of her cheeks and brittle moss crawled up the column of her throat.
“Fortuna,” Collith’s mother said in greeting. It was her way of telling me that she knew who I was. Finn lumbered to the corner, where he laid down and peered at us through half-lidded eyes. I smiled at Naevys and dropped onto the loveseat someone had brought into the room—one of the Guardians must’ve noticed that I always sat on the ground during my visits. The thoughtful gesture unsettled me, and for once, I knew exactly why. Faeries were not kind. Faeries were not generous. Yet they seemed determined to prove me wrong at every turn.
“What shall we do this evening?” Naevys asked, interrupting my stream of thought.
I lifted my head and mustered another smile. God, I was tired. “We can play chess again. Or you can tell me more stories about Collith.”
Naevys gave no response—instead, she searched my expression. There was something unnerving about the steadiness of her gaze, as though, like her son, she saw far more than I meant her to. They had the same hazel eyes, I noticed for the hundredth time.
I was on the verge of fetching the chess board when, without any warning, Naevys started humming. She closed her eyes and seemed to settle deeper into the earth. She didn’t say anything else, and I couldn’t bring myself to cut in. The melody had caught hold of me. Haunting, bittersweet, like a story that hadn’t ended the way it should’ve, if the world were fair or kind.
As Naevys filled the air with her soft song, my attention began to drift. I shifted in the chair, thinking to lean my head against the armrest, and something sharp dug into my hip. I grimaced and pulled the goblins’ ring out of my pocket. Truth be told, I’d forgotten about it again. I watched the dull, red stones gleam weakly in the firelight, but my mind filled with the scene from the throne room. I saw it on that stranger’s finger and relived the burst of disbelief when I realized who was truly wearing it.
Witches’ spells had side effects. Consequences. Savannah Simonson learned that lesson the hard way, but Collith knew better. The fact that he’d put a powerful ring on, unaware of what those consequences would be, spoke volumes on his state of mind. Collith was not the cautious person he’d once been. How else had he changed, since I’d taken his life and destroyed both of us? The thought made my stomach churn. I put the ring back in my pocket and refocused on Naevys.
When I got back to Cyrus’s, I’d hide it in a place no one would find.
The faerie in the wall still hadn’t opened her eyes, but maybe she sensed my agitation—a few seconds after I tucked the ring away, she started to sing in Enochian. Her voice made me think of the sea. Not the sea on a glittering, beaming day, but on one of those chilly, gray mornings when only seagulls and clouds dared to venture close to it.
There were no clocks down here. No way to indulge in the human habit of always knowing how much time had passed. There was only Naevys’s lilting song and the sound of my own breathing. In and out, in and out. The tension seeped out of me, until I found myself resting against the armrest, curled into a ball for warmth.
Despite my resolve—I was going to rest my eyes, nothing more, then I’d get up from this chair and begin the journey home—Naevys’s song sent me soaring into slumber’s gentle embrace.
Chapter Five
I awoke to a fragrant breeze caressing my skin. Oliver, I thought with a smile. But when I opened my eyes to see the dreamscape, the anticipation was chased away by a sense of foreboding. I frowned as I looked around.
Everything was picturesque as always. A gentle wind swept over the rolling hills, bending the tall grass like reeds in water. The sky was a periwinkle blue, broken apart by fluffy clouds that looked like something from a painting. In the distance, the sea glittered. I stood beneath the great oak tree, wearing a yellow sundress that crisscrossed over my back. All was as it should be, but something had my instincts whispering, urgent whispers that propelled me forward in search of Oliver. He should’ve been sitting at the cliff’s edge, or standing in the doorway to the cottage.
I started walking toward it, moving like a deer in the crosshairs. My eyes darted in every direction and bumps rose along my skin. It felt like something was watching me, like something else was in this dream with me. I could feel its psyche, somehow, spreading through the meadow like a poisonous mist. It was angry. It was dark. It was hungry.
I didn’t question my instincts, not when it felt like my very survival was on the line. Something must’ve been wrong with Oliver—maybe he was having a nightmare of his own. As I hurried to reach the cottage, I realized I was too exposed here, with no trees or structures around. There was nothing but my silhouette and open sky. I may as well have been wearing a target.
In the next breath, I dove to the ground, driven by a burst of panic. The skin at my knees and elbows tore. Pain shot through me, followed by surprise—I rarely experienced pain in this world. Oliver didn’t allow it. If I tripped, the earth turned into pillows. If I got a cut, my skin knit back together an instant later.
Breathing hard, I raised my head above the grass just enough to look around. Nothing moved. Maybe I was going insane.
“Fortuna?”
I stayed there, frozen, half-convinced I’d imagined Oliver’s voice in my desperation. His shoes appeared in front of me, though, and I arched my head back. A face I knew better than my own peered down, his forehead scrunched with concern. His skin was lightly tanned and his golden hair tousled, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He wore his white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and it was stained with fresh-looking paint.
A long breath of relief left my lungs. I accepted Oliver’s proffered hand and stood. “Damn. I really am losing it,” I said, smiling into his cornflower eyes.
Without warning, he bent down and pressed his lips to mine. I reared back, my hands automatically rising to keep him at bay. “Ollie, what are you doing?” I demanded, resisting the immediate urge to run.
Naked branches stretching overhead. A lonely wind winding through the trees. The sound of a zipper coming undone.
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to push the images out. I pictured Matthew’s dimpled smile, imagined the smell of Emma’s terrible perfume, remembered how Bea and Gretchen always swayed together in front of the jukebox. Then, startling me, an image of Collith filled my mind. I thought of that stubborn lock of hair always falling into his eye.
When I finally refocused on him, Oliver was just staring at me, as though my rejection of him had been completely unexpected.
Then something dark crawled into his eyes.
Terror exploded inside me like a blood vessel. This isn’t my best friend, I thought dimly. I had no idea how something else would’ve gotten in our dreamscape, or how it was wearing Oliver’s face, but that didn’t matter right now.
Despite the urge to run, to get as far away from this thing as possible, I stayed where I was. There was only a slight waver in my voice when I spoke. “Why don’t we go inside?” I suggested, inclining my head. “I’ll cook—nothing from scratch, I promise—and we can talk. Sound good?”
The imposter did
n’t react. When the silence stretched, I decided to interpret it as acceptance. My heartbeat felt like a series of bombs going off as I turned away and started toward the cottage again. I didn’t let myself look back to see if the imposter would follow—I was worried he would see the fear in my eyes.
Inside, I headed immediately for the kitchen. My breathing was ragged as I started opening cupboards. The floor, which had creaked for me, hardly made a sound when the imposter entered and crossed the room. Was he a faerie? But how would he be inside my head, my dream?
It felt like I’d forgotten how to breathe. I pulled a box of spaghetti noodles from the pantry, thinking quickly. This person couldn’t have innocent intentions—Oliver’s absence was proof of that. He was always waiting when I fell asleep. Always. Oh my God. My fingers shook as I pulled a pot out from a drawer. What if this creature had killed my best friend?
No, I couldn’t think about that right now. Couldn’t even consider it. If I did, I would fall apart into a thousand pieces, and I was barely holding myself together as it was.
Only one thing was clear—I needed to kill whoever the fuck was standing in our kitchen.
It seemed impossible the imposter couldn’t hear my pulse as he drew closer. I opened a drawer, hoping this would disguise the sound, and reached for a wooden spoon. He moved so he was standing even closer, his chest nearly touching my shoulder. I breathed even harder as my hand passed over the spoon and reached for a gleaming steak knife instead.
In the same breath, I turned and plunged it into the imposter’s gut.
He made a sound of shock and pain, but I was already running. I was almost to the door when it completely disappeared. I hit the wall, gasping, and frantically skimmed my hands over the flat surface as if I could find the door by feel. Invading my dreamscape was one thing, but being able to manipulate it? This was no faerie. I spun—the cottage was dimmer, and I realized all the windows were gone, too—and watched the imposter get up from the floor. There was something pouring out of his wound, but it wasn’t blood. Instead, it was smoke. Black smoke.
Despite this, his rage-filled eyes were fixed on me, as if nothing else mattered. I knew I needed to move. Move, Fortuna. But there was nowhere to go. I stood there, frozen in panic, and a scream clawed its way up my throat.
Just as the imposter took a step toward me, I finally jolted back into motion, aiming for the stairs. They only led to a loft Oliver used to store his paintings, but there was also a window up there. Somewhere. Buried behind the rows and rows of canvases. Hoping this stranger hadn’t known about it, I pounded up the wooden steps and heard the thunder of pursuit behind me.
A hand seized my ankle just as I reached the top.
Now I screamed. It felt like something inside me shattered as he wrenched at my leg and pulled me down. For a blinding, disorienting moment, I saw both the imposter and the demon, their faces overlapping above me. They both had the same cruel glint in their eye and self-assured sneer on their lips.
Dimly, I knew I was still screaming. There was a ringing in my ears, and that was all I heard as I thoughtlessly kicked, bucked, bit, and scratched.
Somehow, though, Dad’s voice managed to get through the cloud of hysteria around me. What are you doing? he asked, calm as ever. Even now, years later, I could see the glint of light reflecting off his glasses. You’re fighting like a human, Fortuna.
He was right… and I was no human.
Just as I remembered this, I managed to land a kick to the imposter’s injury. Hissing, he jerked back. I knew I had one, maybe two seconds to act.
When the imposter had grabbed me, my dress must have been between his hand and my skin, because I couldn’t taste his fears. Not yet, at least. Though every instinct I had recoiled at the thought of touching him, I jerked forward and flattened my palm against the imposter’s forehead—I was going to fry his fucking brain.
He mistook my touch as an invitation, somehow, and the imposter rose above me. He started reaching beneath the long skirt of my dress, and I waited to feel his fear for exactly two seconds before delving inside of his psyche. The imposter felt my invasion and snarled, flashing Oliver’s perfect white teeth. I barely noticed.
It was one of the strangest minds I’d ever encountered—I didn’t even know how to navigate it, much less search for what he feared. If he even had any. This was no maze, as it had been with Jassin, or a fragmented collection of images and sensations, as it had been with the Leviathan. Instead, it was the exact smoke I’d seen coming out of his knife wound. If I couldn’t find a fear, then I’d leave one like a twisted gift. What was the enemy of smoke?
Water.
You’re terrified of it, I crooned to the imposter. You’re worried it will extinguish you. All you can think about is the fear.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. The imposter was sitting on one of the steps, his back against the wall. His blue eyes stared vacantly back at me. If I’d had another knife, I would’ve shoved it in the place where his heart should have been. A swift glance around us showed there was nothing I could use as a weapon. I’d stick to the original plan, then. I wasted no more time getting back to my feet. For an instant, I thought about rushing downstairs to see if the windows or doors had returned. But that was unlikely, since the imposter was still very much alive. Decision made, I hurried up the rest of the stairs.
Just as I reached the door at the top, a sound made me pause.
Not possible, I thought faintly. Dread unfurled in my chest as I turned. The imposter was standing up, his eyes clearing, and even the smoke pouring from his injury had slowed. My influence should’ve lasted hours, at the least. Usually it outright killed the weak-minded.
Fuck. If it couldn’t be destroyed, I had to get out of here, then wake up. The rest I’d figure out later—I couldn’t think about Oliver right now.
I finally reached for the doorknob, and thankfully, it wasn’t locked. I dove inside and turned the deadbolt, breathing in ragged gasps. When I turned back around, my gaze instantly went to the paintings. They were impossible to miss, facing the door as they were. Oh, Oliver, I thought, wasting precious seconds to stare at the canvases in the front row. One was nothing but black streaks, as if Oliver had just dragged his paintbrush up and down for hours on end. The painting next to it was the oak tree we loved so much, but it was dead. The horizon behind it was bleak and starless.
Something was happening to my best friend. Something he’d kept secret from me.
There was no time to look at the rest—behind me, the door swung open. What use was a lock against something that could make an entire door vanish?
Moving in a frantic burst, I rushed across the darkened space and started yanking and shoving at the paintings. Dust flew into the air. The imposter was already behind me, reaching for me, but I kept throwing the canvases at him. He grunted and snarled, and this was more disconcerting than if he had been shouting obscenities or threats. What is he?
Then, light.
Before I could reach for the window frame, the imposter tackled me from behind and sent us both to the ground. I landed on my side, sending a jolt of pain through my ribcage, but in less than a second I was trying to get up again. The imposter anticipated this and grabbed hold of my wrists. He moved with the swiftness of something supernatural, and as I attempted to wrench free, something white materialized in his other hand. Ropes, I realized with mounting hysteria.
Okay, I thought with deliberate calmness, going still. My heart hammered in my ears and made it difficult to process anything. Maybe it was time to play along… but what if I wasn’t able to get free again? As I fought a silent inner battle, the imposter drew closer and began to loop the first rope around my wrists, making the decision for me. I seized the opportunity to study his face. His breath, cold and metallic, puffed against my cheek. Seconds ticked past, thick with silence, and I finally noticed the differences between this creature and Oliver. They may have been wearing the same face, but they were nothing alike. Where this imposter’s
mouth was tense and thinned, my best friend’s was always full and a moment away from smiling. While this creature’s eyes roiled with a dark storm, Oliver’s shone with love and strength. Even in his darkest moments, he hadn’t become anything like this thing in front of me.
Strangely, comparing the two of them grounded me. My mind was once again capable of forming connections and conclusions. You can’t beat it physically, I thought, still watching the creature work. He was binding my ankles together now. You can’t outrun it. That only leaves one option—trying to reason with it.
“You can’t keep me here,” I said at last. “As soon as I wake up, I’ll disappear.”
Silence was my answer—the imposter didn’t even lift his head. With swift, deft movements, those eerily familiar hands worked at a knot. For a disorienting moment, I could only stare at them, struggling to believe the beautiful fingers that created paintings and pleasure could be doing something so ugly.
I’d never forgotten to breathe before, but when my head started to feel light, I realized why. I took a breath, then slowly released it. “Okay,” I said. “Maybe I can help you. But in order to do that, I need to know what you want. So... what do you want?”
At this, the imposter raised his golden head. He still didn’t speak, but there was an answer in his blue eyes. Me. He wanted me. Terror filled my throat and I braced myself to start struggling anew.
Something moved over its shoulder.
My eyes widened when I registered what I was looking at. It was Oliver—the real one. He wore only jeans, because what remained of his shirt couldn’t really be called that anymore. My best friend’s face was hard as, without an instant of hesitation, he swung a baseball bat directly into the imposter’s head. The other male made a strange, disjointed sound of pain, then toppled over.
