by K. J. Sutton
Even now, his voice was toneless. I studied Cyrus’s profile, thinking about my own parents’ deaths. It was a wound that time never healed. That’s how I knew he was hiding behind a mask of his own. “How do you know that?” I asked eventually.
There was another pause. Then Cyrus said, “Because I was there.”
His façade finally cracked, and I saw his jaw working, as if he were holding something back. He didn’t let it out, though. I started to respond, but he stood up and hurried down the steps. I hesitated for a moment, the battle still raging on inside me. When Cyrus didn’t stop or slow, I jumped up and went after him.
My pulse was an erratic thing in my chest. I thought about what he’d just told me about his father and considered calling it off. Never mind, I take it back. I don’t want you to use your dragonfire to purge my soul.
But those nightmares were waiting for me. Those screams were hovering at the back of my mind, ready to surge forward at any sign of weakness. And further back, deeper in the darkness, there was also hunger. The terrible knowledge that, if the opportunity presented itself, I would grab at any power I could and get so high off it that I felt like a god again.
I remained silent.
Cyrus led me behind the barn, where there were no windows or witnesses. Collith’s piles of firewood were still there, now covered in snow. I stopped in the same spot where he’d once stood, shirtless and swinging that axe. I banished the memory and focused on Cyrus. We faced each other like we were on the exercise mat at Adam’s, preparing to engage in physical combat. “Have you ever done this before?” I asked, making my voice brisk to hide the terror.
“No.” At last, he raised his eyes to mine. “Does that change your mind?”
In that moment, I hated myself a little more. “No,” I said.
Cyrus’s muscles bunched and a concentrated expression contorted his face. Any other day, I’d find it comical, but now fear filled my stomach like a dozen butterflies. A few seconds ticked by, and nothing happened. Realizing I’d squeezed my eyes shut, I opened them to see what was wrong. Still standing there, facing me, Cyrus didn’t move or speak. I sensed his hesitation. His terror.
“Do it,” I breathed, putting everything I felt into those two words. The self-loathing. The pain.
Maybe part of me hadn’t expected him to go through with it. When the mild-mannered fry cook made a sound I hadn’t known he was capable of, I jumped so violently that it felt like an electric shock. Veins stood out from Cyrus’s forehead and throat. His hands were fists, held out at his sides. I stared at him, unable to look away this time.
The fire didn’t come from his hands—it came out of his mouth.
As the explosion of heat and light poured from himm, hurtling toward me, I saw his eyes change color and scales glitter on his neck. Then I was engulfed in flames.
I thought I’d known pain. Throughout my life, I had endured every kind of it. Physical, mental, emotional. My bones had snapped and my heart had shattered. I’d cried myself to sleep and I’d had my skin stitched shut.
None of it compared to this.
Suddenly it stopped. All of it. The agony, my screams, the crackling of hungry flames, the smell of burning flesh, it ended like someone had touched a light switch. My eyes were still closed, but there was something different about the air against my face. I felt a fleeting sense of curiosity—the only thing that really mattered was the absence of pain. I never wanted to experience it again.
Seconds ticked past, and it didn’t return. The sound of my own breathing was too loud. I couldn’t hear anything else as I sat up. Too late, I realized this probably wasn’t smart. But the movement didn’t hurt. I looked down, expecting to see burns, charred skin, tattered clothing. My skin was smooth and unblemished. I wore the clothes I’d trained with Adam in, and there was no sign they’d been on fire.
Had I fallen unconscious? Was this another nightmare? I blinked slowly and turned my attention to the horizon. It was a view I knew better than any other, and when I saw it, it felt like something inside me stood on tiptoe. Am I really in the dreamscape? Our dreamscape?
But there was no sign of Oliver in any direction. The cottage and the oak tree were gone, too, which made me less certain this was the place we’d grown up together. I pushed myself up and started walking toward the edge of the world. I felt light-headed, high, and it took considerable effort to put one foot in front of the other. There was a haziness to everything, as if I were seeing the dreamscape through a frost-covered window. Clumps of tall grasses ducked their heads close and whispered to each other. She thought she could burn it all away, I heard. As if it’s that easy.
I sank onto the grass, put my legs over the sea, and stared out at the dying sun. There was nothing violent about its departure—the colors spreading over the water were a serene blend of pink, yellow, and orange. Wisps of clouds hung high above. To the right of the sun, a flock of birds flew, and their wild cries traveled on the air. I kept my eyes on all those flapping wings, trying to avoid looking at the bare patch of earth where Oliver usually sat.
Then I heard the distinct sound of footsteps behind me.
Before I could react, someone dropped to the ground and dangled their legs in the space next to mine. Ollie. The rush of emotion was so sudden, so overwhelming, that I had to close my eyes and wait for it to pass. Relief, guilt, sorrow, joy. He’d come back. Despite everything, Oliver hadn’t abandoned me.
My hands were fists against my knees. The urge to sob slowly subsided. Once the world was steady again I turned, expecting to see my best friend sitting there.
My father smiled back.
A tuft of his dark hair lifted in a breeze, and the edge of his black-rimmed glasses gleamed in the light. “Hey, kiddo,” he said.
It felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I stared at him for two, three, four seconds, my heart rioting inside me. He waited patiently, just as he always had. He looked like he was about to head off for work—being a therapist, his wardrobe was all calm colors and neat lines. “Daddy? Is this real?” I asked finally, sounding like a lost child. A hopeful child.
He lifted his thin shoulders in a shrug. Mom used to tease him for his bony frame, I remembered suddenly. No matter how much he exercised, my father was never able to look formidable. In reality, he’d been a remarkably powerful Nightmare. Or so Mom used to tell me, watching him with a smile so small, so quiet, it was like a secret.
“It is whatever you need it to be, sweetheart. That’s why they call it a dream,” Dad answered, pulling me out of the memory.
I blinked at him, feeling disoriented again. He waited for me to say something. The silence between us thickened and, eventually, Dad turned to look at the sunset. I knew I was staring, but I was terrified to blink or move. If this was a dream, I wanted to stay in it.
Another playful wind went past, carrying my father’s scent to me—it was a combination of cigarettes and laundry detergent. The smell of childhood. All I had to do was close my eyes, and I was there again. Time had taken so many of the details from me.
My voice was slow with reluctance as I asked, “Why are you here? What’s happening?”
“You’re dying, sweetheart.” Dad focused on me again. His expression was compassionate, but he spoke firmly. It was the same way he conducted our self-defense lessons.
I’d known the truth, of course, but hearing someone else say it was jarring. “What?” I said dumbly, my heart stumbling.
Without warning, a voice came from the sky. It sounded distant, muffled, like someone speaking behind that red curtain drawn across the stage.
“Dragonfire isn’t just heat and light—it’s magic, too,” Dad told me, acting as if a voice in the clouds was completely normal. “When Cyrus burned your essence as a Nightmare away, your body went into shock. Now it’s time to ask yourself a question, Fortuna.”
The shadow in his eyes frightened me, and I forgot about the voice. Whatever this question was, it made him sad. I wanted to avoid
it. A seagull shrieked above us, the sound echoing across the horizon, but Dad kept his eyes on mine.
This conversation was a waste of time, I realized suddenly. If I was dying, there wasn’t anything we could do about it. Who knew how much longer we’d be here together? I scooted back from the cliffside to stand, then looked down at my father with a wobbly smile. “Dad, please, can’t we—”
“Do you want to die?” he interrupted.
The fact that he’d cut me off had me staring again. No, of course I don’t want to die, I started to say. They were the automatic words, the expected words. But they stuck in my throat. I’d never lied to my father, and this had the taste of one. If we were having our last conversation because I was about to use my one-way ticket to Hell, I wanted it to be something I could hold onto. Something to bring comfort as the demons ripped me apart.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
Dad got to his feet, too. He wasn’t as tall as I remembered, and I met his gaze without needing to arch my head back. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been at a crossroads, is it?” he asked gently.
That word made me blanch, and I took an involuntary step back. Crossroads. No, I told myself. He was talking about death, not about the deal I’d made beneath a flickering streetlight. But how did he know about my other brush with mortality? I hadn’t come to this place. We hadn’t spoken or seen each other.
I opened my mouth to ask the question out loud… and then I remembered. After Gwyn drowned me, I’d seen a male figure in the doorway of the tomb. I’d chased him into the darkness, my voice echoing through the eerie stillness. Who are you?
“That was you?” I blurted.
As if he could see the images in my head, Dad nodded. The movement made sunlight bounce off his glasses. “You only saw me for a moment, because we weren’t completely in the same place,” he explained. “You were in between places, that night. But at some point, honey, you need to choose one and stay there. Because putting your family through this isn’t fair to them.”
It always came back down to choices, didn’t it? Collith had been so certain we could have it all, but that wasn’t life. That was just another dream, and I was fucking tired of dreams. Tired of everything. My resolve hardened, and I raised my chin, on the verge of telling Dad that he was my family. I wanted to be wherever he was. I ached to see Mom.
When I saw his expression, though, my curiosity was stronger than my longing. “What?” I asked.
“My wild, impulsive girl,” he murmured. “Even as a toddler, you were prone to reckless decisions.”
His eyes were brighter than they’d been a moment ago, and with a start, I realized it was because there were tears in them. I had never seen Matthew Sworn cry before. This, I thought as I committed his face to memory. This was what I wanted to remember, instead of the bleeding, broken body I’d found in their bed that night.
Thinking about that night instantly dimmed the light in my heart. Tears sprang to my eyes, too, but they felt hot and bitter. “How can you be so accepting? Aren’t you angry that you didn’t get to see me grow up?” I demanded.
“I have seen you grow up. Of course I wish I’d been there, Tuna Fish, but life had other plans.”
Whatever I’d been about to say faded in my throat—Dad and Damon were so alike that it hurt. They endured the darkest experiences and emerged into the light with an acceptance I’d never felt. If I chose to stay, it would disappoint him. My father’s disappointment had always been one of my greatest fears, the dusty box at the back of my head. But I wasn’t one who allowed fear to make decisions for me.
If I went back, a mortal body awaited me. I stood there and let the realization sink in. For the first time in my life, the people I interacted with would actually see me. I would be able to walk through a room without getting accosted by images and flavors. And that power—that rich, delicious, intoxicating power—would be gone. The corruption and the temptation wiped away like a fingerprint on glass. I could watch Matthew grow up and be with my family, free of the knowledge that I was endangering them.
That seemed like something worth living for.
And… Cyrus. I hadn’t even considered Cyrus, who would be wracked with guilt if I didn’t survive his dragonfire.
The voice in the sky spoke again, more urgently now. My name boomed through the pink-tinted clouds. I smiled at my father again, knowing we were out of time. Tears flooded my vision and blurred his face. “I’ll do it for you,” I said. “For them.”
Dad pressed a kiss to my forehead, then wrapped his arms around me. “No, sweetheart. Do it for yourself,” his voice rumbled against my ear.
Once again, another voice struck the dreamscape like lightning—there was a frantic finality to it now—and I stepped away from my father. I wasn’t sure how I knew the way to get back, but I did. I held his hand tightly and squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on that voice in the sky, picturing the place where I died. My mind instinctively resisted the memory, but the stakes were too high for weakness. With gritted teeth, I remembered Cyrus’s anguished eyes and that wall of flame coming at me.
I didn’t have a command or a word pounding through my veins as I relived it every second of it—only an intention. Back. I was going back. No matter how tempting it was to stay here, live forever in a place that held so many good memories, my fight wasn’t over yet. I still had a part to play. I couldn’t do to my family what had been done to me; I would not give them another reason to grieve.
“Goodbye, Fortuna,” I heard Dad say.
“Thank you for saving me,” I whispered, mustering a smile for him. My guardian angel. I’d put together that he was the mysterious dream figure who led me to Creiddylad—Dad must’ve been there when Gwyn offered to let me live in exchange for her lover. I should have recognized him in the dream, but that golden hair had thrown me off. Maybe being in two different places altered his coloring, made him look like a stranger.
Time to let go now, Fortuna. I pursed my lips and pulled back.
Somehow, Dad must’ve seen the memory in my head, because his eyes widened. He grabbed my hands and clasped them against his chest, his grip tight, as if I were about to fly away. “Wait. Fortuna, hold on. That wasn’t me, in your dream, do you understand? It was—”
Pain. Oh, God, the pain. Some part of me knew I was back in my body. Dad was gone, along with the incandescent sky, and now there was only darkness and agony. I’d made a mistake. I’d chosen wrong. I tried to take it back, but I didn’t know where my mouth was anymore. Words had been reduced to a vague idea.
I must’ve blacked out for a while. When I could form thoughts again, I recognized the sound of sobbing. Someone was saying my name—the voice was too far away to tell if it was male or female. I couldn’t open my eyes. I struggled to answer, but a croak was all I managed. It felt like my jaw might fall off if I tried to speak again.
In an attempt to stop a rising sense of panic, I concentrated on the body I’d reclaimed. There was hard surface against the back of my head and the air smelled strange. Cool hands pushed my hair back, and then a scent I knew washed over me. It blocked out all the rest. Zara.
Suddenly I was frantic. Suddenly I was afraid. It took everything I had to open my eyes into slits, but I did it. The details of Zara’s face sharpened. I grabbed the closest part of her I could reach, which turned out to be her hijab, and pulled her closer. “I want to live,” I rasped, hoping she saw the truth in my eyes.
If Zara responded, I didn’t hear it.
Laughing, the shadows found me and dragged me back into the depths.
Chapter Twenty-Six
A voice shot into the stillness like bullets through paper.
It took a minute or two to realize it wasn’t coming from inside my head. It took another minute to grasp who I was and that I had a physical body again. I was on my back. There was air against my face. I couldn’t open my eyes, but that was okay, because I wasn’t ready to yet. Reality kept drifting back in waves, each one carrying
a memory on it. Eventually I remembered who I was and what I’d done, then I wished I hadn’t.
Every time Collith has sex, he takes a piece of his partner. Just a tiny piece. You hardly would’ve noticed its absence.
I saw a clearing of writhing bodies. Phantom screams filled my ears. I tasted dozens of flavors on my tongue and the rush of a hundred fears pouring into me. I opened my eyes and saw a witch slapping at her arms, tearing at them, screaming as a swarm of fire ants consumed her. A shapeshifter begged for his life as a pack of lions advanced on him.
Even then, the tide of memory wasn’t finished. Suddenly I was standing in the yard at Cyrus’s, facing my friend as if there were a battlefield between us. But there was nothing forceful or brace about my voice when I said, Help me, Cyrus. Make me mortal.
Flames hurtled toward me.
My mind recoiled from reliving that explosion of pain, and suddenly the darkness became shapes. Seconds later, they solidified into walls and furniture. A frown pulled down the corners of my mouth as I took in unfamiliar surroundings. There was a window along one wall, and dusk poured through the glass. The floor was tiled, there was a privacy curtain hanging to my right, and the bed I rested in had handles on either side—I was obviously in a hospital. I wore one of those thin, dotted gowns depicted in movies and shows. There was also a clip-like device on one of my fingers. I stared at it, struggling to remember the rest. Hadn’t Zara been at the house? Though the images were fragmented, I remembered her face hovering over mine. I’d said something to her, the words faint and slurred. Why would anyone take me here?
