by Casey Lane
“Thanks for being a good listener,” I told her, stroking her back.
Maybe talking to your cat was an early sign of impending dementia, but I didn’t care. There was no one else I could talk to about my odd abilities. Sure, the people at work had caught glimpses of my unnatural strength, but they didn’t know the half of it, not even Valerie. And I couldn’t tell anyone either. The moment I did, the Legion of Angels, the gods’ hand of justice, would swoop in and carry me off to prick and poke and torture me until they figured out what I was. Everyone was afraid of the Legion and for good reason. Every single one of them was a brutal killer.
Pushing thoughts of the Legion out of my mind, I lifted my spoon to face my own dinner. But I wasn’t hungry. I felt fatigue creeping up on the periphery of my consciousness, preparing to strike. I stubbornly tried to hold it off, even knowing it was hopeless. This was not a battle I could win. There was something magical about this wave of exhaustion—something dark. Between one moment and the next, my eyelids dipped to blackness. When I opened them again, I was in a wonderful, horrible world.
I stood inside a grove of tall trees, each one dripping with leaves made of pure silver. My work clothes had been replaced by a leotard with a sparkling chiffon skirt and a pair of glittery costume wings attached to my back. I wore silver slippers on my feet with pale blue ribbons that crisscrossed all the way up to my knees, where they ended in big frilly bows.
The soft jingle of tiny bells rang out, and another woman stepped out of the trees. She was dressed just as I was, except her ribbons were pink rather than blue. I didn’t recognize her, which meant she was new to this nightmare.
“Where am I?” she asked, looking around in confusion. Her eyes dipped to her leotard. “And why am I dressed like a ballerina?”
The thumps and clicks of heavy percussion instruments pounded in the distance, beautiful and fierce and undeniably magical. Like a siren’s call, they were summoning me toward them. The draw was almost irresistible, hitting me on a deep, primal level that blended into the song of my soul. I wanted to resist, really I did. But there was no point. No matter what I did in this recurring nightmare, I always ended up in that same horrible Pit.
The woman was already following the song, her fear melting to pure wonder as the silver trees gave way to gold ones, and then to trees laden with sparkling diamonds. As far as nightmares went, this one was certainly beautiful.
“What’s your name?” I asked her, walking beside her.
“Fern.”
“Ok, Fern. I need you to listen to me very closely.” I kept my eyes firmly on the path in front of us. The trees were thinning. We were almost there. “You can’t run away, no matter what you see.”
“Why?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. “What’s going to happen?”
I could see more women walking through the forest now, twelve of us in all, each one of us dressed in a dance leotard. There wasn’t much time.
“Just promise me you won’t run.”
“Ok,” she rasped.
We all stepped out of the forest into a clearing. A large pavilion, decorated with glowing blossoms and strings of sparkling gemstones, jutted up from the grassy field. It, too, was beautiful. It was what lay within its walls that made me sick to my stomach. That was where I and eleven other women were forced to fight for our lives every single night.
“Hurry along, angels,” said the man standing in front of the pavilion.
Angels—that’s what they called us. The twelve dancing angels. Each night, they dolled us up in pretty costumes and made us fight to survive. Those who made it got to come back another night to fight again. Talk about a great reward.
“Quickly now,” the man said. He had a shaved scalp, and he wore a tiny vest that exposed his naked chest. His pants were loose and flowing, and his feet were bare. In his hand, he held a large staff.
I gave that staff the evil eye and quickly passed into the pavilion to enter the arena. Beyond the sandy pit where we stood, dozens of spectators filled the stands, laughing and feasting as they waited for the bloodbath to begin.
Two more men with shaved heads stood just past the door. They corralled us into a small glass box at the side of the Pit. The long, shrill note of a trumpet pierced the audience’s chatter. The door on the other side of the pavilion opened, and a vampire burst into the Pit. All around me, Fern and five others screamed. The rest of us—those who’d lived through this nightmare before—just watched the vampire with stony-eyed wariness.
“You,” one of the bald men said, pointing at a woman with blond pigtails. “Into the Pit you go.”
The blond woman gripped to the tent pole for dear life.
“I won’t ask you again,” he said as blue lightning sizzled to life on his staff.
She glanced from the blue lightning to the cool look in the man’s eyes. It was the look of a cold-blooded killer, someone who placed no value on human life. The man was fully prepared to kill any one of us, and he wouldn’t even lose any sleep over it. I’d seen him do it before.
The woman must have recognized that evil gleam in his eyes too. She peeled her hands from the pole and, with shaky steps, walked out of the glass box. As soon as the door shut behind her, the vampire’s head snapped around to her. The silver-blue sheen of hunger slid over his eyes, and he licked his lips, slowly, languidly, as though to say that was exactly how he was going to kill her. She took one look at the vampire, then turned and ran.
She didn’t make it far.
One of the guards jumped into her path and slammed the tip of his staff against her stomach. Blue lightning poured out of the impact point, enveloping her body. She hung suspended for a moment, then dropped to the sandy ground. Shaking, convulsing, she tried to get up, but she was too slow. The vampire was already upon her. Despite his unspoken promise, her end was quick and bloody.
“Oh, gods,” Fern muttered beside me, rocking back and forth on her heels as she hugged herself tightly.
No one else ran. Of the six new women, only two survived the Pit. Fern wasn’t among them. After that, three of my fellow gladiators fought a witch, one fought a siren, and the other fought an elemental.
And then it was my turn. This was my ninth night here, my ninth battle. I’d already fought a vampire and a witch and a siren—and all manner of other supernaturals. Tonight, I faced a telepath. Fighting someone who could read your thoughts and predict your every move wasn’t easy, but that was nothing compared to the barrage of mental noise she blared into my mind the whole damn battle.
Whether by luck or simply thanks to my inexplicable powers, I survived. As my opponent fell before me, the Pit faded in a whoosh of magic, replaced by a grand ballroom decked out for a royal ball. Buffet tables weighed down with food and floral arrangements appeared out of thin air. The audience and guards disappeared, waiters and musicians taking their place. The orchestra began to play a waltz, and princes dressed in colorful suits and sashes bowed to us, the five survivors. We took their extended hands, allowing them to lead us onto the dance floor.
We twirled and turned and spun, our leotards transforming into long ball gowns. A sweet spicy scent curled through the air, filling me with a euphoria that rivaled my earlier fear. My feet were light, my heart uplifted. I could feel the magic of this place rushing into me, making me stronger. Every night my powers grew, not only here but also in the real world. I was becoming something else, something more.
My prince spun me away, and when I returned, a new partner stood in his place. He was dressed like the princes—and yet different somehow. The princes all looked alike, like you could interchange any one of them for another and not really notice the difference. But this man had an aura of his own. His blue eyes shone with an intelligence the princes lacked. There was also a faded scar across one side of his face, a blemish missing from the princes’ perfect faces.
“May I have this dance?” he asked me, his voice low and dark. And sexy as hell.
“Of course,” I stammer
ed.
He took my hand and led me into a turn. “I’m Leon.”
“Nyx.”
“So lovely to meet you, Nyx.” My name slid off his tongue like honey. His eyes burned with an intensity that was almost blinding. His hand brushed my blushing cheek. “So beautiful.”
“I…I haven’t seen you here before.”
“No one has ever made it to the ninth level. When I heard of your triumphs, I had to come see for myself. And you are every bit as magnificent as they told me.”
“What is this place?”
“I created it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been looking for someone special.” He lifted my hand to his lips. “You.”
My skin buzzing, I leaned against him.
“I’ve been searching for you for so long, Nyx.”
His words were intoxicating, his touch igniting, waking me from my five-year slumber. Images of him—of us together—flashed through my head.
“Do I know you?” I asked him.
He kissed my cheek. “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Your magic must first be unlocked.”
“What magic? What am I? What the hell is going on here?” I demanded.
“One more night, and then I will explain everything.”
“How about you explain it right now.” My head was clearing, my will cutting through the haze that was trying to make me happy and complacent. “What game are you playing? Why did you kill all of those women?”
“This is just a dream. They’re not really dead,” he said, turning to leave.
“But why are you bringing us here?”
He looked over his shoulder. “This was never about them, Nyx. It was always about you.”
I didn’t even know what that was supposed to mean, but before I could tell him to stop speaking in riddles, Leon vanished into thin air.
Chapter 3
I woke up the next morning, tired and sore. As I splashed water on my face in front of the bathroom mirror, I noticed a bruise blooming beneath the skin of my jaw. It was right where the telepath had landed a heavy blow during our fight last night. If we truly were in no danger in that dreamworld as Leon had claimed, then why was I bruised? And this wasn’t my first bruise or scratch from the Pit over these past nine nights, though my wounds always healed before the morning was over. Their quick disappearance was almost as strange as the fact that they’d appeared to begin with.
I had this sinking suspicion that something sinister was brewing—and that it had something to do with my past. Maybe it was arrogant to think that this was all about me, but hadn’t Leon said exactly that?
I took a second glance at myself in the mirror. Gods, I looked terrible. In addition to that fat bruise that spread across my jaw, dipping to my neck, my eyes were red, puffing, and set inside dark shadows. I really needed a nap. I considered calling in sick to work, but what was the point? Every time I fell asleep, I woke up even more exhausted than before. So I tried to cover the mess that was my face as best I could, then headed to the station.
There was a basket of muffins beside the coffee machine. I took a blueberry one, nibbling on it while I waited for my coffee to be ready. Truth be told, I wasn’t really hungry, but I had to eat something. My body needed food to fight, and that’s what I’d be doing as soon as I fell asleep tonight—whether I liked it or not.
“Late night?” Valerie asked me as I sat down at my desk.
She had no idea. But I couldn’t tell her about where I went when I closed my eyes at night. That confession was a one-way ticket to a padded cell—or, even worse, an interrogation session with the Legion of Angels.
“I’m not sleeping well,” I told her evasively.
“You should try Honey,” she said. “It’s a new drink from the Midnight witch coven. One sip and then you’re out like a light.”
Falling asleep wasn’t the problem. It was what happened after that.
“Thanks,” I said anyway. “Maybe I’ll try that.”
The door swung open, and our colleague Melanie slogged into the room, her despondent eyes puffy and red. Valerie and I stood at once, going over to her.
“Gone,” Melanie cried, her chest quaking. “She’s…gone.”
“Who?” I asked as Valerie put her arm around Melanie.
“My sister. I found her in her bed. Dead.” The word popped out of her mouth, trailed by a stream of wet sobs.
Valerie was buzzing Liam’s phone line. A moment later, the detective’s door opened and he hurried toward us.
“Please,” Melanie said, grabbing onto the collar of my blouse. “You have to help me. My sister was murdered.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because I saw her die.”
Melanie was a telepath. Some people called them ghosts. They didn’t just read minds. They could also link to the minds of those they loved, seeing through their eyes even if they were far away. If she’d experienced her sister’s death firsthand, then it was no wonder her mind was cracking. To her, it would have felt like she herself was dying.
“Melanie,” Liam said, setting his hand gently on her arm.
But Melanie wouldn’t let go of me. She clung on like she was drowning. “You know.” She stared at me, her eyes begging for confirmation that she wasn’t crazy. “Look.” She let go with one hand, digging inside her pocket. She pulled out a picture, pushing it in my face. “My sister.”
Fern, the woman I’d met in the silver grove last night, stared back at me from the photograph. A hard knot twisted in my stomach.
“A vampire tore my sister to pieces!” Melanie shrieked in horror. “There was blood everywhere!”
“Let me show you to my office,” Liam said in a soothing tone.
She met his eyes and frowned. “I’m not crazy,” she bit out the last word. “I know what I saw.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“No, you’re thinking I’ve lost my mind and that you need to call up the department’s psychologist as soon as you get me tucked away some place where I can’t make a scene.”
The detective’s friendly smile wobbled, and his eyes darted away guiltily.
“My sister was murdered,” she said, her lips buzzing with a low snarl. “So I’m going to make as much of a scene as I have to until you stop worrying about how crazy I am and start looking for whoever killed her!”
“We’ll take it from here, detective.”
I looked up to see two women and one man striding through the door. They were each dressed in a black leather bodysuit, and each one wore a sword on their back. They moved with supreme confidence, as though as soon as they stepped into a room, they owned it through and through. They were right. I stood there, frozen, gaping at the three soldiers from the Legion of Angels. Beside me, Valerie’s jaw popped in surprise.
The woman in front, who wore a small platinum flower pin on her chest, waved Melanie forward. As though caught in a trance, our colleague obeyed the soldier’s summon.
“The Legion appreciates your cooperation,” the flower pin soldier said to us, then they all turned and left, Melanie following behind them.
Silence reigned in the station. No one said anything. No one even moved. We scarcely breathed.
“Wow,” Valerie finally gasped. “The Legion of Angels. Here.”
“That’s not a good thing,” Liam told her sagely. “The Legion doesn’t come out for just anything. Whatever they want with Melanie, it can’t be good for her.”
No, it wasn’t. If they realized Melanie was a telepath, they would force her into the gods’ service. And if they found out about the dreamworld, I was in big trouble. Leon had said the dreamworld had been made just for me, and there was no doubt in my mind the Legion would use any means necessary to find out why, even torturing me.
Chapter 4
When I entered the Pit that night in my dreams, Leon was waiting for me. My surprise at seeing him there nearly overrode my anger.
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“Liar,” I growled as our swords clashed.
I’d learned ten nights ago that I could, in fact, fight with a sword. It was looking less and less likely that I’d been anything as innocuous as a mechanic in my past life. In fact, my body went through the motions of battle with brutal efficiency, as though I’d been made for nothing else. That thought was as disturbing as this nightmare world itself.
“When have I ever lied to you, Nyx?” he asked, an easy smile on his face as he parried my blows.
“You said this was just a dream, that nothing that happened here carried over to the real world.” Anger pulsed through my body, fueling my attacks. “This morning, the sister of one of your victims told us Fern is dead.”
“That was not supposed to happen. We made a mistake.”
“Explain,” I ground out through clenched teeth.
“The girl was a telepath,” he said. “We didn’t realize that.”
“What does her magic have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with it. A telepath experiences the dreamworld differently than others. Unlike the others, a telepath remembers everything that happens here. Her real self and dream half are linked.”
“So when she died here,” I began.
“She died in the real world,” he finished. “Nyx, you have to believe me. I never intended for her to die.”
“Every morning for the past nine days, I’ve woken up with bruises and scratches. Are you saying I am a telepath too?”
“No, you are something more,” he evaded.
“What am I?”
“One of a kind.”
“I’m tired of your games,” I snapped. “You are a liar and a murderer.”
He winced at my accusation—or maybe that was a reaction to my blade slicing across his shoulder. It was a shallow wound, and it healed instantly when he tapped his finger against it.
