“I don’t understand.” I stopped fighting against him, instead standing still as stone. “How did he get her?”
“If he has her, she’s only here as much as you are. Her body is still in your world while her mind is trapped. If someone is prone to sleepwalking, the Weaver can turn them into a puppet; she could be anywhere.”
“You’re saying she kidnapped herself?” Katie hadn’t sleep-walked in years. Not since the night she roamed the house with a flashlight and tried to suck up the snake with the hose of the vacuum. The dog had a bald spot on his tail for months. My body sagged against the Sandman. “I have to find her.”
“We will.” He backed away from me and reached into his tunic. His hand trembled around the ties of a black leather bag. “Take this.”
I reached out slowly. “What is it?”
“Sand.” He took my hand and set it in my palm. “Use it on your mother and step-father at night. It will keep them safe from the nightmares.”
“But—”
“They only want the dream in your head. If you leave right now, I promise to tell you everything tomorrow.” I had never heard his voice so low. “I need to do something to make this place safer for you, and I need to do it now.”
“What dream hidden in my head?” My voice rose, wavering.
When he didn’t reply, I opened my mouth to demand answers when a crack—half breaking glass, half thunder—rocked the beach. A small white line skated across a clear dome I never knew existed. Thick slime oozed beneath a giant worm slithering overhead. It reared back and slammed a sucker-like mouth against the barrier. Blue light flashed against the impact. Dozens of rows of teeth clacked against the hard surface and a forked tongue lapped in search of a tangible flaw.
“Go,” he urged.
I swallowed hard. “I want answers first.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “There isn’t time.”
I shook my head, my stomach dipping. “I can’t leave without my sister.”
He gently clasped my face and turned me to him. Water dripped from his hood, pattering gently on his arms. Arms that looked strangely familiar beneath the clingy fabric. I squinted at the outlines of his muscles, took in his height. A name began to surface, a line connecting two dots, but the Sandman’s thumbs grazed my cheekbones.
“Never doubt that I’ll do whatever is necessary to make this right. Anything you ask, anything you don’t, it’s yours. All of me is yours,” he promised.
I blinked slowly, a blush heating my cheeks, and eyed the worm again. “Will any of them get in?”
“They’re only here for the dream.”
I gripped his wrists, my gaze drifting upward. “Will you be here the next time I fall asleep?”
“I’ll be here,” he swore. “And I’ll tell you the rest.”
“You’ll show me the rest,” I corrected, grabbing the edge of his hood.
His hand flew up to grip my wrist, making sure I didn’t try to remove the fabric. “I’ll show you.”
“Okay.” The worm slammed its head down again, and I flinched. “Tomorrow,” I agreed and woke up.
The lights above my bed blurred as I blinked the lingering sleep from my eyes. A quiet clicking filled the room. It took a good thirty seconds to realize it was my teeth. Longer to realize my entire body was shaking. Longer still to remember I needed to breathe. I dragged in a breath, the air burning my dry throat.
What was that thing?
Everything felt like a lie. My whole life. The Sandman was supposed to be my constant, but now…
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I would have answers.
My limbs were heavy and sluggish, but I forced myself to move. To climb out of bed and put one foot in front of the other on the cold floor. The dresser drawer seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. I sifted through my scarves until I found my notebook and clutched it to my chest.
As I reached for the colored pencils, the memory of the nightmarish worm trickled to the front of my mind. I gripped the edge of the drawer to steady myself. No. That thing would not grace a single sheet of paper. Instead, I would draw Natalie’s mischievous grin and Emery’s bright eyes. Katie’s liveliness. The people in my life that I took for granted. The ones who saw beyond what my own mother saw and accepted me.
I leapt back onto my bed and flipped to the last page—the one that said Dreamer, Dreamer—and wrenched it out. This notebook was my lighthouse and would be filled only with happy things to chase away the dark.
The pencils clacked against each other as I dumped the box out onto the bedspread, the red landing on top. I flinched. Pencil... Pen. Bloody pen. I snatched it up and hurled it into the small waste basket beside my desk. My heart thumped wildly at the reminder, and I focused on the blank paper. Good things. I could do that. With a shaky hand, I lifted the pink pencil and began with Katie’s hair.
That night, I sketched until my hand cramped. Until the first glimpse of sunlight broke through the window. Until each new drawing was speckled with fallen tears.
9
The Sandman
Flashes of orange lightning highlighted each curve of the clouds and rumbles of thunder followed closely on its heels. Despite there being no rain, the ground in this part of the Nightmare Realm was thick with mud. It sucked at my boots, squelching with each step through the empty field. Traces of the Weaver’s presence lingered, his magic prickling against mine, and the strong metallic scent of it mixed with the lighter scent of burning wool. A new nightmare was born here recently. It was too bad Baku was nowhere to be found—he loved the new ones best.
I rubbed at the soft spot in front of my ears. The low, droning moan of the Blood Army followed me around geysers of boiling water, through a darkness alive with glowing eyes, and past a table set for an elaborate dinner party. Landscape after landscape, it lingered.
Luckily, there was no hint of the red mist that followed the army, nor any sign of their leaders. Rowan and Kail weren’t mindless beasts like the ones the Weaver used as cannon fodder. They were carefully crafted with minds of their own—elite nightmares, nearly as terrifying as the Weaver himself.
With their mournful song echoing through my head, I followed the Weaver’s trail of magic deeper into the storm. He could sense me as easily as I could sense him, and he was a step ahead. This being his home turf, it made sense, but bouncing around his realm was growing old—fast. If he considered my emotions rather than my mere presence, he might be convinced to stop.
I hoped—against every instinct I had, I hoped—that I could talk some sense into the Weaver. That we could come to terms. Peacefully. His word was his bond by choice, and it hadn’t faltered once over the millennia. Mine, however, was another story. I had lied to him countless times about things I could no longer remember.
It was true I cut the last ties of friendship to him the night of the binding, but maybe he would believe me tonight. I had something worth bargaining for this time: Nora’s safety in exchange for lengthening his leash.
A rustling drew my attention to the right. Another flash of lightning revealed thin strings reaching down from the clouds. I squinted and brushed my hood back. The strings shifted. Another rustle came from behind, and I turned just in time to avoid an oval hand aimed at my head. Raw wood carved into simple shapes formed a life-size marionette. It stumbled forward in a series of jerky movements controlled by seven white cords. A hint of sulfur clung to its body, identifying it as the Weaver’s latest creation.
It rushed me, strings swaying, head down, arms pumping. I tossed a handful of sand out between us, and it swirled into a tall horizontal bar. The puppet’s strings snagged on the steel, jerking its body backward where it clattered to the ground. The metal disintegrated into a pile of lifeless sand. Cords wrapped around the marionette’s limbs, looping through its joints. I rubbed the space between my brows. New and stupid. I didn’t have time for this.
“I rather liked that one,” the Weaver said, on the other side of his nightmare. My muscles tensed, my eyes fl
ying to the black and gold threads running from his vest sleeve to his wrist. “I see he needs improving though. I’ll have to study him and make adjustments.”
“You killed Nora’s friends and took her sister.” The words were out before I could swallow them. It wasn’t the best start to a negotiation.
The Weaver rolled his eyes and approached his nightmare. He ran long fingers over a string, following it up toward the clouds. “I did.”
“Weaver—”
“Sandman.” He glared at me, his gold eyes fierce. “You never could take a hint.”
My lips parted. “What?”
“This.” He motioned between us. “If I wanted to talk to you, I would’ve stayed home. Surprisingly, I don’t feel like listening to your empty threats. Let me guess, you were going to start with stop or feel my wrath.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I’m a busy man so let me make this easy for you.” He leaned in and examined a knot around the marionette’s elbow joint. “Fetch the dream, and I won’t have to bother the Dream Keeper again.”
He might not bother her, but she would never be safe with his creatures running around the Day World. No one would be. “You know I can’t do that.”
“You mean you won’t,” he said and tugged a string free from where it caught on the puppet’s chin.
I circled him, and the marionette strained to reach me. The Weaver slapped its forearm, stilling the nightmare. “You have an entire world at your fingertips,” I started.
“Which is more than you have with miles of empty beach. I know, I know. You’re like a dog with a bone, aren’t you?” The Weaver plucked another string free from the puppet, and it climbed to one foot, the other still caught at the ankle. “Don’t pretend you don’t want more than this life. I feel your emotions the same as you feel mine. I know what it is you desire.”
My lungs deflated, and my abdomen ached the same as if he sucker-punched me. In a way, he did. But our wishes weren’t the same. He wanted to invade and destroy. I only wanted Nora.
“The impossible,” I whispered. He had spent his entire existence striving for things outside our limits—pushing boundaries, working himself to the bone for more, more, more. More power. More territory. But this was the first time I wanted something I couldn’t quite reach, and it shook me to my core. “We want the impossible.”
“No!” The Weaver leapt around the limping nightmare, his hands in fists near his chest, imploring me to understand. “It isn’t impossible, don’t you see? You think only inside your little sandbox… If you released me and my nightmares, you would have the strength to stay with the girl in the Day World until you grew bored of it.”
I winced against the earnestness in his voice. It was true, but that didn’t make it right. Night beings ruled the realms through dreams and nightmares, influencing the Day World in our own way. We weren’t meant to force ourselves on the mortals’ conscious, but taboo or not, I would continue Day Walking until this mess was cleaned up.
“Or is that the problem? You’re worried about tiring of the girl?” The sharp edge of his gaze softened. “You don’t have to be. When you come back, you and I can work together again. It would be like old times.”
Old times. A volley of memories pierced my mind like arrows, stretching back long before the Night World was cleaved in two. Before boundaries and bargains came between us. When we were both new to this existence—him, born in the Day World’s shadow, the embodiment of mortal fears. And I, the manifestation of their optimism, their wishes and goodness. Different yet unified, we had laughed together, grown together, and combined our power for the common good more than once.
But the day we erected the wall between the Day and Night Worlds, something pivotal shifted between us. We drew a line in permanent ink and there was no washing the stain from our fingers. No matter how much either of us might wish to.
“We have to maintain the balance, and part of that is staying where we belong,” I said, my voice hoarse.
He groaned and spun on his heels, working the last snarl in his puppet’s string. “The balance always rights itself, Sandman. You should know that better than anyone. Just look at yourself—keeping me prisoner has turned you into one as well.”
I pressed my lips into a straight line. He wasn’t wrong. I was a shell of myself, but it was a choice I’d make again. “I came to negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” His muscles tensed beneath his sleeveless shirt. “You want to negotiate. With me.” He rolled his neck to the side and shivered. “You’re about five years too late, old friend.”
“I know you might find it hard to trust me after—”
“Do you?” He wound the snarled string around his hand and balled it into a fist. “Your plea might be more effective if you weren’t reaching for your precious sand as you said it.”
I froze, unaware my hand had drifted in that direction, then snapped it away. “There was nothing for me to barter with last time. As you said, there’s something else I want now.”
“Last time.” He scoffed. “You have no idea what I was prepared to offer then. I didn’t have the chance to extend the offer, did I?” The Weaver freed the marionette. It staggered on its feet, and he drew a slow breath. “But maybe I should thank you for that. I realize now how foolish it would’ve been to search for common ground with you.”
“The binding is wearing thin,” I pressed. Whatever his offer entailed, it wouldn’t have been enough. No nightmares could be allowed out. “If you leave Nora alone, I won’t seek to strengthen it. The gates will still be locked to your magic—I can’t undo them without the dream Nora has, and I won’t take it back—but you’ll eventually be able to pass through if you’re alone.”
The offer felt heavy. I didn’t want the Weaver roaming the Day World as he pleased any more than I wanted his creations to, but it might be the only way.
“So, your Dream Keeper will be safe, and I’ll eventually be able to Day Walk?” He cocked an eyebrow. “It seems to me that you’ll be getting everything you want while I only get a fraction. If I continue as I am, I will have everything. My freedom, now and forever, and open passage to the Day World. The ability to send whatever I want, to whomever I want, whenever I choose is my cost, but that’s what you’re denying me. There’s no incentive for me to agree.”
Sometimes wishes were only that. Wishes. And I couldn’t let regret cloud my actions. There was no choice five years ago and there was no choice now. I had to rebind the Weaver before he could do more damage. To do that, I had to be close enough to steal a thread from his arm. Then I needed enough time to force my power into the unborn nightmare and tether the Weaver to this place.
That was all.
One tiny, impossible feat after another.
My humorless laugh was lost in another roll of thunder. I felt exposed here with only a satchel of sand to work with. Powerless. Useless. I should have been with Nora, helping her through the loss of her friends. My back arched against the thought of how much pain she was in. But this was helping her. This was saving her. Saving her from making a choice between her loved ones and the world as she knew it.
“How did you find her anyway?” I asked softly, buying myself more time.
“I followed your magic back from the beach. It wasn’t hard.” He gave me a bored scowl. “It was easy to keep track of her after that. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?”
“No.” I swallowed hard, forcing myself not to look at his arm and tip him off. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”
When he glanced at his marionette, I took the opening, as small as it was, and lunged for the threads wrapped around his wrist. The Weaver threw an elbow into my nose. Blood trickled down my lips, and I landed in the mud with a grunt. He advanced, his fists tight, with the nightmare hobbling behind him. I climbed onto my knees to lunge again, but he kicked me onto my back before I found purchase. He slammed a boot down on my chest. His smile was cruel. Entitled. All traces of the friend I once knew, gone. He
drew a thread from his wrist and dangled it over me.
“Is this what you want?” he asked. “Maybe I should give it shape and let you have it. Or,” he shook it slightly, “let it have you.”
“Do it,” I dared him through my teeth. My satchel dug into my lower back, cutting off my access to the sand. I gripped his ankle and waited. “If you think the balance will right itself, then do it.”
A flash of uncertainty crossed his face. There was a reason we stopped trying to kill each other eons ago, and it had nothing to do with the destruction of the only weapon capable of it. Hurting, tormenting, binding—those were another matter. But the balance did always right itself. Neither of us were brave enough to find out what would happen if the other ceased to exist.
The Weaver bent at the waist, his metallic breath skating over me. “You’ll soon find out there are worse things than death.”
My hand shot up toward the band of threads around his wrist. The Weaver straightened, snapping his arm away, and my fingertips grazed their target. The marionette, somehow tangled again, flopped into the mud and army-crawled toward me. I ground my teeth together. When I rebound the Weaver, it would be so tight he would never take a single step outside of his Keep.
“Now.” The Weaver exhaled quickly. “Get out of my realm.”
The heel of his boot ground into my chest. The world spun, and then I found myself at home. Stars twinkled in the sky, their light mirrored on the beach. I groaned and wiped the blood from my face without getting up. He was right there. The threads were right there. I lifted my head and let it thud back to the ground. Useless. I should have fought harder but…
Next time. Next time I wouldn’t hold back. Wouldn’t let our connection, our history, stand in the way. Nora was too important to allow it.
Dream Keeper Page 9
