Dark Consort

by Amber R. Duell

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “And stop reading my emotions,” I snapped.

  His jaw muscle twitched. “You know I can’t help it.”

  “Whatever.” I stormed back down the path to the parking lot.

  “Nora, wait,” the Sandman called. “I’m sorry.”

  I waved a hand through the air without turning around or breaking stride. He was sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’d heard it from him a million times, but it didn’t change anything. Just like my being sorry wouldn’t turn back time and make me listen to his warning about the balance between our worlds being maintained. I wrenched the car door open and hurled my bag into the passenger seat. Sorry was a hollow word, and regrets helped no one. I threw myself behind the wheel, pounded my palms on the steering wheel, and screamed.

  The grin darkened, showing its cutting edges.

  I jerked back and took a breath. Then another and another until my heart settled in my chest. The cloud lifted but the grin remained, a watermark on my vision, a living scar. It stayed longer and longer these days. My body trembled. Go away. Please, please, go away. But it didn’t. I jammed the keys into the ignition and peeled out of the small parking lot for home.

  3

  Nora

  “Nora!” My mother bounced off the couch the moment I stepped through the door. She’d gained weight recently, her cheeks fuller from all the stress-eating, and her hair seemed to be a little greyer every day. “What took you so long? You were supposed to be back a half-hour ago.”

  I set my purse down on the console table just inside the door and took a deep breath. Be calm, I reminded myself. Be nice. “Ben and I were halfway up a mountain when you called,” I said as neutrally as possible.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure how I feel about you disappearing like that with a boy you won’t invite over to meet your family.”

  “You’ve met him.”

  “We say hello to each other when he comes knocking on the door, Nora. I hardly think that counts.”

  “Colleen thinks it’s a good idea,” I lied with a shrug.

  My mother grunted, clearly unhappy, but unwilling to go against my therapist. “Tell someone next time you decide to go hiking. I want the name of the trail and the time you think you’ll be home in case anything happens to you.”

  Hello to you too, Mother. I chewed the corner of my lip and nodded. I wasn’t going to truthfully divulge my entire itinerary, but I wasn’t going to argue with her, either. “So why did I have to rush home?”

  As if on cue, the back-patio door slid open. “You’re back!” Katie rushed in from the backyard and maneuvered around the counter. “I thought I heard a car pull up.”

  My sister’s hair was still dyed darker than her natural color, her blonde roots barely visible. Instead of the heavy makeup she wore before the Weaver tortured her or the bare face she wore after, her eyes were carefully lined, accented with perfectly blended shadow, and her lips coated in a nude gloss. She looked amazing and so unlike herself that I found myself unable to return her smile.

  I cleared my throat. “Yep.”

  “Took you long enough.” She gave me a quick hug that I didn’t return. And was that…? Pot. She reeked of it. How did our mother not notice? Sure, my sister was hiding it behind a picture-perfect exterior, but I was about to get high just standing next to her. We sat through roughly twenty million no recreational drug use speeches, yet this was suddenly fine? But when I didn’t mention the Sandman for years, I was still treated like a grenade.

  “Come on,” Katie said brightly. “I want you to meet someone.”

  “What are you doing home? Don’t you have classes next week?” I asked, holding my breath against the strong odor.

  Katie laughed. “Is that the first thing you have to say after not seeing me for three months? A ‘Welcome home! I missed you!’ would be nice.”

  “Oh, sister dearest, how I missed you,” I said in a flat voice, but her words stung. Was I turning into my mother? No. I was turning into an evil overlord. Some say potato.

  She tsked and motioned for me to follow her into the backyard. I hesitated, glancing at my mother for a clue about who was out there, but she was immersed in folding a mound of laundry that had taken over our couch. So, head bent with exhaustion and an utter lack of interest, I joined Katie on the cement patio. She had practically bolted out of Cedarbrook after I was released from the hospital. I could count the number of times she called home on one hand, and now she showed up a week early with someone for us to meet? I watched her carefully. If I didn’t know better, I might think she was sleepwalking again instead of being wide awake.

  Paul stood in front of the grill with a beer in one hand. He glanced up when he saw me and smiled. I was grateful my mother married him after she divorced my father, if not for how he treated me before, then definitely for how he did after. The same.

  “I put a burger on for you in case you’re hungry.”

  “Thanks.” I folded my arms over my aching stomach. No matter how much I ate, the hunger never left these days. “I am.”

  “Nora, this is Kellan.” Katie clung to a boy with shaggy brown hair, bloodshot eyes, and a cartoon character on his t-shirt. “Kellan, Nora.”

  “Hey,” he said slowly, dragging out the word. “Nice sunglasses.”

  My mouth opened, but I wasn’t sure what to say, so I let the sound of sizzling meat fill the silence. Katie glared at me, imploring me with wide eyes to say something, anything, but I had nothing. A girl can only process so many surprises at once.

  Kellan gave a low, uncomfortable chuckle followed by a lopsided grin.

  “This is Katie’s boyfriend,” Paul supplied.

  “I thought you were still dating Jen,” I blurted.

  Katie’s eyes shot daggers at me. “She wanted something serious. I wanted… fun. You’re only a college freshman once, right?”

  Kellan laughed again. Katie and I turned to scowl at him in unison, but he was ignoring us completely in favor of his phone. I gave Katie a withering look and pointed at him. “That’s what you call fun?”

  She grimaced and gripped Kellan’s arm. “Let’s go set the table.”

  I gaped openly at them as they walked back to the kitchen. It was like watching a semi barrel down a one-way street at rush hour in the wrong direction, and I couldn’t look away. “Did you know she was coming home early?” I asked Paul.

  He took a long swig of beer. “Last I heard, she wouldn’t be here until next weekend.”

  “Did I miss the memo that she was bringing someone with her?”

  “Nope.” He flipped the burgers. “But try to be nice, huh? Your sister’s dealing with things in her own way.”

  I wasn’t sure she was dealing with anything. More like avoiding it. With drugs and… Kellan. I glared through the kitchen window where my mother chatted brightly with them and felt myself deflate. That’s what she wanted from me—to pretend. To go to therapy, get whatever was troubling me off my chest, and come home with an easy spirit. But I tried doing that for years, and she never talked to me like she was talking to Katie now.

  “You can bring Ben over for dinner too, you know.” Paul scooped the burgers onto a plate. “We’d like to get to know him.”

  “Right,” I said under my breath. Like I would bring the Sandman here after everything my mother did to make me forget him. Though I supposed if I had forgotten him, I wouldn’t be in my current predicament. The dark grin prickled inside me. Yes, you would, it seemed to say. And it was right. Even if I forgot, I still would’ve been the Dream Keeper. The Weaver still would’ve come for me. Still would’ve taken Katie, killed my boss, my friends, my father—

  “Coming, kiddo?” Paul asked, sliding the back door open with his foot. I nodded and followed him into the kitchen, where he leaned over to kiss my mother on top of the head. “Everybody hungry?”

  “You know it,” Kellan said, followed by another dull laugh.

  The table was set with paper plat
es and cans of soda, a ring of condensation building on the plastic tablecloth around each one. Condiments, potato salad, and corn on the cob waited in the center of the table, while the buns and burger fixings lined the counter. Everyone except me crowded around the steaming meat. My stomach rumbled, but I wasn’t going to fight my way to the food, brushing against everyone with my aching skin.

  “I’m going to wash up first,” I said, though I doubted any of them were listening. I removed my sunglasses to avoid my mother’s ire. I slipped into the downstairs bathroom and splashed water on my face, careful to avoid the reflection of a girl half-there. A girl that was only half a girl at all, really. I was a creature now—one that only appeared human on the outside. Behind my now-gold eyes laid molten veins and a creeping darkness brimming with untold magic. If a nightmare managed to kill me, would I become human again? Would I regain my green eyes? Or would I rot as I was? Was the original Weaver slowly decomposing? Or was he still sprawled out on the floor of the Keep where I last saw him like some sort of blood-soaked mannequin? I retched into the sink at the thought.

  “Are you pregnant?” Katie whispered from the doorway.

  “What?” I snagged a washcloth from the towel rack and dried my face. “No. Are you?”

  “I’m not the one puking.”

  I snorted. “Right, because that’s the only reason someone would be sick.”

  “Well, when you pair it with your attitude lately and—”

  “My attitude? What do you know about my attitude? You haven’t talked to me since you moved out.” I forced my voice to stay low to avoid attracting the others, though I wanted to scream. “I walked through hell to save you, but that wasn’t enough, was it? No. You got to come back from that cave and pretend it never happened. I had to go back and make sure the Weaver never bothered us again. Did you ever once think to ask me what I had to do to accomplish that? Do you even care?”

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “You sound as crazy as Mom thinks you are.”

  “Maybe I am. But then so are you. You saw—”

  “I didn’t see anything. It was just a dream,” she snapped.

  “Keep telling yourself that.” I tossed the washcloth onto the edge of the sink and moved to push past Katie, but she stepped forward, obstructing my way. “What, Katie?”

  “Stop it. You have to move forward. Dwelling on what happened won’t change anything. It’s all in the past.”

  “Maybe it’s in your past.” I knew I should stop talking, should lower my voice, but the seal was broken. Each word that escaped was louder than the last. “Denying the truth will change just as much as my dwelling on it. And for the record, there is no moving on for me, so why don’t you—”

  “Nora!” My mother forcefully pushed her way in between us, blocking me inside the bathroom and Katie in the hall. “What’s wrong with you, talking to your sister like that?”

  “Me?” I laughed bitterly. “What’s wrong with me? I don’t know, Mother. Why don’t you drag me to a few more doctors to find out? It worked so well last time.”

  She gasped, eyes wide. “That’s enough.”

  “No. It was enough when I was twelve.” I shoved her arm out of the way and shot a look at my sister. “I thought someone would finally have my back.”

  “Go to your room.” My mother’s cheeks were a vibrant shade of red. “Now.”

  A smirk not my own played on my lips. “Gladly.”

  I ran to the stairs, but halfway up, Katie called out again, her voice angry yet hesitant. “Nora—”

  “You’re a coward,” I said without turning around.

  Kellan’s slow laugh echoed in my ears. “Your sister’s a savage.”

  I whirled around mid-step and leaned over the banister looking into the kitchen. “Excuse me?”

  Paul’s chair scraped the kitchen floor, and he stared at me, confused. “Go cool off.”

  I bit my tongue and stormed to my room, slamming the door. The string of tiny lights above my bed swayed from the force. I reached above the headboard and ripped them down before falling face first onto the mattress. I hated those lights. Hated them for reminding me every night of the one place I longed for more than any other. For burning my eyes with their taunting glow.

  “Sandman.” I sobbed angrily into the pillow. “Help me sleep.”

  But I knew he couldn’t hear me. Not since I became the dark to his light.

  I let out a long, hard breath and gave myself to the black place that found me every night. It pulled me under just as fast as the Sandman ever had—faster. The grin widened until it felt as if it swallowed me whole, and I opened my eyes to the dark abyss I’d grown accustomed to. At least here my body hurt less for an hour or two, until my mind jerked me awake. I closed my eyes and welcomed the oblivion.

  I wasn’t sure how long I floated in darkness before light passed in front of my eyelids. The quiet buzz of the emptiness suddenly roared as awareness crept through me, and I cracked my eyes open. Only, I wasn’t awake, or, if I was, my body hadn’t followed. It felt like waking from anesthesia, but the process halted right before consciousness took hold. This place was nowhere—it was nothing. Nothing except for a white fissure scarring the void. I pressed my eyes shut and opened them again, expecting it to disappear, but the crack didn’t move. Nor did it bother my eyes. My body inched forward of its own accord until I stood right in front of it.

  A shadow passed on the other side of the uneven opening. My breath hitched, panic bubbling beneath my skin. Maybe it was better to close my eyes and drift away again. But it seemed I was no longer in control of myself. Up close, the fissure was as wide as a window in some places, as narrow as my head in others, which I discovered when I pressed my face into the light. Grey and white layers of stone twisted and turned down a long passageway. The view moved as if I walked the path myself, but my feet were firmly planted. A ragged breath drifted from the scene, followed by a small, pained groan.

  “Go,” a voice called from behind. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder, but only the nothingness greeted me. “She’s coming. We need to go.”

  The familiar voice struck a chord. Sandman? What the hell was going on? The scene moved up and down, and I realized I was looking through someone else’s eyes. I held my breath, too afraid that if I blinked, I would miss something important. This whole thing felt important on some instinctual level. My vision tilted and jerked as the person slammed into a wall, then slid down.

  A pair of black boots shuffled forward. Knees slammed down on the hard stone. Tattooed arms reached out and shook the person. “Come on.” The Sandman tapped the side of my vision and leaned closer. His violet eyes were vivid, the pupils blown wide. Dirt was smeared across his cheeks and chin, and blood trickled from somewhere near his temple. “Stay with me.”

  “I’m fine.” The words sounded anything but fine. They sounded like the man’s last. Weak. Broken.

  A bloodied arm rose, trembling, to push the Sandman away, and my hands flew to my mouth. Black threads glimmering with gold shone on the man’s wrist. The Weaver. The Sandman helped him to his feet, then crouched and ran around the next bend. My view clouded, then righted itself, moving in time with the Weaver’s unsteady steps.

  This was the Weaver’s point-of-view. His memory. Was the Weaver so ingrained in the magic that it remembered too? A sour, metallic taste coated my tongue. Knowing some of the things the Weaver had done, I didn’t think I could stomach seeing more. And what did it mean? The Sandman said he and the Weaver were friends once, but seeing the look of true fear on his face, the unfiltered terror that the Weaver wouldn’t make it… With their combined power, it didn’t make sense for them to run from anything.

  The fissure snapped shut in my face, and I stumbled back. Icy pinpricks dotted my skin. Everything about this was wrong—the memory, what the memory held. Was it real? A fabrication? I tripped over my own feet, and the world spiraled around me.

  4

  Nora

  Waking was like dropp
ing from the top of a roller coaster, only my cart wasn’t connected to the tracks. My heart spasmed. I couldn’t breathe. I was weightless, floating, and yet tethered to the instrument of my own death. Then I was suddenly on my bed. Safe. The familiar ache crept back into my bones, and my brain scrambled to reach that semi-peaceful place again. Though after what I saw, I wasn’t sure peaceful was the right word. The Sandman and the Weaver were… I scowled. They were what? It all made perfect sense there, but now it seemed out of reach. Like a dream that ceased to exist upon waking. A dream. I always remembered mine before. Now, it felt like another person had seen the Weaver’s memory. If that’s what it was. Maybe I was dreaming. I groaned into the pillow. Just what I needed. More problems and confusion.

  My mother’s laugh clawed through my door. The soft hum of other voices mingled with it, and I flipped onto my back. Dusk filtered orange light into my room through the open window. Had it been open when I fell asleep? It must have been—I would’ve woken up if anyone came in. My mother, most likely, had aired the room while I was out, probably as she searched for something incriminating.

  I pushed myself up with a grunt. There was no way I was capable of going back downstairs tonight and not fighting with Katie. I didn’t understand why she was acting like nothing happened. She admitted it was all real in the hospital and even asked a few questions after I woke up. I assumed she hadn’t mentioned it again because she was sorting through it, but then she left for college without bringing it up. Even tonight, she more or less admitted she was pretending. Exasperated, I threw myself into my desk chair.