Dark Consort

by Amber R. Duell

  And yet—

  And yet, I couldn’t stop myself from running a hand over the dark wall between me and Nora. “Let me in,” I begged softly.

  To my surprise, something pulsed in response. A glimmer of silver fractured the stone. My power—the dream Nora carried—cried out to me, and my chest twisted. The dream. Nora got herself back to the Nightmare Realm and, before that, found some of the Weaver’s memories. Why hadn’t I noticed she was already capable of it? What was to say she couldn’t find the dream too?

  I followed that small, hopeless piece of magic to the Nightmare Realm and braced myself for the worst.

  Though Nora’s magic read loud and clear, it seemed no matter which entrance into the Nightmare Realm I used, she was just as far away. The center of the realm seemed a logical place for the barrier to spit her out, as that was where the Keep was, but I hoped she was anywhere else. I tried to stuff the hysteria down as the magic lured me into the Doll Maker’s domain and focused on Nora. The possibility of Rowan having her—no. She couldn’t. If Rowan had Nora, she wouldn’t waste time killing her.

  There.

  Just ahead. A massive concentration of Nora’s magic. I broke into a run, my boots clattering against a blanket of buttons covering the ground. I wove around trees of the same material, and a smattering of creatures raced further into the forest to distance themselves from me. I slid to a stop at the edge of the clearing, and my chest exploded.

  She was there, alive and seemingly safe, flanked by two nightmares. I squinted across a table occupied by a strapped-down elderly Dreamer and past the Doll Maker to the masked nightmare standing beside Nora. One graze of Halven’s hand and he could whisk Nora away to anywhere within the Nightmare Realm. Worse, I wouldn’t be able to find her, magic or no magic. Not if the nightmare of lost things maintained contact with her. He knew exactly where someone wanted to go and exactly how to take them as far from that place as possible. If he saw me, Nora would be gone in an instant, but I couldn’t let her take his offered hand. I held my breath, searching frantically for a solution to get them away from each other, but then Nora spoke.

  “I’ll need some things before I face Rowan. Supplies. An army—”

  An army? My eyes widened. What was she talking about? She didn’t need an army. She had me. She had someone she could trust.

  But she didn’t.

  After everything, Nora didn’t trust me. She couldn’t—not if she did this. Ice shrouded my heart as it slipped from its place in my chest and shattered.

  “Army?” the Doll Maker exclaimed, then twisted to stare at me across the clearing.

  I shifted into the shadows, my mind repeating Nora doesn’t trust me over and over. My lungs ached, unable to take in air, and I flipped my hood over my head. I leaned into one of the tall button trees. What could I do now? What should I do? I could barge over there and protect her, or I could stand here and do nothing. We were beyond talking now. Nora made it clear she didn’t want to listen.

  “You can come out, Dream Lord. She’s gone,” the Doll Maker called in a sour tone after some time. “I haven’t hurt her, so I trust you won’t hurt me.”

  I stepped out of my hiding place and forced my shoulders back. Halven was nowhere to be seen, and I nearly crumbled when I saw Nora wasn’t either. Had she taken his hand of her own free will? Did he force her to go with him?

  “Are you so sure about that?” I asked.

  “She’s safe with Halven.” The Doll Maker plucked a large needle from her hair and circled the table where the old woman thrashed. “Like I was about to tell her, there’s no need to build an army. It will only take one person with the right skills to kill the usurper.”

  I bared my teeth. If it were that easy, I would’ve brought Nora back a long time ago. “If that’s true, if you’re so loyal, why don’t you kill Rowan yourself?”

  The Doll Maker laughed and bent over the Dreamer. “Do I terrify you, Dream Lord? No. I terrify only these precious souls.” She ran a hand lovingly over the woman’s hair. “Given that, do you think I’ve survived this long by entwining myself in power struggles?”

  “There would be no struggle with Rowan dead.”

  “Does a snake not still have venom after it’s dead? She has those loyal to her.” The Doll Maker tied a knot at the end of a string. “Besides, Lady Nightmare has many weaknesses. There will be struggle after struggle until she learns to snuff the rebellion, and when that time comes, Sandman, she will no longer be the girl you knew.”

  “She will always be Nora,” I insisted.

  The Doll Maker began stitching the Dreamer’s mouth shut, muffling her screams, and my jaw tightened. “Oh, don’t look so perturbed. She’ll be fine when she wakes up.” The Doll Maker rolled her eyes. “And as for the Lady always being Nora, maybe you’re right. Or maybe she already isn’t. What do I know?”

  She was Nora. True, she was changing—growing into her new self—but everyone did that over the course of their life. The Weaver had. I had. Long before the worlds were separate, he wasn’t so dark, and I wasn’t so light, but we became what we needed to become for things to work. Nora was a new entity, though. There were no established rules, no baseline. She could become what she wanted to become, and I wouldn’t let her lose herself completely without a fight.

  “Where did Halven take her?”

  “How should I know?” The Doll Maker tugged thick black thread up in front of her with a small frown. “I’d venture to guess he’s going to his twin. They’ve been more open about their meetings now that Rowan’s no longer at the Blood Tower. Don’t you fret: Lady Nightmare will be safe for now—unlike the rest of us, now that Mara’s back.”

  The world spiraled out from under me. No. Nora wouldn’t… I told her who Mare was, what she was. She would never… Mare was the worst kind of nightmare. Not even a nightmare, if I was being particular. Mare was something else—an Ancient, like Baku—and they played by no one’s rules. That was why the Weaver and I locked them in the Ever Safe not long after we were made. They killed without reason, destroyed things just to feel the despair it caused. And what better place for primal beasts than a world filled with mortals? If Mare had her way, she would take us back to the dark days when danger roamed without borders. Gone were the creatures of legend from the Day World because the Weaver and I took them from it. Lured them into a cage and bolted it shut. Only two ever made it out again. We’d gotten lucky with Baku, who was content as long as his stomach was full. Mare, on the other hand, would’ve spent every day of her eternal life trying to break down the doors to the Ever Safe.

  Oh, Nora…

  I never imagined she would kill the Weaver and destroy the balance, but I hadn’t known better then. Now I did. I stared at the place she stood moments ago. There was no catching up to her now that she’d gone with Halven, but even if there was, I didn’t have time to follow. With Mare back, I had to reinforce every ward around the Dream Realm. And more. I had to add more. And then—then I would find Nora. Because, if nothing else, I deserved answers.

  12

  Nora

  Halven’s outfit looked more ridiculous the longer I stared at it. His black jacket, piped with red, was covered in an illogical pattern of embossed lines. The collar rose high enough to cover any exposed skin, and the hat shadowed the entirety of his head not hidden behind the mask. From the laces on his boot hung a small key, rusted with age. He oozed a gentlemanly air, while his appearance made him seem more like he belonged in a theatrical group performing satire.

  “What are you the nightmare of, exactly?” I asked.

  His chest rose with a deep breath, and he forced out an answer. “Being lost.”

  “What?” My steps slowed. “But the Doll Maker said—and we’ve been—”

  I was duped right off the bat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even the darkness inside me had hesitated to follow Halven. And the worst part was that this wasn’t even the first trick I’d fallen for. Mara fooled me as well, though to my own credit, I
never trusted her. And I hadn’t purposely brought her back, but she was here nonetheless. Somewhere. Doing who knows what. While I was—oh, no. Where was I? I was so busy staring at Halven’s ridiculous clothes that I hadn’t paid attention to anything else. I whirled around. The button forest was nowhere in sight. Instead, a mountain rose in the distance, pricking at a bad memory, and an orange pond swirled into a whirlpool on our left. How long had we been walking?

  Halven patted his chest with a flat hand. “I know where someone is going bec—” His voice cracked. “If not—” He rubbed at his throat through the ruffles. “If I don’t know where they want to go, I cannot make them lost.”

  Right. Of course. Of course. I was putting my fate in the hands of a nightmare that excelled in getting people lost. Was I too lost for the Sandman to find me? I winced. As if he would even try after what I did. I was on my own now. A weight pressed down on my chest, my heart fluttering, bordering on panic. Stay calm. I inhaled slowly and let it out through my mouth. Calm. I was the Weaver. This was fine. I would be fine.

  Halven motioned me forward with another dramatic sweep of his hand.

  Fine, I chanted in my head. I walked alongside him, this time keeping my eyes on my surroundings. Something about them felt familiar, but I hadn’t seen this golden prairie before. Small, tan, rodent-like nightmares popped up from the tall grass. They blinked red eyes once, twice, then bobbed their heads in our direction and scurried away, whispering excitedly among themselves.

  “Should I be worried about where they’re running off to?” I asked.

  Halven shook his head.

  Still, I watched the grass move as what had to be dozens of them fled from our path. The animals in the button forest had stayed and bowed. Head-bobs could’ve meant anything. A signal to each other that I was here. That they should rush off and tell Rowan where I was. Or even a signal to Halven that his heinous plan to trap me was ready.

  I reached slowly for the small pocket on the side of my bag while keeping one eye on Halven and another on the grass. The zipper made a small sound, and my hand froze. Halven cocked his head toward me and shifted closer. I took a step away from him, my mouth dry. His shoulders rose and fell before he turned to face me fully. He seemed to study me through his mask for a moment, then was behind me in two lightning-fast steps. I leapt away, whirling on him at the sound of my bag’s zipper.

  Halven held my Swiss Army knife on his palm. “Here,” he rasped and held his arm out for me to take it.

  I narrowed my eyes at him and carefully plucked the weapon from his hand. So much for keeping my distrust on the down low. “How much farther?”

  He held his index finger and thumb a half inch from each other, indicating it wouldn’t be much longer.

  “And where are we going exactly?” I was proud of myself for keeping the fear from my voice, but I doubted it escaped his notice.

  “There.” He pointed to a tiny black structure past the prairie, an expanse of sand, and a rocky outcrop.

  “That looks pretty far to me,” I said in a flat voice.

  Halven held his hand out for me to take again. “Faster.”

  “Pass.” I gripped the knife harder and let my hands fall to my sides.

  He shrugged and led the way out of the dry grass. White sand filled my sneakers as we zig-zagged toward the building. I ignored the grains working their way through my socks to irritate my toes and focused on breathing. The grin inside me, so quiet during the entirety of my journey, now balked. I felt it twisting as if it were my own expression. I touched my mouth with my free hand, but it maintained the neutral mask it was trained to keep. I am not afraid. I flicked open the knife just in case.

  Halven left more than an arm’s length worth of space between us the rest of the trip, coming closer only when the local geography made it necessary. I refused to take his hand again, but did allow him to guide me carefully around jagged rocks. The climb was just steep enough to cramp my calves. What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of water. Too bad I hadn’t packed one. There were probably a lot of things I should’ve brought that I wouldn’t realize until it was too late, but I wasn’t up for carting around a fifty-pound bag either.

  When Halven paused at the edge of our destination, my body burned with shock. The reality of what stood before me slammed down like a blacksmith’s hammer on hot metal, chinking away at my last bit of patience.

  Blood flowed between the dark stones of the Blood Tower instead of mortar. The towering double doors and arched windows were all too familiar. My vision blurred, fury gripping me tightly. I snagged the front of Halven’s shirt and held my knife to his throat in a movement so smooth, even the Sandman would’ve been impressed. “You lying, traitorous piece of—”

  The tower door flew open and banged against the outer wall. Kail braced himself in the doorway, leaning into the stones as if it were the only thing keeping him on his feet. His chest rose and fell quickly beneath the embroidered overlay on his jacket. Behind his white hooked mask, Kail’s eye—the one I hadn’t stabbed with the corkscrew attachment on my knife—flashed rapidly between colors. I shoved Halven away and pointed the knife at him, my pulse thundering in my ears.

  “You,” Kail wheezed.

  “You,” I repeated, my words poison. “I’m going to kill you for what you did.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” He straightened, completely unfazed, and scanned the landscape behind us. “Did anyone see you? Where’s the Sandman?”

  “You didn’t do anything?” The knife shook in my hand. My skin was hot enough to blister. “You gave me that damn knife and sent me after the Weaver.”

  He leveled a glare at me. “Problem solved. No? Your family is safe.”

  I launched myself at him, screaming, and swung at his chest with the knife. His hand circled my wrist and held fast before I could even nick him. “I hate you.”

  Kail rolled his eyes. “Were you seen, Halven?” he asked again.

  Halven made a movement with his hands that seemed to say we were, but not to worry.

  “Good.” Kail glared, not daring to release my arm. “The Sandman sent you? Did he tell you we spoke?”

  “Don’t worry about the Sandman. Worry about me.” I attempted to twist free of his grip, but it was made of iron.

  “Yes, yes. You’re terrifying.” He sighed. “So he didn’t tell you I offered to help? Obviously not, I suppose, or you wouldn’t look so surprised to see me.”

  I laughed, the sound bitter. “Just like you wanted to help me last time?”

  “I didn’t want to help you then. Rowan did, and what reason did I have not to go along with it? Other than your failure meaning my impending doom, which was reason enough itself. I’ll have you know, my death meant just as much to Rowan as yours did.” He eyed the sky. “Let’s finish chatting inside.”

  “Better plan.” I finally broke free and strode past him into the tower. A metallic smell swallowed me, and I held my breath against it. “I’ll go inside.” I whirled around, and Kail nearly bumped into me as I braced myself in the door frame. “And you scurry off to whatever hellhole you crawled out of.”

  His changing eye slowed. “Are you evicting me?”

  “Consider this a hostile takeover.” I smiled coldly. “I’m sure Rowan will have a room for you at the Keep. Just make sure you don’t get too comfortable, because I’ll be taking that too.”

  “Not without help, you won’t,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I slammed the door in his face and slid a heavy bolt in place with a shaking hand. Tarantulas wallpapered the hallway, and black goop secreted from the floorboards. My stomach rolled. I had locked myself in a torture chamber. Smart. It wasn’t too late to run out the back door. The grin took on a disgusted edge. No. The Weaver did not run. I dug my nails into my palm and strode down the main corridor. I was here. Alone—sort of—and alive, which was an achievement in itself. Now I just had to settle in and make a plan. Easier said than done.

  “Face it.” I jumped a
t Kail’s voice behind me. He strode down the opposite end of the hallway, hands held out to his sides, smug. “You need me.”

  “How did you—”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t know more than one way into my own house?” He tsked and stalked around me. “Stop worrying, Lady Nightmare. If I wanted you dead, you would be.”

  “Oh geez. What a comfort.”

  “Let’s see it, then.” He nodded to the bookbag. “What have you brought to exact your revenge?”

  My arsenal consisted of the weapons in my bag and the gold in my veins. I couldn’t rely on the Sandman to fight this with me, though I was certain he wouldn’t fight with Rowan under any circumstance. I puffed my chest out. “The Weaver doesn’t need an arsenal.”

  “The Weaver did not. But you—” He gave me a sly grin.

  “I am the Weaver now. Get used to it.”

  “No. You are something else.” He gave a mock bow. “Regardless, I am at your service, and if you’d like to stay alive, I suggest you take me up on the offer. Only a third of the nightmares are in favor of you. The rest are either for Rowan or too stupid to make a conscious decision.”

  A third? That was less than promising. Hopefully a majority of the others were neutral, though based on the victorious glint in Kail’s eyes, I couldn’t place stock in it. “And you belong to that last group, I assume,” I quipped to cover my uncertainty.

  “I am anything but stupid,” he said easily.