Dark Consort

by Amber R. Duell

  No, he was not. “So you’re for Rowan.”

  “How many times am I going to have to say it?”

  A thousand times wouldn’t be enough. Words were nothing more than puffs of air. He could claim loyalty now, but when the wind blew in another direction, his support would go with it. “Oh, Kail,” I drawled. “I would be the stupid one if I trusted you. You’re turning on the woman you spent forever with for one that stabbed you in the eye. What does that say about you?”

  He bent to my level and leaned forward until the curve of his beaked mask skimmed my nose, but I refused to yield an inch. “It’s because you stabbed me that I want to help.”

  “Okay. You’re clearly deranged.” I placed my palm against the cool mask and shoved his face away. I raised my knife between us. “I wonder what taking out the other one would get me.”

  His laugh was short. “I admit to ulterior motives. One being that you fix my eye.”

  “One,” I said pointedly. Another being the chance to stab me in the back. I strode around him and down the hallway, doing my best not to look at the arachnids on the walls. The hair on my arms stood on end at the thought of accidentally brushing against them.

  “The Weaver can alter nightmares even after they’re born,” he called after me.

  “So?”

  He dashed in front of me and cut off my path. “I’m relying on the human part of you to have a bit of compassion.”

  The honesty in his eyes shook me. He was a nightmare—the nightmare of the unknown. More importantly, he had tricked me into becoming the Weaver so Rowan could slaughter me. Why would he give me actual answers now? Why be truthful when he clearly had a knack for lying?

  “I have compassion for the Dreamers,” I said slowly. “Not for you.”

  His eye flashed faster. “Consider it compensation for my assistance, then.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong tree.” I turned down another hall, searching for another door to lock myself behind. Aha! There was one just ahead.

  He followed close on my heels. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m trying to get away from you,” I hissed.

  “Good luck with that.” His arm snapped across a doorway, stopping me again. “Unless you’re able to make me leave?”

  I scowled at him, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just let the question hang there. We both knew the answer was a resounding no, and I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of hearing it. My fingers flexed, aching to land a punch, but a second before I could swing, he leaned away.

  “I didn’t think so.” He straightened his jacket. “Might I offer you Rowan’s old room? We can begin your training tomorrow—the important things the Sandman wasn’t able to teach you. Meaning we start from scratch, really.”

  “How about the room I stayed in last time instead?” I asked, ignoring the part about training—not only because he was right that I learned nothing useful, but because there was no way I was going to train with him instead. Besides, the idea of sleeping in Rowan’s bed gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  “That’s my room,” Kail countered.

  I did hit him then: a solid punch to his ribs that produced a satisfying oof. He stared at me and, without looking away, kicked his heel against the opposite wall, revealing a hidden room.

  Kail said nothing as he stepped away from the entrance. Inside, soft lights flickered to life, revealing a bed carved into the wide trunk of a low tree. Plush black blankets were piled at the center. Vine-like branches hung from the ceiling with ribbons and small dried flowers dotting the grey-green foliage. It was beautiful and eerie and strangely fitting for Rowan.

  “Why don’t I just sleep outside?” I asked.

  “If you want to, go ahead.” He shrugged one shoulder. “The important thing is that I’m not out there where something might use me as their midnight snack.”

  “If that’s a possibility, maybe I’ll leave the front door open and hope for the best.”

  He leaned closer and whispered, “What if they find your room first?”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” I said, unsure.

  “Wouldn’t they? You haven’t proven yourself to anyone, and no one fears you nor respects you, though I say we aim for fear in the future.” He flicked a piece of hair beside my face. “I hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty, Lady Nightmare.”

  “Get out of my tower,” I demanded.

  “I’ll be upstairs in my tower if you need anything. You remember the way, don’t you?” Kail cracked his knuckles, his face hardening. “Until tomorrow.”

  “I hate you,” I told Kail again.

  “So you’ve said.” He sauntered away, tossing a wave over his shoulder.

  13

  Nora

  “Focus,” Kail drawled from behind me.

  I glared at him over my shoulder and ground my teeth. “I’m so glad you’re here to remind me of that every two minutes.”

  He stood, arms folded, watching me carefully just as he had the last six days, and I instantly regretted ever giving in to training with him. To be fair, no one was better than Kail at being annoying. He was my own personal amoeba. For four days he woke me up at regular intervals while my body tried desperately to sleep through whatever adjustments were happening. Then for two days he followed my every zombie-like step while I explored the tower, sometimes never saying anything, sometimes never shutting up. He drained my energy, sending my patience level far into the negatives until I caved.

  So there I sat with a pile of the Weaver’s thread on the table in front of me. The gold fibers flickered against the black cords as it tried desperately to snake up my arm. My skin ached to let it circle my wrist as it had that day five months ago.

  Inside, the grin widened, impossibly cruel, at my denial. The threads were the Weaver’s power—my power. I understood that. I needed these threads, and they needed me too. But it was exactly because of how much I needed them that I pushed them away. When I ripped them from the Weaver’s arm in that storage unit, it took time for him to regain strength. I didn’t want the threads to be a crutch for me like they were for him. Darkness poured from the grin, clouding my doubts, pushing me to extend a hand.

  “Remember what I said about personal space?” I asked when Kail inched closer.

  “I do,” he said, unbothered, and his arm brushed against mine.

  I gritted my teeth. “What’s the point of this anyway? I told you I can see the nightmares inside. Just give me a pair of scissors.”

  Kail winced. “You can’t cut them apart. They don’t end just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Think of them like holding hands. If you will one of them out, they’ll let go.”

  The image of the disfigured nightmare that brought me to the Night World flashed through my mind, and I wrinkled my nose. “Sure. It’s one big pile of comfort and joy.”

  “It’s one big pile of loyalty and respect. Even Rowan wouldn’t go hacking her army into pieces,” he said with a sharp edge. “Stop whining and try again.”

  I stared at the threads. At the bits of gold catching the light. At the rust-colored blood staining nearly half of it. The Weaver’s blood, Kail informed me, from the floor of the Keep where he liberated the bundle of thread before Rowan noticed. I glanced down at the gold veins pulsing beneath my stained hands and wondered how true that was. Not that it mattered—the threads were real enough—but I thought all of it hitched a ride when the Sandman took me back to the Dream Realm. It was already established that Kail was a liar, but I couldn’t think how else he would have this thread.

  “You were the one who said I needed to be feared. Did you think I’d accomplish that by being thoughtful?” I asked.

  The beak of his mask skimmed my cheek. “Without those threads, you’re nothing.”

  “I’m the Lady of Nightmares,” I ground out. Like that makes a difference, my inner voice balked. One day I would be able to utter that title without feeling like I bit into a lemon, but today was not that day. />
  “A leader without power isn’t a leader at all.” He set his hands down in the middle of the threads and dragged them across the table to me. I tucked my hands under the table to protect them. “The Weaver understood that, so if you truly want to be the Lady of Nightmares, take them.”

  I snatched Kail’s mask where it touched me and shoved his face hard enough that he stumbled sideways. He studied me from the corners of his eyes with a grim set to his mouth. The air in the room thickened, sparking between us, but I was in charge. If anyone was going to back down, it would be him. And, after what felt like a lifetime, he did.

  “You can change it, you know,” he said in a careful voice.

  “Change what?” I pinned both ends of the threads to the table with a finger and poked at them with my other hand.

  “The mask.” When I glanced up at Kail, he tapped the hard, bone-like surface covering his forehead. “You can change it. Remove it, even.”

  “Ah.” I rubbed my temples, suddenly tired. “But then where would your mystique go?”

  He smirked and resumed his perch behind me. “Try again.”

  This time it didn’t sound like an order. It was more like a friend urging me toward greatness, and I knew that’s what these threads were. Greatness. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I reached for the threads again, one end snapped around my finger in a tight coil. “Hold still,” I said under my breath. The mass stilled. I cracked my eyes open. Interesting. I closed them again and ran a finger down the length of it, pinching where it felt right. A shaggy dog with bulging eyes and steaming drool looked out from the darkness. Its jowls shook in anticipation. Not the most ideal choice for my first nightmare, but I was ready to be finished and that’s what I found so—

  I focused on his end like Kail told me to. Coaxed it away from the others. Something kicked inside me, the growing darkness throbbing. The grin relaxed, satisfied. I pulled gently at the dog until it frayed, then hesitated. Was this right? Was I hurting it? I scoffed at the concern and resumed the task. Let it hurt. But another part of me slapped the thought away, and the thread split, pulling apart fiber by fiber.

  I opened one eye at a time to find a six-inch thread between my fingers. The rest of the pile was halfway up my arm, heading straight for the edge of my sleeve. I watched it creep higher with growing fascination. The grin eased forward. Eager. Nervous. Waiting for me to rip it away. The darkness seemed to hold its breath while I decided what to do.

  The decision swam slowly from the depths of my thoughts and hovered just out of reach. Suddenly, the darkness wasn’t the only one not breathing as I waited for it to take the final step. I held my breath so long, my lungs ached. Then, when I exhaled, it was as if I blew the dark cloud away.

  Yes. I wanted the threads—and their power—as much as they wanted me.

  My body reveled in the sense of completion as the threads fused with the sleeve of my grey t-shirt. The thing I was missing while stuck in the Day World: this was it. One of the things, at least. The power washed over me. Filled me. It radiated with every beat of my heart. I felt larger, bigger than the world. I was Atlas. Nothing could touch me here.

  “What is it?” Kail asked, breaking through my euphoria.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “The nightmare.” Kail stared hungrily at the single thread. “What is it? Will it fit in here?”

  I held it up and blinked myself fully back to the present. “I think so.”

  “Good. Then do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Bring it out.” He waved his hands impatiently.

  Bring it out. I thought back to the Weaver on the Sandman’s beach when he created one of the first nightmares I’d seen. With a flick of his wrist, the thread went straight and stiff. Then there was a burst, followed by the presence of a newly created nightmare. That didn’t seem so hard. I wrinkled my nose and flicked. Nothing happened.

  “You have to mean it,” Kail admonished.

  I stared at the thread, at the dog, and flicked it again. It hardened slightly but fell limp. Again and again I tried. Again and again I failed.

  “Do what you did last time,” Kail suggested, pressing closer until I shot him a death stare. “Just… more.”

  “Personal. Space.” I jabbed a finger into his upper arm. “Do you even know how to do this, or are you guessing?”

  “I… don’t. But I know what it felt like from the other side.”

  So they could feel it. I twirled the thread between my fingers and looked Kail up and down, marveling at how something so complex could come from something so simple. His mind, his body, his clothing—his abilities, whatever they were, exactly. All of them were once contained in something that wouldn’t have been thick enough to sew on a button.

  “Enjoying the view?” he purred.

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.” He opened his mouth, but I cut him off before he could make a sound. “Are you going to tell me what it felt like or not?”

  He was quiet for a long while, staring at the threads on my arm, and just when I thought he wouldn’t, he let out a short breath. “Before, it’s like—like you exist and don’t. It’s peaceful, but you desperately want to come out because peace isn’t what you were made for. Only you don’t know that, so you’re trapped in a mild state of constant panic. There are others beside you keeping you from floating away into the nothingness, and you’re doing the same for them. Then suddenly there’s a pulse of magic and you wake up for the first time. The world becomes so clear. There’s this person in front of you—someone you know you want to be closer to—and he’s calling you forward so you let go.” He cocked his head. “And then you’re real.”

  I rubbed the threads circling my wrist. “They know me then? That I’m the Weaver? Or will I have to assert some sort of dominance the second I give each one life?”

  “Anything you make will be loyal to you until you give it a reason not to be.” Kail shrugged. “The Weaver gave a lot of us reasons, and most still remained true. It’s a sickness, really, but there it is. We don’t have time to convince every existing nightmare to believe you’re up to par, so if you want to turn the tides—”

  An army. Right here on my arm and all I had to do was call it into being. I bit the inside of my cheek and met the fire dancing in Kail’s eyes. The grin spread, pleased. I spun back to the table. The thread hung loose between my fingers, taunting me. I pushed my thoughts toward it—wake up, let go, come this way. Nothing. So, for the first time, I stared straight at those gleaming pearly whites haunting my vision. A little help?

  The grin brightened as it grew. Coils of darkness spread through me like another set of veins and didn’t stop until it felt as if there was nothing left inside me but that sardonic mouth. I winced against it but didn’t fight. The Weaver was a being of dark things. If I was going to rule them, create them, I had to let the same darkness in. As long as I kept hold of the key, I could lock it away when I was finished. The thread straightened, and I bolted up in my chair.

  Heat zipped from my hand into the thread. It exploded, knocking my chair backward. My head thwacked against the hard floor, and the smell of sulfur nearly choked me as I scrambled to my feet. The table was a pile of splinters, but in front of me was the same brown dog I saw in the thread, only better. He was nearly as tall as me with two rows of needle-sharp teeth and silver blades for nails. His green eyes met mine, and he licked the drool from his jowls.

  Kail’s slow clap filled the room.

  “I did it.” I laughed. “I did it!”

  “Yes.” Kail skirted around the room, keeping an eye on the watchful new nightmare. “Though you did say it would fit in here.”

  “I said I thought so.” I leaned closer to the nightmare, admiring the hard muscles beneath the fur. With a pack of these, I could do practically anything. “And he does fit. Technically.”

  Kail leveled me with a hard stare. “He’s nearly three times wider than the doorway. How are you going to get
him out?”

  “You will be loyal to me,” I addressed the dog, ignoring Kail’s valid point, though the words didn’t feel like they were truly mine. “Me and no other.” Kail cleared his throat behind me. “And don’t eat him—yet,” I added.

  “Yet?” Kail scoffed. “All I have to do is step into the hallway, and he won’t be able to eat me at all.”

  “If you can make it to the door before he does.” I touched the dog’s muzzle. Coarse hair followed my hand as if it were a static balloon. “Should we test his speed?”

  Kail’s eyes widened, not in fear, but with something that almost resembled humor. “Get this giant, frothing thing out of my tower.”

  “Why?” I asked, enjoying his agitation.

  “Why? You’ve got to be—”

  The tower walls shook so hard, paintings clattered from their nails. I gasped and gripped the back of the chair for balance. The dog growled, the blades on his feet digging into the area rug, and Kail braced himself in the corner. His warm brown skin paled.

  “Was that supposed to happen?” I asked slowly, fearing I already knew the answer.

  Kail swore and raced to the window. His knuckles turned white where he gripped the sill. “We’re leaving.”

  I leapt to the second window just as a ball of fire soared toward the tower. I flattened myself against the nearest wall as the impact shook the building again. Black spots danced in my vision. “What the hell is that?” I screeched.

  “Not what. Who.” Kail grabbed my wrist and yanked me into the hallway. “There’s no time to explain.”

  “Wait,” I commanded. The giant dog reached a paw out after us, whimpering. “We can’t leave him.”

  “Worry about us,” Kail shouted over the impact of a third fireball.

  My chest twisted. I wasn’t sure if it was the human part of me or part of the magic, but I couldn’t leave the dog to die. He was a nightmare. He was my nightmare. The only thing here I created. Proof that I was capable. A reminder that I was powerful.

  “Break the walls down,” I ordered him, and his nails ripped through the nearest floorboards in response to my demand. “Escape and find me later.”