The Imaginary Friend’s Obsession (Monster Research Facility #3)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I t’s easy to find Ezra. All we have to do is follow the trail of bodies.

Security guards lie in contorted positions in the hallways of the MRF, limbs bent in impossible positions, spines and necks broken, eyes frozen wide open.

One of them is still alive—barely. He’s clawing at his own face, whimpering, leaving bloody rivets in his own skin. I crouch down beside him, touching a finger to his forehead.

“Sleep,” I whisper, and he goes limp.

I sigh, straightening. Thank God only the skeleton night shift crew was here, or the damage could’ve been much worse. Still, it is terrible. And a terrifying amount of power.

Dorian is a comforting presence beside me, his gloved fingers brushing against mine as we walk. With each touch, power zaps through my body. With my memories back and him at my side, I’m at my full potential…but will it be enough?

I have no idea what Godric is capable of with Ezra’s body. And if I win by locking the demon away in my mind like last time, I will lose Dorian all over again. I won’t do that.

One way or another, Dorian and I will end this together, as it always should’ve been.

I feel Ezra’s presence before I see him. Power radiates off him, an invisible miasma that leaves my skin prickling with unease. All of my senses scream to run, but I refuse. Not this time . I force myself to keep moving, even though terror thickens the air. It crawls over me like the legs of a thousand bugs scritch-scratching at my skin. I taste copper on the back of my tongue and hear the drum of my heartbeat in my ears.

Then I round the corner and he’s there.

Ezra stands with his head tilted at an odd angle, his fingers rigid and contorted at his sides. He is covered in blood from head to toe, and when he turns at the sound of our footsteps, his eyes are black. He grins, and it’s horrible, lips stretching until it looks painful, every tooth on display. There’s blood on them, too.

“Daisy,” he says, and it’s not Ezra’s voice at all. It’s Godric, and it makes every hair on my body stand at attention. The red emergency lights buzz, brighter and then dimmer. “Look at you, little rabbit. No longer on the run.” He shakes his head from side to side in jerky, violent motions that I fear will snap Ezra’s neck. “But don’t you know? Running is the only way that prey survives.”

I remember seeing my mother bleeding on the floor. Hearing an axe burying itself in my father’s skull. A dozen times hiding under my bed with my hands clasped over my mouth and tears streaming down my face. Don’t look at him, don’t even think about him . I’m breaking all of the rules that kept me safe for so long. But I’d rather die fighting than live in fear for a day longer.

And I am not alone. Dorian’s presence reminds me of that. He steps up beside me, one hand resting on my lower back. We face Godric together, neither of us hiding. We’re strongest together. Always have been.

Godric laughs, the shoulders of Ezra’s body twitching like an unhinged marionette. He points one finger at me.

I try to speak but choke on nothing. Try to lift a foot, but it refuses to obey. I’m frozen in place, able only to move my eyes, which flick frantically.

Ezra lifts two fingers and slowly aims them toward Dorian.

“Bang,” he says.

Blood erupts from Dorian’s chest.

He presses a gloved hand to the wound, and his fingers come away coated in red—but before I can scream, the blood turns to roses, a bouquet held out in his hand. He tosses the handful of flowers at Ezra, and it bursts into flame.

Ezra stumbles back, coughing, and I lurch forward, released from stasis. I rush through the smoke, but a flick of Ezra’s wrist sends me hurtling down the hallway. Another, and Dorian lifts off the floor and slams into the ceiling.

But the moment he touches it, bony appendages burst from his back, and suddenly he’s a spider crawling across the ceiling upside down. He drops on top of Ezra, knocking him to the floor.

Ezra raises a hand, and Dorian flies back again. But he lands on his feet, shoes skidding across the tile before he comes to a stop, none the worse for wear. Ezra snarls a curse and slices a hand through the air, and Dorian’s mask cracks in half.

Dorian reaches up to cover his face with two gloved hands. But just as Ezra grins in triumph and steps forward, Dorian drops his hand and looks up again; the cracked porcelain drops to the floor and shatters, revealing another, identical mask waiting beneath. He launches himself at Ezra again, a dozen hands bursting out of his sides and reaching to grab at him.

Dorian is ever in motion, ever-changing, limited only by our combined imaginations. He is the most beautiful chaos. It feels like I’m finally getting a glimpse of what he should’ve always been, unrestricted by his cell or my childhood home or my own failure of imagination. He’s finally free.

And his chaos is also the perfect distraction. I creep closer along the edge of the hallway, unnoticed as Ezra remains occupied by Dorian’s constant, shifting blitz of attacks. He doesn’t seem to notice that Dorian isn’t really trying to hurt him, knowing it would hurt Ezra too. Nor does he notice me approaching until I’m just a yard away. When Dorian falls back, Ezra finally whirls to face me, one hand raised.

The tension on his face melts to annoyance when he sees me.

“Ah,” he says, dripping condescension. “You.”

“Yes. Me.”

I grab his face with both hands. I feel that same spark I always do whenever I touch Ezra. The two of us are connected, and he is still in there, fighting.

I shut my eyes and reach into his mind. I picture a hand reaching out, and I feel Ezra’s fingers close around mine. But instead of pulling him out of the darkness, I step into it with him.

The last thing I hear is Dorian shouting my name before the world falls away.