Chapter 11
So, Daphne thought idly.
She was the reason for this mess. She was the key to fixing it. She might lose her mind, literally, in the process.
Nice.
Not exactly on her bingo card, but she’d never had a say in all the crap that kept raining on her, anyway.
At her side, Hunter brushed her hair back gently, tucking it behind her ear. You’ll be alright, he told her.
Oh, she would be. Because if, in some obscure way she couldn’t possibly fathom right now, she managed to kill this thing, then yeah, everything would be rainbows and fun.
And if she didn’t? Best case, she’d die trying.
Worst case, she’d go crazy for the rest of her life.
But honestly, that wouldn’t be her problem.
She wouldn’t know the difference at that point.
So sure, she’d be okay. One way or another. But...
She frowned, looked at him. Is there a way to break the bond?
He did not like that question. She felt it before he said a word. Not only through the bond, but also because his hand froze, his jaw started ticking, and the energy tightened. “I don’t know,” he said, clipped and out loud, as if temper was too hot to keep the convo inside. “Why?”
“Because if I turn insane, I don’t want you shackled to me.”
He turned fully toward her, blue eyes flaring bright with fury. “You’re not going insane.”
She pointed toward a very silent Dorian. “But he said–”
“I don’t care what he said. You. Will. Be. Okay. You understand?”
“Yes, and I’m not saying I want it to happen. I just want to make sure that if it does–”
Her very logical explanation got cut off because both Dorian and Hunter froze, like hunting dogs catching the scent of something vile in the wind. They didn’t speak, but whatever they felt, it was big.
Dorian vanished into black fog with a mild, “Stay with her.”
“What? What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Hunter’s voice was tense. “Something in the Dreamscape.”
A low, wrong sound bloomed from outside, an echoing wail that didn’t belong to any living thing. Another one. Closer. They both turned toward the windows. “Is it me,” she asked, “or did that sound wilder?”
“Whatever happened in the Dreamscape,” he said, eyes still on the shadows shifting outside, “it won’t translate to anything good down here.” He reached for her hand and stood. “Come on. You need food. Strength.”
He dragged her to the kitchen and their half-made sandwiches, then began layering cheese with the intensity of a man preparing for war.
Leave it to him to think about food now.
But he wasn’t wrong. She’d only had breakfast and a couple of ibuprofens, and that was not how armies fueled up for battle.
Assuming there was going to be a battle.
And that she was going to be part of it. So she ate. Fast.
She was halfway through it when Dorian materialized in the kitchen, and just one look at his face made her stomach lock tight again. Not a bringing-good-news face.
Dorian stormed to the island, his beautiful face a mask of fury, raw power rolling off him like black waves. And no matter that she was not the focus of his temper, that he’d always been nice to her, fear rippled through her skin. He was nightmare and terror incarnate.
He’s very dramatic, Hunter threw over the bond, chewing on the last of the sandwich. He has reasons. But he’s also very dramatic. Then, as if the most terrifying being wasn’t pacing furiously in front of them, Hunter leaned on the counter and asked, “I guess deep shit?”
His question seemed to snap Dorian out of whatever storm he was in because he stopped and fixed the knot of his tie. When he turned around, he was tense, but not homicidal. “There was an existential breach. I put the Dreamverse on internal lockdown.”
Hunter swore as Dorian continued. “We must get to Lachlan and find a way to protect the town from the worst of it. I’ll see you there. And Hunter?” Dorian said, glancing at her. “Be careful.”
They didn’t waste a second. Within minutes, they were in Daphne’s car, the normally placid road where traffic was barely a thing now stretching out like a dare.
All the questions she had, and they were plenty, dried on her mouth because reality didn’t look different, but definitely felt wrong.
She clutched her seatbelt a little tighter, narrowed her eyes. “Is that fog moving against the wind?”
“Yep, and it’s not weather.” He flipped the headlights on high. “Ten bucks says it’s sentient to an extent.”
“Of course it is,” she muttered.
The further they drove, the more the world fractured.
One mailbox sagged sideways, its door wide open and stuffed with black feathers.
On the side of the road, a deer turned to look at them.
Definitely the most normal thing of her day.
Deer were always around in Mystic Hollow and–nope.
Not normal. The cute little deer opened its mouth, and a nest of black, glistening centipedes squirmed where a tongue should’ve been.
Something wet and spidery skittered backward on top of that twisting knot and down its throat.
“Is this how nightmares are?” she whispered.
“This is the scenic route. You have no idea what a perverse human mind can cook up when no one’s watching.”
They passed the deer and veered toward downtown.
There was a lull in the creepiness, nothing crazy as far as she could see.
Not that she put too much effort into it.
Keeping her eyes closed was actually very enticing, but she was a capable adult who’d seen her own horrors, and she would act accordingly.
“What does it mean?” she asked. “The existential breach?”
Hunter’s jaw ticked. “The Dreamscape runs on structure. Dream logic, spatial rules, containment. So much containment. That structure is failing, and when the rules stop working, everything starts to break from the inside.”
“Okay. So... what? Nightmares come out? Don’t the Dream Devils run the show? Why can’t they clear it up?”
“They can’t clear it up because there’s nothing to clear.
” Frustration added a sharp edge to his voice.
“The rule system, the structure–it’s not just broken.
It’s gone.” He looked at her unflinchingly, like he was right at home in this terrifying mess but still hated it.
“The Dream Devils work inside the system. But when the system collapses, they’ve got jack shit to work with.
The Devils, the Shadow Keepers... It’s like asking firefighters to put out a blaze that burns even though it’s not real.
” His voice dropped lower. “This isn’t about containing a nightmare, or a manifestation gone rogue.
This is about the Dreamscape not holding itself together. ”
They passed the post office and turned onto the road that led out of downtown, heading toward Lachlan’s.
A woman appeared on the road, walking barefoot in a nightgown, arms limp at her sides. She stopped in the middle of their lane. Her eyes were rolled back white, her lips twitching. The air rippled around her like cold heatwaves.
“Is she real?”
“Yes.”
Hunter slowed down and swerved around her with a muttered curse.
“That lady might be real, but she’s not okay, not one bit. The Dreamscape breaking is why people are losing their minds. Her, all the others from this afternoon.”
“Yes. Dreamers start losing connection to their real-world self. They forget who they are or rewrite their identities based on nightmare logic, and nightmares start manifesting. Think voices or physical symptoms from nightmare injuries. Devils can lose track of time, get stuck in a looping dream-state.”
Daphne had nothing to say to that. The sandwich rolled in her coiled stomach, and her breath came in short and hard.
And when a tall, twisted figure flashed in the rearview mirror, standing exactly where the woman had been, she didn’t scream. She swallowed and reached for his hand. He squeezed it, gave her one of his swaggering smiles.
And even in the middle of this waking nightmare, it was the safest thing she’d ever felt.
When they finally pulled up in front of the Mayor’s home, a couple of cars were parked askew on the sidewalk in front of his house.
Hunter maneuvered the car into the closest spot he could find, pulling in close.
He didn’t ring the bell or knock; he simply pushed the door open, his hand never leaving hers, and stepped inside.
They walked right into a chaos of voices, noise, and people.
It was six of them, but it felt like more in the homey living room.
There was purpose in it, though, a current of focused urgency that pushed back against the chaos.
Elbows brushed the backs of chairs. Someone’s boot tapped the floor in time with a ticking clock.
Magic buzzed against the walls, thick and impossible to ignore. It made perfect sense. This room held the most powerful beings not only of Mystic Hollow. The air felt heavy by it to the point of being uncomfortable.
Two small clusters of people had formed.
The smaller group by the fireplace was made by Harper’s husband, Nick, who towered over Jade, a petite, glowing nymph whose rainbow dragonfly wings buzzed in distress.
In the group at the table, she recognized Melisandre, the town doctor and Magistra of the covenant. Aryon and Elara, the Lord and Lady of the elves. And Lachlan. They poured over a map she guessed was Mystic Hollow.
She? She was just Daphne. Human. The reason why all these people looked like they needed a vacation and some anxiety meds.
And for a heartbeat, she wished she could fold into the wall. Maybe fake a phone call and ghost out in the back.
The thought screeched like nails on a chalkboard.
Was she overwhelmed? Yes. Was this her fault? Also yes.
And she could shrink, sure. She could hide somewhere and pray no one noticed the human-shaped liability in the room.
Or she could do what she always did when the world went sideways: square her shoulders, shut up the spiral in her head, and handle it.