Chapter 3 Eryx
Eryx
Irub my hand, feeling the last traces of her magic on my skin before it vanishes—magic that grabbed me by the throat and then made flowers. I’ve no idea what kind of spell that was, but it’s bound to her blood.
Ooh, takes one to know one, does it?
I scoff.
Nightmare, of course, has more thoughts on the woman. I bet her blood tastes sweet. Don’t you think? Maybe like honeysuckles? Or perhaps like sugar itself. Ahhh, she smelled sweet. Do you think she braids her hair? Would she let me braid it?
Don’t be ridiculous.
You’re right. It thinks for a moment. She seems more like the chignon type.
I sigh, loudly, and step out onto the path as I get a whiff of her perfume—vanilla and something else. I can’t quite place it.
Morning dew, Nightmare says.
That is not morning dew.
And how would you know? Do you go around smelling grass in the wee hours?
I drag my fingers through my hair. What is wrong with you? Don’t you want to get back to death and destruction?
There’s a long pause before it says, Maybe I’ll take a break.
My knees go weak, and I grab hold of the bush to keep from falling, but the damn thing pokes me in the eye, so I break the branch and toss it to the ground.
Fury streams through my veins as I spit out, Five minutes ago all you wanted was revenge and now all you can think about is braiding that woman’s hair.
Very quietly it replies, You want to braid it, too.
No, I don’t.
Yes, you do. You’re looking for her.
I am not.
Then why are you staring off in the direction she just walked?
Because I…I’m curious, is all.
Is that right?
Yes. I have a right to be curious. We could have killed her with that spell.
It sighs. And what a waste of perfect breasts that would have been.
I know.
Aha! I knew you liked her.
My words come out clipped, like I’m talking between chewing up nails. Let’s get one thing straight—I don’t have time for romance or whatever she might bring into my life, and neither do you.
Ugh! I’m so stupid.
A small smile flits across my lips. This is more like it. This is better. This isn’t strange blood-bound magic that wound around my wrist and intrigued me. This isn’t a woman wearing sparkly sneakers.
My God. She wore sparkles like she’s a damn pixie.
She pulled it off, too.
See?
I think, Exactly. We don’t have time.
Yes, I’m so stupid, it repeats. We didn’t get her number.
Wait. What?
Admit it, you felt an urge with that woman. She was like sunshine and rainbows. Rainbows…damn. You don’t even know where she lives, so we can’t visit her in her dreams.
And that’s when it hits me. Nightmare is smitten. Not just smitten, enchanted, and is not talking about murder and revenge.
For the first time in years.
My body feels light, like how I felt before Nightmare sank its claws into me and bound itself to my body. I look down at my hand and flex it.
Wait. Focus.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. The woman in that house—my father's killer. The whole reason I'm here. And I just—I just let myself get distracted by a blonde in sparkly shoes.
We need to restart. Finish what we started.
Nightmare doesn't respond.
The target. Remember?
Silence.
Answer me.
Finally Nightmare speaks, but its voice is distracted. Disinterested. We can’t attack the house. We’ve been threatened with magic wardens. And they will sense our curse.
I scoff. I don’t care about magic wardens.
Yes, you do.
I grind my teeth together. Maybe I do. Fine. Find the target and we’ll face her.
I can’t.
What do you mean you can't?
Her scent. It's gone. Vanished from the dreamscape. Like she stepped outside the dark.
Ice shoots through my veins. That's impossible. You've been tracking her for months.
I know. But the moment that woman showed up—the one with the sparkly shoes—do you think she has them in other colors? When I don’t answer, it says, The tracking thread severed. I can't feel the target anymore. Can't sense where she's hiding.
I clench my teeth so hard I taste copper. She felt the attack. She knows I'm here.
Probably, Nightmare agrees, still sounding far too cheerful for the situation. But don't worry. We'll find her eventually. Right now, though, we need to find cookie girl.
A decade of planning. Hunting. Waiting. And now, when I'm finally close—
You're thinking about her again, aren't you? Nightmare interrupts.
No.
Liar. You want to braid her hair as much as I do.
I drag my hands down my face. This can't be happening. We were so close.
We still are, Nightmare says. Just to a different goal now.
My body goes numb. The blonde woman’s touch. Her presence. Nightmare isn’t demanding blood. No whispers. No urging. No hunger clawing at my thoughts.
I draw a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
My God.
You’ve got to find her. Get her name. Why aren’t you moving…
As Nightmare prattles off, something inside my chest shifts. It isn’t rage. It isn’t hunger.
It’s peace.
And I’m such an idiot. I didn’t get her name.
That’s what I’ve been telling you, it snarls.
Wait. She was going to the bakery.
Run, you moron. Run and find her.
My heartbeat thunders in my chest as I stride down the street, reach the bakery and yank open the door. “Where is she?” I demand.
Two people sitting at a table and a woman behind the cash register stare at me blankly.
The woman in red sneakers is nowhere to be found. “Oh, um, sorry. Wrong bakery.”
I shut the door and slink back outside. My shoulders slump. She’s gone.
That’s when Nightmare pipes up. Not if I have anything to say about it.