Chapter 3
Chapter three
The dreams always started the same.
Tonight was no different.
Bridget walked around the palace in Cavamyne.
Not the ruined husk she remembered, but something whole, untouched by time or war.
Grand and resplendent, it gleamed like a memory too perfect to be real.
Crystal chandeliers bathed the halls in golden light.
The air shimmered with the scent of jasmine and rosewater.
Gilded mirrors lined the corridors, and floor-to-ceiling windows revealed endless rolling hills bathed in sunlight, the sky impossibly blue, as if painted by magic.
There were two reasons she knew it was a dream. First, she had never actually seen or heard what the old Tuathan palace used to look like. Second, she was alone.
Most of the time.
Bridget always found the girl in the same place.
The grand ballroom. It was the largest room in the palace, its golden marble floors stretching so far they seemed to vanish into haze.
A crystal chandelier, larger than any Bridget had ever seen, refracted light into dancing rainbows across the vaulted ceiling.
Tonight, the girl stood in front of one of the arched windows.
She turned as Bridget approached her. With black hair and blue eyes, and a pale purple dress that was large, lacey, and made of silk, the girl never spoke.
Instead, she usually hummed a song under her breath or pointed at random things every time Bridget tried to talk to her.
Eventually, she stopped trying and kept following the strange girl around the palace until the whole place caught on fire and she woke up.
A shiver went down Bridget’s spine thinking of what was to come. When she made it to the girl’s side, she gazed out the window. Her stomach twisted. The gate. She hadn’t come across it in any of her dreams yet. It leered ominously. If she squinted, she would swear a blood stain dripped across it.
“Don’t you hate this room? I know I do.”
Bridget whipped her head around. “Excuse me?”
It was strange to hear the girl’s voice after so many dreams. Bridget couldn’t stop her mouth from falling open. She’d never spoken… and now her brain decided to have the girl talk to her about the ballroom?
The girl looked amused. “You’re having trouble remembering.”
“I remember perfectly fine,” Bridget replied automatically. A lick of panic shot up her spine. She would wake up and remember her life. She always did.
“You’re having trouble remembering the right words,” the girl reiterated.
Bridget’s anxiety quelled. The girl wasn’t talking about memories or curses, but spells. Spells couldn’t harm her in her dreams. But her obsession with finding any scrap of information about magic and Elyria was now fueling her subconscious. She sighed. “I’ve been told to let it go.”
The girl frowned. “By who?”
Tilting her head, Bridget paused. This was her dream… didn’t she already know who? “Archer,” she said.
“Since when have you ever listened to a Warlock?” The girl laughed.
But Bridget didn’t. The light outside had disappeared, darkening the ballroom a shade. Something wasn’t right. Slamming her eyes shut, Bridget took a step back. She wanted to wake up.
“I’ll help,” the girl said.
Before Bridget could stop her, a spell fell from the girl’s lips. The ancient language pierced her heart and conjured a swirling dread she couldn’t fight. It poked at a memory in her mind she couldn’t quite grasp. All she knew was that she needed to get away. To wake up.
Now.
Air billowed around her, threatening to thrust her into a growing whirlpool by her feet.
“Stop,” Bridget ordered, almost falling into the swirling hole.
The girl ignored her. She repeated the phrase again. The wind grew harder and Bridget tried to scramble away.
“Stop!”
Gasping, Bridget accidentally launched herself to the floor, still fleeing from the whirlpool.
The hard, cold wood floor brought her back to her senses.
She was awake. She was in her room. Safe.
For the time being, at least. Bridget sat up and pulled out the notebook she hid under her bed.
Despite the alarm that still rattled her bones, Bridget wrote down the spell that girl had repeated.
And everything else from the dream. She always did. Just in case.
Once she was done, she flipped through the rest of the notebook.
Her Elyrian notebook, she secretly called it.
After she’d been released from the hospital, she started writing down everything.
That way, if her memories were ever stolen again, she could have a reminder.
At night, when she couldn’t sleep, she wrote down every fact Cora had ever told her.
During the day, she recorded every memory she could of the tournament.
And then there were the Cade pages. His were the most detailed.
She wouldn’t let herself forget him. Not again.
When a noise from Nylah’s room echoed through the dark house, Bridget stuffed the notebook back under the bed. She checked her phone. It was 6:00 a.m., which meant everyone would be up soon anyway. Bridget heaved herself off the floor and meandered into the kitchen. Coffee first. Then pancakes.
When Nylah finally tumbled into the kitchen, too full of energy appropriate for a Wednesday morning, in Bridget’s opinion, smoke lingered in the air.
She didn’t know it was possible to burn pancakes, but somehow, she had.
Luckily, her little sister didn’t complain and doused a pound of syrup on each one.
As she ate, Bridget watched Nylah closely, trying to find any hint that she was angry or disappointed in her for missing the performance, even though she claimed not to be. But her sister seemed like her usual, bubbly self.
“You’ll be there to pick me up today, right?” Nylah asked, zipping up her backup.
Bridget nodded and grabbed Nylah’s puffy leopard print coat. “Of course. School is over at... 5:30?”
Nylah paused before giving her a droll look. “You’re not funny.”
There it was. The hesitation Bridget had been looking for.
She had only picked up Nylah at school a few times, and each time, she had been late.
But she was turning over a new leaf. No more obsessing about being ready for Shamans or Witches.
She was going to give Nylah her full attention and be the stable, sane, loving older sister that she deserved. “I’ll be there,” Bridget promised.
“What are you doing today?” Nylah asked.
Bridget shrugged. “Just running some errands.”
The second Nylah ran into the restroom to check her hair one last time, Archer sat up on the couch and narrowed his eyes at her. “Lie,” he mouthed.
Bridget’s cheeks heated. “Just one more time, I promise,” she whispered.
After cutting her hair, she had promised Archer she was done visiting the gate.
But it was the closest she could get to Cade and she needed to say goodbye…
at least for now. Her heart and head still couldn’t process a definite ending.
Archer was about to say something else, but he stopped when Nylah walked back into the living room. “I like that you cut your hair. It suits you,” she told Bridget. “The white was a little too tortured goth for me.”
Bridget absentmindedly messed with the ends that barely reached her shoulder. She hadn’t worn her hair so short since the fifth grade, but she was happy to be rid of the white. “I’m glad you think so, but seriously, if you don’t leave now, you’re going to be late.”
Nylah jumped forward and wrapped her arms around her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Bridget said, before something hard sent a pain through her hip.
She pulled away from Nylah and reached into her sister’s coat pocket.
Her heart stopped when she pulled out the black rock she hadn’t seen since the day Archer had taken her to Elyria.
It still gleamed like a rainbow in the light, but in her hand, she could see the lines and crevices that told her it wasn’t a real stone, but a crystal.
Coldness radiated off every inch and stung her palms. Bridget swallowed hard. “You still have this thing?”
“Of course,” Nylah said, demeanor serious as she carefully placed the stone back in her pocket. “I made a promise. I’ll see you later.”
Seconds later, she was gone. Bridget stared at the closed door, unable to move or breathe.
It was a rune. It had to be. There was no other reason for Cade to have a random rock.
She knew that now. But why give it to Nylah?
Why have it all? She wanted to voice her suspicion to Archer, but she had just promised to try to move on.
She would just have to keep an eye on it, and only mention it if something weird happened.
Bridget turned and found Archer watching her carefully. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth.
“The haircut says otherwise. Isn’t a drastic change to your appearance supposed to be some sort of a call for help?”
“Lay off the self-help books. I barely cut off a few inches,” Bridget replied, glaring at him.
Archer clicked his tongue. “And you’re trying to take us down with you, judging by your attempt at breakfast.”
Before she left, Bridget threw an extra burnt pancake at him.
The hour-long bus ride to the forest straddling the Massachusetts–New Hampshire border was one Bridget knew by heart.
She made the trip several times a week. After her release from the hospital, she’d finally convinced Archer to show her the hidden gate back to Astraeus.
Since then, she had made it a habit to visit and watch the gate weekly for any sign that someone was going in or out.
So far, the gate remained still and lifeless.
Each time she visited, she kept her distance. At first, she’d been afraid a Shaman would appear out of nowhere and shove her through, leaving Nylah alone again. If Finn, Delphine, or Castor ever showed themselves, then she would step out of hiding.