Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
It’s a solid fifteen-minute walk from campus to Chase’s apartment in a quiet residential neighborhood. We walk mostly in silence, with Tia shooting me questioning glances every few blocks, and me answering with small, clueless shrugs.
It’s just the three of us since Whistler peeled off before we left campus. Now Chase leads us up narrow wooden stairs along the side of a Victorian house. Apparently, I was wrong about that whole fortress thing.
At the landing, he pauses. “Before we go in, there are things inside that might seem strange. Don’t touch anything without asking first.”
“Weird taxidermy? Shrine to your ex? Actual skeletons?” Tia’s tone is forced lightness.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Nothing that interesting. And I don’t have an ex. Occupational hazard.” His glance flicks to me, and I feel that same sizzle all over again. “The no-touch rule is just a precaution. Some things in there you don’t want to mess with.”
Tia and I both nod.
Inside, it’s a studio apartment—one big open space with exposed beams hung with dried herbs and chimes of silver and iron.
A curved blade sits on the kitchen counter like other people leave their keys, and the windowsills are lined with small glass jars filled with things I can’t identify— and I don’t think I want to.
Something pale and purple in one of the jars seems to move, and I freeze.
Chase chuckles. “Mare venom. It has its uses.”
“Oh.” I turn quickly away to scope out the rest of the place, which, thankfully doesn’t squirm. Minimal furnishings but comfortable. I don’t see a bed, so I figure the sofa doubles as one. Assuming Hunters sleep.
I frown, realizing how little I know about him besides the fact that I trust him. And that, I hope, won’t turn out to be a mistake.
“First things first,” he says, pointing to the ottoman. “Let me see that cut.”
I sit, then pull the handkerchief away, now stained with blood. “Still bleeding?”
He shakes his head. “How’s it feel?”
“Throbbing. But I’ll live.”
“Let’s get it cleaned up.” He retrieves a wooden box filled with bottles and packets. “Hunter first aid,” he explains, selecting a clear vial and gauze. “This might sting a bit.”
“A bit?” I shriek as fire cuts through me. But by the time I see his grimace and shrug, the pain’s gone. “A warning would’ve been nice,” I mutter.
“Fast and over. No time to worry.”
“What was that stuff, anyway?”
“A mix to clean the wound and prevent supernatural infection.” He opens another jar, then spreads a thin, slightly purple salve. I glance at the jar in the window but decide not to ask.
“And now you’re good to go,” he assures me, pressing a bandage over the cut. “Most supernatural injuries don’t scar. Not in this realm, anyway.”
“Oh,” I say, thinking of the scar on his cheek—the one visible only in dreams.
“Better?”
I touch the bandage. “Yeah. Much. Thanks.”
Something warm flickers in his eyes. “Always.” The word feels heavy with meaning. I clear my throat and look around, ignoring Tia’s knowing grin.
The walls are covered with maps, diagrams, and photographs connected by colored strings. “Conspiracy theory chic,” Tia mutters.
I stifle a laugh as Chase removes his jacket, revealing arms covered in black-ink tattoos—symbols and creatures twining across muscle.
Dream Chase has tattoos too, though not identical—and wildly colorful.
“So,” I ask, “it’s you in both realms, right?
You just look a little different? Plus the dragon. ”
“It’s me,” he says after a pause. “Everyone manifests differently in each realm.”
“How am I different?”
His lips curve in an easy grin. “Don’t worry, Cora. You’re lovely in both.”
“Oh.” Heat floods my cheeks. “Nice to know,” I say as Tia flashes me a double thumbs-up behind him.
I drift toward the biggest map—St. Augustine with translucent overlays marked in red and blue. “What’s all this?”
“Places where mares can slip through more easily,” he says.
“The garden at Whitehall?” Tia points to a huge splotch of red.
“A known breach point, and very active. The blue ones are potential doorways.”
I glance over the map. “There’s so much red and blue this map’s almost patriotic.”
“Can’t argue with that. St. Augustine’s full of thin spots. New Orleans comes close.”
I gesture at the newspaper clippings tacked to his wall—and the pile in a basket on the floor. “And these?”
“Incidents. When mares have crossed over and killed—or taken victims back through the veil.”
A chill runs through me as I read about a man who died in his sleep after months of nightmares. “A mare killed him,” I whisper. “Like my mom.”
“Mares usually feed in dreams,” Chase says. “They steal life force. Most stop before death. Some don’t.”
“They take too much,” I finish.
He nods. “Stealing a pinch won’t hurt the human,” Chase says. “But mares aren’t known for self-control. Sometimes it’s hunger. Sometimes it’s the thrill.”
“They’re like humans,” Tia murmurs.
He nods. “The worst of them cross realms. The hunt excites them.”
“Like Vexarin,” I say. “And Hunters kill mares.”
“I hunt what’s necessary,” he says, his eyes on the map, his voice low. “It’s my duty.”
I start to ask how he got saddled with that duty, but Tia speaks first. “Hunter weapons?” she asks with a nod to a glass-topped display case with antique knives and ancient guns.
“Human. I find them fascinating. Thus, the collection.”
Tia catches my eye, then shrugs. “So this Vex critter,” she continues, “it wants to take Cora to the king?”
Chase stiffens. “Yes. To Adric.”
“The Nightmare King,” I whisper, the memory of Adric’s kiss racing through me.
“He rules four of the five realms now.”
“Five?” Tia blurts. “I thought there were just two. Us and the nightmare.”
“Five,” he repeats, holding out his hand for mine. I comply, relishing that familiar little zing of contact.
“The Realm of the Real,” he says. “Ours. The Nightmare Realm—you know that one,” he says to me.
“The Realm of the Others—think dark fairy tale-type denizens. That’s Whistler’s homeland.
Then there’s the Realm of the Unseen—where magic grows.
” His gaze slides to Tia, who straightens as if she’d just been called on in class. “Your bloodline traces from there.”
“Oh,” she says softly as Chase continues. “Finally, there’s the Realm of Retribution—think of it as Tartarus. A prison for those in any of the dream realms who goes bad.”
“Can humans end up there?” Tia asks. “Like, if someone dragged us in?”
“You can pass through it. You cannot be imprisoned in it.” His tone is matter-of-fact, as if this is simply physics.
“Retribution holds dream-realm citizens who have violated dream-realm law. A human is a visitor in all but the Real — the same rules that govern residents don’t apply.
If you died in Retribution, you would go to your own afterlife, same as dying anywhere else. ”
Tia exhales. “Okay. That’s... actually reassuring.”
“Don’t be too reassured,” he says. “It’s still a place you don’t want to go.”
He looks between me and Tia. “The dream world is not the afterlife. It’s not where your soul goes upon death.
Die while in one of the five realms, and you will go to the true afterlife—whether that’s heaven, hell, or something else.
The afterlife is the next step in your soul’s journey.
But the five realms? They all encompass life. ”
“So when people say ‘the dream realm,’” I say slowly, “they mean all four of them. Everything that isn’t the Real.”
“Correct. The Real is the exception. The anomaly, some would say.” His mouth curves slightly.
“The rest are collectively what your myths and nightmares have been reaching toward for as long as humans have slept. It’s the root of every myth, many religions, and dozens of epic tales. And hard for a human to grasp.”
“You’re not human?” I ask.
“I’m not.”
I wait for him to say more, then look to Tia when he doesn’t.
“This is a lot,” she whispers. “Multiple realms. Whistler. Him,” she adds with a wave toward Chase. She grimaces as she meets my eyes. “I’m almost sorry you asked.”
“I’m not,” he says. “You both need to know.” He faces Tia. “You have power, Tia, bound or not. But you are not a Dreamwalker. So you need to decide now if you stay or go.”
“You mean for tonight? Or, like, forever.”
He cocks his head. “Does it make a difference?”
She reaches out and takes my hand.
The tiniest of smiles tugs at the corner of his mouth. My grin is huge.
“The King,” I say, moving with Tia to sit on the sofa when he ushers us that way. “Tell me about Adric. And this Bride who Vex mentioned.”
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Tia asks, nodding toward me. “Cora’s the Bride?”
“She is,” Chase says quietly, turning to me. “A prophecy says the King will find a mate of Imperial blood, and the willing consummation of that union between the King and the Bride will shatter the barriers between realms, letting him enter ours and the other realms with his armies.”
“Imperial blood? That’s not me.”
“It is,” he says. “You’re descended from the Emperor.”
I gape. “Yeah, no. I really don’t think so.” But his certainty makes my skin prickle.
“The barriers are already weakening,” he continues. “With you as Adric’s mate, they’ll fall completely. Chaos will follow.”
“But I can’t be this Bride person.” I hear my voice rising with panic. “That makes no sense at all.”
“There’s no doubt, Cora. It’s you. And my most important job is to make sure he doesn’t get you.”
I shudder. “Vex was going to take me to Adric, wasn’t he?”
Chase doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. I know I’m right.
Tia looks between me and Chase. “So you’re saying she’s what? The Chosen One? The only girl in all the world who can stop hell from breaking out all over?”
“Actually, yes.”
“But that’s crazy,” I say. “Billions of women on this planet—or, excuse me, in this realm. Not to mention how many in the other realms. And yet it all boils down to me? That’s insane.”
“Maybe. But it’s true. Now that your mother is gone, you are the only living descendant of the Emperor.”