Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
The mirror room beneath the bookstore feels different tonight.
Last time, candles provided gentle illumination, their flames dancing across the mirrored walls.
Tonight, the candles burn with a steadier, more purposeful flame—and there are at least twice as many, positioned in deliberate clusters around the perimeter.
Protective circles have been drawn on the floor in what looks like salt mixed with silver glitter, creating concentric rings that weren’t here before.
Bundles of dried herbs hang from hooks I don’t remember seeing—some I recognize from the garden, others that are totally unfamiliar… and very pungent.
Small bowls filled with flecks of metal and crystals are positioned around the circle, and Mr. Griffin is still working, chalking symbols onto some of the mirrors themselves—careful, deliberate strokes that seem to shimmer in the candlelight.
It’s all very impressive—and I have no idea what any of this stuff actually does. “Planning to perform an exorcism?” I try to keep my voice light, but seriously, this isn’t a room that suggests smooth sailing. This room is ready for battle.
“More like building a fortress,” Tia says, meeting my eyes before turning to Chase, her head cocked and her foot tapping. “This room has more protective wards and magicky stuff than the Magic Box on Aviles Street. So why wasn’t all this here yesterday?”
“Yesterday, Cora was wading into the ocean. Today she’s diving into the abyss.” Chase shoots me a sideways glance. “Consider all this your suit and tank and fins.”
“Please tell me you aren’t expecting sharks,” I say.
He flashes me a half-grin. “Not expecting. But I’d rather be overprepared where your safety is concerned.” His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, all the candles and mirrors and gizmos melt away.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I like the sound of that.”
“You’re going deep tonight,” he says, taking my hand and twining our fingers. “Past the threshold space, and into the actual Nightmare Realm. And Cora, I swear I will keep you safe.” His eyes lock with mine, his intensity cutting through me in a way that makes me wish we were alone.
“I know,” I whisper, as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.
For a moment, we just look at each other, and when he finally releases my hand, I feel the loss of that connection deep in my soul.
Across the room, Tia shifts nervously by the wall. “Define safe in this context, because this whole setup is still freaking me out.”
“The goal is controlled navigation,” Whistler says, looking up from a handheld slate on which he’s chalked all sorts of freaky symbols. Last night, Chase told me Whistler’s over three hundred years old by this realm’s count, but apparently that’s barely middle age where he comes from.
Sometime soon, I want to ask Whistler about his home realm.
About what it’s like and why he’s here instead of there.
Chase told me he’s here for the fight, and I believe that, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s another reason, too.
Something that makes the fight as personal for him as it is for me.
“We’ll guide Cora to a specific location—a neutral zone,” Whistler continues, turning his attention to me. “That’s where you can practice realm manipulation without encountering hostile beasties.”
“Neutral zone?” I bite back a smile, thinking of Mom’s old Star Trek DVDs.
“A practice arena,” Griffin says, moving to light additional candles around the perimeter. “A space that exists between territories, claimed by no particular power. Safer for training purposes.”
“What makes it safer?”
“Nothing wants it,” Chase says bluntly. “It’s barren, empty. No emotional energy to feed on, no dreamers to corrupt. Boring, from a nightmare creature’s perspective.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.” I glance around the room. “It’s like the threshold space, right? So why all the monitoring?”
“Because it’s not a threshold,” Chase explains. “It’s in the Nightmare Realm. A place we can safely use for training.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tia says. “You’re dumping her in the actual Nightmare Realm? Why not one of the other realms?”
Chase cocks his head. “And which would you suggest? A world full of magic she can’t manipulate? Fairy tale-type creatures who may well try to bake her into a pie? Or perhaps the dreamscape’s version of hell?”
“Yeah, but hello? It’s still my ass in the Nightmare Realm.”
“Is and is not,” Chase corrects, his focus back on me.
“You can change the Neutral Zone—make it beautiful, even build a city. But it won’t stay.
Once you leave, it falls back into dust. Which makes it undesirable for anyone looking to put down roots.
That’s why Adric’s never built anything there. It doesn’t last.”
I nod, idly spinning my ring as I try to wrap my head around it. “Bottom line—I’m going to be alone in some barren wasteland. Right?”
“That’s the plan. And if someone else does pop in, we’re prepared to pull you out in an instant.”
At his words, I think of Adric, and my mouth goes dry. Not because I’m afraid he’ll be there. But because some traitorous part of me hopes he will.
“Cora?”
“Right,” I say quickly. “I get it. I’m heading to a sketchy abandoned neighborhood and hoping the mean kids don’t come back to play.” I manage a casual shrug, hoping I sound breezily confident and not stupidly scared.
The truth is, while I’m terrified at what I might face, I’m also beyond excited and ready to get going. I’ve seen what exists in that realm. I’ve watched Chase pull a sword from the sky. There’s power there, and control.
And the idea that I’m finally about to get a full taste of those things I’ve always had so little of— Well, right now I feel like a starving kitten finally being released to pounce on a bowl of cream.
“Stay aware,” Chase says, squatting in front of the cushion where I’ve settled. “And if you feel yourself losing control, just follow the anchor line back.”
“Anchor line?”
He trails his fingertips over my bare arm, and I have to stifle a moan from the sizzling heat his touch always brings. “I’m your anchor line,” he says, his voice low and firm, managing to be both businesslike and seductive.
Griffin clears his throat, and Chase and I share a grin. “Got it,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, “you’ve got this. And we’ve got your back too.”
“And there’s no way I can get lost in there?”
“You won’t. And Hunter training includes techniques for tracking and retrieving lost Dreamwalkers. Though I’ve never—”
“Never what?”
“Never had to retrieve someone I…”
He trails off, but his eyes never leave mine, and I feel a pleasant warmth in my belly. “I trust you,” I whisper.
“So are we gonna get this show on the road?” Whistler asks. “Or do we need a few more minutes for puppy dog eyes?”
Chase grins. “You ready?”
I nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. And when you feel that first layer of consciousness dropping away, don’t stop this time. Keep going deeper.”
I follow his instructions, feeling that odd sensation of weightlessness as my awareness shifts.
In my mind, the candlelit room fades, replaced by the silvery glow of the threshold space.
But instead of stopping there, I continue descending, sinking through layers of reality like falling through water.
It’s remarkably easy, as if I’ve been doing this all my life. And the sensation is both exhilarating and terrifying. Each level down feels more removed from my physical body, more immersed in pure consciousness. A bit like dreaming on the sand monster beach, but with more intention.
By the time Chase’s voice urges me to anchor myself, I’m in the middle of a vast gray plain that seems to stretch endlessly in all directions.
“I’m here,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m speaking aloud or just thinking the words.
“Good,” Chase’s voice comes from nowhere and everywhere, like an echo inside my head. “You’re in the Neutral Zone. What do you think?”
“Not much to write home about.” The landscape is gray and stark. The sky is a washed-out smudge, neither light nor dark. It’s like standing inside an unfinished sketch. And one that holds very little promise of evolving into a Monet-like masterpiece.
“This place won’t ever top my vacation list,” I add. “I mean, honestly, I prefer our beach. Even with the freaky sand monsters.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough. But if you don’t like it, why don’t you change it?”
“Right,” I say. “Because I can totally do that.”
“You can.” His voice is firm. “Remember, in the dream realm, belief shapes reality. But don’t be discouraged if you can’t do it right away.
Some truly exceptional Dreamwalkers took five, maybe even ten trips into this space before they mastered the most basic control.
And I haven’t met a Dreamwalker yet who can do more than raise a few flowers on their first incursion. ”
“Right. So, when you said no pressure, you meant it.” What I don’t say is that I fully intend to blow away that competition.
I focus on a spot about ten feet away, imagining a flower growing from the gray ground. For a moment, nothing happens. Then a single red rose struggles up through the colorless earth, its petals bright and impossibly vivid against the drab landscape.
I stare at it, both awed that I did that, and at the same time, not. Because why be awed by something as simple as breathing? It’s just something I can do. Like picking up a pencil or putting on socks. Something easy. Almost mindless.
“Excellent,” Chase says. “How’s your energy? Feeling drained?”
I consider the question seriously, then shake my head before realizing I’m only shaking it in my mind. “Not drained at all.” In fact, I feel the opposite. I feel invigorated. But I don’t tell Chase that.
I’m not sure why I stay silent. Or maybe I do. Because I’m odd. This power—it’s not typical at all. More than that, it’s strong. A few roses? That’s a parlor trick. I could raise a castle if I wanted to.