Chapter 6
I found my willow tree intermingled among thorny brush, a well-concealed yet painful hiding spot.
Without hesitation, I dove beneath its opalescent branches and peered through the gaps in the bushes.
After a good scour, my tensed shoulders relaxed.
The beast appeared to be nowhere in sight, and the ground beneath remained firm. Everything seemed peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Muddled footsteps ripped my attention to the tree line behind, the heavy clomp growing louder by the second, and I prepared for slivered teeth and slashing claws. My muscles constricted as I inched closer, pushing the willow’s limbs aside enough for a better look.
The hell … To my confusion, it wasn’t the beast who emerged, but a woman. Her dainty frame sharpened as she drew closer. Gentle wrinkles trailed along her face, gray patches in her curly black hair. I knew that face … My trembling fingers brushed across my button nose—a mirror image of the woman’s.
My birth mother.
She spun about, frantic. One final look over her shoulder and she darted up the nearest embankment, feet clomping through black thistle flowers dancing toward the violet sky. I took off after her, reason be damned.
Soggy leaves sloshed below as I wound through crooked trees to keep up with her.
Was she running to or from something? If it was the latter, I shivered to think.
My gut soured as I hopped over a fallen tree trunk, rot stinging my nose.
Then, her frantic steps ceased all at once, toes paused at a meadow’s edge ahead.
Her eyes locked onto a forbidding tower built of smooth river rocks, and she took a second before braving the open field.
With its partially crumbled base and dark windows, I wondered what business she could possibly have within those walls.
My eyes flicked about. I’d never seen this place.
Not once, unlike so many other places I frequently revisited in my dreams. I gave the scene one more glance but followed close—my birth mother’s panicked face showing no sign she was able to see me—and watched as she began to fiddle with the ivy at the crooked tower’s base.
The vines parted at her touch, and a slender door presented itself. I followed, hot on her heels.
My pupils fought to adjust in the darkness.
What was this place? Moss wet with morning dew enveloped a steep spiral staircase.
Ominous. Regardless of the low light and perilous climb, my mother collected her skirt in hand and started her ascent.
My focus drifted up the tower. Those stairs, they seemed unending, like they led clear up to the cosmos itself.
But looks could be deceiving, especially in my dreamscape.
She pressed on ahead. And if she persisted, then so would I.
Upon the tower’s top landing, she didn’t bother to regain her breath.
Instead, she slipped a hand into her coat pocket and retrieved a package wrapped in parchment no larger than her palm.
I watched in anticipation as she peeled back the corners, her posture rigid.
Had she come here specifically for that?
What could be important enough that she needed some tower in the middle of nowhere to open it?
A ridiculous thought. It was a dream, one of my own creation.
As the paper began to fall away, a loud slam echoed up the stairs. I ran to the landing’s edge and searched the shadows below. Heat swept across my chest, my hands clenching at my sides. Shit. The beast. I swirled around to find my mother in a frenzy as she trudged about the room.
Hide. We had to hide!
A collection of oversized, woven baskets in the corner caught my eye. They’d have to do. I tore off toward them, but—being the hot mess I was—the first basket toppled over at my touch. To my surprise, my mother’s head tilted, her eyes narrowed on the basket at my feet. Wait, had—had she seen that?
She shook her head, mimicking my next action—once again oblivious to my presence, it seemed—and together, we hopped into the farthest baskets.
As I lifted to pull the lid down above my head, a stray piece of wicker caught my brow, a sting in its wake.
“Ah …” My breath grew shallow. Silence tangled in my ears.
We waited. And waited. When the beast never cleared the stairs, my mother lifted from her hideout.
No, don’t, I almost screamed, but she wouldn’t hear me anyway.
And giving my position up to the beast who undoubtedly still lingered nearby?
Not an option. So I swallowed my words. In a burst of muscle and teeth, the beast rushed over the top stair, taking her to the ground as if she were little more than a twig he could snap.
“Where is it, woman?” The creature seethed, knee pressed to her chest. “Return to me what is mine!”
She leaned forward, defiance in her mute stare.
“Tell me where it is!”
“Never,” she forced through clenched teeth.
One quick move and the beast’s fist collided with her stomach, the deep thud bouncing off the rock walls.
I bit my cheek, a stifled scream caught in my throat.
Just a dream. It’s just a dream. The beast landed another blow, and she lurched with a cry.
Muscles strained, he lifted her into the open air above him, the motion flashing me back to my most recent nightmare.
The one in which my only salvation had been a strange, white wisp.
The creature released an agitated snarl. “If you do not return it to me, I will—”
A bloody mouthful of spit flung from my mother’s lips and splattered across the beast’s face.
The vein in its forehead pulsed as its free hand thrust through the air, landing square on her jaw this time. “Fine! If you won’t give it to me, I’ll just take it! It has to be here somewhere.”
It dug around inside her jacket, its boney hand returning empty. I smiled. She must have stashed it in the basket beforehand. Clever move. Whatever was in that package had to be special, something worth dying for. But what? What was my stupid, messed-up subconscious trying to tell me?
A demented grin crossed the beast’s face as it pulled her closer. “If you no longer have it, then I suppose your use has run its course now, hasn’t it?”
Her eyes widened and her body quivered. Pleasure evident in the beast’s expression, it trailed one gangly finger across her brow before it sliced clean through her ribs; claws jittering as they came out the other side. Shit, no! Tears welled at my lash line.
It’s only a dream, I reminded myself again. Breathe.
With a guttural chuckle, the beast thrust her lifeless husk to the ground and began tearing apart the room, whistling as it went like it enjoyed killing her!
Fed off it! It wasn’t until the creature’s shadow seeped over me that I realized my danger …
two seconds too late. A swift kick crashed against the side of my fortress and tumbled me to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
On instinct, I tucked myself into the fetal position.
My fate had found me, as it had my mother.
“You,” it spat, voice low and slow.
I rolled over, ready to meet my fate, but found his words hadn’t been for me. Its sights were locked on a very different target. On the one and only thing I’d ever seen strike concern on its monstrous face.
The wisp had returned to save me a second time.
I jolted awake, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets. The room was still, cloaked in night, save for my bedside alarm clock’s red glow: 12:39 a.m.
What the hell just happened? I’d never dreamed about my birth mother before. Not once, and yet I’d dreamed her death in such vivid color. For shit’s sake, the tears on my cheeks were still warm. Why was she showing up now, after all these years? And the wisp …
This was crazy. No. I was. I crawled from my bed, fixed on the bathroom.
When my feet hit the floor, my knees gave out.
I pulled against the footboard to stand, legs wobbling like I’d truly climbed those moss-covered stairs.
A ridiculous thought. Slow and steady, I made my way to the bathroom mirror.
The face staring back at me was worn. Pasty white cheeks, lips lacking the joy of a smile, a blurry film over her vision.
But I was real. This was real, not some fucked-up nightmare.
I cranked the faucet knob to full blast and splashed the hot water on my face.
Towel pressed to my eyes, I reminded myself it was a figment of my imagination.
My legs had cramped up in the night. That’s all. Get it together, woman. It’s not like—
The towel snagged on my eyebrow. I yanked the rag away and pushed closer to the mirror, my chest constricting.
There, plain as day, lay a fresh gash in the exact place I’d felt the wicker basket slice through in my dream.
Impossible … Rational thought kicked in a second later, and I snickered.
I’d scratched myself in my sleep and my twisted mind turned it into an attack in my dreams. Simple.
Made sense. Happens to people all the time, right?
My fingers traced along the wound, and what little color remained in my face drained away. A pinch, a slight tug, and something broke free. I pulled the tiny piece of matter to my face.
Wicker.
Not. Possible.
It—it just wasn’t possible. I was imagining things.
Hallucinating. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t happen!
I stumbled backward, hands shaky, mouth dry.
The walls began to close in around me. I had to get out.
Run. Anything to escape this absolute lunacy.
I snatched my book bag off the floor and tore from the room.
When my feet finally slowed, I found myself in the shadow of the library’s gaping mouth.
A series of short, dark bookshelves snarled back at me like sharpened teeth.
Intimidating as it was, the depth of knowledge harkened, lured me, like a fish on a line.
Heartbeat in my ears, I turned the first corner, catching my bare foot on an oak shelf’s edge.
“Damn it,” I cursed under my breath. “Learn how to walk, Fey, will you?”
A dim light deep in the recesses of the winding bookshelves caught my attention, rerouting my focus.
Who would be up this late? Well, besides me and my disturbed mind anyway.
While the library boasted many a Tiffany lamp, one drenched the backmost corner in shards of caramel, amber, and forest-green light.
Its gentle gleam called to me like a moth to a flame, though something deep down assured me what I’d find there wouldn’t singe my wings.
Curiosity getting the best of me, I snuck past three freestanding shelves to peer around the corner.
Hair frazzled and legs tied up in a pretzel sat Cillian, eyes fixed on a book spread across his lap.
Nope. Not him. Not right now. That inner reassurance moments before was wildly off base.
I held my breath and spun about to exit.
I’d reached the staircase when a gentle grasp on my elbow stopped me.
I turned to find Cillian’s hand latched around my wrist. He gestured to keep quiet and pointed to the top landing.
My stomach dropped.