64. Willow
Chapter 64
Willow
“ S tay here,” I tell Becky, urgency tightening my voice. “Remember what I said.”
“About the metal?” She groans, reaching for her sword.
“About surviving.”
Our eyes lock. Understanding clicks between us, a primal connection forged in this nightmare’s crucible. She knows I’ll do everything to help her, and I won’t stop trying. Each obstacle, each person hurt, fuels my need to protect them all. Maybe Geraldine’s right—I’m building my pack. Either it’ll be the biggest this world has seen, or I am what the Six keep calling me, what I keep denying.
A queen.
I instinctively search for my mates in the tiers and locate them immediately. A rush of warmth flows through me. I lock eyes with Bodin, Legion, and Styx. Emrys is gone. Whether he’s with Varen, I don’t know. But his absence cuts me.
Bodin scowls at my inaction. Styx starts gesturing something, pointing to a spot in the arena. He hurt me, too, but I know my claws already work into his heart. He’s here and trying to warn me to pay attention. Smirking, I blow them a kiss and sprint across the arena. My boots kick up dust tasting of ash and despair. It feels empowering in a way I can’t explain.
I have one target—Alfie.
The fool.
By killing his competitors, he’s decimating our strength in numbers.
Rory always joked I was more snake than wolf. I don’t scream or snarl when my prey’s near. No war cry bellows from my lips. I’m light-footed. Silent. Sneaky. Calculated. They never see me coming.
So when Alfie looks up, I’m already within reach. I’ve cataloged his weapons. I know my chances. The dream pistol’s gone—only a blood-stained sword in his hand. I torpedo his waist, tackling him to the ground. His charms rattle as we hit and slide along the sand, grit scraping my skin.
“What the hell, Willow!”
I use the jarring impact to disarm him, but I’m not free. His arms wrap around me in a chokehold. The scent of his sweat, tinged with fear and adrenaline, fills my nostrils.
“You’re an idiot,” I hiss, headbutting him with a satisfying crunch.
Somehow, I’m on my feet, facing him in a crouch, ready for another round. My forehead throbs, but he’s worse. He covers his nose, stemming blood flow. Bright green eyes glare at me over his hand, filled with pain and betrayal.
“I can’t believe how far you’ve fallen,” he spits, words muffled.
“Me?” I laugh, drawing my sword. Elven strengthening glyphs flare to life, casting a soft blue glow on my face. “Look at you, cowardly killing them in their sleep.”
“How else do you think we win?” He wipes his nose and spots his sword on the ground beside me.
I step in front of it, blocking him. Sand shifts beneath my feet.
Disgust laces my voice. “What can she possibly give that’s worth this?”
“Anything I want!” He sneers, giving me a pitiful look. “A fucking dream come true.”
“Oh, Alfie.” I shake my head. “You’ve always been a sucker.” I move the resonance stone on my shirt closer to my mouth. I want everyone out there to hear this. “Titania can’t make every dream come true, only what’s within the limits of her power. And in case you haven’t noticed—her power’s dwindling, even after she stole mine. Puck had to use hundreds of jars of wisps stolen from Titania’s temple to activate the trials.”
I drop the stone. Above us, in the tiered stands, mouths and eyes widen. Faeries turn to each other, their whispers lost on the wind like ghostly echoes. We can’t hear them here, but I’ve made them think.
Doubt flickers in Alfie’s eyes before he glares at me. “Guess I’ll just wait and see when I win.”
His eyes dart to a scroll on the ground. “You’re not the only one destined for greatness, Willow. This trial is just the beginning.”
“What are you talking about?” I narrow my eyes, suddenly alert to the calculated gleam in his.
He chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth. “The subterranean holds more than just nightmares.”
“You’re delusional. There’s nothing but death below.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He collects the scroll with his bloodied fingers. “This map tells a different story. And when I meet her, I’ll have everything you were too weak to take for yourself.”
Her? The pieces click into place. Alfie’s desperation for status, his willingness to kill—it all stems from his need to be more than a nobody. If he can’t have me, he’ll find power another way.
“You’re playing with forces you don’t understand,” I warn, but my words only seem to fuel his determination.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Hate to burst your bubble.” I point at the Nightmares waiting on the buttresses, their twisted forms mocking life. “But you won’t make it to the end if you keep killing your competition.”
Fewer specters flicker in the dreamscape now. My heart sinks, knowing it’s not just because they’re awake but because he made it so.
A shriek pierces the air like a physical blow. Alfie looks for the source. I could kill him right now. My sword’s already in my hand. His back is turned. He’s unarmed. But, fuck it. We need him—at least for this next challenge. So I kick his sword across the dirt. It hits his boot with a dull thud, and he glances down.
His shoulders tense, his lips flatten, and he stares at my gift.
“Big mistake,” he mutters, picking it up. “They’ll drop as soon as enough are out of the dreamscape. And we only need to kill one Nightmare for the final trial to begin.”
A wicked glint enters his eyes. I catch his almost imperceptible glance to the ground, to a fallen scroll on my left side. I point my sword at his neck and prowl around him. The glyphs pulse in time with my heartbeat, each symbol a conduit for magic. It courses through my veins, itching and turning my blood to liquid fire.
“If you kill these people,” I warn him, “all my attention will focus on you.”
Movement near the center rock draws our attention. Heath is awake and rousing Corey, their figures silhouetted against the eerie light. They’ve allied. Interesting . I scour the arena to see what else I’ve missed. Geraldine and Max have managed to wake Colin—my heart swells as I see him jogging to join Becky. She’s woken one of her troop and is working on another, but her movements are sluggish.
This troop is dead—eight lives snuffed out by Alfie’s greed. My eyes sting as I recognize Miguel’s face among them, his once-vibrant features now slack and lifeless. The last time we spoke, he offered soup, and Alfie punched him. I hate that it was our last interaction.
“Fuck you, Alfie,” I choke.
There’s nothing I can do for the dead, so I run from the corpses before I start remembering bad things, the scent of death clinging to my nostrils. Corey sees me coming and steps in front of Heath, sword drawn and muscles hard. They’re together, I realize. It’s more than allies. Sometime over the past week, they’ve developed feelings for each other. Heath scrambles for something at his belt—but he’s no warrior like Corey. He’s a Never. But he’s still a Shadow. Lady Selene chose him for a reason. He is kind, compassionate, and maybe more.
Dahlia and Irisa are still asleep but murmuring, rousing somehow.
I sheathe my sword and hold my palms up. “I’m not here to hurt you.” I glance at Heath over Corey’s shoulder. “Becky needs your help—” I nod in her direction. “She’s bleeding inside. I don’t know what to do. We need every able body to survive the Nightmares.” I point up. “They’ll start dropping as soon as enough exit the dreamscape.”
“How do you know that?” Corey’s eyes narrow, suspicion etching every line of his face.
“Alfie told me.” I glance in his direction. He stands back against the wall near the people he killed, reading the scroll. “But I don’t know how much of that is true. He was murdering exhibitors in their sleep until I stopped him.”
“You stopped him?” Corey asks, knuckles whitening on the sword’s grip. “Or did you kill them?”
“No, it wasn’t her.” Heath pushes Corey aside, knowing eyes taking me in. “I saw her take him down when I woke. Is Becky coughing blood?”
“Yes.”
Something flickers in his eyes that I don’t like, but he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Wait.” I stop him. “There was an old-world emergency healer in my pilgrimage group. Can she help?”
“Sarah?” he asks, rubbing his jaw. “She was a paramedic. She could help.”
Corey gives me a wary look. “You would wake your competition?”
“We already are.” I point to my friends. “Use metal from chains or weapons and push it into the exhibition brand on your palm—metal blocks magic. It’s enough to disrupt the dreamscape.”
They share a tense, brief hug. Corey mumbles something in Heath’s ear that they don’t think I can hear, but I do: “Go be a hero.”
I drop to Dahlia’s side and expose her branded palm—Corey’s hand locks around my wrist, stopping me.
“They’re in it for themselves,” he warns me, eyes flashing.
“Maybe,” I reply. “But I can’t leave anyone to die in their sleep. That makes us as bad as the Nightmares.”
He lets go and drops to Irisa. They don’t take long to rouse, and after explaining the situation, I’m surprised they join us on our mission to wake the rest of the exhibitors. Dahlia was almost friendly to me in Burn After Reading when she thought we had no reason to be competitors. I’d like to think if things were different, she wouldn’t be so vicious. I’m sure once this trial is over, it’ll be every exhibitor for themselves again. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.
I wake Sarah and a few others I recognize. Alfie, the fucker, refuses to do anything but read his scroll, his eyes darting across the parchment with feverish intensity. We instruct anyone awake to rouse those caught in the dreamscape. With Sarah and Corey at my side, I run toward Becky but can’t see her through the growing group of exhibitors. I’m pleased to see her blond head at eye level when we arrive. Heath must have worked some kind of magic—I didn’t think it was possible for a Never, but a Shadow would undoubtedly have a few tricks up his sleeve.
The relief squeezing my heart is so powerful that I hug her. Tight. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.”
She hesitates but then hugs me, too. “Me too.”
Nodding, I pull back and search for the next person I’m worried about. This exhibition isn’t over yet. I see him huddled with some Youngies, their faces pale with fear.
“Colin,” I shout. He turns to me, eyes rimmed with red. It’s the same gangly frame, too-large hands, and an awkward smile. Alive.
“Are you okay?” I ask, pushing past an older exhibitor to get to him. I can’t see blood on his dull uniform.
“I knew you wouldn’t forget us,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. He turns to his friends. “See? Didn’t I tell you guys? Goodfellow’s wrong.”
My throat clogs. “He wasn’t wrong.”
“What?” Colin gasps, betrayal flashing in his eyes. “But?—”
“You’re not wrong either,” I quickly say, holding his stare so he knows I’m telling the truth. “I might have a past I’m not proud of, but I’m not going to leave you all to die.”
I recognize Ji-Soo with the bangs, but I’ve not met the nervous male with olive skin and deep-set eyes. She’s holding an arm to her chest as though it’s hurt. He’s favoring one leg.
“Where’s Maggie?” I ask Colin.
His expression curdles my stomach. It’s fear, grief, and a step away from madness. This is too much for him—for anyone. I need to give them something to do—a distraction.
I turn to every exhibitor in earshot and shout, “Start cataloging the Terrors. Know their weaknesses so we’re ready when they attack.” I point to the closest buttress where a Terror matches Emrys’s description. I never imagined something this grotesque was behind that stall door. A furry hindquarter is crudely stitched to a skinless ape-like torso. Its eyes swivel independently. One reptilian slit focuses on me while the other bulbous and insectoid eye scans the crowd. The stench of decay wafts from its patchwork body. A string of drool dangles from its mouth. Maybe it recognizes me from the stables.
My hand covers the charm Legion gave me just before entering. It’s supposed to hide my pheromones, but my usual scent would still penetrate. Interestingly, I haven’t felt the crippling effects of my heat since I put it on. I have at least another day of fever in me. If I lose this charm, my pheromones will leak again.
An idea forms in my head.
“That’s a Graftspawn,” I say, gripping my sword. “It’s mine.”
“Fine with me.” Colin gives a little hysterical laugh.
“Colin.” I grab his shoulder. “Start listing all the Terrors you recognize. Stay with your Youngies. Safety in numbers, okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got this. Bodin wouldn’t have offered you a traineeship as a Phantom if he didn’t think you were capable. Make sure your friends are all doing the same thing. I need you to keep watch for me—to shout warnings for those of us fighting, okay?”
He nods vehemently. “Yeah. We can do that.”
“We only need to kill one to trigger the next trial. Until then, everyone just needs to survive.”
Ji-Soo nods, her eyes wide but determined. The olive-skinned boy swallows hard but squares his shoulders. Their fear is evident, but so is their resolve. These kids are tougher than they know.
“Good,” I say.
“We woke everyone we could,” Max announces, panting as they reach us. No sooner are the words out of his mouth when the brand on my palm burns like fire. I hiss and hear a chorus of others doing the same. We all feel the pain. When I glance down, the raised welt has changed a shade darker. No longer pink, but blue.
A ripple of tingling air filled the smell of rotting flesh gusts over us. The arena shimmers, and reality warps like a mirage. The ground grows colder, frost crystals spreading in intricate patterns across the sand and grass. Clouds form from our breath. A torrential downpour of nightmarish shrieks lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.
The second trial has begun.