Authors: Deborah Cooke
I saw the cigarette drop and glow when it fell on the rug.
I saw the shadow of his Thunderbird shape.
I heard the rumble of thunder.
And I saw his claws shred my view of the room. It was as
if Meagan’s room had become a glamour. He tore away the wall with the window like it was a dark curtain, and all I could see was that vacant lot.
The vacant lot was right there, right
here
, two feet away from me.
With blood on the snow and the air filled with spell light and the dead kid on the ground. I crawled back on the bed in horror. It was as if the elder had torn the scales from my eyes. Was I here? Was I there? Everything was merged together.
How could I choose swiftly if I didn’t know what was real?
Then Mrs. Jameson rapped on the door and pushed it open, crying out when she saw the burning butt on the carpet. The room reverted to normal in a flash, Meagan woke up, the cigarette was crushed and flushed, and much confusion ensued as I confessed to having snuck a smoke.
It wasn’t like I could tell Mrs. Jameson the truth.
If dreams and reality were going to keep mingling like this, maybe I
would
end up going crazy.
H
OURS LATER, EVERYONE HAD SETTLED
down again, but I was wide-awake. Had anything changed? I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to do—I knew I had to do it swiftly—when I heard the faint sound of music.
The sound was distant, elusive, forcing me to strain my ears to catch the tune. I was tempted to open the window, but I was leery of that wall since the elder had ripped it. Everything looked normal, but I wasn’t taking anything at face value.
It could be real. It could be a dream. It could be both.
I was already starting to see the downside of tearing the veil.
I got out of bed without really intending to, opened the bedroom door, and eased down the stairs to the front door.
I had a powerful urge to go outside, to follow the sound of the music.
No, I
yearned
to follow the music.
Like one of those rats following the piper to his death.
I opened the door, even knowing it was stupid. It was like I couldn’t stop myself. The melody
was
haunting and beguiling, although I couldn’t have named the tune.
It was in a minor key.
Wait a minute. Mages used minor keys.
It was a lure! I could see spell light dancing down the street toward the town house, swirling in the middle of the road, churning up the porch steps. To my surprise, Mozart and King were right next to me. I hadn’t even noticed them leave the bedroom with me. But now they twined around my ankles.
I was glad to see Mozart on his feet, at least until he looked up at me and I saw that his eyes were filled with orange spell light. King was really agitated, circling around the smaller cat protectively like he’d hem him in.
No luck on that front. To my horror, Mozart slipped between my ankles and raced into the night. On the street, he rubbed his back against the golden ribbon of the spell at the bottom of the stairs. I snatched at King, guessing what he’d do, but was two seconds too late. My fingers slid through his fur as he yowled and peeled off after Mozart.
No! I leapt down the steps, just as the pair of them ran down the street. They disappeared like shadows into the night.
No, they disappeared into a new barrage of spell light. It was headed right for me, like an orange tsunami.
I fled into the house, slammed the door, and locked it, my heart pounding. The music got louder and I watched in horror as tendrils of spell light rushed under the door.
They reached for my ankles.
No! I ran back up the stairs, the snake of light in hot pursuit. I slammed the door to Meagan’s room and leapt back into bed, hoping against hope that this was all a bad dream.
Just a dream.
Just a nightmare.
Nothing really to fear.
No music in my ears.
I was nearly convinced when I felt something slither around my ankle.
Like a snake.
Or the tendril of a plant, one that was growing really fast.
It was cold and wet and moving up my leg.
Not real, not real, not real.
Heart pounding, I looked. I could see a golden spiral of spell light twining around my leg, making its way from my foot to my knee. It was like watching a plant growing, some kind of jungle plant that takes over the world in leaps and bounds.
And it was taking me over.
Or claiming me.
I sat up in terror and jerked my leg back. The spell tendril tightened around me convulsively, nearly eliminating circulation to my toes. Definitely real. I yelped and ripped at it, to no effect. I couldn’t get a good grip on its slimy surface. It kept growing, too, capturing more and more of my leg.
I called to the shimmer and tried to change shape but failed completely. Just like the spell light in the lot, this spell had the ability to short-circuit my shifter powers. The tendril of spell held on fast and kept getting longer. It was past my knee and up to my thigh.
And then it tugged, as if it would haul me outside.
I freaked.
I struggled.
It made no difference. It was just like being in that vacant lot, just like being bound by the spell light and powerless to do anything about it. I thrashed but it made no difference. I screamed but no sound came out.
I was already silenced.
Was this what it was like to become extinct?
I thought I could hear the sound of smacking lips and was terrified that the ShadowEaters would devour my shadow. I panicked at the prospect.
That outer wall disappeared again, just as it had when the
Wakiya
elder shredded it.
A heartbeat later, I was in that vacant lot again, still bound and helpless. I had to believe that the ShadowEaters had sent the spell to get me.
Because I was surrounded by them. There were hungry ShadowEaters on every side, slithering and salivating, their golden eyes gleaming with anticipation.
I felt the first lick, the first nibble, the first nip. It was nauseating. The spell kept tightening around me, trapping me and holding me captive. Struggling only made it worse, but I couldn’t help it. I fought with all my might but it made no difference. I heard their dark laughter and smelled their anticipation. If they wanted to mess with my mind, they were doing a great job.
I screamed.
I still made no sound.
And there was a blinding flash, like lightning had struck me.
I
WAS BACK IN
M
EAGAN
’
S
bedroom, sitting up in bed with sweat running down my back. I was panting, but I couldn’t see any spell light anywhere.
Believe me, I looked.
While I hyperventilated and my heart pounded so fast that I thought it might explode from the exertion. I had been sure that flash had been the result of my shadow being cut away, but I checked and it was intact.
Whoa.
Okay, so maybe that had been a dream. Or a Wyvern vision. Could it have been foresight?
More importantly, where was I?
I still had to be in some dream realm—Meagan’s bedroom was piled with snow, and the exterior wall melted into endless tundra. As in my typical Wyvern dreams—at least the ones I’d had in the past year—I could see a bough of that enormous tree bending over the room, its leaves young and green and rustling in a wind I couldn’t feel.
I knew this place.
And it was—comparatively—safe.
Even if the old ladies were missing.
Wolves howled in the distance, and it says something for my state of mind that the sound of a hungry wolf pack was reassuring.
Then I saw that Skuld was crouched on the windowsill, watching me avidly. She was almost swallowed by the shadows, motionless, her eyes shining in the darkness. She looked like an action hero, ready to spring to duty and slaughter the unworthy. Her eyes brightened, not unlike the eyes of a raven, and there was something sinister about her smile. I realized that her ponytail was bound with something that looked like sinew. I seriously didn’t want to know what kind of sinew it was.
Or whose. She was spinning her scissors around one index finger, like a gunslinger playing with his revolver, as she watched me.
“Bad dream?” she asked, then started to laugh.
Her laughter was no better than that of the ShadowEaters. It was dark and malicious. If this was my ally, I had some kind of lousy company.
Maybe insanity would be a better choice. I could make friends with teddy bears and jelly beans.
“You could have helped,” I said, hearing the accusation in my tone.
Skuld sobered and considered me. “How do you think you got back here?”
“
You
helped
me
?” Skuld might have looked like a warrior who got things done, but I wasn’t at all sure that we were on the same side. I did not expect that she would do me any favors.
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t think you managed it yourself, did you?” There was nothing I could say to that because, you know, I had thought that.
And she knew it.
Worse, she thought it was funny. “Careful what you wish for,” she said.
I blinked. “You mean that was my fault? Because I asked him to tear the veil?”
She nodded slowly, and I was horrified. “Tearing the veil opened a portal.” She gave me a hard look. “One that maybe should have stayed shut.”
Oops.
“I thought it just removed the glamours.”
“That, too.” She turned her shears so that the moonlight illuminated one sharp edge. “Many weapons cut both ways.”
Okay, I should have anticipated that a
Wakiya
person—like Kohana—might not have presented all of the truth. Or that a dead shifter—like my brother, Sigmund—might have left out some important details.
“Is this the part where the Wyvern goes crazy?”
Skuld smiled. “Not all minds can bear to see the array of possibilities all at once. Fewer yet can choose wisely among them.”
Another test. Another riddle. Okay, I was on this like peanut butter on toast.
“What kind of portal?” I asked Skuld.
“A portal in dreams. They can find you in your dreams now, Wyvern, because you created the portal.” She arched a brow. “And they can attack you there.”
“I thought they already could influence my dreams.”
She smiled. “Now they can kill you.”
Shit. That was not great news.
“Good thing you have friends in high places.” Skuld spun those scissors into her grip. She made an elaborate snip with them, then winked at me.
So that was how she’d done it.
I asked the obvious question. “That was the flash of light? You can cut spells with those things?”
She smiled. “You
are
paying attention, after all.”
“I didn’t know spells could be cut with anything other than the NightBlade.”
Skuld arched a brow. “There are a lot of things you don’t know.”
True. And if Kohana could slice binding spells with the NightBlade, it made sense that there were other weapons that could slash those nasty spells to bits.
Seemed like I needed a tool like this.
I knew Skuld wouldn’t just give the scissors to me. I’d have to earn any gift she gave me. Or fight for it.
She turned the shears again, letting the moonlight gleam along the edge, just as she had done before, then gave me a hard look.
A clue.
I remembered what she’d said earlier, the other time she’d made that gesture.
“If it cuts both ways, there has to be something good about tearing the veil,” I guessed. “Maybe something more than eliminating the glamours?”
She smiled at me and nodded approval. “They are still weak, but if the portal is open, they can be destroyed. Forever.”
“The elder told me to hurry.”
“They gain power with every shadow they devour.” Skuld widened her eyes and said something I’d never have expected her to say. “Ticktock.”
On impulse, I put out my hand, palm up. A silent request for the surrender of the shears.
I thought she’d say no.
Or laugh.
Instead, Skuld’s smile broadened, as if I didn’t know what I was asking for or the price it would ultimately demand. She was that kind of a person, I could already see that, one who liked to test you by giving you what you thought you wanted. (Maybe all these dream people were like that.) I might have pulled back my hand then, but she dropped the scissors into my palm before I could.
I knew I couldn’t just give them back.
For better or for worse, they were mine, along with the responsibility for eliminating the ShadowEaters. (Okay, maybe that had been on my plate all along.)
They were huge shears and heavy. The blades were wickedly sharp, gleaming silver. The handle looked ornate and was covered with symbols. By the time I studied them, then looked back at Skuld to thank her, she was gone.
There was no more snow.
No tree.
Just Meagan’s room.
No dead people.
But, yes, wolves howling at the moon.
That they had to be real was just icing on the cake.
T
HE MOON WAS FULL
, hanging round and silver in the night sky. It was almost morning but not quite, the sky getting a bit lighter at the horizon. My dream hadn’t been all dream: Mozart and King were still gone from Meagan’s bed. And I still had Skuld’s scissors in my hand. The cats could have been downstairs, but the scissors were too heavy to be a figment of my imagination.
In fact, it occurred to me that these babies could get me into serious trouble. The blades glinted, ferociously sharp steel polished to perfection, and when I touched them with a fingertip, I drew my own blood.
“Save me a liver,”
Skuld whispered in my thoughts.
It was like old-speak, the ancient language of the
Pyr
, so I answered her in old-speak.
“I thought you preferred souls.”
She laughed that dark cackle of a laugh.
“There won’t be any of those where you’re going.”