A Killer
All this time, he’s made sure to stay between me and the door, blocking
my escape. But now, it doesn’t matter because I finally hear what I’ve been
waiting for since I let out that scream: footsteps pounding through the hall,
over the flagstones. Distant still, but I can feel the vibrations. And through
the walls, I hear Raphael’s muffled voice calling my name.
The intruder doesn’t even turn around. Does he not hear Raphael? But
then I hear him whispering again. And the mist rises around the door.
He lets out his eerie laugh as I stare in horror, realizing what’s about to
happen.
Raphael will barge through that door, straight into the mist. It will kill
him in seconds.
I let my fury course through me and summon my magic to disable the
mist, except this time, the mage is ready for it. Before I can snuff out the
power of the mist, he slices at me, forcing me to jump back, breaking my
focus. The mist rises all around the door, shimmering in its unearthly colors.
“Nia!” Raphael cries, closer now.
I gather my powers, and the mage lunges again. I dodge, his blade
whispering inches away from my throat, my concentration disrupted.
“Nia, I’m coming!” Raphael calls outside the door.
I tug at my power for the third time. The mage strikes once more. This
time, I ignore his attack, flinging my magic at the mist.
The hum stops, the veil mist flickering.
The mage’s scimitar sinks into my stomach, and searing agony spreads
through my body as the blade plunges in. I try to scream, but I can’t. I make
a strangled sound as the mage rips his scimitar from my gut. The door
bursts open, and Raphael charges in.
Blinded with pain, I fall to my knees. The mage whirls, and my thoughts
become hazy, drowned by the horror of my lacerated stomach. I try to speak
and taste blood on my lips.
Raphael
She did it
Raphael was wrong. Although the dream is in our minds, we have no
control over it. Our fantasy of escape is just that—a fantasy. The Dream
Stalker let us think we were escaping, like a cat toying with a mouse, but
we’re still there. Our bodies are still in the Château des Rêves, enfolded in a
terrible nightmare. Sooner or later, the dark prince and his guards will find
us. Fear crackles through my nerves.
If I know I’m dreaming, can I force myself to wake? I pinch myself, but
that doesn’t help. Pain is real in this nightmare, and it’s not a way out. If we
drown here, I feel disturbingly certain that would mean the end for us.
What does the Dream Stalker want? I’ve heard his thoughts for years.
He craves pleasure and beauty, but he always feels alone. If I’m in the
château right now, as I suspect, could I slip into his mind as I accidentally
did before? Maybe—only then—we can find a way out of this nightmare.
The thought of going anywhere near him, much less his thoughts, scares
the shit out of me. I’ve already come close to losing my sanity by invading
too many people’s thoughts. It would be dumb to risk drowning in a sea of
consciousness again, but do I have a choice? Not if I wish to escape this
nightmare.
Gripping the slippery wooden edge of the boat, I close my eyes and
focus on the magic inside me, the frenetic, high-pitched, violet magic that
allows me to hear another person’s thoughts.
As I summon it, I recall the way the prince’s mind felt as it touched
mine. Dark, brooding. Obsessed with sex.
I channel my telepathic powers at that mind and feel something brush
my thoughts, a shadow of another entity. Dark. Alluring. Seductive. But
right now—above all—furious.
But it’s hard to concentrate with the boat heaving up and down,
threatening to spit me into the void.
Okay I will leave you to be
“You have somewhere to be?”
He gives me a sardonic look. “Do you honestly think
I’d leave after you just told me you’re in love with me?”
I blink in shock and rear back. “I didn’t...I’m not in
love with you,” I quickly say. “That’s not what I said.”
He rubs at the black scruff on his chin, regarding me.
“Not exactly that phrase, no. But with you, I have to hear
what you’re not saying in order to read the whole page of
your words.” His voice pitches lower, right along with my
stomach. “I assure you, I’ve heard you loud and clear.”
I shake my head, dashing away his claim with a slash
of my hand. “That’s not...no. Don’t be ridiculous. I said I
wanted you. I don’t love you.”
He cocks his head, looking infuriatingly calm as he
leans against the wall and crosses his arms again. “Are you
sure about that?”
My expression is incredulous. “Yes, I’m sure!” I
exclaim, cheeks gone feverish. “I admit I feel something for
you, but not that, you arrogant ass. Love doesn’t happen
this way.”
His brows hitch up. “Love happens in all kinds of ways.
Fast. Slow. In bits and pieces, or immediate. Filled with
lust, one-sided longing, a snap realization never noticed
before. Deeply. Thoroughly. Love is a whisper we didn’t
hear or a sound that drums in our ears and drowns out
everything else.” Slade edges toward me, though I barely
notice because I’m so hooked on his words that I’ve
forgotten to blink. “You’re incredibly private. Closed-off.
Conditioned to shut out your true feelings and deny
yourself what you want. So you wouldn’t have said all of
It’s quite a task to combat the absolutists and the relativists at the same time: to maintain that there is no totalitarian solution while also insisting that, yes, we on our side also have unalterable convictions and are willing to fight for them. (…) I have come to believe that Karl Marx was rightest of all when he recommended continual doubt and self-criticism.
You can’t actually stay hidden forever on that corner at which the snipers are taking aim. You will starve to death, for one thing. So make the dash that you were going to have to make anyway, and you will have crushed your own cowardice for a moment, which is a tremendous feeling.
My desire to “save the world” is really just an extension of trying to make a world fit for you.