Page 91 of Shadows in Bloom

Maybe I’m dreaming.

At the thought, I give my head a rapid shake—something my nana used to tell me to do if I woke up from a nightmare, so that when I fell back asleep I wouldn’t just fall back into terror. I pinch myself too for good measure.

If anything though, the acute stinging ache draws my attention to the mark on my left hand. The mark that I’d wrapped in bandages when I got home from school.

My fingers rip it off, and my stomach drops, my steps faltering to a stop.

The mark is still very much there…but it’s dry. My pores have finally seemed to close up, making it so it’s no longer seeping whatever that black stuff was.

I smelled it earlier, curious—hopeful it was just blood or sweat tinged black for whatever reason—only to catch the faint whiff of something burnt. Like the charred flakes on a slice of toast left too long against a flame.

I’d wondered if it tasted like it smelled, but I wasn’t brave enough to try it.

I wonder if Ophelia ever did…

As if summoned by the thought of her, I suddenly tune into the fact that the crackling fire isn’t the only sound to be heard.

I recognize the song being hummed instantly, and I find my feet speeding toward the break in the trees, my vision locked on those turbulent flames reaching for the moon and what looks to be a shadowed figure standing just beyond it.

“I Want You to Want Me” by Cheap Trick.

It’s been years since I’ve listened to it, and it throws me right back to sleepovers at Ophelia’s, listening to her dad’s cassette collection in her room as she played with my hair, as we did our homework, as we poured over our favorite poets’ words and discussed books we’d buddy-read.

I remember how she’d hum along sometimes when silence would take hold.

When I step into the small clearing, the humming abruptly cuts out. Despite only being ten feet away—if that—between the fire sparking embers between us, the smoke dancing in the air, the darkness hugging us in, and the fact I don’t have my glasses, I can’t make much out other than her long hair rippling freely.

And the fact she’s stark naked, her skin practically glowing silver.

I instantly avert my gaze, my heartrate kicking up. It’s no matter that I can’t make out any details.

“You’re here.”

Everything in me stills.

Slowly, so slowly, she first turns her head, and I feel more than see her gaze boring right into mine over her shoulder before she turns fully around to face me.

It takes all my restraint to keep my gaze on her face.

The smudge of her full lips tilts up with a knowing, wicked edge. And when her tongue flicks out a second later to swipe maddeningly slow over her bottom lip, caught by my squinted, straining eyes, I can’t help but wonder if maybe looking at her body would actually be safer.

Yeah, no.

With her hair swept behind her, save for the shorter tendrils that curl around her face and chest, there’s nothing at all hidden from me. Her breasts. Her flat stomach. The jut of her hips and soft swells of her thighs.

What’s between…

I’m grateful it’s all a blurry smudge of pale skin and inky shadows.

Still, I gulp and look away, focusing on our surroundings instead. “Is this…”

“A dream?” she cuts in gently, her tone unreadable. “No, sorry to say.”

I frown. She sounds…odd. And definitely not sorry.

“What’s going on? Why am I here?”

The earth crunches softly with her approaching steps, and my pulse skitters with nerves, alarm bells ringing in the background. The closer she gets though, the further away it all becomes, her proximity clouding my senses.

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