Page 30 of Guarded By the Nightmare

“Fine then—when the dawn comes, what else shall we talk about?” He rattled the blinds like he was looking outside, even though I couldn’t see him. “It looks like a fine season for you to die in. Shall we speak of the weather? Or, maybe we’ll watch TV?” The small television in the corner of my room turned on, but only to show static—which should’ve been impossible, because I only used it for streaming. “Which show would you like to be your last? Did you have anything you needed to polish off, that was worth spending one of your final handful of hours on Earth on?” The contents of my desk were next—he scattered the papers, notes from my stalking mostly, all around like a stiff breeze. “Should you write your parents a letter, or call them?”

“I get what you’re doing,” I said with a frown. I already knew that every moment I was experiencing now legitimately was, with absolute certainty, one of the last I would have. “But my parents are dead.”

He paused in his poltergeisting. “Aunts, uncles, cousins?”

“Not really. No one worth baring my soul too, at least. It was just me—and her,” I said, jerking my chin towards Ella’s empty room.

“And would she want you doing this?”

“Isn’t it a little too late now, to be asking?” I gave a shallow laugh. “No, I have your number now, Mister Smoke. I’m the only toy you have to play with.” I knew I was right by the silence he surrounded me with. “You’re so omnipotent, but in the end, there’s only you and me, and after I go away, you have to go back to be alone in your sandbox inside the hourglass, just like one of the toddlers at the play park.”

I could feel his attention on me, but otherwise the room was so quiet you could’ve heard a pin drop.

And then my phone buzzed.

My teeth ground at once. “Are you kidding me?” I asked, snatching it up off my nightstand, to finally go through all the texts Brad Kirk had sent me. I scrolled and scrolled—it looked like he’d been counting off prime numbers of eggplants until I responded.

But I didn’t need his fucking key card anymore.

“Are you still hungry?” I asked the room at large, wondering if Sylas would respond.

To my surprise, he condensed at once, so close it made me jump. “Always.”

I flung my sheets off my bed—and they went right through him. “Give me five minutes, and then we’ll ride.”

23

SYLAS

Mina was pissed,and I loved it.

She was pacing around her room, muttering to herself, scrabbling for clothing on her floor—she didn’t even care if I saw the bare white of her legs. I found myself disappointed by her lack of shame; I didn’t like my presence being forgotten, but I was willing to forgive her anything for the sheer energy she radiated now. Frustration, anger, sorrow, and yes, a tinge of fear—but more than anything else she was active, and that’s what I wanted.

To live.

Not watch someone sleep.

And not justwaitfor someone to die, when there were so many people thatneeded killing.

I coalesced inside her car before she got there, then when she looked at me she tossed her phone into my lap. I caught it—she’d opened the screen for me—and she had her keys, butshe didn’t have her purse.

“Text that asshole back that he’d better meet me in the alley behind our regular place,” she announced, and hit the accelerator, reversing out of her parking spot.

“Why has he sent you so many of these purple fruits?” I asked, texting as commanded, before scrolling back to see all of their messages. Their relationship seemed odd—every few days he would send one of these images to her, and she would respond with a thumbs up.

It went back like that for months.

I decided to not distract her while she was driving, intensely curious where this thing would go, and soon enough we were driving through narrower roads, in between old brick buildings, in a less dense part of town, until she pulled to a sudden stop, throwing her parking brake on.

And from a door in the building in front of her, a man walked out.

He was short, built squarely, and was holding a pillow of some sort underneath one arm.

“Hey, Mina,” he said, giving her a bright grin. She hadn’t turned her headlights off, as she got out of the car.

“Brad,” she said, the lines of her body tense.

“I’m glad you could fit me into your busy schedule,” he said, raking his eyes over her body. “Rocking the au naturel look. I like it.” He seemed overly acquainted with her form, and I wanted to eat one of his eyes at once—and I would make him watch me do so, with his remaining one.

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