Page 54 of Real

“To tie up a loose end.”

As I walk toward the door a wild energy fills my body. It’s more intense than touching Einar’s light, more pleasurable than coming with Timothy inside me. Then there are a series of clinks on the wooden floor.

Antonio crouches down and picks up one of the items that dropped. It’s a bullet.

I rip open my shirt to find that all the marks from Dorian’s rings are gone. The bullets are no longer lodged in my abdomen. Even the cigarette burns have disappeared. All that remains is the knife that’s still lodged in my sternum.

Somehow, I know why the Lights didn’t take that away.

They intended for me to use it.

Tears shine in Antonio’s eyes. “Who did that to you, skatten min?”

I don’t bother to close my shirt as I open the door. I don’t want to hide what Dorian did to me anymore. It isn’t something I should be ashamed of; it’s something he should pay for.

I intend to make him do just that.

“Someone who is about to feel the wrath of the Lights,” I say.

The day of Dorian Gray’s reckoning has come.

24

H

Across the street from the Den of Dreams I expect to find a classy storage facility like a bank or even an expensive set of lockers, but instead I open the door to a chintzy souvenir shop. There are shirts, mugs, and pins everywhere that say “I (heart) NY” and “I’d rather be in the Den of Dreams.” There are also figurines of cranes. Some of them are clear and light up. One figurine shows a crane pecking at a red wolf.

“Good evening!” an older man with a long white beard calls out. He’s wearing a shirt that says, “Reality is overrated” with a photo of the Northern Lights underneath. Is this guy a dragon shifter? He has a terrible comb-over, and he’s sucking on a toothpick. I thought ice dragon shifters were rich snobs.

“Um… my friend said there was a dragon landing pad upstairs.”

“Using the landing pad will cost you two hundred dollars,” the man says.

“What? I don’t have any money—”

“I’m sorry, but I got a business to run. That landing pad ain’t cheap.”

Maybe I’ll have to wait for Manny to come down to get me. I pull out my phone and text him that I’m stuck in the shop on the bottom floor without my wallet. He doesn’t text me back. He’s probably riding a dragon.

Will I have to ride a dragon? I’m terrified of heights.

I pick up the figurine of the crane pecking the red wolf. “What is this?”

The man walks up to me, leaning heavily on his cane with each step. “The Illusors worship the Northern Lights. Legend has it that when the Lights take physical form, they like to become an animal that can fly. In some of the stories they’re a flock of birds or a hive of bees. It depends on what part of the world the story is from. In this legend, the Lights took the form of a crane and pecked out the eyes of the red wolf god for cursing his omegas with a thrall. It’s a popular one amongst the Illusors.”

“Do you get a lot of Illusor clients here?” I thought the performers weren’t allowed to come over here at all.

The man shakes his head. “The next time you go, you should ask them to tell you a story. The stories they tell about the Lights are the best. They learn the stories as children and have their entire lives to perfect the images they create to illustrate them. They’re very talented.”

So that’s what most people ask for.

I consider the old man. Is he some kind of Illusor super fan? Maybe he has a chintzy store instead of a nice set of lockers because he’s blown all his money in the Den of Dreams.

Or maybe he likes logo T’s. Who am I to judge?

“My friends are trying to help the Illusors,” I say. “I need to get to the roof, and I don’t have a wallet. If you can help me, I’ll get Einar to tell you a story. I swear.”

Hopefully Einar won’t mind.

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