Page 7 of The Midnight Death Match

I reach out, touch one. It crumbles into dust.

Horrified, I leap back. The blanket falls loosely around me. When it lands, a puff of air sends the petals dancing upward. They flutter down, land haphazardly. The word is gone.

But the image is burned into my memory.

I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees. Moonlight spills through the window, catching the dust where the petals were placed.

Loophole.

It’s not just a word. It’s a message. But from who? The obvious answer is my mother, but how? And why now? Whatdoes she expect me to do? She’s gone, and I’m still here, fumbling through mysteries of a life she never explained to me.

Does she know I’m looking for a loophole to the hunter’s curse? More than anything, I want to get around that so I don’t lose my only remaining parent.

We just found each other. I can’t kill him. Won’t. And I know he won’t kill me. Though the curse dictates one of us will die a slow and painful death if we don’t take care of it the ‘honorable’ way.

Honor. I laugh bitterly. Where’s the honor in a parent and child fighting to the death?

Is there another loophole my mother is trying to tell me about? Something to do with the Secret Keeper’s chest and its contents?

I should have asked her why she didn’t tell me about any of this. Next time I will.

The shield rests against the wall, quiet now. It doesn’t glow, doesn’t hum. Simply sits there, mysterious and heavy.

Everything about my mother feels like that. Legacy, secrets, and pressure she never had time to pass down all settle on me like a stone cloak I never had time to prepare for.

Yet she chose to leave it all for me.

And now this dream. Is the word a warning? Or is she pushing me forward in the direction I’m already headed?

I press my forehead to my knees and close my eyes. Draw in a deep breath. What am I supposed to do with a loophole if I don’t even know what it’s about?

There’s only one way to get the answers I need. I climb back into bed, shut my eyes. Squeeze them tight, roll over, then again. But sleep won’t come.

I pull a blanket over my eyes and try to will the dream back. Picturing the forest and fire, I focus on my mother’s voice. I holdonto the way she looked, standing in that burning grove like she was part of the scenery. Like they were one.

I whisper her name. Then again.

Nothing.

The moon slips across the sky while I toss and turn, the word “loophole” echoing in my head like a riddle I can’t solve. My hand finds the shield beside the bed. Cool to the touch and still just a shield.

Eventually, I stop trying to sleep.

I swing my feet to the floor, pull on a cloak and shoes, then go into the hallway, quiet save for the faint sound of wind slipping through the cracks in the walls. Dragons shift somewhere above, evident by a low growl and the heavy creak of talons against roof tiles.

Einar’s in the study, where he often is when I can’t sleep. Sometimes I wonder if he ever rests.

He doesn’t look up right away, just turns a page in the book he’s reading, his silver-streaked dreadlocks falling around his face. “You’re not the first to go looking for her in dreams.”

I jolt at his words. “Excuse me?”

His silence is unnerving, and I struggle to wait for his reply. I’ve learned he’s a deep thinker and rarely answers quickly, unless he’s already put a lot of thought into something.

To keep from losing my mind, I focus on the fire in the hearth which casts flickering light across the walls. Books are stacked on the table, a half dozen open to pages marked with glyphs and diagrams.

My father doesn’t look up. He just turns another page, his voice low and steady. “She used to wake the same way. Eyes wide, hair a little wild. It was like she was still trying to carry her dream into the waking world.”

I step inside. “What do you mean by ‘not the first’?”

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