Page 159 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He collects the scroll with his bloodied fingers. “This map tells a different story. And when I meet her, I’ll have everything you were too weak to take for yourself.”
Her? The pieces click into place. Alfie’s desperation for status, his willingness to kill—it all stems from his need tobe more than a nobody. If he can’t have me, he’ll find power another way.
“You’re playing with forces you don’t understand,” I warn, but my words only seem to fuel his determination.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Hate to burst your bubble.” I point at the Nightmares waiting on the buttresses, their twisted forms mocking life. “But you won’t make it to the end if you keep killing your competition.”
Fewer specters flicker in the dreamscape now. My heart sinks, knowing it’s not just because they’re awake but because he made it so.
A shriek pierces the air like a physical blow. Alfie looks for the source. I could kill him right now. My sword’s already in my hand. His back is turned. He’s unarmed. But, fuck it. We need him—at least for this next challenge. So I kick his sword across the dirt. It hits his boot with a dull thud, and he glances down.
His shoulders tense, his lips flatten, and he stares at my gift.
“Big mistake,” he mutters, picking it up. “They’ll drop as soon as enough are out of the dreamscape. And we only need to kill one Nightmare for the final trial to begin.”
A wicked glint enters his eyes. I catch his almost imperceptible glance to the ground, to a fallen scroll on my left side. I point my sword at his neck and prowl around him. The glyphs pulse in time with my heartbeat, each symbol a conduit for magic. It courses through my veins, itching and turning my blood to liquid fire.
“If you kill these people,” I warn him, “all my attention will focus on you.”
Movement near the center rock draws our attention. Heath is awake and rousing Corey, their figures silhouetted against the eerie light. They’ve allied.Interesting. I scour the arena to see what else I’ve missed. Geraldine and Max have managed towake Colin—my heart swells as I see him jogging to join Becky. She’s woken one of her troop and is working on another, but her movements are sluggish.
This troop is dead—eight lives snuffed out by Alfie’s greed. My eyes sting as I recognize Miguel’s face among them, his once-vibrant features now slack and lifeless. The last time we spoke, he offered soup, and Alfie punched him. I hate that it was our last interaction.
“Fuck you, Alfie,” I choke.
There’s nothing I can do for the dead, so I run from the corpses before I start remembering bad things, the scent of death clinging to my nostrils. Corey sees me coming and steps in front of Heath, sword drawn and muscles hard. They’re together, I realize. It’s more than allies. Sometime over the past week, they’ve developed feelings for each other. Heath scrambles for something at his belt—but he’s no warrior like Corey. He’s a Never. But he’s still a Shadow. Lady Selene chose him for a reason. He is kind, compassionate, and maybe more.
Dahlia and Irisa are still asleep but murmuring, rousing somehow.
I sheathe my sword and hold my palms up. “I’m not here to hurt you.” I glance at Heath over Corey’s shoulder. “Becky needs your help—” I nod in her direction. “She’s bleeding inside. I don’t know what to do. We need every able body to survive the Nightmares.” I point up. “They’ll start dropping as soon as enough exit the dreamscape.”
“How do you know that?” Corey’s eyes narrow, suspicion etching every line of his face.
“Alfie told me.” I glance in his direction. He stands back against the wall near the people he killed, reading the scroll. “But I don’t know how much of that is true. He was murdering exhibitors in their sleep until I stopped him.”
“You stopped him?” Corey asks, knuckles whitening on the sword’s grip. “Or did you kill them?”
“No, it wasn’t her.” Heath pushes Corey aside, knowing eyes taking me in. “I saw her take him down when I woke. Is Becky coughing blood?”
“Yes.”
Something flickers in his eyes that I don’t like, but he says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Wait.” I stop him. “There was an old-world emergency healer in my pilgrimage group. Can she help?”
“Sarah?” he asks, rubbing his jaw. “She was a paramedic. She could help.”
Corey gives me a wary look. “You would wake your competition?”
“We already are.” I point to my friends. “Use metal from chains or weapons and push it into the exhibition brand on your palm—metal blocks magic. It’s enough to disrupt the dreamscape.”
They share a tense, brief hug. Corey mumbles something in Heath’s ear that they don’t think I can hear, but I do: “Go be a hero.”
I drop to Dahlia’s side and expose her branded palm—Corey’s hand locks around my wrist, stopping me.
“They’re in it for themselves,” he warns me, eyes flashing.
