Page 14 of Sweet Nightmares
“Why did you want me to return? Couldn’t you have left yourself? Why am I needed?”
Jane may have given him the ammunition for his gun, but she didn’t need to see him use it. Perhaps that was a cowardly thought, and maybe shewasa coward, but Jane didn’t want to see him slaughter people.
Nightmare’s smile fell flat.
So, he needed her with him for a reason, but he refused to say. Interesting. One day, she would find a way to use that against him.
They left the way she had come, and when his body left the portal, he somehow… changed. He was still impossibly beautiful, still god-like, yet somehow also more human. Was that possible?
Did his magic change outside of his realm? Jane truly hoped so. If he were less powerful outside of the mirror, he might be unable to destroy the city. She could hope.
As usual, Nightmare was utterly silent, not saying a single word to her the entire time. He simply walked ahead of her, got on a streetcar, and headed towards the Estate District. But his lack of words didn’t keep his attention off her—no, she was his puzzle he was putting together with his eyes.
Jane swallowed and tried not to stare back, but that was an utterly useless endeavor because, somehow, she liked staring at him too, although she’d never admit that out loud.
The trip from the Art Sector to the Estate District was not very long, considering they bordered each other. So, after about ten minutes in the car, they disembarked in a neighborhood full of massive mansions.
Acid filled Jane’s throat. She didn’t like being around rich people, especially after living in an orphanage for six years. Granted, she wasn’t poor—her husband had once dripped in jewels before bad deals and wasteful spending—and she hadn’t been poor before her parents died. The Ashelles were an exceedingly wealthy family. However, unfortunately, neither Jane nor her younger sister, Quinnevere, received any of that wealth until they both turned twenty-five. So Jane had to wait until her sister, six years her junior, turned twenty-five, in ten years. There was still no guarantee that Jane would see any of the money, as the lawyers would inform Quinn on her 25thbirthday. The problem was that Quinn didn’t know she even had a sister.
When their parents died, their uncle could only take in one child. He wanted to take in Jane because she was ten and Quinn was four, but the only thing Jane cared about was keeping her younger sister safe, so she begged her uncle to take Quinn instead. Her uncle only agreed to do it as long as Jane would never be in Quinn’s life. Unfortunately, the trauma from witnessing their parents’ horrific murders had stripped all of Quinn’s memories away.
It was painful that Quinn didn’t remember, but it was ultimately better for both of them.
So, it wasn’t that Jane was poor, but wealth reminded her of her pain, all its layers. From her husband to her parents to her uncle, wealth was a symbol of her trauma.
So she hated being in the Estate District, because it was where the wealthiest people in the city lived.
But it turns out Jane shouldn’t have been worried about wealth. What she really should’ve been worried about was the monster standing beside her.
Nightmare found the mansion he was looking for and immediately broke down the door with zero effort—the man had superhuman strength outside his mirror. Not a good sign. He then marched into the dining room, picked a man up by his throat, and slammed him against the wall, causing the fine china to rattle.
The man’s family sat in stunned silence, watching the scene unfold.
“Where is the diary?” Nightmare’s voice was dark and full of twisted cobwebs.
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” the man stammered.
“Yes, you do.”
A shiver stroked up Jane’s arm, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.
“Helene’s diary, where is it?” His voice pitched low, growing darker and deadlier. “Your family are the keepers of the Ash Witch secrets.”
Ash Witch?
“Yes, we are, but—”
“But?”
The man’s face grew ashen. “It would have been the Ashelles who knew.”
“Ah, so you want to blame a dead family for your lack of knowledge?”
“There is one Ashelle left. The redhead girl who works at the morgue.”
“No—” The word left Jane’s lips in a wailing plea.
Nightmare’s gaze cut to her.
