Page 19 of Sweet Nightmares
“Helene Ashwood.”
Helene, like Helene’s diary?
“Ah, I see you recognize the name.”
“Barely,” Jane admitted, but pointed to Nightmare with her thumb. “He’s mentioned it a few times.”
“From what I hear, he’s been on a rampage for the last two years to find her diary.”
Jane let out a laugh and then immediately tried to stifle it. “Apologies.”
Charlotte laughed, too. “He is a monster. More so now than ever, since my mother cursed him, but once, he was my friend. Perhaps there still might be some softness left within him.”
Nightmare let out a growl as he hovered behind Jane’s left shoulder.
Jane wasn’t sure if Charlotte was delivering a warning, but the way she spoke suggested that there was a lot of subtext beneath the words.
“It is with that hope that I give you this.” Out of a pocket in her skirt, she pulled out a leather-bound journal that looked ancient and fragile.
Nightmare sidestepped Jane, stepped up to the ghost, towering above her, and held out his hand. Charlotte handed over the diary, and her face grew even more ashen—if possible.
“I am so sick of this, Gavri.”
“I know.” He kneeled beside the ghost, and in that moment, he had never looked more human. At the very least, it was the first time he showed any form of empathy.
“I’m trapped.” A white tear rolled down her face. “Do you know how to help me, old friend?”
Nightmare placed a large hand on either side of her face and kissed her on the forehead. As he pulled back, he nodded his head at Jane. “Do you know who she is?”
The ghost’s gaze once again landed on Jane. “Is she a lost Ashelle?”
“Precisely that.”
“Why are you keeping her?” Concern dripped from Charlotte’s face. “She’s supposed to—”
But she never finished the sentence because Nightmare silenced her with, “Yes, she is, but that’s my problem to deal with.”
Charlotte nodded. “Be careful, Gavri.”
“I always am.” He dropped his hands from her cheeks. “If anyone could break your curse, it would be an Ashelle.”
Charlotte’s nose flared, and more tears fell down her face, but it was now painted with hope.
“Jane, please join us. Kneel beside me and take her hands,” he said, and Jane complied.
Charlotte’s hands were cold, like touching a corpse, but they felt solid.
“I’m not sure what I can do. I’m not a witch. I’m not anything.”
“A witch without magic is still a witch.” Charlotte’s voice was airy and coated in faith. “You wouldn’t even be able to touch me if you didn’t have magic within you, girl.”
Jane’s face grew tight with confusion. For two years, Nightmare had been calling her a witch, but she had never believed him. Yet, if what Charlotte was saying was true and only those who possessed magic could touch a ghost, then… Was she?
Nightmare leaned into her, his body framing her and his lips touching her ear. His breath was hot on her neck. “Close your eyes, Jane, and feel. Feel the temperature in the room, hear the humming of streetlamps outside, and hear the calls of owls in the distant trees. Sense the world around you and feel its magic.”
At first, it felt like a fruitless task. What would listening to her surroundings truly do? Jane had spent twenty-three years listening to her surroundings, but nothing was ever special or different.
“Be still,” he said, his lips on her.
