Page 66 of Sweet Nightmares
“Fine,” she sighed. “The autopsy reports. They are from my parents’ deaths and a slew of vampire attacks over the past nineteen years. They are connected to the destruction of the first Blood Mirror. I think whoever killed my parents stole the vampire’s Blood Paintings from the mirror and has been controlling them and creating more.”
He cocked his head, but the gleam in his eye said he agreed with her.
“So, I need you to help me remember my parents’ deaths.” Jane bit her bottom lip, glancing at the reports. “I witnessed it, but I don’t remember. I think I locked it away, and I know you can help me access the memories.”
He ran a thumb along his bottom lip. “I’ll help you, but not in here.” He turned toward the door, waiting for her to follow. “We’re going to my sanctuary.”
“Your forbidden wing?”
“It’s not forbidden anymore. Just ask, if you want to know something, and then respect me if I don’t want to tell you.”
It was fair. “Alright.” She nodded. “Thank you.”
He grumbled a response, leading her through the brambles and into his picturesque riverscape. It was night inside, and the sky sparkled like the ocean at sunset. Fireflies danced through a gentle breeze, and a sweet waterfall crashed in the distance against red-orange rocks. Rock sculptures littered the landscape, arches, and water-carved designs. The place was like a god’s intricate finger painting—and now that she thought about it, it was.
It was Nightmare’s.
He was a god, but also a vampire. Did that meanhehad a Blood Painting? She asked as much out loud.
“Why, do you want to kill me?”
“No, of course not.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Did you ever?”
“No.” The answer was short and marked the end of the conversation.
He led her to the riverbed, had her take off her shoes, and made her sit in the sand. “I want you to feel the sand. I wantyou to be present. Close your eyes and listen. Feel the granules between your fingers.”
She did as he asked. Nightmare sat opposite her, his knees touching hers. He was the first thing she felt. His demanding and commandeering presence—he ruled every room he entered and always stole her breath away. He might have stolen attention because on nearly half of the occasions he entered a room, he murdered someone in it.
It was impossible not to notice him.
“Breathe, and hear the birds singing to you and the water dancing in the grooves of nature.”
Jane sucked in a deep breath and fell into the sounds and feelings. She scooped the sand and felt it fall through her fingers; with each movement, her soul settled. Peace stroked along her body like a physical force, warm like strings formed from contained sunlight, like a blanket or a hug.
But it was too real…
Opening her eyes, she saw his magic light stroking along her body, wrapping around her arms, legs, and waist. He was holding her, comforting her; but also giving her space. She smiled and closed her eyes again.
“Now, keep your eyes closed and bring yourself back to that night.” The light strings warmed on her skin.
She did as he said again, and the first thing she saw was her wicked dreams. She shivered, and the ropes tightened on her skin, letting her know he was there.
The walls bled, but she couldn’t quite distinguish what the walls looked like or where she was. The blood just piled up, thick and clotted, down the sides like a waterfall of old, clumpy paint. The smell stuck in her nostrils. A horrible, indescribable scent.
Once again, Jane held a hand over her baby sister’s mouth and squeezed her to keep her from screaming—he couldn’t hear them, he couldn’t find them—and with her other hand, shepressed her fingertips into the marble floor to ground herself and keep herself from screaming.
Glass flew through the air, and Jane screamed in her mind, or maybe she screamed out loud.
It was hard to tell anymore.
Then she heard his voice… The man who killed her parents was asking, “Did you get them?”
“Yes,” her mother’s stern voice. “Now leave. Get out of my house.”
