Page 5 of Beautiful Nightmare
This is weird, right? I’m still not sure this is real and I’m not having a bad reaction to my new meds, but in the event that you’re actually a ... demon? Spirit? Fae? Something I don’t have a name for?
I meant what I said last night—or the other night, if it takes you a few days to return, I’m just going to keep this letter ... Okay, now I’m being the weird one. I don’t think I’ve ever written a letter before. Emails, countless, but a handwritten letter? Sorry, I’m wandering. I do that, which makes some people uncomfortable. I promise I’m not trying to make anyone uncomfortable. Especially you.
I am so damned curious about you. I’ve always believed in the supernatural, but as I got older, I just sort of assumed clingingto it was my way of battling the monotony of adulthood. It’s really boring out there, in between bouts of existential dread about ... well, everything.
After our last encounter, I recognize that you’re clearly here to scare me, but maybe we could talk for a bit before we get down to the scary part? That skeleton-monster-form thing was freaky as fuck! Well done!
Anyway, this is getting long and it’s entirely possible you don’t have the same curiosity about me that I do about you. I understand if this has to be strictly a working relationship that gives me nightmares. Honestly, they’d be preferable to the recurring one I have about being dragged through the woods, and everyone I know standing by and watching silently ... Damn, I’m circling again. Sorry. This is already too long, so I’ll wrap it up.
I’d love to talk to you, Gemma. If that’s okay.
Sincerely,
Caleb
I read it a third time, utterly charmed. I like the way he wanders. It’s familiar, a well-tread path I’ve experienced time and time again throughout my life. More than that, there’s a deep sense of loneliness that calls to me. I’m lonely too.
I start to tug the letter out from beneath his forearm—only to pause when the muscle tenses. I bite my bottom lip as embarrassment heats my skin. “How long have you been awake?”
“Since you came through the closet door.” He matches my tone, so low it’s almost silent. Caleb doesn’t open his eyes, which I appreciate. I’m so tense, torn between fleeing and leaning closer. Everything about him has been so unexpected, it’s almost enough to drown out the truth of my utter failure.
I don’t know what to do. Oh, I’m aware of what Ishoulddo. But I can almost taste the tentative hope flickering through him. Hope isn’t something I can eat, but it’s intoxicating all the same. Figuratively, at least.
“Talking isn’t something I’m supposed to do,” I finally say. It’s not, strictly speaking, true. Aside from assigning us our initial human and adding to that number as we get more powerful, things tend to be pretty hands off as long as everyone is doing their job. Step out of line too much and you disappear, sure, but once you graduate to solo work, if you fail at your job and starve, no one will step in and save you. Demons are profoundly practical when it comes to failure.
“Whatareyou supposed to do?”
I stare at his face. His features are deeply interesting to me. Beaky nose, sharply curved lips, and thosefreckles. So many of them that they layer on each other. I’m aware of what passes for beauty by human standards. It was covered in my training, before it became clear that I wasn’t suited for face-to-face interactions. That beauty shifts depending on the culture the person comes from, but surely Caleb must be gorgeous by any standards. I certainly can’t stop looking at him.
“Gemma?”
I start. I’ve been so busy staring, I forgot he asked me a question. I clear my throat. “I told you last night. I’m supposed to scare you.” I don’t know why I keep speaking. “My people ... consume human emotion. It doesn’t really hurt you because there’s always more where it came from. Wetend to orchestrate events to cause heightened emotions. It keeps us from starving, and given enough opportunity, adds to our power.”
“Oh.” He’s silent for several beats. His heart races, but it’s not with fear. I shouldn’t be happy I can’t taste a single sour note coming from him. “So you could feed from any emotion?”
“Not any. There are guidelines.” When I was very young and naive, I was foolish enough to ask why demons couldn’t feed on happiness. Surely the world—both our worlds—would be a better place if we focused on that.
In hindsight, it was only my youth that saved my life. I was written up and went through a series of private lessons to ensure I stopped with mydisruptive presencein the classroom. They didn’t overtly threaten to disappear me if I kept asking questions, but even then, I was smart enough to understand I needed to shut up and keep my head down.
I’m justbadat doing both.
Caleb swallows, his throat bobbing in a charming way. “Could we spend some time talking before you ... eat?”
I sit on the edge of the bed before I can think of why I most certainlyshouldn’tget any closer to this man. “Why do you want to? I terrified you last night.”
“Well, yeah.” He chuckles, turning his head toward me but keeping his eyes shut. “I was not expecting a freaky skeleton monster. That was cool.”
My heated skin only gets worse. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s the form of my mentor. Copying someone’s entire form isn’t ... Well, it’s not good.”
“I won’t lie. I prefer your normal form.” His lips curve. He’s fully relaxed, not scared at all. It should represent a great failure on my part, but my chest goes strangely, pleasantly warm. “Have you been a sleep paralysis demon long?”
I sigh. “No. You’re my first solo experience. I was in training twice as long as my peers, and most of them have already moved up in the hierarchy to gather more humans. Judging from this experience, I won’t be moving anywhere—I’ll be getting disappeared.”
Caleb’s eyes fly open. It’s not possible that I forgot how green they are, but they seem particularly green right now. “What do you meandisappeared?”
I shrug, fighting to keep the tension from my body, as if this isn’t life and death. “Demons who fail one too many times disappear. No one knows where they go, but there hasn’t been a single one who’s been seen again.”
“Well, then, failure is not an option.” He reaches out tentatively and closes his hand around my wrist. It’s a gentle touch, one I could break easily without using even a fraction of my strength.
