Page 18 of The Spark that Ignites
Emmery clawed at her clogged throat and full chest, the tendons straining in her neck like violin strings, veins bulging, but no air came. A force struck her chest. Her ribs bent, threatening to crack, but it struck again. Again.
“Breathe!” a deep voice ordered, faint like it came from the other side of the river. “Come on. Breathe for me.” Softer this time.
Emmery convulsed, her mouth gaping. She couldn’t. But gods, did she try.
Once more, her ribs caved, and water finally lodged from her lungs. She retched, her head spinning as fresh, delicious oxygen flooded her chest. Peeling her unfocused eyes open, she blinked away the tears and river water.
“That’s it. Eyes on me.” The distinct lilt of his speech and elegant cadence to his words was unusual. A cool wisp of wind brushed her hair from her cheek and her gaze slid up.
The person, whatever he was, could only be described as a phantom. Perhaps Death had come to claim her at last. The masculine silhouette, shaped by a black snowy mist, observed her.
His eyes—oh gods, hiseyes—were an untainted green amongst the mass of black. Not hazel, no hint of brown or caramel, but a reflection of the dark-green foliage outsideher family cottage. Or maybe closer to the lemon trees lining the eastern walls; the ones with the nasty thorns she’d often pricked her fingers on.
Those eyes called, or rather,reachedinto her chest.
Emmery frowned, struggling to right herself.
“You alright?” His voice quieted the roaring in her ears.
Emmery extended a hand, expecting her fingers to pass through, but they met his cheek. Not the texture of skin yet somehow tangible. His hand tentatively caught hers. It was odd in her hold, not quite there, but—
A cough rattled free the remaining water as she searched for her voice. “Strange,” she croaked. Gods, she must be delirious. What kind of lucid dream was this?
The phantom cocked his head. “Do you always insult your rescuers?”
The muddled lines of his hands were so odd. Pulling away she dragged the back of her wrist across her mouth and propped herself up. “I’m not sure what else to say.”
“Here,” he said, offering his hand. With a sigh, she took it, and the phantom pulled her up. Her legs shook like a newborn fawn.
“Um—” she muttered, her stomach somersaulting. “Thank you?”
He nodded in response, humming an agreeable sound. The smooth tenor of his voice, like crushed velvet, made her insides liquify and her cheeks heat. Seeing her reaction, a faint smile tugged at his mouth and not knowing what else to do, she dragged her gaze away.
At some point, the river was replaced by a depthless black, leaving them plunged in thick darkness. Inky ripples surrounded her soggy boots with each step. “Where are we?”
“The space between dreams and nightmares.” The phantom gestured to the vast nothingness. “Between life and death. Some call it the Divide.”
“I—Where?” This was the strangest dream she’d ever had. Why did this space feel real? She searched his eyes for answers, but he merely twitched a brow, the movement barely decipherable. “I’ve never been here before.”
“You have,” he put simply.
Her damp hair framed her face as she shook her head and huffed a laugh. “That’s absurd. I think I would remember if I had. Where did—how did we get here?”
He brushed her hair aside with a single finger, and that strange mist caressed her skin. “I brought you here,” he said, his hand lingering.
Emmery leaned into his touch ... But wait, what was she doing? Shaking her head, she knocked some sense into herself and pulled away. “So, you’ve brought me here before?”
“As much as I can.”
Gods, he was so composed—far too composed as Emmery fidgeted with the sopping wet tunic and trousers hanging off her frame. But this was a dream. It had to be. There was no other explanation. Yet her runaway imagination had created someone so animated and impossibly lifelike she even fooled herself.
Her voice wavered as she asked, “How? I—I don’t understand ..."
He strolled forward and motioned for her to follow with a lazy wave of his hand. “You sure are full of questions tonight,” he drawled.
“What do you meantonight?” Emmery’s mind raced. “Who are you?”
His steps slowed. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t remember the next time we meet.”
