Page 26 of Nightmare's Dance

“Okay, let’s get you cleaned up first. I’ll stop pestering you.”

It was a hundred percent obvious she couldn’t wait to hear my story. I didn’t blame her, though. I mean, we’d come crashing out of a mirror.

“Okay, one last question, and then I’ll stop. Is Geraint okay?” Ash almost never called him anything but Knight, and it caught me off guard when she used his first name.

“No. I don’t know. Maybe?” I rubbed at my eyes, smearing the remains of my stage makeup.

“Shit, Ember. What happened?”

I sighed. Clearly, I wasn’t getting to put this off. “Just let me wash my face.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Ash followed me into the bedroom I shared with Geraint. The familiar space filled with touches of me and Geraint nearly brought me to my knees.

Pictures I’d drawn covered the walls. Some were framed, but most were just sketches of landscapes that Geraint had hung with sticky tack. I’d taken some time with the one I’d done of the two of us. It was a drawing of a selfie we’d taken in Mexico. We’d been sightseeing between shows on a six-month contract down there. I’d snapped the selfie just before he’d kissed me for the first time. Like, really kissed me, not just a friendly peck on the cheek or forehead, like we’d exchanged for years.

“Ember, is he hurt?”

“Ash, I really don’t know. Let me wash my face.”

I dropped the blanket from my shoulders, leaving it on the ground. Ash picked it up and put it on the rocking chair in the corner where Geraint often sat reading while I drew at my desk.

Geraint and I had an attached bathroom, and I went in there and stared in the mirror. Grays and blacks smeared my skin, as if I’d taken charcoal and ash and rubbed it all over my face. I knew I’d been using color when I’d applied the makeup, but it was made of shadow stuff. Essence? Is that what Nic had said? Dream essence.

My normally bouncy hair was flat and tangled. If I were still in Nightmare, I’d probably have sticks and leaves in it. Scratches covered my arms and a few lines in my smeared makeup made me think I would have scratches there, too.

My wrist ached where I’d run into the tree, and other injuries were making themselves known. The fun game Baz had created, dropping me and catching me, had bruised me up pretty badly, and the marks stood out on my otherwise tan skin. I was sure Ash had noticed.

I was used to having some bruises, especially when I pulled out my lyra since the metal hoop wasn’t kind to skin, but I looked like I’d been beaten.

Peering deeply into the mirror, I searched for any traces of nightmare, or Mary, or arches, or anything. All I saw was my smeared face, Ash leaning against the doorframe, and the rest of the bathroom. Somewhat reassured that we were alone, I focused on cleaning up.

I pulled out some makeup remover and hoped it was still good. I hadn’t been in this room since last summer. Traces of the leather and cedar soap Geraint used mingled with the eucalyptus I loved. His comb he’d forgotten at the beginning of our travels last fall lay on the counter next to some shaving cream, just waiting for us to return.

“Damn it,” I muttered and angrily turned the faucet.

Ash came in and turned on the shower so it could warm and checked to make sure I still had soap.

Shooting her a grateful look, I tested the water and got in.

“Okay, so, this is going to sound insane,” I started.

“Spark, you came out of a mirror.” She had actually been the first one to use that nickname.

“Okay. Point.” I launched into the tale of what had happened while I showered. I nearly used Geraint’s soap, but at the last second went for the body wash we shared instead.

When I was done with my tale, I stepped out of the shower. Ash handed me a towel and retreated to give me space to dry off. She threw comfortable clothing at me when I left the bathroom. Numbly, I dressed in the sweats and a loose top, and waited for her reaction.

When she didn’t say anything, I glanced at her. She had her brown hair cut short to pass for professional in her everyday life, but with a little gel could become extraordinary and punk. Right now, she wore a racerback tank top and jeans, which showed off the fantastically colorful full sleeves she had on both her arms. The circus themed tattoo she, Geraint, and I had all gotten was just visible on her shoulder when she turned her back to me. You’d never know she had all that ink in her professional clothing, but this was her natural state.

While she didn’t perform much anymore, she was a talented lyra aerialist and when we’d been younger, we’d had a few killer doubles routines. She still practiced every day, and her muscles were every bit as impressive as my own.

“Ash?”

“If you hadn’t come out of a mirror, I wouldn’t believe any of this,” she said with a small laugh and a shake of her head. “Okay, so you just spent the last week in Nightmare?”

“Yeah. I really don’t know how much time it was for me, but a week feels about right.”

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