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The weight of that thought pushed down on my chest. I was nothing but a washed-up white knight. The idea of failing Zara too...
No, the only good thing about dying was it stopped the waiting for that unknown point when I would turn into a monster.
SOON, SOON.
Fuck.
The whispers had been absent, but I’d stirred the fucker—the voice came and went, but each time it resurfaced clearer, stronger. Trickier. I hadn’t realized the leech had been listening—with me lying here pouring my heart out—such juicy morsels for a thing that loved to torture.
Laughter echoed then faded.
That taunt should have made me want to pull back, and yet I snaked my hand across the bed, as if by touching Zara I could hold onto humanity. As if her touch could banish the darkness inside me.
If only it were that simple.
The only hope you got is prayers.
Faith—maybe that’s what I needed. A leap of faith.
Maybe the eyeglasses were real. Maybe there were other objects. The Cucitrice had a knife, so why not? Maybe my hope lay in these things and not Zara and her memories.
We needed to go back to Houston, back to where it had all started, and track down the Cucitrice’s home—clues instead of hunches.
I wasn’t ready to give up.
I’d take Zara to the hospital, but no matter what she found, I was taking her back to Houston. The Nightmare King was learning to worm past the barriers placed by the pistol ball in my gut. Things were happening, like the voice sneaking up on me, like the walking tour through Wichita’s streets and the nightmares calling to me.
Like killing.
It wasn’t me; it washim.
I’d rather the whispers.
Much rather.
I stared at the tree shadows ignoring Neme as the wolf came into the room and took over the middle of the bed—a big, soft pillow divider between me and Zara.
A burst of bright glare exploded against the dark night.
Blinded, I scrambled to sit up as something swung into my nose.
Grumbling and squeaking, one of Neme’s faeries forced its forelimb between my lips. Its little eyes were jammed shut, as if it braced itself for the first bite.
Spluttering, I spat out the limb. I instinctively scrubbed my mouth with my hand, the bitter taste coating my tongue.
Neme eyed me, whining, then slunk away and off the bed, with the faery climbing atop her head.
Zara mumbled, “Wha’s going on?”
“Shhh. Nothing.” I lay down. “It’s nothing. Sleep.”
“M’kay.” Her eyelids closed.
My heartbeat rattled down the track. What the hell was that? What were Neme and the faery doing?
CHAPTER32
Zara
