He tipped his head towards the ceiling. What had theydone?
Bethan rose from the bed and walked towards the window. Rain slapped the glass in an endless staccato, the wind whistling through the gaps. She placed her palm on the pane and her forehead beside it. Her fingers trembled visibly. ‘A warning,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what I dreamed.’
He crossed the room to take a small mirror off the wall. He laid it flat on his desk. ‘Show me.’
She sat at the desk and placed her hands on either side of the wooden frame. Leaned close enough for her breath to fog the surface. And then, slowly, like snow leaving the heavens above, gold dust materialized in the air. It floated around them in a glowing miasma, settling atop the mirror.
‘Here.’ She pushed it towards him. ‘The first dream. The one I asked it to show me.’
Jude brushed the gold away with his fingertips. For a lingering second, it showed only blackness.
Then, the scene changed. A wall leapt into existence, worn stone peppered with frames in varying sizes. He recognized it,in a distant, far-off kind of way, as the Abbey. The wall of icons. In Bethan’s dream, the canvases were painted black – no saints to be seen.
He’d seen this scene before, hadn’t he? With kerosene in his nose and heat on his skin.
Suddenly, burning light leapt from the corner, threading its way across the icons like a rope of gold-tinged starlight. It swirled into each frame faster than he could follow, eating away the interior of the canvases until they were empty, showing the stone wall behind them. Vivid blue stained his retinas in its wake. Pressure built inside him with each jump of light. An urge to move – to run, to reach, to dosomething—
And then, a pulsing scream. A fevered, desperate cry that shot from one ear to the next. Jude lurched back just as it faded, his hands clasped over his ears. ‘What—’
Bethan stood over him like a spectral figure. Her hands clamped down on his wrists, holding them to the table. ‘Don’t look away. Not yet.’
He forced his gaze back to the mirror.
Only a strange, gauzy layer of gold-tinged white remained of the dream. A cloying hum filled the air. A prickle at the back of his neck. He leaned closer.
The mirror showed nothing.Nothing.
Yet—
He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away. The fog was endless. Impenetrable.
Magic, was it magic? It had to be. Air felt funny in his lungs, like it didn’t belong in the place it was designed to be. Awareness slid down his spine so suddenly that Jude jerked back, looking over his shoulder. He half expected to see a face there. Seehim. Feel his mentor’s hand in his hair, pulling out the strands. A weight on his shoulders, forcing him down. Yelling, whispering, demanding he be better, be anything but what he was designed to be, a saint, an exile, amartyr, the only thing he could ever—
‘Jude.Jude!’
He gasped, eyes flying open as a splash of water hit his face, clinging to his eyelashes, his lips. Bethan stood across from him, the glass from his bedside table in her hands and fear in her eyes.
‘What was that? Are you okay?’ She grabbed a blanket off the foot of his bed and gave it to him. Jude wiped his face and tried to remember how to breathe. ‘I’m sorry about the water. I didn’t know how else to bring you out of it.’
His heart thundered like he’d been running for hours. ‘It was fog. Only ever fog.’
Her eyebrows drew together. ‘Fog? That’s not what I saw.’
‘What did you see?’ He leaned forward. He needed her answer like he’d never needed anything before. ‘Please – what did you see, Bethan? What did you dream?’
‘I dreamed a man,’ she said. ‘Well, the back of his head.’
‘Who was he?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t recognize him. He had light hair and was wearing robes, maybe? They were dark brown, some sort of linen. And I saw…’ She trailed off, pinching the bridge of her nose. ‘A chain? I think. Something around his neck. Just a hint of it above his collar.’
Bethan had seen his mentor. The man responsible for Jude’s worst memories from the Abbey. He was sure of it. And somehow, the Abbey had altered what he could see of Bethan’s dreams. He was weaker than usual after Maeve painted his icon, his mind more susceptible to tampering. But, still… the idea that their reach extended so far was concerning. Had they found out about Bethan’s existence?
‘I only saw fog,’ Jude repeated. ‘What did you focus on to summon that dream?’
‘I’d heard of Maeve’s arrival. Mum was concerned about you, about the Abbey’s involvement. She wanted me to see if there was anything I could warn you about. And make sure I kept myself safe. I had the dream before Siobhan’s death. But whathappened to her, Jude—’ she sighed. ‘It only confirms what I think the dream means.’
‘And are you?’ he asked. ‘Keeping yourself safe?’
