The Lies We Tell
* * *
Astrid Mathieson
Lies are lies, even if they are told to save people. And every time I take the witness stand against one of the detainees I helped catch, I have to lie. I have to hide what I am.
Every word of testimony I give is technically true—he'd killed three people before we took him down. A banker, a teacher, and a college student. All found in their beds, minds shattered, bodies wasted away from being trapped in comas for weeks.
What I don’t tell is that I was able to move faster than a human to catch him. That I was able to hit harder than a human, knocking him out with one blow. What I don’t say is that I’m just like him and it helped me catch him.
He looks so human, sitting there in his pressed suit and polished shoes, handcuffs gleaming against skin so dark it seems to absorb the fluorescent lighting. But I've seen his eyes flash molten gold when the judge read the charges. Some of them have slightly pointed ears, but this guy... It's just the occasional flicker of magick in his eyes that gives him away.
A dream-walking vampire—at least that's what we call them. One of the rarest creatures GUIDE has ever encountered. They don't drink blood, but they feed on consciousness itself, trapping their victims in comas filled with endless nightmares, thus the name.
Six people survived only because we'd finally pieced together the pattern. Six people who now wake screaming every night, their testimony helping us track him to that run down motel where he'd been hunting. Their haunted expressions in court today tell me everything about the horrors they'd endured in their minds while he fed.
There’s something about his calm demeanor that sets my teeth on edge. Most magickal beings we bring to trial rage or beg or try to justify their actions. This one just... watches.
His gaze drifts over the courtroom with an unsettling serenity that makes my skin crawl. Then his eyes meet mine, and the world... shifts.
My body isn't my own anymore.
I'm standing, muscles moving without my permission. I climb over the wall of the witness stand and hurl myself at the accused. The guard nearest me reaches for his sidearm, but I'm faster. Years of combat training make me lethal, even unarmed. My elbow drives into his throat before he can shout a warning.
Kill me, a voice whispers in my head. Better your hands than their spectacle.
I fight against his control, but he's too strong. Through the haze, I see Ghost moving toward me.
"Blades?"
My fist connects with his jaw. He stumbles back, eyes wide with shock. Part of me screams to stop, but my body won't listen.
"She's compromised!" Sherlock's voice cuts through the chaos. He knows my moves, anticipates the kick I aim at his sternum. But even he can't predict how the dreamwalker will make me react. I pivot and my knee catches Sherlock in the solar plexus. I hear his breath leave in a painful whoosh.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I scream in my head.
They'll kill you anyway, the voice promises. Once they know what you are. We're like each other, you and I. There’s something special inside you. I wish I had more time to look at it.
The courtroom erupts into panic. I catch glimpses through the dreamwalker's influence—people fleeing, security rushing in, my team trying to contain me without causing serious harm. I land three solid hits on Ghost before Sherlock re-engages and manages to get behind me.
"Astrid!" Ghost's use of my real name barely penetrates the fog. Blood trickles from his split lip. "Fight it!"
Then the his attention shifts. The massive guard beside him jerks like a puppet on strings. Thick fingers wrap around the dreamwalker's throat as chaos engulfs the courtroom.
"Stop him!" Someone shouts, but it's too late. The crack of vertebrae echoes through the room.
His control shatters.
I stumble, finally back in command of my own body, just in time to see both men collapse. The guard's vacant eyes fade back to brown as the dreamwalker's influence dies with him.
Ghost catches me before I hit the floor, his grip gentle despite the damage I've done to his face. "You with us?"
I nod, fighting nausea. "I couldn't stop it. He was just... there. In my head. I thought they could only control unconscious people. Sleeping people!" I could have fought harder, used my own magick to resist, but that would have hurt people, potentially hurt my team, and exposed me to everyone in the courtroom.
"That's why we contain these things," Sherlock says quietly, but there's something in his voice that makes me look up. He's watching me with those too-observant eyes, and I wonder if he noticed that I was the first one the dreamwalker chose to control. If he's adding that to his mental file of things that don't quite add up about me.
Court officers swarm the scene, securing the guard's body, checking the dreamwalker's lifeless form. Hayes will be furious—no public execution means no message sent to the magickal community. No deterrent.
