One
STEVIE
Their touch is my anchor.
I focus on the cadence of Doc’s voice, allowing his words to flow over me like a warm bath, its gentle current urging me into the dream.Mydream, and the otherworldly realm we believe holds the sacred Arcana object—the key to our survival.
Or possibly to our doom.
Don’t let go…
Baz’s voice is in my head, as clear as if he’d whispered in my ear, and I answer in turn, tightening my grip on his and Kirin’s hands. Letting go isnotan option here. We’re connected by flesh and blood now, our magick and life force and sheer will keeping us tethered to one another. If thereisa way back from this nightmare, this connection is it. We can’t lose it.
Doc continues reciting the dream meditation, his voice drifting away as Professor Broome’s potion works its mysterious magick. Everything inside me feels heavy and slow. Baz and Kirin squeeze my hands, the heat of their skin a stark reminder that even as the darkness of the dream realm takes hold, all of this is very, very real.
As are the consequences of our failure.
“No tricks, Devane,” a hard-edged voice temporarily breaks through the haze. “Or the ginger dies first.”
Rage ignites inside me, and it takes everything I have not to snap out of Doc’s meditation and charge at the bitch holding my friends hostage.
Hurt so much as one of those ginger strands, and I will destroy you…
Casey Appleton and Janelle Kirkpatrick may be possessed, but they’re still dangerous. Until Doc and the other professors can figure out a spell to break the possession or immobilize our captors, their guns speak louder than magick, and they won’t shut up until we return from the realm with their prize.
The promise of finding the Sword of Breath and Blade is all that’s keeping us alive, and bringing it back intact is our best shot at fighting our way out of this mess with Casey and Janelle. If it’s not in the dream realm where I believe it to be, if we can’t infiltrate the magick likely protecting it, if I’m wrong and I didn’t inherit Mom’s talent for dream retrieval…
Fear scrapes the edges of my heart like some kind of wild beast, but I tamp it down, bury it with the rage. Breathe. Take comfort in Doc’s warm voice and Baz and Kirin’s protective touch, again and again and again.
With or without that blade, whatever awaits us in the dream realm or upon our return, I’ve got my Arcana brothers by my side. More than the threat of guns and whatever else awaits, their fierce loyalty keeps me going. Fighting.
Don’t let go,Baz’s voice comes again. But it’s watery and distant now, swallowed by some deep and endless magick, and when I finally open my eyes and find myself standing in the misty dream version of Arcana Academy, I’m utterly alone.
“Baz?” I call out. “Kirin?” I can still feel their touch in my hands, still sense our connection, but they’re nowhere in sight.
Goosebumps prickle the skin on my arms, and I glance down to see I’m dressed in a wedding gown again. Unlike the last time, however, this one is finished—an elegant, elaborate affair in cream and silver, with flowing gossamer skirts and a fitted satin bodice dusted with crystals. My hair is styled too—braids of all different thicknesses woven into a complex fall that drapes over my left shoulder, studded with delicate purple hyacinth flowers.
But like the bouquet of black dahlias in my hand, the beautiful gown and accessories are no more than warnings.
“Kirin?” I try again.
I’m met with empty echoes. No sign of my Tarot princesses either, which means I’m going to have to make my way to the cathedral of standing stones alone.
Disappointment settles around my shoulders, but I have to trust they’ll find their way to our destination. This realm is even more dangerous than the one we just left behind—I know better than to call for the guys again.
Our best shot at success is avoiding detection by the realm’s other visitors—namely, Dark Judgment.
My gut clenches as I recall the cruel determination in that monster’s eyes on my last visit, watching him devour a baby to fuel his own magick, then lift his staff and incinerate my men. Turn them to wasted ash with a gleam in his eye and a wicked smile on his face.
Called to confess, called to atone. Beg for your flesh, your blood, and your bones…
Unworthy! Unworthy! Unworthy!
I take a deep breath, shoving the memory aside.
Time to move.
Ditching the creepy bouquet, I hike up my skirts and cut a path through the mist in what I hope is the direction of the standing stones my Princess of Swords led us to the other day. If my intuition is right, the Sword of Breath and Blade will be buried directly beneath those stones. And if I truly share my mother’s gift for prophecy and dream retrieval, we’ll be able to yank it out of its secret hiding spot and bring it back to the material realm.
